TWILIGHT

Leafpool scrambled the rest of the way out of the holly bush and turned around to meet the curious gaze of her friend Sorreltail. “Looking for berries,” she mewed feebly.

“Holly berries?” Sorreltail’s amber eyes stretched wide in surprise. “I thought they were poisonous.”

“Yes, they are. I was … er … looking for different berries.”

Sorreltail’s tail curled up, but to Leafpool’s relief she didn’t ask any more questions. Her eyes were shining, even though she looked tired. “There’s something I have to tell you, I think,” she meowed.

Leafpool stared at her friend in horror. Had she guessed about Crowfeather? “There are good herbs around here,” she began, struggling not to show her panic. She had to make Sorreltail believe she was here on medicine cat business—no other reason. “I always come here when—”

“Leafpool, what are you meowing about? I’m expecting kits!”

Leafpool saw pride and excitement and a flicker of fear in Sorreltail’s expression. Mousebrain! she scolded herself. Call yourself a medicine cat?

A purr of happiness rose inside her. “Are they Brackenfur’s?” The tortoiseshell and golden brown warriors had been inseparable ever since they arrived in the new territory.

Sorreltail nodded. “I haven’t told him yet; I wanted to be certain first. Oh, Leafpool, I just know he’ll make a wonderful father.”

“I’m sure he will.” Leafpool pressed her muzzle against her friend’s. “And you’ll be a wonderful mother.”

“I hope so.” Sorreltail ducked her head. “I’m a bit scared, but I know I’ll be fine if I’ve got you to look after me.”

“I’ll do my best,” Leafpool mewed, trying not to squirm under the warmth of her friend’s praise. Right now, she was as far from being a good medicine cat as she could be. “Just think, Sorreltail, you’ll be the first cat to bear kits for ThunderClan in our new home! The first cat to use the new nursery.”

Sorreltail blinked happily. The sound of a pawstep behind her made Leafpool turn; Brackenfur had come back to see what was keeping his mate.

“Are you OK?” he asked, padding up to her and giving her ears a lick.

“I’m fine, Brackenfur,” Sorreltail replied. “Just a bit tired.”

“Come a bit further,” Brackenfur meowed, pointing upstream with his tail. “We’ve found a nice sunny spot under a tree. You can rest and we’ll see how Whitepaw’s hunting skills are coming on.”

His gentle care of Sorreltail made Leafpool certain that he had guessed her secret. It wouldn’t be a secret for much longer.

Sorreltail leaned against his shoulder for a moment, then touched her nose to Leafpool’s. “Bye, Leafpool. I hope you find those berries.”

Leafpool watched the two cats head upstream, their pelts brushing, until they disappeared among the trees. There was a strange ache in her heart, half joy and half sorrow. She was happy for Sorreltail, but she envied her too. She and Brackenfur had entered a private world where a medicine cat could never follow.

Leafpool had always known that, ever since she first became apprenticed to Cinderpelt. But she had never thought about what it would mean. She had never realised one cat could long for another the way she longed for Crowfeather with every hair on her pelt. And now Sorreltail was depending on Leafpool to take care of her when her kits were born. Her duties kept her busy enough already. There was no room for forbidden feelings.

“You’re a medicine cat,” she told herself. “And Crowfeather’s a warrior from another Clan. So stop thinking about him. Stop dreaming.”

Head down, she padded away from the stream without looking back at the WindClan border, and went to search for Squirrelflight’s coltsfoot.

CHAPTER 4 (#ulink_dcb97402-fe37-5e6e-9700-8235fbb072f0)

Squirrelflight used her claws to tear moss from the roots of an oak tree and began patting it into a ball to take back to camp. A quarter moon had passed since the battle with Mudclaw and his followers, and the Clan was beginning to recover. Wounds were healing and the memory of Mudclaw’s rebellion was fading.

Brambleclaw had started his training sessions, and Sandstorm had insisted that every warrior take a turn with the apprentice duties. Squirrelflight would rather be hunting or exploring than fetching fresh bedding for the elders, but the job wasn’t too boring when you had a friend to share it with.

Casting a mischievous glance at Ashfur, who was gathering moss from another tree nearby, she hooked up her ball with the claws of one paw and hurled it at him. It landed accurately in the middle of his back and disintegrated, covering his pelt with scraps of moss.

Ashfur spun around to face her. “Hey!”

His eyes gleaming with laughter, the grey warrior scooped up his own moss and flung it at Squirrelflight. She dodged behind the tree to avoid it, and crashed straight into Brambleclaw.

“What’s going on?” the tabby tomcat demanded. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting moss for the elders’ bedding,” Squirrelflight replied. Regret for their lost friendship pierced her like a thorn, along with fury that he had to appear at the exact moment she’d stopped working.

Ashfur hurtled around the tree with more moss in his jaws and skidded to a halt when he saw Brambleclaw.

“Collecting bedding? So I see.” Brambleclaw used his tail to flick a scrap of moss from Ashfur’s shoulder. “Carrying it back on your pelt, are you?”

Ashfur put the moss down. “We were only having a bit of fun.”

“Fun?” Brambleclaw snapped. “Wasting time is what I’d call it. Don’t you realise how much there is to do?”

“OK, OK.” Squirrelflight felt her neck fur bristle. “There’s no need to treat us like lazy apprentices.”

“Stop behaving like lazy apprentices, then,” Brambleclaw flashed back at her, a glint of anger in his amber eyes. “Being a warrior means putting the Clan first.”

Squirrelflight’s fury rose like a wave. “Do you think we don’t know that?” she spat. “Who died and made you deputy?”

As soon as the words were out she knew she had said something unbelievably stupid. She wanted to snatch it back, but it was too late.

Brambleclaw’s eyes blazed, but when he spoke his voice was icy calm. “No cat knows whether Greystripe is dead or alive. Do you have any idea what Firestar must be suffering?”

“Of course I do!” Deep inside, Squirrelflight wanted to say she was sorry, but she couldn’t back down when Brambleclaw was being so unfair. “Firestar is my father, for StarClan’s sake! Don’t talk to me like I don’t care.”

“Steady.” Ashfur stepped forward and pressed his muzzle against Squirrelflight’s shoulder.

Squirrelflight struggled to control her anger. “I’d give anything to have Greystripe back.”

“Yes, we know,” Ashfur reassured her. His breath felt warm against her pelt. “Look, Brambleclaw,” he went on, straightening up, “we’ll get the moss, OK? You don’t need to hassle Squirrelflight.”

Brambleclaw twitched his ears. “OK, but be as quick as you can. And when you’ve done that, make sure the elders have had some fresh-kill.” Without waiting for a reply he turned and stalked off towards the camp.

“Feed the elders yourself!” Squirrelflight yowled after him. There was no need for Brambleclaw to behave like this—not unless he was punishing her for being suspicious about Hawkfrost.

If Brambleclaw heard her, he didn’t show it. He just carried on walking until soft green ferns hid him from sight.

“Take it easy,” Ashfur meowed. “He’s just trying to make sure everything gets done. We’re all under pressure, with only one apprentice.”

“He should do more himself then, instead of striding around giving orders,” Squirrelflight grumbled. “If he thinks I’m collecting moss for him, he can think again! I’m going hunting.”

She spun around and raced into the trees. Behind her she heard Ashfur call her name, but she was too furious to slow down. Part of her wanted to launch herself at Brambleclaw and wipe that look of scorn from his face, while part of her was torn apart with guilt for implying that Greystripe was dead. Every time she and Brambleclaw spoke to each other they seemed to plunge deeper into a pit of anger and mistrust. Squirrelflight wondered if anything could put things right between them.

With these troubled thoughts churning in her head she hardly noticed where her flying paws were taking her. Too late she saw a bramble thicket looming up in front of her; she tried to skid to a halt and stumbled headlong into the prickly tendrils.