Эрин Хантер - Legends of the Clans

After rinsing her paws in the shallowest part of the river to clean away the last trace of Dark Forest scent, Spottedpaw pushed her way back into the undergrowth. She trotted down the ravine and marched over to Thistleclaw, who was talking to some warriors below Highrock.

He blinked at her in surprise when she appeared. “Spottedpaw, are you okay? I thought you might be hurt, the way you rushed off like that.”

Thrushpelt narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean? You told me you’d taken her for a training session with Whitepaw and Tigerpaw. I trusted you to watch out for her.”

Spottedpaw ignored him. “We need to talk, Thistleclaw.”

“That sounds like an order!” Thistleclaw joked, glancing at the other warriors, who purred with amusement.

Spottedpaw didn’t say a word, just trotted back across the clearing and headed up the ravine.

“What’s this about?” Thistleclaw called, leaping after her. “You were brilliant against Whitepaw—before you ran off. You obviously learned a lot last night.”

Spottedpaw stopped dead and spun to face him. “I learned that I don’t enjoy fighting for its own sake! It’s the Dark Forest, Thistleclaw! Why do you have to go there to train?”

Thistleclaw twitched the tip of his tail. “We can’t talk here.” He led her to a dense patch of brambles, and forced his way into the center, where gnarled branches as thick as a cat’s tail had created an open space. Thistleclaw sat down, wincing slightly as he tucked his hind legs under him.

“You’re hurt, aren’t you?” Spottedpaw mewed. “Just like when your ear was clawed. Can’t you see that those cats are dangerous?” Her mind filled with the image of Mapleshade crouched on the fallen tree, screeching at the warriors to fight harder, use their teeth, draw more blood.

“Not to me!” Thistleclaw’s voice was low and passionate. “They’re making me into the best warrior ThunderClan has ever known!”

“If you must be taught by dead cats, why not StarClan?” Spottedpaw begged. “At least they lived by the warrior code. The cats you fought last night have all done something evil. That’s why they’re in the Place of No Stars.”

“But that doesn’t mean I will be evil too! We are more than those who teach us, Spottedpaw. I want to learn everything I can from once-great warriors, but I am still responsible for making my own decisions. Do you doubt me that much?”

His eyes were hopeful, pleading, and Spottedpaw felt her pelt begin to lie flat. “No, I don’t doubt you. But that doesn’t mean I agree with your training in the Dark Forest.”

“I’m not asking for your agreement,” Thistleclaw meowed. “This is a part of who I am. I thought you would understand why I’m doing this. I just want to keep my Clan safe—to keep you safe. I would do anything for you, Spottedpaw.”

Spottedpaw stared at him, her mind whirling. How can I argue with that? I love you as much as you love me.

Please don’t let me down.

Spottedpaw woke early from dreams filled with flashes of gray-and-white fur, Thistleclaw’s sweet scent, and threatening shadows that loomed from the undergrowth. She stood up and tiptoed out of the den.

Outside, the sky was soft and milky like the underside of a dove’s wing. Dew laced the grass, and Spottedpaw left neat wet footprints as she padded across the clearing. She could just make out the golden tabby shape of Lionheart sitting on the other side of the gorse, guarding the sleeping Clan.

“You’re up early,” commented Featherwhisker, stepping out of the ferns. He tipped his head to one side and studied her with his bright amber gaze. “Is something wrong, Spottedpaw?”

Spottedpaw looked down at her toes, studded with shining droplets of dew. There was no way she could tell him about Thistleclaw visiting the Dark Forest. That would bring all kinds of trouble, and after all, Thistleclaw hadn’t done anything wrong, had he? For a moment Spottedpaw recalled Goosefeather’s strange comment that she loved blindly and had a foolish heart. Was this what the old cat had been talking about?

“Spottedpaw, what is it?” Featherwhisker padded over and rested the tip of his tail on Spottedpaw’s flank. “Are you sick?”

Spottedpaw shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I… I had some strange dreams, that’s all.”

“I heard that you ran off from battle training yesterday,” Featherwhisker commented gently. “Tigerpaw gets too rough sometimes. He needs to remember to keep his claws sheathed when fighting his Clanmates.”

“But we won’t always be fighting our Clanmates, will we?” Spottedpaw argued. “One day I’ll be fighting a real enemy, and I’ll have to use my claws and my teeth and everything I’ve learned just to survive…”

Featherwhisker looked concerned. “Warriors face many challenges, but the warrior code protects them, Spottedpaw. No cat should ever be killed, even in the heat of battle. We fight to defend our borders, not maim the cats on the other side.”

“Some cats seem to enjoy fighting, whoever their opponent is,” Spottedpaw mewed quietly.

“Battles are only a very small part of our lives,” Featherwhisker went on. “A true warrior has more love in her heart than hatred. Love for her Clanmates, for the forest that shelters her, for the prey that feeds us all.”

The brambles around the warriors’ den rustled, and cats started gathering beneath the Highledge. Tawnyspots walked among them, choosing cats for the dawn patrol. Spottedpaw blinked in alarm as Stormtail emerged from the brambles. The warrior had lost weight, and he looked unsteady on his paws. The first thing he did was walk over to the heap of soaked moss outside the elders’ den and drink deeply, as if he had not seen water for a moon.

Spottedpaw padded over to him. “Are you feeling all right, Stormtail?” she mewed.

Stormtail turned to look at her, his eyes bleary and ringed with sleep. “I’m fine,” he rasped, but Spottedpaw noticed that his muzzle was dry and his breath smelled like crow-food.

“I don’t think you are,” she meowed. “Why don’t you see Featherwhisker? I think you might be sick.”

Stormtail lashed his tail. “Don’t fuss. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Bluefur overheard and came over. “My father knows if he is sick or not,” she told Spottedpaw. “Leave him alone. The patrol is ready to go.” She nodded to Stormtail, who followed her to the other warriors.

“I want you to head up past Snakerocks and then follow the border along the Thunderpath,” Tawnyspots ordered. “We’ve chased off a couple of rogues there recently and I want to be sure they haven’t come back. They didn’t look dangerous but our territory is full of prey at the moment and they might see it as easy pickings. Speckletail, you take the lead.”

The tabby she-cat nodded and trotted toward the gorse tunnel with the rest of the patrol bunched at her heels. Spottedpaw winced as Stormtail stumbled, but he gathered himself up and vanished into the gorse on Bluefur’s heels. His flanks were so pinched and bony that Spottedpaw could see Bluefur’s haunches clearly on either side of Stormtail’s lean shape.

She watched as the gorse stopped quivering behind the cats, then turned and padded into the medicine den. Featherwhisker was sorting a pile of tansy leaves and the air smelled green and fragrant. The space seemed larger now that Goosefeather had finally agreed to move to the elders’ den, and his ragged nest among the ferns had been cleared away.