MIDNIGHT

“The drought will not last forever, and you will have water in your territory soon. We will discuss this again at the next Gathering,” Leopardstar meowed.

“I’m sure they will,” Greystripe muttered darkly. “If I know Leopardstar, she’ll make WindClan pay for that water somehow.”

“Let us hope that StarClan have sent rain by then,” Tallstar meowed, stepping back to let Leopardstar address the Gathering.

Leafpaw’s interest quickened as she wondered if they were about to hear what had been troubling Mistyfoot earlier, but at first the RiverClan leader’s news was unremarkable: a litter of kits had been born, and Twolegs had left rubbish by the river, attracting rats that had been killed by Blackclaw and Stormfur. Greystripe looked ready to burst with pride when his son was praised, while Stormfur scuffed the ground with his paws, his ears flat with embarrassment.

At last Leopardstar meowed, “Some of you have met our apprentices Hawkpaw and Mothpaw. They are now warriors, and will be known as Hawkfrost and Mothwing.”

The cats around Leafpaw craned their necks to see the warriors the RiverClan leader had named; Leafpaw turned to look too, but she could not distinguish them among the throng. The traditional welcoming murmur for all new warriors broke out at the announcement, but to Leafpaw’s surprise it was mingled with a few disconcerting growls, which she realised were coming from RiverClan cats.

Leopardstar glared down from the rock and stilled the noise with a flick of her tail. “Do I hear protests?” she spat out angrily. “Very well, I will tell you everything, to stop rumours flying once and for all.

“Six moons ago, at the beginning of newleaf, a rogue cat came to RiverClan, with her two surviving kits. Her name was Sasha, and the birth of her kits had weakened her so much that she needed help with hunting and caring for them. For a time she thought of joining the Clan, and we would have welcomed her as a warrior, but in the end she decided the warrior code was not the way of life for her. She left us, but her kits chose to stay.”

A flood of protest surged up from the cats around the rock. One voice rose clear above the yowling. “Rogue cats? Taken into a Clan? Has RiverClan gone mad?”

Greystripe shot a questioning glance at Mistyfoot, who shrugged.

“They are good warriors,” she murmured defensively.

Leopardstar made no attempt to quiet the clamour, only staring stonily down until it died away. “They are strong young cats and they have learned their warrior skills well,” she meowed when she could make herself heard. “They have sworn to defend their Clan at the cost of their lives, just as all of you have sworn.” With a glance at Blackstar, she added, “Were not some of ShadowClan’s warriors rogues once?” Before he could reply, her gaze swivelled to Firestar. “And if a kittypet can become Clan leader, why should rogues not be welcome as warriors?”

“She has a point there,” Greystripe admitted.

Firestar dipped his head toward Leopardstar. “True,” he mewed. “I will be glad to see these cats fulfil their promise as loyal members of their Clan.”

Leopardstar nodded in reply; his words had clearly appeased her.

“Is that what was worrying you, Mistyfoot?” Greystripe asked. “It’s no big deal, if they’ve settled down well.”

“I know.” Mistyfoot sighed. “And I know I’m the last cat to criticise any warrior for being born outside the Clan, but . . .”

“You do know that Mistyfoot’s mother was your old leader, Bluestar?” Feathertail whispered to Leafpaw.

Leafpaw nodded.

“But Leopardstar hasn’t told you everything,” Mistyfoot went on. The blue-grey warrior broke off as Leopardstar began to speak again.

“Mothwing has chosen a special place within our Clan,” she explained. “Mudfur, our medicine cat, is growing old, and the time has come for him to take an apprentice.”

This time her voice was drowned completely by the howls of protest. The three other leaders on top of the Great Rock drew together for an anxious conference. Tallstar was clearly unwilling to speak out after Leopardstar had agreed to give him access to the river, and in the end it was Blackstar who replied. “I’m ready to admit that a rogue can learn enough of our code to become a warrior,” he rasped. “But a medicine cat? What do rogues know of StarClan? Will StarClan even accept her?”

“That’s what’s bothering me,” Mistyfoot muttered to Greystripe.

Leafpaw felt a tingle spread through her fur. She remembered her own conviction, back when she had been little more than a kit, that it was right for her to heal and comfort her Clan mates, and to interpret the signs of StarClan for them. Had Mothwing felt the same? Leafpaw wondered. Could she have felt the same, if she was not Clan-born? Even Yellowfang, the medicine cat before Cinderpelt, had been forest-born, though ThunderClan had not been the Clan of her birth.

Voices all around the clearing echoed Blackstar’s questions. At the base of the rock an old brown tom heaved himself to his paws and waited for quiet; it was Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat.

As the noise died down, he raised his voice. “Mothwing is a talented young cat,” he meowed. “But because she was born a rogue, I am waiting for a sign from StarClan that she is the right medicine cat for RiverClan. Once I have received that sign, I will take her to Mothermouth at the half-moon time. If I act without the blessing of StarClan, then you can all complain—but not until then.” He flopped back down again, his whiskers twitching irritably.

The crowd had parted so that Leafpaw could make out the young cat crouched beside him. She was startlingly beautiful, with glowing amber eyes in a triangular face, and a long golden pelt with rippling tabby stripes.

“Is that Mothwing?” she whispered to Feathertail.

“That’s right.” Feathertail gave Leafpaw’s ear a quick lick. “When the leaders have finished I’ll take you to meet her, if you like. She’s quite friendly, once you get to know her.”

Leafpaw nodded eagerly. She was sure that Mudfur would soon receive the sign that Mothwing could be accepted. There were no other medicine cat apprentices in the forest, and she looked forward to making friends with another one—someone she could talk to about her training and all the mysteries of StarClan that were slowly being revealed to her.

The protests had died down after Mudfur’s speech, and as Leopardstar had no more to say Tallstar brought the meeting to an end.

Feathertail leaped to her paws. “Come on, before we all have to leave.”

As Leafpaw followed the RiverClan warrior across the clearing, she felt sympathy already for Mothwing. Judging by the response of the other cats tonight, it was easy to imagine the hard path that lay ahead of her before she would be fully accepted by her Clan.

As the Gathering drew to a close and the cats began to separate into their own Clans, Brambleclaw looked around for his sister, Tawnypelt. He had not seen her, and wondered if she had not been chosen to come this time.

He saw Firestar halt in front of a young tabby tom who was sitting near Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat.

“Congratulations, Hawkfrost,” Firestar meowed. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine warrior.”

So that’s Hawkfrost, Brambleclaw thought with interest, pricking up his ears. The rogue-born RiverClan cat.

“Thank you, Firestar,” the new warrior replied. “I’ll do my best to serve my Clan.”

“I’m sure you will.” Firestar touched Hawkfrost on the shoulder with the tip of his tail in a gesture of encouragement. “Pay no attention to all the fuss. It’ll all be forgotten in a moon.”

He walked on, and Hawkfrost raised his head to look after him. Brambleclaw couldn’t quite suppress a shiver when he glimpsed the tom’s eyes, an eerie ice blue that seemed to stare through the ThunderClan leader as if he were made of smoke.

“Great StarClan!” he murmured aloud. “I wouldn’t like to meet him in battle.”

“Meet who?”

Brambleclaw spun around to see Tawnypelt standing behind him. “There you are!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Answering her question, he added, “Hawkfrost. He looks dangerous.”

Tawnypelt shrugged. “So are you dangerous. I’m dangerous. It’s what warriors are for. This whole full-moon thing could be broken by the slash of a claw—and has been before.”

Brambleclaw nodded. “True. So how are you, Tawnypelt? How’s life in ShadowClan?”

“Pretty good.” Tawnypelt hesitated, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Look, there’s something I wanted to ask you about.” Brambleclaw sat down and pricked his ears expectantly. “The other night I had this weird dream. . . .”

“What?” He couldn’t bite back the exclamation, and Tawnypelt’s green eyes flew wide with alarm. “No, go on,” he meowed, forcing himself to be calm. “Tell me about the dream.”

“I was in a clearing in the forest,” Tawnypelt explained, “but I didn’t recognise exactly where it was. There was a cat sitting on a rock—a black cat; I think it was Nightstar. You know, ShadowClan’s leader before our father? I . . . I guess if StarClan were going to send a cat to ShadowClan, it wouldn’t be Tigerstar.”

“What did he say to you?” Brambleclaw asked hoarsely, already knowing what his sister’s answer would be.

“He told me that there was some great trouble coming to the forest, and a new prophecy had to be fulfilled. I had been chosen to meet with three other cats at the new moon, and listen to what midnight would tell us.”