“Echosong said you should make sure to let her have a look at it,” she told Leafstar when she had finished. “Just in case I didn’t do it right.”
“I’m sure you did,” Leafstar responded, flexing her shoulder. “It feels better already.”
Frecklepaw’s eyes sparkled. “I like watching Echosong,” she admitted.
“Then you’d better go and see if you can help her some more,” Leafstar meowed. “With so many warriors to treat, she’ll be glad of an extra pair of paws.”
“Thank you!” Frecklepaw dashed off again with her tail straight up in the air.
Leafstar let out an affectionate purr, then turned back to Ebonyclaw and Billystorm. Both cats were shifting their paws awkwardly, as if they felt out of place among so many battle-scarred warriors.
“I guess we could go on a hunting patrol,” Billystorm suggested, with a glance at the black she-cat. “We need to restock the fresh-kill pile.”
“Thanks, good idea,” Leafstar meowed, though she felt uneasy as she watched them go. Two was a very small number for a patrol. Perhaps the Clan needed Harveymoon and Macgyver more than she had realized; she hoped they wanted to come back when their banishment was over.
The pain of Leafstar’s scratch was ebbing, but she thought she had better let Echosong check it out, and then see if there was anything she could do to help. As she approached the medicine cat, she saw her instructing Frecklepaw, who was pressing a pad of cobweb against Rockshade’s wounded ear.
“That’s right,” Echosong prompted. “Make sure all the edges are sealed. Good. Now you can collect another pawful of cobweb and treat that bite on Cherrytail’s hind leg. Make sure the wound is really clean first.”
“I will, Echosong,” Frecklepaw mewed.
Meanwhile Echosong started patting marigold pulp along Waspwhisker’s scratch. “Tinycloud, fetch Waspwhisker a poppy head,” she directed the white warrior. “Give him three seeds and no more. Now, Bouncefire, let’s have a look at you.”
Leafstar was impressed by the way the young medicine cat could think of three things at once, and treat the wounded warriors without keeping them waiting for long. Before she could find out if Echosong had a task for her, Sharpclaw came limping up; a nasty bite on his leg needed attention but the light of battle still gleamed in his eyes.
“They fought well,” he meowed.
Leafstar wasn’t sure who he meant. “The new warriors? Yes, they—”
“No, the Twolegplace cats,” Sharpclaw interrupted. “We owe our victory to Stick—you know that, don’t you?”
“He helped us a lot,” Leafstar began, “but every cat—”
Sharpclaw interrupted again. “Any Clan would be lucky to have them as warriors.”
Leafstar felt faintly surprised. “You think they should stay? They’ve only been here for a quarter moon,” she pointed out. “And they haven’t said anything about their plans.”
Sharpclaw twitched his ears. “Maybe they’re waiting for an invitation to join us,” he suggested.
“Maybe.” Somehow Leafstar wasn’t so sure.
“We owe you a lot,” Sharpclaw mewed to Coal, who padded up at that moment; Leafstar wondered how much the black tom had heard of their conversation. “Without you and your friends, we never would have defeated the rats.”
Coal shrugged. “It’s the least we could do in return for your shelter.”
Leafstar’s paws tingled with uneasiness. Why are you here? she wondered yet again. What do you want, to make you risk your own pelts in battle, just because we let you stay here in the gorge?
CHAPTER 12
The sun had gone down, leaving the uneven line of Twoleg rooftops outlined against a scarlet sky. Stick clambered up a pile of Twoleg waste, pushing aside pieces of debris, his nose twitching. Last time he’d been here, the pile had been teeming with rats. Now all he could find were stale scents and droppings.
“Not a whisker,” Cora spat, looking down at him from the top of the heap. “Some other cats must have cleaned the place out already.”
“Dodge!” Stick hissed.
“We can’t be sure of that,” Cora pointed out. “There are other cats living here; any of them could have taken the rats.”
“I know it’s Dodge,” Stick growled. “He doesn’t want us living here, so he’s trying to starve us.” He jumped down from the mound, swiping bad-temperedly at an empty Twoleg box as he landed, and stalked away.
Before he had taken more than three paw steps, he glimpsed a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye. Spinning around, he saw Red sitting in the shadow of a wall.
“Where have you been?”
Red’s neck fur fluffed up. “Around.”
“Well, stay close by in future.”
The flame-colored she-cat sprang to her paws. “Why?” she challenged. “I can look after myself.”
“There are some dangerous cats around,” Stick growled.
To his surprise Red bounded forward and pushed her forehead against his shoulder with an affectionate purr. “More dangerous than you?” she meowed, looking up; her eyes were glimmering with amusement. “Surely not!”
For a moment Stick wanted to cover her ears with licks as he used to when she was a kit. But those days were long gone. When he didn’t say anything, he saw the amusement fade from Red’s eyes.
“I’m going to see how Percy’s getting on,” she mewed, turning and stalking across the patch of waste ground.
Stick watched her go, sadness twisting in his belly.
“You won’t tame that one so easily.”
Stick jumped as he realized that Coal had padded up behind him. “I don’t want to tame her,” he responded gruffly. “I want to keep her safe.”
“She’s old enough to keep herself safe,” Coal pointed out.
“She needs a mother.”
Coal touched his tail-tip briefly to his friend’s shoulder. “You’ve done the best you could.”
“But it’s not enough, is it?” Stick replied. “It won’t ever be enough.”
Stick padded across the waste ground, in the opposite direction from the one Red had taken. At the edge of the open space he leaped onto the fence and began walking along the top, balancing easily. The Twoleg gardens were deserted in the gathering night. Though lights showed in some of the dens, the shadows lay thickly where Stick prowled.
Stick’s whiskers quivered and he opened his jaws to taste the air. Rabbit! His belly rumbled and water flooded his jaws, but he knew that this scent came from a rabbit in a Twoleg cage.
I’d be in more trouble than it’s worth if I tried to catch it.
As Stick padded along the fence top the smell grew stronger. A new taint mingled with it: the scent of fear. Stick wondered if young Twolegs were trying to play with the rabbit again; he knew that the rabbit didn’t like it. Then a terrified shriek rose from the garden just ahead. Stick froze. This wasn’t because of clumsy young Twolegs. The rabbit was being hunted!
Stick bounded along the fence top until he came to the garden where the rabbit lived. Halting in the shade of a holly tree, he looked down at the shiny mesh cage in the middle of the smooth green grass. The black-and-white rabbit crouched close to the ground, while Misha and Skipper circled the cage. Their pelts bristled and their teeth were bared in a snarl. On the far side of the grass, the Twoleg nest was dark and silent.
“Stop it!” Stick called out. “That rabbit isn’t prey.”
Misha and Skipper halted and stared up at him.
“Oh, really?” Misha sneered. “You’d hunt it fast enough if you weren’t scared of the Twolegs.”
“I’m not scared!” Stick growled.
“Prove it!” Skipper challenged. “Help us catch this rabbit.”
“No.” Stick began to back away along the fence. No good will come of this.
But before he could leave, Skipper ran at the cage and rocked it upward with one massive shoulder. The rabbit shrieked again and shrank back into the corner farthest from the gap
. Misha pressed herself to the ground and reached under the cage with one paw to drag the creature into the open.
The rabbit crouched on the grass, trembling, as first Misha, then Skipper darted at it, lashing out with their paws to rip its ears. Tufts of black-and-white fur drifted over the grass, and Stick spotted a dark stain beginning to spread on the rabbit’s shoulder.
“Kill it cleanly, at least,” he growled.
Misha looked up at him, her cream-colored pelt pale in the gathering darkness. “Make us.”
She turned back to the terrified rabbit, motioning Skipper to stand aside. The rabbit tried to run; Misha let it cover a few tail-lengths before pouncing on it again and cuffing it around the head.
The rabbit let out a long, high-pitched wail and struggled as both cats returned to the attack. Its powerful fear-scent flooded over Stick and his belly growled with hunger. He slid his claws in and out, scoring the wooden fence. All his instincts were telling him to leap down and join in, to claim his share of the prey, but he knew what the result would be.
We can’t afford to make enemies of the Twolegs.
Finally the rabbit collapsed, limp with shock, its chest heaving with fast, panting breaths. Stick couldn’t bear to watch any longer. Leaping down from the fence he raced across the grass and shouldered Skipper away from the quivering creature.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the ginger-and-white tom demanded.
“I’m going to put the poor thing out of its misery,” Stick snarled.
“Don’t think you get to share,” Misha spat. “This is our prey.”
Ignoring her, Stick lifted one paw to deliver a killing blow. At the same moment Skipper and Misha both threw their heads back and let out bloodcurdling yowls. A window in the Twoleg nest lit up; yellow light flooded over the grass. The door of the nest crashed open and loud Twoleg voices came from inside.
Stick glanced around. Misha and Skipper had vanished, leaving him alone in the middle of the lighted patch of grass, crouched over the shivering rabbit. The Twoleg yowling grew louder. A huge male Twoleg appeared in the doorway, brandishing a bristly wooden pole. His mate and two Twoleg kits followed him out, wailing, as he charged at Stick.
The rabbit scrambled to its paws and took off. Stick spun around and fled for the fence. Something sailed over his head and crashed into the bushes a tail-length away. Without looking back he scrambled to the top of the fence and ran along it, past the waste ground and down into the alley. The Twoleg yowling died away behind him.
Stick stood still, his heart thumping. He shivered at the thought of the Twoleg stick landing across his back, cracking his spine. We keep our heads down around Twolegs. And now this happens.
“Enjoy your fresh-kill, loser?”
Stick spun around as he recognized Skipper’s voice. He and Misha were sitting farther down the alley in the shadow of some garbage cans, calmly cleaning their paws.
“I didn’t hurt that rabbit, and you know it,” Stick snarled, padding toward them. “You set me up.”
“You set yourself up.” Misha drew her paw over one ear.
“Maybe it’ll teach you not to interfere in the future,” Skipper sneered. He rose to his paws and padded forward until he stood nose to nose with Stick.
Stick tensed. He was here alone; if they attacked, he would be torn apart. He’d seen what Misha was prepared to do to another cat.
But Skipper stayed relaxed, and his voice was almost friendly, though Stick saw hostility gleaming in his narrowed eyes. “I’ve seen Red around a lot lately,” he remarked. “Next time, it might be a tuft of her fur that’s left beside a dead Twoleg pet.”
“Leave Red out of this,” Stick growled. “And don’t make threats you can’t keep.”
“Oh, they’re not threats.” Misha spoke from behind Skipper, arching her back in a long, luxurious stretch and showing her sharp teeth in a yawn. “They’re promises.”
CHAPTER 13
Leafstar padded up to the fresh-kill pile and dropped her squirrel onto it. “We hunted well today,” she observed.
Patchfoot nodded as he deposited his own prey—a mouse and two shrews—on the pile. Shorty had caught two mice, and Shrewtooth was pleased with himself for once, for chasing a rabbit and bringing it down.
The sun had risen above the gorge, but it was so early that dew still clung to the grass. The cats who had not been chosen for the dawn patrols were beginning to emerge from their dens. Sparrowpelt bounded down the trail, halted briefly at the bottom to give one ear a good scratch, then headed for the river to drink. Waspwhisker clambered down after him, slower and more awkward because of the wound from the rat battle. Leafstar padded across to meet him as he reached the foot of the trail.
“How do you feel?” she asked. “Is that scratch healing well?”
“I’m fine, Leafstar,” the gray-and-white tom replied. “I’m just fed up with being stuck in the gorge. Please can I go out on patrol today?”
“Not until Echosong says you can,” Leafstar told him, narrowing her eyes as she examined his wound. It still looked raw, and she guessed it wouldn’t take much for it to open up again.
Waspwhisker slid out his claws and gave the ground in front of him a frustrated scrape. “I was afraid you would say that.”
“Just be patient,” Leafstar advised him. “It’s only a few days since the battle.”
“It feels like moons,” Waspwhisker retorted gloomily; following Sparrowpelt to the water, he crouched down to lap.
Leafstar let her gaze travel around the gorge as more cats appeared. She could almost taste the sense of pride and strength that her warriors shared, united by the victory over the rats. They stalked confidently out of their dens, as if they were showing off their healing wounds.
We’ll be back to full strength soon, Leafstar told herself with a purr of satisfaction.
Several cats appeared at the top of the gorge and began running lightly down the trail: Cherrytail was returning with her border patrol. The young tortoiseshell leaped down the last few tail-lengths and bounded up to Leafstar.
“We checked out the waste heap,” she reported. “There was no sign of rats, and all the scents were stale.”
“That’s good news,” Leafstar purred.
“Everything was quiet,” Coal added, padding up behind Cherrytail. “We picked up the scent of a loner, but it seemed to lead straight out of the territory again.”
Leafstar’s whiskers twitched. “A loner? Where was this?”
“Between the rubbish heap and the Twolegplace,” Cherrytail replied, flicking her tail to show Leafstar the direction. “Coal’s right. The trail seemed to veer into our territory for a few fox-lengths and then head out again.”
“Maybe the scent markers put it off,” Coal suggested.
“You could be right.” Leafstar gave one paw a reflective lick. It didn’t seem as if the loner was a threat, but there was no harm in staying alert. “All the same, we’ll keep an eye on that part of the territory, just in case it comes back.”
The border patrol chose fresh-kill from the pile and settled down to eat. Leafstar found a flat, sun-warmed stone and sat with her tail wrapped around her paws, watching her Clan as the gorge stirred into full wakefulness.
The Twolegplace cats no longer stood out from the rest of the Clan: Coal was gulping down a sparrow and chatting to Cherrytail about that morning’s patrol; Cora had joined Waspwhisker and Sparrowpelt at the water’s edge, where Echosong was checking on Waspwhisker’s wound; Shorty was telling yet another story to Fallowfern’s kits, while Sharpclaw and Stick were prowling up and down near the foot of the Rockpile, discussing hunting techniques.
All four of the newcomers took part in their share of patrols, brought in a good amount of fresh-kill, and were gentle with the oldest and youngest members of the Clan. Leafstar was especially relieved that Sharpclaw and Stick were getting on so well. Her deputy’s brusque manner could be off-putting, and he hadn’t made any close friends within his own Clan.
I’m still sure there’s something Stick’s not telling us, she thought. But he’s fair and loyal to his friends, and I appreciate that.
Loud meows from the top of the cliff announced the arrival of the daylight-warriors. Frecklepaw skidded down the trail in a cloud of sand, well ahead of the others, and came to a panting halt in front of Leafstar.
“I promised to prepare some herb poultices for Echosong before the first training session,” she gasped. “Is that okay?”
Before Leafstar could reply, Echosong came bounding up. “Well done, Frecklepaw,” she meowed. “You’ve got here really early.” Blinking at Leafstar, she added, “It’s all right if I borrow her for a while?”
Leafstar nodded, a bit surprised that Frecklepaw seemed to prefer helping the medicine cat to hunting or battle practice.
“Good,” Echosong went on briskly. “Frecklepaw, I need a poultice of daisy leaves; Lichenfur has been complaining of back pain. And you’d better do some burdock root. I think a few of the rat bites will need another dose.”
“Right, Echosong,” Frecklepaw meowed happily, racing off toward the medicine cat’s den.
Echosong watched her go, then headed to the waterside for a drink. Leafstar followed her and hesitated for a moment as the medicine cat lapped.
“Do you trust Frecklepaw to work without you to keep an eye on her?” she asked eventually.
The young silver tabby turned to her, scattering shining drops from her whiskers. “Oh, yes. Frecklepaw knows what she’s doing. She—”
Echosong broke off at the sound of her name being called. Frecklepaw had popped her head outside the den.
“We’re really low on tansy,” she reported. “And if Lichenfur has a bad back, she’ll probably need some.”
“You’re right; thanks for spotting that,” the medicine cat replied.
“I could look for some while I’m out training,” Frecklepaw offered.