Blossomheart and Pebblepaw sat pressed close together at the opposite side of Billystorm’s body, both of them still and silent. At first Hawkwing couldn’t see Waspwhisker, until he spotted the gray-and-white tom limping out from behind a bramble thicket.
“I’ve been taking a look around,” he murmured as he joined Hawkwing. “We shouldn’t stay here, so close to the badgers. But we’ll bury Billystorm first.”
Pebblepaw raised her head. “No! We should take him back to be buried among his Clanmates. That’s what Leafstar would want.”
Waspwhisker shook his head. “I understand your concern, Pebblepaw, but it’s too far. Besides, his body would attract predators. You don’t want that, do you?”
In reply, Pebblepaw let out a small murmur of grief. Then she inspected the ground for a moment, before padding over to a spot near the base of the tree and beginning to scratch at the earth. Hawkwing and Blossomheart joined her, digging out a grave for Billystorm. No cat spoke as they struggled through the task, ignoring their own wounds and their weariness.
Hawkwing couldn’t believe how things had gone so wrong. There’s been so much death, in such a short time. First Duskpaw, and now Billystorm . . . Perhaps terrible things will keep happening until we find “the spark that remains.”
Now when Hawkwing looked at Pebblepaw, he could only feel empathy and understanding. It was hard to remember what the old hostility had been like. His heart felt as if it were breaking for her; he could see her paws shaking as she thrust them into the earth, digging the hole for her beloved mentor.
I know exactly how she feels—like I felt when Duskpaw died.
When the grave was deep enough they laid Billystorm’s body in it and covered it over, each taking a turn to push earth into the hole. When the task was done, all four cats stood beside the grave for a moment in silent respect, and Hawkwing tried to remember the words that Echosong had spoken over Duskpaw’s body.
“May StarClan light your path, Billystorm. May you find good hunting, swift running, and shelter when you sleep.”
The cats bowed their heads, and at that moment a shaft of sunlight struck through the branches of the tree and settled on Billystorm’s grave.
“Look—that might almost be a message from StarClan,” Waspwhisker murmured.
Hawkwing wanted to believe that the senior warrior was right, yet the words brought him very little comfort, and he could see that Pebblepaw wasn’t comforted, either.
As the cats stepped away from the mound of earth, Hawkwing turned to Pebblepaw, searching awkwardly for words. He knew as well as any cat how private grief was, and how—sometimes—any cat saying anything, even something nice, could be just another claw snagging at your heart. Yet he couldn’t use that as an excuse not to do what was right.
“Thank you, Pebblepaw,” he mewed. “You saved my life and Blossomheart’s. If it hadn’t been for you, I might not be alive right now. I’m very grateful to you.”
At first, Pebblepaw didn’t answer, just padded away from him. Then she spun around, hurt and anger in her eyes. “I should have stayed to help protect my mentor,” she hissed. “If only I hadn’t left him to help you and Blossomheart, he might still be alive.”
Hawkwing felt his heart sink into his belly. Pebblepaw isn’t just grieving for her mentor; she’s blaming herself!
Until then, it hadn’t occurred to Hawkwing that Pebblepaw had done anything she might regret, but now he realized that they shared more than he had ever expected. I blamed myself for Duskpaw’s death because I saved Pebblepaw first. She blames herself for Billystorm because she helped me and Blossomheart defend ourselves when the badgers would have killed us.
Hawkwing knew that would only make Pebblepaw’s grief more painful. But because he’d felt exactly the same way, he also knew that this wasn’t the right time to discuss it with her. She needed time to think over what had happened. He kept his jaws clamped shut.
At that moment Waspwhisker called the rest of the patrol together. “What now?” he asked, and Hawkwing stood up at attention, eager to finally discuss what would become of their quest.
“We’re here in the open,” Waspwhisker continued, “and while there doesn’t seem to be any danger threatening us right now, the badgers aren’t all that far away. I know I’m injured, and that might make us vulnerable, but I’m willing to carry on. We need to decide if that’s what we want to do.”
“Do you think we should carry on?” Hawkwing asked. While he hadn’t been sure, he’d sort of assumed that Billystorm’s death would bring an end to their journey. How can we go on? We’ve lost our leader.
Waspwhisker nodded. “While Billystorm’s death was tragic, we all know how vital it is for us to complete the quest. We must find ‘the spark that remains.’ According to Darktail, we’re only two days’ journey away from the other Clans. We should find the cats we set out to find, in Billystorm’s memory, and as StarClan directed us.” He paused, and when no cat made a comment, he added, “What do you think?”
The silence stretched out for another few heartbeats. Somehow, after Billystorm’s death, Hawkwing was having trouble picturing the other Clans so close. But he supposed it made sense that they must still be.
Blossomheart was the first to speak. “I agree with you, Waspwhisker. We should carry on.”
“What?” Pebblepaw whipped her head around to stare at her friend. “It would be disrespectful to Billystorm’s memory to continue the quest without him!”
“But finishing the quest is what Billystorm would have wanted,” Waspwhisker pointed out.
“There’s no way to know what Billystorm would have wanted,” Pebblepaw mewed bitterly. “Because he’s dead.” Her voice shook, but a moment later she was able to continue. “Besides, it looks like we can’t rely on Darktail’s directions. He said the badgers’ den was abandoned, and it clearly wasn’t. Who knows what else he was wrong about?”
“But, I guess the badgers could have moved back in without Darktail knowing,” Waspwhisker pointed out. “He might not have been wrong about anything else.”
“But we can’t take that risk,” Pebblepaw argued. “We should go back now, to tell Leafstar that her mate is dead, and to tell the others what happened. Going on isn’t safe, and it isn’t right,” she finished with an emphatic swish of her tail.
“Hawkwing?” Waspwhisker turned to him. “What’s your opinion?”
Hawkwing looked for a moment at Pebblepaw, who refused to return his gaze. He understood exactly how she felt. Right after Duskpaw died, he had felt the same. I missed Duskpaw so much, I couldn’t think about anything else. Imagine if I’d been expected to complete a quest right then!
He couldn’t blame Pebblepaw, and in any case her feelings didn’t change his decision. “We should go home now. I know one thing Billystorm would have wanted: for us to survive. And now, going home seems the best chance of that. We can worry about finding the Clans when we have a better plan.”
Blossomheart nodded. “The plan we had was pretty disastrous,” she meowed.
“Yes,” Hawkwing continued. “Who can say what else Darktail was wrong about? Who can say what other dangers lie ahead? We might meet more badgers, or something worse.” And we can’t afford to lose more cats.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Blossomheart announced as soon as her brother had finished speaking. “I agree with Hawkwing and Pebblepaw. I still think we should try to find the Clans—but it’s clear this quest has failed.”
Waspwhisker fluffed out his neck fur, and for a few heartbeats Hawkwing thought he was upset to be challenged by younger warriors. “Maybe you’re too young to understand the importance of such a strong message from StarClan,” he suggested. “Billystorm’s death was terrible, but we still must find the other Clans. And this seems like the best chance we have.”
Then he let out a sigh. “But there are four of us,” he mewed, “and if three of you want to go home, there’s nothing I can do.”
He rose to his paws. “Let’s go.
”
The patrol set out on the long trek back to familiar territory. Heartsick and in pain from his wounds, Hawkwing found it hard to remember the optimism with which they had set out. We were all so excited about meeting the other Clans, and now they seem farther away than ever. This whole quest has been a disaster. Surely StarClan didn’t mean for it to end like this?
They walked in silence until Waspwhisker called for a halt. “We ought to hunt,” he meowed. “I know none of us feel like eating, but we have to keep our strength up.”
Hawkwing knew that he was right, though the thought of food made his belly heave.
The cats were standing at the top of a hill; on the far side it sloped down gently into a hollow with a pool at the bottom, edged by bushes and thick vegetation. Hawkwing remembered that they had found good prey there on the way out.
“Let’s stop and hunt down there,” Blossomheart suggested. “We could rest for a bit, too.”
Waspwhisker nodded. “Good idea.”
As they padded down the slope, Hawkwing slowed his pace to walk beside his sister. “Let’s you and I hunt, once we’ve found a place to rest,” he murmured. “Pebblepaw can’t cope yet, and Waspwhisker is still limping.”
“Okay,” Blossomheart agreed, and added, “We all need Echosong to take a look at us.”
The cats found a sheltered spot in the middle of a clump of hazel bushes, the bare earth covered with a thick layer of dead leaves. Once Waspwhisker and Pebblepaw were settled, Hawkwing slipped out and crept closer to the pool, his ears pricked and his jaws parted to pick up the first traces of prey. Blossomheart followed him, then veered off into a bank of ferns.
As Hawkwing neared the pool he heard a plop, and spotted a vole swimming out into the center. Cautiously he crouched at the water’s edge and leaned over to spot a second vole poking its head out of a hole in the bank. Reaching down, Hawkwing fastened his claws into the back of the vole’s neck and hooked it upward; its high-pitched squeal of terror was cut off abruptly as he bit into its throat.
Easy catch, he thought with satisfaction.
Turning back toward their makeshift den, Hawkwing spotted Blossomheart emerging from the ferns with the body of a mouse dangling from her jaws.
“Good job,” Hawkwing mumbled around his own prey. “Let’s go eat.”
Waspwhisker’s eyes gleamed in the dim light beneath the bushes when he saw the fresh-kill, but Pebblepaw merely glanced at it, then turned her head away.
“You have to eat something,” Blossomheart urged her.
Pebblepaw shook her head. Hawkwing had noticed that she had hardly touched food since the battle with the badgers. She was starting to look skinny; he could make out her ribs underneath her pelt.
She won’t thank me if I try to persuade her, he thought. Better leave it to Blossomheart.
His sister took her mouse and set it down in front of Pebblepaw. “Come on, share this with me,” she urged her friend. “Look, it’s really fat and juicy. I can’t possibly eat all of it.”
Pebblepaw stretched out her neck, sniffed the mouse, then took a tiny bite. “You can have the rest,” she mewed, turning away again.
Hawkwing exchanged a glance with Blossomheart, knowing that there was no point in arguing with Pebblepaw anymore. We’ll get her to Echosong tomorrow; then she’ll be better.
He and Waspwhisker were sharing the vole when Hawkwing heard a sudden rustling outside the hazel clump. He stiffened and his neck fur rose.
There’s something out there!
Turning in the direction of the sound, Hawkwing picked up the scent of a cat. Thank StarClan! At least it’s not a badger! he thought, feeling weak with relief. Their den was flooded with the scent of fresh-kill; that must have been why it had managed to get so close without alerting any of the patrol.
Taking a deeper sniff of the scent, Hawkwing realized that there was a tang of Twolegs about it.
“That’s a kittypet,” he whispered. “Stay here. I’ll deal with it.”
What’s a kittypet doing here? he wondered as he pushed his way out through the bushes. I didn’t see a Twolegplace when we passed this way before.
Standing on the grass outside was a fluffy-haired she-cat with pelt of orange, black, and white. She looked almost comical with a black patch over one eye and an orange patch over the other. Her fur was shiny and clean, and she wore a collar; a small gleaming thing dangled from it and made a tinkling sound like water drops as she turned her head to look at Hawkwing.
“Hi,” she meowed cheerfully. “My name’s Betsy. What’s yours?”
Hawkwing found it strange to hear a friendly voice; he and his Clanmates had been traveling in almost total silence. He was surprised too that a kittypet should sound so bold when confronted with a strange cat.
“I’m Hawkwing,” he replied warily.
“And I’m Waspwhisker.” Hawkwing realized that his Clanmates had followed him out and were standing at his back. “These are Blossomheart and Pebblepaw. What’s a kittypet doing so far away from the Twolegplace?”
Betsy looked puzzled for a moment, as if she didn’t understand the question. Then she shrugged, and her gaze cleared. “My housefolk live over there.” She gestured with her tail, back toward the split tree, but in a different direction from the one the patrol had taken. “Anyway, I could ask you the same thing,” she meowed. “What are you doing here?”
She’s not scared of us at all, Hawkwing thought, feeling a twinge of admiration in spite of himself. And we must seem a fearsome lot to a kittypet!
“Oh, we live a long way away,” he replied, deliberately not giving Betsy any details. I don’t know who she is, and anyway it’s none of her business. “We’re on a journey.”
“Have you seen any other groups of cats hanging around here recently?” Waspwhisker asked, taking a pace forward to examine the kittypet more closely.
Waspwhisker means the other Clans. Hawkwing was disappointed when Betsy shook her head. It would be great if we managed to find them after all . . . but it looks like they’re not here.
“Cats like you, you mean? No, certainly not,” Betsy answered. “No wild cats would make a home here, not with all those terrifying beasts around.”
“Terrifying beasts?” Hawkwing asked, suppressing a shiver.
“Yes,” Betsy continued. “I don’t know what they’re called, but they’re a bit like cats, only bigger, with pointed heads and huge teeth. You look as if you’ve met them already,” she added, her gaze traveling over the Clan cats’ wounds. “You look a bit . . . battered.”
“Those would be badgers,” Waspwhisker growled. “And yes, we had a difference of opinion with them. Tell us more—when did they move in?”
“Oh, ages ago. They’ve been here for seasons and seasons,” Betsy replied.
Waspwhisker twitched his whiskers in surprise, exchanging a glance with Hawkwing. “Really?”
So why did Darktail think those dens were abandoned? Hawkwing wondered.
“Oh, yes, this place is known for being full of them. There’s one nest in a clearing over there, with a stream running through it.” Betsy pointed with her nose, clearly indicating the place where the patrol had battled with the badgers. “And many more nests beyond that. I wouldn’t go that way if I were you.”
“No, we’re going the other way,” Blossomheart put in. “We’ve seen quite enough of the badgers, thank you very much.”
“Good. Because those beasts would rip your fur off as soon as look at you.” Betsy’s eyes were stretched wide, and Hawkwing sensed that she was getting quite a thrill out of telling them about these horrors. Like we don’t know about them for ourselves! “They’ve killed quite a few pets, so most housefolk don’t allow their cats outside.”
“You’re outside,” Hawkwing pointed out to Betsy.
“Oh, I’m a bit reckless,” she confessed cheerfully. “No housefolk are going to keep me indoors. I’m good at sneaking, and I know to keep well clear of those beasts.”
“Wel
l, thank you for the warning,” Hawkwing meowed. Even though we didn’t need it, it was kind of her to come up to a bunch of strange cats to tell us about them.
“You’re welcome.” Betsy licked one forepaw and drew it over her ear. “Well, I’d better be going. It’s about time for my housefolk to feed me. ’Bye!”
“Good-bye!” Hawkwing called after her as she skirted the hazel bushes with a wave of her plumy tail, then streaked up the slope and was lost to sight over the hill. She might have made a good daylight warrior, he thought, surprising himself by feeling a hint of regret.
“So the badgers have been there for seasons and seasons,” Waspwhisker muttered. “What was Darktail thinking of?”
“Maybe they were asleep, or out hunting when he passed that way,” Blossomheart responded.
Hawkwing flicked his tail-tip at his sister, but said nothing. She might want to think the best of every cat, but it was still a huge mistake for Darktail to make. For the first time Hawkwing felt a flicker of uneasiness when he thought about the strange rogue cat. Did he deliberately lead us into danger? he asked himself. Did he get Billystorm killed? Fury began to bubble up inside Hawkwing. What do we really know about Darktail? We invited him in so quickly. He slid out his claws, rustling the leaves beneath his paws. A terrible thought was taking root in his mind.
Were we fools to trust Darktail? Was I a fool to bring him back into our camp?
CHAPTER 8
Sunhigh had just passed when the warriors approached the top of the gorge above the SkyClan camp. It was the third day since they had left the split tree where Billystorm was buried. The sun was shining and the air was warm, but even now that they were so close to home, their hearts were dark and cold. Once again they had traveled in almost total silence, and Hawkwing knew that every cat’s grief for Billystorm was growing sharper as they drew nearer to the moment when they would have to tell the story to their Clanmates.
I’d almost rather face the badgers again!
Hawkwing felt especially sorry for Pebblepaw, who stumbled along in a daze, as if she was overwhelmed by mourning and her sense of guilt. Blossomheart padded alongside her, silently offering her sympathy and support.