“No,” Hawkwing replied, beginning to feel annoyed. “If he had, don’t you think we would have tried to follow them?”
“I don’t know what you would have done,” Sharpclaw retorted. “I only know that you’ve gone out twice now, and we’re still no nearer to fulfilling the prophecy.”
“And we’ve lost Billystorm,” Mistfeather added.
Hawkwing’s belly churned and he twitched the tip of his tail to and fro, doing his best to hold on to his temper. Like you would have done any better if you’d been there, he thought, but he had the sense not to say the words out loud.
“That’s enough.” Leafstar’s voice was weary, and Hawkwing realized that Mistfeather’s mention of Billystorm was more than she could cope with just then. “We need to think more deeply about this before we decide what to do next.”
“And you need to rest.” Echosong spoke for the first time, her voice firm. “Out, all of you! Frecklewish, go and see if any cat still has untreated wounds. Otherwise, no cat sets paw in here until morning.”
As he left the den in obedience to the medicine cat’s orders, Hawkwing felt as if his heart had sunk right down into his paws. We have enough trouble with these new creatures attacking our camp, he thought. How can StarClan expect us to follow their prophecy as well? And what’s going to happen to us if we don’t?
CHAPTER 12
Hawkwing was roused from his sleep in the warriors’ den by the sound of his father’s voice yowling through the camp. “Let all cats gather here beneath the Rockpile for a Clan meeting!”
Around Hawkwing, his Clanmates were already leaping up and heading out of the cave. He staggered to his paws and shook scraps of bedding out of his pelt. Exhausted from the journey and the shock of learning about the fresh attack, he felt as if he had hardly rested at all, even though the sun was already well above the trees.
Hawkwing was the last to leave the den, following Rileypaw and Stormheart down the trail to where Sharpclaw waited at the foot of the Rockpile. There was no sign of Leafstar—Hawkwing guessed she was still resting—but he spotted the two rogues, Darktail and Rain, off to the side of the gathering crowd.
Hawkwing joined the others and flopped down beside his sister, Cloudmist. “What now?” he muttered into her ear.
Cloudmist shook her head. “Just listen,” she whispered back.
“SkyClan has suffered a second attack,” Sharpclaw announced when all the cats had settled down. “It’s time to change our strategy. To begin with, patrols will be larger from now on. The raccoons may have been driven off for the time being, but if they think we are weak, or that there aren’t many of us, they’ll try to attack again for sure.”
“That makes sense,” Hawkwing murmured to his sister.
“It means every cat will have to patrol more often,” she agreed, giving a quick lick to a scratch on her shoulder, “but if it keeps the raccoons away, it’ll be worth it.”
Hawkwing noticed that some of his Clanmates were casting mistrustful glances at Darktail and Rain, and he remembered the hostility of Sharpclaw and Mistfeather when the questing patrol had returned the night before with news of their failure.
He thought too about his own hostility toward Darktail before they had left on the second quest. Every cat blamed me for feeling that way—but now they seem to agree that Darktail is a menace.
But Hawkwing didn’t feel the same way anymore. After the events of the quest, and especially after seeing Darktail’s grief at the death of his friend Toad, he couldn’t help but trust the white tom.
The same suspicion his other Clanmates had begun to show appeared in the eyes of Waspwhisker as he rose to his paws with a sidelong glance at the two rogue cats. “What if the threat is actually inside the camp?” he asked.
Every cat knew what he meant, and heads turned to stare at Darktail and Rain. Hawkwing heard one or two hisses, and some cat called out, “Yes! What about that?”
Darktail remained calm in the face of Waspwhisker’s accusation. He stood up and dipped his head politely toward Sharpclaw, as if he was asking permission to speak.
“I never meant to hurt the Clan,” he meowed. “But I admit I made some mistakes. Surely it’s a measure of my honor that I want to do everything I can to make up for it? Surely the fact that I’m still around, trying my best to put things right, has to count for something?”
Waspwhisker gave a dismissive flick of his tail. “Rogue cats just don’t belong with a Clan. They will never understand Clan cats’ ways,” he growled. “It’s impossible!”
“This is true,” Sharpclaw agreed. “Clan cats have rules; rogues have none. Clan cats are taught to care for each other; rogue cats think only of their own survival. Darktail is not one of us, and he never will be.”
“That’s not fair!” Hawkwing blurted out, leaping to his paws. “Sharpclaw, you know that Darktail fought bravely for the Clan when the raccoons attacked. And you should have seen the grief on his face when his friend Toad fell out of that tree. He has lost friends, just like we have. He doesn’t need us throwing accusations at him.”
Even while he was speaking, Hawkwing was torn about contradicting his father, especially for a cat he hadn’t known for very long. He wasn’t keen, either, on repeating his earlier argument with Sharpclaw in front of the whole Clan. But he couldn’t stifle the conviction that this time Sharpclaw was being unreasonable and harsh.
Sharpclaw whipped his head around to glare at his son, a look of outrage in his green eyes. “Why do you always have to argue with me?” he demanded. “Darktail isn’t your replacement brother, and he doesn’t deserve more loyalty than kin!”
“Wait . . . I’m sure that’s not what Hawkwing thinks,” Cherrytail put in, but Sharpclaw ignored her, still fixing Hawkwing with a hard stare.
Hawkwing’s fur began to bristle. He felt like a scrap of twig being whirled around in a fierce gale of emotion. Grief and anger filled him at his father’s words, along with confusion about why he would say such a thing. And every hair on his pelt burned with embarrassment as he realized that all his Clanmates were looking at him.
The conflicting pressures were too much to bear. Unable to stop himself, even though he knew that it made him seem as immature as a day-old kit, Hawkwing whipped around with a contemptuous flick of his tail and stormed away, back up the trail to his den.
I know it looks like I’m sulking, but I don’t care what any cat thinks. If their father had been so unfair to them, they’d be as angry as I am now.
Back in the warriors’ den, Hawkwing flung himself down into his nest, letting his anger surge over him. But after a few moments, guilt and renewed embarrassment began to prick him like a thorn in his belly.
If my Clanmates are patrolling, I want to be there with them, he realized. I want to help them, and keep them safe. Oh, fox dung . . . I know I’m behaving like a petulant kit!
Taking a deep breath, Hawkwing rose to his paws, ready to head back out of the den. Just then, a shadow fell over the den floor, and he saw that Pebblepaw was poking her head through the entrance. She was the last cat Hawkwing had expected to see. This feels totally weird. I’ve hardly spoken to her since we went on the first quest together.
“Are you okay?” Pebblepaw asked. “That must have been awful, having your father be harsh to you like that. In front of the whole Clan, too.”
For a moment Hawkwing didn’t know how to reply. He didn’t want to seem weak or immature in front of Pebblepaw. At the same time, he couldn’t help asking himself what it meant that she’d left a Clan meeting just to come check on him.
I can’t cope with this right now.
“I’m fine!” he snapped at last. “I don’t need any cat’s pity.”
Pebblepaw’s eyes widened with hurt. Without another word she withdrew from the den; Hawkwing followed her out and saw her stalking down the trail.
That went well, he thought, annoyed with himself. Why can’t I think before I speak?
“Pebblepaw, wait!” he called o
ut.
The speckled white she-cat halted, then after a heartbeat turned her head to look up at him. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” Hawkwing meowed. Even though he knew he had been wrong, it was hard to force the words out. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
For a moment more Pebblepaw hesitated. “It’s okay,” she responded at last, ducking her head. Then she bounded off to the bottom of the cliff where her brother Parsleypaw was waiting.
Hawkwing watched her go, an unexpectedly warm feeling creeping through him from ears to tail-tip. I’m glad I said that. I don’t want to fight with her anymore.
Glancing farther out across the camp, Hawkwing could see cats still gathered around Sharpclaw at the foot of the Rockpile. By the look of their bushed-up fur and twitching tails, they were still bickering. On the opposite side of the gorge, Darktail and Rain were heading up the cliff, leading a patrol with Bellapaw, Sandynose, and Mistfeather.
Hawkwing bunched his muscles, preparing to bound down the trail and across the camp to catch up with the departing cats. Then he relaxed again with a sigh. It’s no good. I want to protect the camp, but if I go haring after Darktail, it’ll only make things worse with Sharpclaw.
He waited until the patrol was gone. Then he turned and walked back to his den.
Hawkwing slipped through the undergrowth at the top of the gorge, following Bouncefire, Nettlesplash, Pebblepaw, and Sandynose, who had taken over Pebblepaw’s training after Billystorm’s death. As part of one of the new, larger patrols, Hawkwing kept all his senses alert for any sign that the raccoons were back on SkyClan territory. To his relief, everything seemed peaceful.
The camp had become more peaceful, too, in the few days since the questing patrol had returned. Hawkwing’s Clanmates had stopped interrogating him about what had happened, and why they hadn’t managed to track down Firestar’s kin.
Leafstar, seeming recovered from the loss of her life, had spoken from the Rockpile, proclaiming that SkyClan would wait until Echosong received another vision from StarClan. “Maybe,” she had meowed, “the next prophecy will be clearer.”
Hawkwing wasn’t sure that his leader was right. StarClan’s advice hasn’t exactly been helpful so far, he mused. What if they don’t actually want to help us? He couldn’t imagine why the spirits of their warrior ancestors would turn against them. But our luck could not have been worse, and there has to be a reason for that. . . .
Bouncefire, leading the patrol, brought them out of the undergrowth and across the stretch of grass that separated SkyClan territory from the Twolegplace. As they approached, Hawkwing saw that a new Twoleg rock made from freshly cut flat sticks had replaced the one that was burned. Thicker foliage had covered most of the scorch marks on the tree. Renewed grief swept over Hawkwing.
It’s like my brother was never even here. . . .
He was careful not to look at Pebblepaw as they and their Clanmates padded past the Twoleg greenplace. He didn’t want to be reminded of how he had saved her instead of Duskpaw, and also, he was surprised to realize, he didn’t want Pebblepaw to feel any trace of guilt about that terrible day.
Reaching the farthest stretch of SkyClan territory, the patrol turned back. “Nothing to report, thank StarClan,” Bouncefire commented.
But as they drew nearer to the wooded area above the gorge, Hawkwing spotted Darktail, alone, skirting the edge of the trees as if he was heading for the camp from the direction of the Twolegplace.
He’s not with a patrol, so what is he doing? Hawkwing wondered.
His pelt prickled with anxiety as he saw Darktail crouch down, his head jerking as if he was being sick. But after a moment the rogue tom rose to his paws again and padded calmly away, making for the Twolegplace again.
That’s really weird. . . .
“Hey, Bouncefire, I need to make dirt,” Hawkwing called out. “I’ll catch up to you.”
Bouncefire waved his tail in acknowledgment as he and Nettlesplash, Sandynose, and Pebblepaw vanished into the undergrowth. Hawkwing bounded over to where Darktail had stopped. On the ground, he saw a few scraps of what looked and smelled like Twoleg food.
Hawkwing stood for several heartbeats, gazing down at the scraps. In one way, he wasn’t surprised, assuming that rogue cats would eat anything, but what was really strange was that the food hadn’t been eaten. Darktail hadn’t been sick. He must have been carrying the food in his mouth, and then dropped it.
Maybe he didn’t like the taste, Hawkwing thought, with a pang of pain as he remembered how much Duskpaw would have loved it. But then, why did he go back toward the Twolegplace?
Darktail was still in sight, a distant figure across the grass. Hawkwing decided to follow him, keeping his distance, and making sure that the breeze was blowing toward him, and wouldn’t carry his scent to the rogue tom.
Unaware he was being followed, Darktail headed onward, until he slipped down a narrow Thunderpath between the first dens of the Twolegplace. Hawkwing felt his pelt prickle with apprehension. I don’t want to go in there. Then he took a deep breath, bracing himself. If Darktail can do it, so can I!
Hawkwing kept glancing around warily, alert for the appearance of Twolegs or monsters, as he crept along in Darktail’s paw steps. To his relief, not much time had passed before Darktail halted, then wriggled underneath a shiny barrier that blocked a gap between two lines of bushes.
Giving Darktail enough time to get ahead, Hawkwing squeezed through after him, and found himself standing at the edge of a stretch of smooth grass, surrounded by bushes covered with strange, brilliantly colored flowers. At the far side of the grass the walls of a Twoleg den, built of reddish rock, loomed over him. His head spun at the mixture of unfamiliar sights and scents.
There was no sign of Darktail, but Hawkwing could hear odd clanging noises coming from somewhere beyond the den. A moment later the rogue tom reappeared, whisking around the corner of the rock wall.
Terrified of being spotted, Hawkwing dived under the nearest bush. He crouched there, panting, as Darktail passed within a tail-length of him. I only hope these weird flowers are masking my scent. Then he tensed, digging his claws hard into the ground. Darktail had another piece of Twoleg food gripped in his jaws.
What does Darktail need Twoleg food for? He wasn’t eating it. No—he’s taking it somewhere. But what other possible use could he have for the Twoleg scraps?
The white tom was too intent on his peculiar mission to notice Hawkwing in his hiding place. He wriggled under the shiny barrier again and headed back the way he had come.
Still tracking him, Hawkwing saw Darktail drop this new mouthful about halfway between the Twolegplace and the spot where he had dropped the first scraps of food. Then he bounded off, making for the camp.
Hawkwing followed more slowly, not sure what to make of any of this. He felt like he’d gotten to know Darktail better on their last quest, and he now believed that the rogue cat was good at heart. But what is this about?
I could ask him. But Hawkwing felt a shiver of dread at the thought of admitting to his friend that he’d spied on him. He already thinks the whole Clan doesn’t trust him. I’m the one friend he has.
Glancing back at the Twoleg scraps, Hawkwing felt uneasy. I have to think about how to handle this, he thought. I’m not really sure he’s doing anything wrong.
As Hawkwing slowly made his way back to camp, his heart was heavy. I want to trust Darktail, he thought. I just hope we really can.
CHAPTER 13
Dew still gleamed on the grass and soaked into Hawkwing’s pelt as he brushed through it, following Waspwhisker on the dawn patrol. Pale light seeped between the branches, though the forest floor still lay in shadow, with ragged scraps of mist floating among the trees.
Though Leafstar had still not appeared from Echosong’s den, she had given orders to Sharpclaw that the boundaries of SkyClan’s territory should be extended. Hawkwing assumed she thought that a new barrier might deter the raccoons; he wished that he could feel
confident that she was right.
Waspwhisker was leading the patrol, with Hawkwing, Darktail, Bellapaw, and Sparrowpelt. They had hardly left the camp when Hawkwing realized that Waspwhisker was in a bad mood, and he seemed to be taking most of it out on Darktail.
“For StarClan’s sake!” the gray-and-white tom hissed. “Can’t you walk a bit more quietly? You sound like you’ve got rocks instead of paws.”
“Sorry,” Darktail muttered, casting his eyes downward and clearly making an effort to set his paws down more lightly.
Waspwhisker gave the white tom a cold look from narrowed eyes, but said no more until Darktail sneezed.
“Good job, Darktail,” Waspwhisker snapped. “You might as well just call out to all the prey, ‘Watch out for cats!’”
Darktail’s head swung up, and for a moment Hawkwing thought that he would snap back at Waspwhisker. Then he simply nodded, and mewed that he really would try to be quiet.
Bellapaw exchanged a glance with Hawkwing. “What’s wrong with Waspwhisker?” she murmured. “He’s being way too hard on Darktail.”
Hawkwing shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he doesn’t want Darktail here anymore.”
For his own part, Hawkwing was impressed that Darktail was managing to keep his temper. I don’t think I could, if Waspwhisker spoke to me like that.
His feelings of sympathy brought him back to the problem he had been struggling with ever since he had seen Darktail carrying food from the Twolegplace the day before. Should I report him or not?
So far he had said nothing, partly because he couldn’t be sure that Darktail was up to no good, and partly because Leafstar and Sharpclaw had too much on their minds after the raccoon attack to worry about something that might be completely unimportant.
For now, I’ll just keep a close eye on Darktail, Hawkwing decided, and see what he does next.
So far, the rogue tom had done nothing else suspicious, and he was doing his best on this patrol, in spite of Waspwhisker’s hostility.