Bramblestar’s Storm

Bramblestar didn’t reply until he had padded into the center of the clearing and the Clan had gathered around him. “There’s still a lot of damage inside their territory.” He answered Cloudtail’s question first. “But their camp looks more or less back to normal.”

“The ones we saw are terribly thin,” Brackenfur put in. “I’d guess prey’s not running too well for them.”

“Good,” Spiderleg meowed, while Cloudtail gave a satisfied lash of his tail.

Bramblestar felt a claw-scratch of uneasiness at his cats’ pleasure in the problems of a rival Clan.

“What about the trespassing?” Mousewhisker demanded. “What did Blackstar have to say for himself?”

“The ShadowClan cats insist that they crossed the border by accident,” Bramblestar told him. “They advised us to renew our scent markers.”

A chorus of indignation broke out. Whitewing’s voice rose above the clamor. “That’s mouse-brained! I renewed those scent markers myself yesterday!”

“We all know that,” Squirrelflight assured her. “And ShadowClan knows perfectly well that there’s nothing wrong with our scent markers. But they’ll never admit that they trespassed.”

“Then they need to be taught a lesson,” Thornclaw growled.

Several of his Clanmates caterwauled their agreement.

Bramblestar shook his head. “No cat will set paw over the border to attack ShadowClan,” he ordered, even though a prickling in his paws was urging him to disobey his own command. “Squirrelflight will organize extra patrols to refresh the markers, and that will make it clear to ShadowClan that we won’t tolerate any more invasions.”

Ignoring the mutters of protest, he turned away. On the other side of the hollow, the bramble screen that covered the entrance to the medicine cats’ den was swept aside. Jayfeather padded out, followed a heartbeat later by Briarlight, who dragged herself forward with her front paws, her useless back legs trailing behind her.

Bramblestar winced when he saw how frail the young she-cat looked. It was clear that she hadn’t fully recovered from the bout of greencough that every cat had expected would kill her. Her typical cheerfulness was muted, and she seemed to be using every scrap of her strength to keep her forepaws moving.

“Briarlight!” Cinderheart bounded across to her. “Come over here, into this patch of sunshine.”

The rest of the Clan huddled around her, the trouble with ShadowClan temporarily forgotten. Briarlight was popular; every cat admired her courage and was glad to see her leaving the medicine cats’ den after her long illness.

“Look here,” Purdy meowed, padding over when Briarlight had flopped down in a sunny spot. A mouse dangled from his jaws. “Let’s share this mouse, an’ I’ll tell you how I once chased a dog out of my Upwalker’s garden.”

“No thanks, Purdy,” Briarlight mewed. “I’m not really hungry. But I’d love to hear the story,” she added hastily, as the old cat looked disappointed.

“I’ve collected some thrush feathers for your nest,” Snowpaw announced, bouncing up with the feathers in his jaws and one or two clinging to his pelt. “They’re really soft. I’ll go in now and make it all cozy for you.”

“Thank you,” Briarlight called hoarsely after the apprentice as he dashed away.

“You’re doing brilliantly, little one,” Millie praised her daughter, stroking the young cat’s shoulders with her tail. “It won’t be long before you’re feeling in top form again.”

“I guess.” Briarlight sighed. She rested her chin on her paws and watched Millie walk over to the fresh-kill pile, where Graystripe was pulling feathers from a blackbird.

Bramblestar padded over to Briarlight. “Is something up?” he asked. “Can I help?”

Briarlight twitched her ears. “I doubt it.” She lifted her head and looked at Bramblestar with sky-colored eyes. “I’m fed up with being treated as if I’m special!” she confessed. “I just want to be like every other cat.”

“What?” Bramblestar tried to sound amused. “You want to be like Purdy? Are you going to tell me a story? Or maybe you want to be like Spiderleg, too shy to speak to Daisy even though she’s been the mother of his kits? Or perhaps you want to be Dewpaw, and live in the apprentices’ den with your fur smelling of mouse bile? We’re all different,” he reminded her briskly.

Briarlight let out a small mrrow of laughter. “I know,” she mewed. “But sometimes it’s really difficult to be Briarlight.”

Bramblestar gazed down at her, feeling helpless. He turned at the sound of paw steps. Leafpool had returned to the camp. Her pelt was dusty and there was dirt wedged under her claws from tending the herbs by the Twoleg nest.

“Everything’s tidy over there,” she reported to Jayfeather. “A little rain would help the catmint to grow.”

“Jayfeather, I’m tired!” Briarlight called. “I’d like to go back to the den, please.”

“But you’ve only been outside for a couple of heartbeats,” Jayfeather objected.

“It’s not good for you to be shut up in there all by yourself,” Leafpool added.

“I want to go back now,” Briarlight insisted.