TWILIGHT

Firestar leaned over and licked up the seeds with one swipe of his tongue. “Thank you, Leafpool. This’ll teach me not to take on two warriors at once!”

“You should sleep now,” Leafpool meowed.

As she finished speaking, she heard the sound of cats gathering in the clearing below the ledge, and Squirrelflight’s voice calling, “Firestar!”

The Clan leader glanced at Leafpool with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “There goes my nap. Brambleclaw’s patrol must be back from WindClan.”

He rose to his paws and limped across the den. Leafpool followed him. Excitement rushed through her like a bubbling stream. She wanted to fling herself down the rocks and hurl questions at Squirrelflight. Had the patrol seen Crowfeather? What did he say? Had he been hurt in the battle? Had he mentioned her … ?

She stopped abruptly at the entrance to her father’s den. If she asked just one of these questions, Squirrelflight would want to know why she was so interested in the young WindClan warrior. And even her sister wouldn’t understand if she knew that Leafpool had broken the code of a medicine cat and fallen in love.

Brambleclaw and the rest of the patrol were waiting in the clearing, while more of the Clan cats gathered around them to hear their news. Leafpool jumped down the tumble of broken rocks and paused, feeling puzzled as she caught a powerful wave of feeling from her sister. Squirrelflight was in even more turmoil than she had been after the quarrel with Brambleclaw, making Leafpool’s fur bristle with a whirl of agitation, fear, and sympathy.

Leafpool slid between Dustpelt and Mousefur until she reached Squirrelflight’s side. “What’s the matter?” she murmured in her sister’s ear. “What happened?”

Squirrelflight’s claws scraped furiously at the earth in front of her. “WindClan treated us like we were sworn enemies!” she hissed.

Leafpool turned to listen to Brambleclaw, who was reporting to Firestar.

“Webfoot looked as though he’d like to claw our fur off,” the tabby warrior meowed. “You would never have thought we were the same cats who helped WindClan fight off Mudclaw a couple of nights ago.”

“But did you find out about Onestar?” Firestar asked. “He is Onestar now, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes, he’s got his nine lives all right, but his Clan don’t seem to think we’re allies anymore.”

“I told you,” Ashfur broke in. “They have to show us they’re strong enough to stand on their own now.”

Brambleclaw shook his head. “I think it was more than that.”

“And you really can’t imagine what the problem is?” Dustpelt meowed, coming forward to stand beside his Clan leader. “Come on, Brambleclaw. You’re hardly likely to be the most popular cat in WindClan just now, not after Hawkfrost saved your life at the end of the battle. Onestar probably thinks you and Hawkfrost were working together all along.”

“Mouse dung!” Brambleclaw snapped. “Onestar forgave all the cats who fought against him, including Hawkfrost. And every cat knows I fought for WindClan. Onestar can’t have any quarrel with me.”

Leafpool glanced at Squirrelflight; once her sister would have leapt to Brambleclaw’s defence, but now she was just staring at him with narrowed eyes.

Firestar looked from Brambleclaw to Dustpelt and then back again. “I hope Ashfur’s right,” he mewed at last, “and this is just an example of WindClan trying to prove how strong they are. But I don’t think we can trust Webfoot to report on what’s happening in his Clan. I’ll have to visit WindClan myself once my shoulder is better.”

Leafpool exchanged a startled glance with her sister. “He should wait for the Gathering,” she mewed quietly. “He could talk to Onestar there.”

“You try telling him that,” Squirrelflight murmured back.

Leafpool knew she couldn’t. Firestar’s friendship with Onestar went so far back that none of the Clan cats, even those who had grown up with Firestar, would dare tell him he couldn’t visit his old friend. Leafpool heard Mousefur mutter, “Did you ever hear such a mousebrained idea? A day-old kit could see that WindClan wants to be left alone.”

Firestar was about to go back to his den when Brambleclaw stopped him. “Wait, we haven’t told you about the badger yet.”

“What badger?” Firestar turned back, his green eyes flashing with alarm. “On our territory?”

“Not any more,” Brambleclaw replied, and he described how the patrol had tracked the badger by its scent.

“It was digging out a set in an old foxhole,” Rainwhisker added. “And there were four of them. Three cubs and their mother.”

“The cubs were too small to fight,” meowed Ashfur. “But the mother gave us enough trouble.” He twisted around to lick a raw patch on his hindquarters.

Squirrelflight remained silent as Brambleclaw finished explaining how the badgers had been driven off. Leafpool picked up mingled feelings of fear, defensiveness, and pity. She could understand why. ThunderClan had been driven from their home too. But this is our territory now, she reminded herself. We can’t share it with badgers, especially not four of them.

Firestar looked around at his Clan. “Dustpelt, take a patrol up there, please, and fill in the hole. Keep at least one of the warriors on watch in case the badger comes back.”

Dustpelt beckoned to Rainwhisker, who would be able to show him the way to the half-built set, and signalled Brightheart and Cloudtail to follow.

Firestar watched them go. “Every patrol will have to watch out for badgers in the future,” he warned. “This family could come back, or more of them might be trying to settle. If one badger is trying to find a new home, there could be others.” Grimly he added, “We must make it clear they’re not welcome here.”

Moonlight glimmered on the rippling stream, and the warm scents of newleaf drifted across Leafpool’s fur as she stood gazing into WindClan’s territory. Suddenly a lean, dark shape raced down the bank—Crowfeather. He plunged into the stream with a glittering splash as moon-filled drops spun away from his paws. Water brushed his belly fur; then Crowfeather was pulling himself onto the bank beside Leafpool. His scent flooded over her.

“Crowfeather …” she murmured.

“What?”

Leafpool opened her eyes to see Cinderpelt poking her head out of her den. “Did you say something?” the medicine cat mewed.

Leafpool sprang out of her nest and gave herself a shake to dislodge scraps of moss from her pelt. “No, Cinderpelt.” The last thing she wanted was to be asked what she had been dreaming about. “Do you need me to do something?”

“I’ve just been checking our stores of herbs,” Cinderpelt meowed. “Some of them are getting very low, and—”

“I’ll go and gather some,” Leafpool offered. “It’s almost newleaf, so there’s bound to be something growing. Squirrelflight told me where she saw some coltsfoot.”

“Good,” mewed Cinderpelt. “We could do with some marigold or horsetail too. We used nearly every scrap after the battle. And anything else you see that would be useful.”

“Right, Cinderpelt.” Leafpool’s paws itched to carry her out of the camp so she could be alone with her thoughts. Waving her tail in farewell, she headed across the clearing and through the thorn tunnel.

The sun had not yet cleared the tops of the trees, and clammy, dew-laden grass brushed Leafpool’s belly fur, but she scarcely noticed the chill. Her paws tingled with excitement, and she ran faster until she was racing through the trees. The gurgle of water brought her to a halt. She realised her paws had brought her to the stream that marked the border with WindClan, close to the lake where trees grew in WindClan territory too. The place was hauntingly familiar. She had stood here in her dream, and Crowfeather had come to her.

The bank was silent and deserted, the trees casting long shadows over the water. Leafpool stood still, her gaze devouring the undergrowth on the far side of the stream. She half hoped, half dreaded what she might see. A WindClan patrol would be hostile if they found her so close to the border, but if Crowfeather appeared … But she had no business hoping to meet Crowfeather. She was a medicine cat, and medicine cats could not fall in love.

She tasted the air and picked up her own Clan’s scent markers, and those of WindClan from the opposite bank, but not the scent that threw her into such turmoil. A pang of disappointment burned through her, and she knew some part of her had expected him to be waiting for her.

“Stupid furball,” she muttered. “It was only a dream.”

She stiffened as she heard voices from further downstream; a heartbeat later ThunderClan scent drifted around her. She didn’t want to meet a patrol this far away from the camp. They would ask what she was doing, and she was too confused to explain properly. She glanced around. The only cover close by was a holly bush with branches that swept the ground; Leafpool squeezed under it just as the ThunderClan patrol came into sight.

Peering out between the prickly leaves, Leafpool saw that Brackenfur was leading the patrol. He padded past with Sootfur and Whitepaw behind him, then paused to ask his apprentice what she could scent. Leafpool froze.

“WindClan cats,” Whitepaw replied after a moment. “And ThunderClan, of course, and I think a fox went by a while ago—probably yesterday. No sign of any badgers, though.”

“Well done,” meowed Brackenfur. “If you go on like this, you’ll be a warrior in no time.”

Whitepaw fluffed out her tail with pride as she followed her mentor and Sootfur upstream. Leafpool relaxed; the apprentice hadn’t singled her out from the other ThunderClan scents. When the patrol had disappeared she began to wriggle out from her hiding place, only to be flooded by another, crashingly familiar scent.

“Leafpool, whatever are you doing under there?”