Erin Hunter - Into The Wild

“So it’s that simple, is it?” growled Runningwind. “We just drop into your camp, snatch the kits, kill your leader, and go home.”

“You will not meet as much resistance as you think,” murmured the gray tom.

Yellowfang stood up. “Let me introduce my old friends,” she meowed, weaving her way around the ShadowClan cats. She brushed past the gray tom. “This is Ashfur; he is one of the Clan elders.

“And this is Nightpelt, a senior warrior before Raggedstar was killed.” She circled a battered black tom, who nodded at them.

“And this is one of our elder queens, Dawncloud. Two of her kits died driving out WindClan.”

Dawncloud, a small tabby, meowed in greeting. “I do not wish to lose any more of my kits,” she told them.

Whitestorm gave his chest a quick lick to smooth down his fur. “You are clearly skilled warriors if you managed to creep up on us like that. But are there enough of you? We need to know what we’ll face when we raid the ShadowClan camp.”

“The old and sick of ShadowClan are slowly starving,” meowed Ashfur. “The casualties among our kits are more than we can cope with.”

“But if ShadowClan is a mess,” burst out Darkstripe, “how come you have shown so much strength lately? And why is Brokenstar still your leader?”

“Brokenstar is surrounded by a small group of elite warriors,” answered Ashfur. “They are the ones to fear, because they would die for him without question. The other warriors obey his orders only because they are frightened. They will fight by his side as long as they think Brokenstar is going to win. If they thought he would lose…”

“They would fight against him, not for him!” Darkstripe finished the elder’s words in disgust. “What sort of loyalty is that?”

The hackles of the ShadowClan cats began to rise.

“Our Clan was not always like this,” Yellowfang interrupted. “When Raggedstar led ShadowClan, we were feared for our strength. But in those days our strength came from the warrior code and Clan loyalty, not from fear and bloodlust.” The old medicine cat sighed. “If only Raggedstar had lived longer.”

“How did Raggedstar die?” asked Whitestorm curiously. “There were so many rumors at the Gatherings, but no one seemed to know for sure.”

Yellowfang’s eyes clouded with sorrow. “He was ambushed by a warrior patrol from another Clan.”

Whitestorm nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, that is what most cats seemed to think. These are bad times indeed, when leaders are picked off in the dark, instead of open and honorable battle.”

Firepaw frowned, his mind racing over different battle plans. “Is there any way of taking the kits without alerting the whole Clan?” he asked.

Dawncloud answered him. “They are very closely guarded. Brokenstar will be expecting ThunderClan to try to take them. You won’t be able to steal them in secret. Open attack is your only hope.”

“Then we must concentrate our attack on Brokenstar and his inner guard,” meowed Whitestorm.

Yellowfang had a suggestion. “The ShadowClan warriors should lead me into the ShadowClan camp. They could say they had captured me. We have to make sure Brokenstar and his warriors are out of their dens. News of my capture will bring them into the clearing. Once they’re all out in the open, I’ll give the signal for you to attack.”

Whitestorm was silent for a moment. Then he nodded, his face grave as he committed his warriors to the attack. “Very well, Yellowfang,” he meowed. “Please lead the way to the ShadowClan camp.”

Yellowfang turned and pushed her way into the bracken. Whitestorm and the others followed her.

Firepaw was tingling with excitement. He didn’t feel the damp chill in the air, and his weariness was long forgotten.

Yellowfang guided them to a small hollow surrounded by thick undergrowth and pointed out the entrance to the ShadowClan camp. The tangled mass of brambles looked very different from the neat gorse tunnel that led into the ThunderClan camp. The camp boundary was full of holes and gaps and the stench of rotting meat wafted toward them.

“You eat crow food ?” whispered Graypaw, curling his lip.

“Our warriors are used for attacking, not hunting,” replied Ashfur. “We eat whatever we can find.”

“ThunderClan, hide in that clump of bracken over there,” hissed Yellowfang. “It’s full of toadstools that will disguise your scent. Wait here till you hear me call.”

She stepped back to let the other ShadowClan cats lead the way, tucking herself into the center of their group as though she were their prisoner. They headed silently into the camp.

The ThunderClan cats settled themselves among the toadstools, tense and alert. Firepaw could feel his coat prickling. He looked at Graypaw beside him. The thick fur on the back of his friend’s neck was standing on end, and Firepaw could hear him panting with suppressed excitement.

Suddenly yowling erupted from the ShadowClan camp. Without hesitating, the ThunderClan cats sprang from their hiding places and raced through the entrance.

Yellowfang, Ashfur, Dawncloud, and Nightpelt were in a well-trodden, muddy clearing, wrestling with six vicious-looking warriors. Firepaw recognized Brokenstar and his deputy, Blackfoot, among them. The warriors looked hungry and battle-scarred, but Firepaw could see the hard muscles pounding beneath their patchy fur.

Around the edge of the clearing, groups of scrawny cats stared uncertainly at the mayhem. Their skinny bodies seemed to recoil at the violence, while their dull eyes looked on, shocked and confused. Out of the corner of his eye, Firepaw saw Runningnose back away and hide beneath a bush.

At Whitestorm’s nodded signal, the ThunderClan cats leaped into the battle.

Firepaw grasped a silver tabby with his claws, but was shaken loose. He tumbled over and the ShadowClan warrior turned on him and gripped him with claws as sharp as blackthorns. Firepaw managed to twist and sink his teeth deep into the cat’s flesh. The warrior’s yowl told him he had found a tender spot, and he bit harder. The warrior screeched again, ripping himself free, and ran off into the bushes.

Firepaw stood up. A young ShadowClan apprentice leaped at him from the edge of the camp, its soft kitten fur fluffed up with fear.

Firepaw sheathed his claws and batted him away easily. “This is not your battle,” he hissed.

Whitestorm already had Blackfoot pinned to the ground. He gave him a vicious bite and the injured deputy raced away toward the camp entrance and out into the safety of the forest.

“Firepaw!” Firepaw heard Dawncloud screech his name. “Watch out! Clawface is-” He didn’t hear the rest. A heavily built brown cat crashed into him. Clawface! Firepaw dug his claws into the ground and whirled around to fight. The warrior that killed Spottedleaf! Rage surged through him and he flung himself onto the brown tom.

Firepaw pushed the warrior to the ground and pressed his head into the dirt. Blinded by fury, he prepared to sink his teeth into Clawface’s neck. But before he could deal his death blow, Whitestorm knocked him aside and grasped the ShadowClan warrior.

“ThunderClan warriors do not kill unless they have to,” he growled in Firepaw’s ear. “We just need to let them know not to show their faces here again!” He gave Clawface a fierce bite that sent him screaming out of the camp.

Still raging, Firepaw looked around wildly. Brokenstar’s warriors had gone.

An angry screech sounded from behind Graypaw. Graypaw leaped out of the way and Firepaw saw Yellowfang gripping Brokenstar with muddy, bloodstained paws. His body bled from several wounds. His ears were flattened against his head, and his whiskers were drawn back as he crouched, flattened beneath Yellowfang’s powerful grasp.