Эрин Хантер - Battles of the Clans

PUSH-DOWN AND RELEASE:Almost all non-RiverClan cats panic if they are submerged, while RiverClan cats know how to hold their breath underwater. This move can be used to secure a decisive victory, because it’s most likely to make the opponent surrender.

UNDERWATER CLINCH:Uses warrior’s weight to hold the opponent below the surface, with a firm grip that enables the warrior to bring his enemy spluttering back to the surface before forcing him under again.

TAIL SPLASH:Temporarily blinds opponent by flicking water in his eyes.

UNDERWATER PUSH-OFF:Crouching and erupting out of the water into opponent, using surprise and impact to knock him off balance.

RUSHPAW SPLASH:Using noise of water splashed at a distance to create a decoy, leaving opportunity for a surprise attack.

Great StarClan, if what I am about to do is wrong, then send me a sign and the kits will stay where they are.”

I tipped back my head and stared into the star-flecked sky. Silverpelt hung like a frosted cloud in the middle of the sky, an archway of ancient spirits leading to StarClan’s hunting grounds. Nothing moved. StarClan had spoken with their silence: The mission would go ahead.

I drew a deep breath. I had known I would face challenges when I became RiverClan’s leader, but this was beyond anything I had expected. For my Clan’s sake, I could not fail.

I padded through the reeds to the warriors’ den. The sound of breathing drifted on the cold air, with the scent of sleeping cats. Would they sleep so easily again after what I was about to ask them to do?

“Timberfur?” I whispered through the entrance.

A dark shape stirred inside, and Timberfur’s head popped out. “Hailstar! What is it?”

“Bring Rippleclaw, Owlfur, and Ottersplash,” I ordered. “Meet me outside the camp.”

The big brown tom blinked; then his head vanished. I slipped out of the clearing and sat on the narrow pathway between the reeds. I could hear the river sliding past; was it whispering a warning?

The warriors appeared, shaking sleep from their heads and stretching their paws. Ottersplash looked worried, the white patches on her ginger fur glowing like snow.

“I want you to come to WindClan with me. We are going to take back Fallowtail’s kits.”

Four pairs of eyes stared at me in disbelief. Owlfur spoke first. “But…but you agreed that Reedfeather could raise them in WindClan.”

Ottersplash nodded vigorously. “You said he had equal claim because he was their father, and RiverClan had enough mouths to feed this leaf-bare.”

I pictured the WindClan deputy’s glow of satisfaction as he led his daughters out of the RiverClan camp. Fallowtail had remained in the nursery, unable to watch. She knew she had broken the warrior code by falling in love with a WindClan cat; she was lucky that I had allowed her to stay in RiverClan after bearing his kits. There was no place for half-Clan cats in RiverClan. I wanted loyalty without question—I deserved it, because I was their leader.

But for the past moon I had watched Fallowtail slowly dying of grief for her lost kits. It was too great a punishment for her to bear.

“WindClan will expect this,” Rippleclaw warned, breaking into my thoughts. “Heatherstar announced at the Gathering that they had doubled their border patrols.”

“Not along the cliff,” I replied. “I’ve been watching for the last three nights. If we approach from the gorge, we should be able to get to the camp without meeting any patrols.”

“Then we’re going to take the kits by force?” meowed Timberfur.

I looked at him without blinking. “You think Reedfeather would give them back if we asked nicely?”

Timberfur turned his head away, his gaze shadowed. I didn’t allow myself time to wonder whether I was testing his warriors’ loyalty beyond their limits. “Follow me,” I ordered.

We walked in silence to the far border of their territory, where the wooden bridge crossed the river just after it spilled out of the gorge. The water stilled and flattened out in a matter of fox-lengths, as if it were exhausted by its maddened, foaming tumble between the high stone cliffs. On the far bank, a tiny path clung to the bottom of the stone, just above the water. If we could scale the cliff from there, we would be able to enter WindClan’s territory along the unguarded border.

Owlfur padded alongside me as I crossed the bridge. “Did you tell Fallowtail what you were going to do?”

I shook my head. “She’ll know when we succeed,” I meowed.

The climb to the top of the cliff was harder than I’d imagined; our thick fur weighed us down, and Timberfur tore one of his claws when he lost his grip on a paw hold. Only Ottersplash giving him a shove from below stopped him from crashing all the way down to the bottom, where the river foamed over jagged rocks.

Finally we hauled ourselves, panting, over the edge of the stone wall and lay flat on our bellies, listening. Rippleclaw raised his head. “No scent of any patrols,” he reported, keeping his mouth wide-open to taste the air. The breeze was blowing steadily from the forest, which would serve us well, bringing traces of any WindClan cats in that direction.

“Which way is the camp?” asked Ottersplash.

I tried to recall from my only previous visit, when I had been Heatherstar’s guest. “In the center of the moor, I think. It’s in a dip, so you can’t see it as you approach, but there is a circle of gorse around the top.”

Timberfur exhaled loudly. “So we’re looking for some gorse bushes…on a moor.”

“I never said it would be easy,” I told him.

The brown tom flashed a look of anger toward me. “I didn’t expect it to be. I’m a warrior, just like you are. Let’s go.” He strode away from the cliff, heading into the expanse of shadow that distinguished the moor from the night sky. We followed in single file, Owlfur at the rear.

Ottersplash’s white markings flared like starlight, and for a moment I wondered if it had been wise to bring her. Unlike the other Clans, WindClan hunted by sight, keeping watch for the flicker of movement that indicated a fleeing rabbit. Their patrols would be looking for intruders as well as listening and tasting the air. But we were deep into the moor now; there was no point sending Ottersplash back from here. Besides, we might need her.

Suddenly Timberfur froze. “Patrol dead ahead!” he hissed.

We flattened ourselves against the grass, feeling as exposed as rocks in an empty streambed. A

small group of WindClan cats—no more than three or four—appeared briefly over a rise, then disappeared again as the ground sloped downward toward the forest.

“They didn’t see us,” breathed Rippleclaw. “Let’s keep going.”

Behind me, I heard Ottersplash take a deep breath and swallow. “There’s stronger scent here.

We must be close to the camp.”

I peered into the darkness, trying to make out a circle of gorse. The moon was little more than a claw scratch in the sky, and the stars shed only the faintest light, so bushes and boulders showed up as patches of shadow against the dark bulk of the moor. But there was a line of bushes over to one side that looked more solid than the rest. Could they be sheltering the camp?

“That way,” I hissed.

As we started forward, Rippleclaw asked, “What do you want us to do when we get there?”

“You and Timberfur deal with the guards while we find the nursery. Ottersplash and Owlfur, you corner the queens, and I’ll get the kits. Once I’ve taken them outside the nursery, Owlfur, you pick up one of the kits and we’ll all make a run for it—but don’t head back to the cliff. We can’t carry the kits that way.”