Эрин Хантер - Legends of the Clans

Jake reached up and licked the cut on Pinestar’s ear. The blood had dried and was tugging at his fur. “You told me that a leader has to trust his medicine cat,” he murmured. “You may be leader, but you are still bound by the warrior code.”

Pinestar pictured Goosefeather, his gray hair ragged, his blue eyes glazed and wild. “I… I don’t know if I can trust him anymore,” he admitted, each word wrenched from his belly. “His prophecies are so strange now, and I’ve seen him watching me as if he knows something that I don’t. I’m scared that he has seen an omen about me which he isn’t sharing.”

“Perhaps an omen telling him that you won’t always listen to his nonsense?” purred Jake. He finished with Pinestar’s ear and started to knead the ThunderClan leader’s flanks with his paws, purring softly.

Pinestar stretched out flat and rested his cheek on the ground. It had been so easy for Pinestar to slip into the habit of visiting Jake every moon, then every half-moon, to talk about nothing much at all, to lie in the sun on the Twoleg-groomed grass, to watch birds fluttering without feeling the need to stalk them.

Jake was curious about life in the Clans, but not to the point of wanting to go over the fence into the forest. He was no threat to ThunderClan, even though he knew the deputy and medicine cat by name, knew where the weakest parts of the border were, and how Pinestar was concerned about the safety of new apprentices. Pinestar had mentioned a WindClan warrior, Talltail, from time to time, and the first question Jake had asked Pinestar today was whether he had seen the long-tailed black-and-white tom in the battle. Pinestar had assured him that Talltail had not been injured, as far as he knew.

Jake was not a Clanmate, but a friend. And Pinestar valued him as much as any of his warriors.

“I cannot ignore my medicine cat,” Pinestar meowed now, twisting so that Jake could give some attention to his other shoulder. “I cannot do anything but watch my Clanmates die,” he added quietly.

Jake paused and rested his muzzle on Pinestar’s back. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

“Ah, you help me plenty,” mewed Pinestar, sitting up. “There is no other cat I can talk to like this.”

“What about Leopardpaw?” Jake teased. “You’ve mentioned her often enough.”

“She’s a good apprentice,” Pinestar meowed a little defensively. “I’m going to make her a warrior soon. She was wounded in the battle, but she’s going to be okay, thank StarClan.”

Jake studied him with his head tilted on one side. “You care too much, Pinestar. You can’t save every one of your Clanmates from the dangers of the life you lead.”

“I wish I could,” whispered Pinestar, lying down and resting his head on his paws.

“Hey, Jake, I didn’t know you had a visitor!”

Pinestar lifted his head as a small brown tabby jumped down from the wall and trotted across the grass.

“I’m Shanty,” she mewed.

“This is Pinestar,” meowed Jake, standing up to touch muzzles with the she-cat.

Shanty tipped her head on one side and wrinkled her nose. “You’re not a kittypet.”

“No, I’m a Clan cat,” mewed Pinestar. “I live in the forest.”

“With the wild cats? Cool!” Shanty settled down beside them and curled her tail over her paws. She narrowed her eyes at Pinestar. “You look kind of battered. Are you okay?”

Pinestar twitched his ear. “I’m fine,” he murmured.

Shanty turned to Jake. “Did you hear about Tyr? His Twolegs left his door locked all night and he had to sleep in the shed!”

“Whoa! Tyr would not have liked that!” Jake snorted. “He’s a pedigree Burmese,” he explained to Pinestar.

“And never stops reminding us!” Shanty added with a sniff.

Pinestar knew he couldn’t tell a Burmese from a badger. He tried not to lean closer to sniff Shanty’s fur. The tabby was definitely a she-cat, but she smelled different from any Clan queen. Pinestar liked that she wasn’t afraid of him, or even particularly curious about life in the forest. On this side of the fence, Pinestar wanted to be treated like any other cat. A friend, not a strange and fearsome enemy. He trusted Jake as much as he did his Clanmates—and more than some of them.

Perhaps Shanty would become a friend, too. He settled back onto his belly and closed his eyes. The battle with WindClan, his injured Clanmates, the humiliation of defeat, all seemed a long way away as he listened to Shanty and Jake chatter about cats he didn’t know, and had no responsibility for.

“You’ve made the right choice there,” Smallear commented, flicking a midge off his pelt with his tail.

“Hmm? What?” Pinestar lifted his head. The sandy ground was warm beneath his shoulder, and he had been dozing off after a long hunting patrol.

Smallear gestured toward a mottled black she-cat who was nibbling on a starling outside the warriors’ den. “Leopardfoot, I mean,” he meowed. There was a glint in his eye. “Cats are starting to talk, you know.”

“I didn’t think you were one for listening to gossip,” Pinestar retorted. His fur felt hot. He did like Leopardfoot, and he had been spending time with her recently, but he didn’t want to make a statement to the entire Clan about it.

Smallear pricked his ears. “Then the rumors aren’t true? We won’t be hearing the patter of tiny paws in the nursery anytime soon?”

Pinestar stretched out and rolled over. “New kits are always a blessing,” he murmured, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to have this conversation with one of his warriors. Just because he was Clan leader, he wasn’t allowed any kind of private life? He told himself that he was feeling prickly because of Smallear’s curiosity—and not because he was waiting until the clearing was quiet enough for him to slip out and visit the Twolegplace again.

He opened his eyes a slit and watched Bluepaw and Snowpaw carefully dividing a squirrel between them. They deserved to be made warriors soon. They had been so brave since watching their mother die in the battle with WindClan. Pinestar shut his eyes and tried to ignore the wave of pain that swept through him. So many more battles since that day, so many vigils for fallen Clanmates…

He had fought alongside his warriors every time, plunging himself into the thickest action, losing more lives than he could keep count of. In fact, Goosefeather had reminded him recently that he had only two left, and had told him to take more care. Inside his mind, Pinestar shrugged. He had more lives to lay down than his Clanmates; why should he treat himself with any more care? Sunfall would make an excellent leader in his place; there would always be more Clan leaders, more battles to be fought and lives to be lost.

“Hey, Smallear!” Sweetpaw was calling to him from the tunnel of gorse. “You promised to take me battle training after sunhigh!” The white patches on the little cat’s pelt gleamed in the sun, and her tiny ears were pricked.

Smallear heaved himself to his paws. “StarClan save me from overenthusiastic apprentices,” he muttered, and Pinestar purred with amusement. For a moment he wondered if Leopardfoot would have his kits, and if she did, would he take one of them as his own apprentice.

And teach my own son or daughter how to attack and wound and frighten our enemies, for the sake of these invisible walls we have built around our home? Could I really do that, knowing I might have to watch them die in battle one day?