Bramblestar’s Storm

“We can only fit one pelt in here,” Lionblaze meowed, kneading at the fluffy folds with his paws to pack it down harder.

“Then let’s leave the others and go,” Bramblestar responded. He was beginning to wonder if this mission had been a good idea. I just want to get back to camp.

Nudging the tub with their paws, the cats managed to make their way across the kitchen to the den’s entrance. Lionblaze took the lead to jump onto the fence, with Poppyfrost and Cinderheart following.

I guess I get to swim again, Bramblestar thought with a sigh. Taking a deep breath, he plunged into the water and began swimming behind the tub, pushing it along with his nose. The current tugged at him, while unseen things below the surface swiped at his furiously paddling legs. He had to push away the hideous memory of Lilypaw trapped in the ivy around the oak tree, and Seedpaw’s pathetic drowned body lying above the waterline.

Bramblestar saw that the ground rose steeply on the other side of the Thunderpath, just beyond the row of Twoleg dens, so he pushed the tub in that direction, toward the closest stretch of dry ground. His Clanmates kept pace with him along fences and across the roofs of drowned monsters.

I wish I’d never agreed to this, Bramblestar told himself as he struggled to keep his aching legs moving. I hate swimming, and I can’t see why RiverClan cats would ever want to get their paws wet.

At last he made it to the sloping ground and staggered out of the water onto the slippery, muddy grass. While he stood there, panting, his Clanmates raced over and helped him to haul up the tub that held the pelt. It was awkward to move, and tipped to one side, spilling part of the pelt out onto the ground.

“Now it’s all muddy,” Poppyfrost murmured, looking disappointed as she tried to brush off the sticky streaks.

“It’s still more or less dry,” Lionblaze pointed out, shoving the folds back into the tub as fast as he could. “It’ll be fine.”

“We did it!” Cinderheart exclaimed, her eyes glowing.

Glancing around, Bramblestar realized they still had a stretch of water to cross before they could reach the lakeside and follow the shore back to their camp. At least we can keep our paws dry for a while on this bank, he thought, bounding up to the highest point to get a good view of their surroundings.

On the other side of the shallow ridge, he saw a Twoleg den built into the slope. He was about to turn away again when he heard the thin wail of a cat. Looking more closely, he saw a dark brown she-cat pawing at something on the ground, close to the wall of the den. Her movements were frantic, matching the noise she was making. Bramblestar tried to hear what she was saying, but the wind in his ears meant he couldn’t make out the words.

Oh, no! he thought. Another kittypet that needs rescuing! Could this one be stuck in the mud?

For a moment Bramblestar was tempted to turn away and pretend he hadn’t seen. But he knew that the sight and sound of the distressed cat would haunt him if he refused to help. Bramblestar raced down the slope until he reached the Twoleg den, and approached the kittypet. “What’s wrong? Can I help?” he called.

To his astonishment the kittypet swung around to face him with her lips drawn back in a snarl. “Stay out of this!” she meowed, giving him a shove in the chest to emphasize her words.

Bramblestar stared at her. The she-cat’s amber gaze met his without flinching. She’s bold, for a kittypet! he thought, admiring her courage in spite of her hostility.

The faint sound of yowling drew Bramblestar’s attention to the den. At ground level there was a narrow opening covered by transparent Twoleg stuff. The yowls were coming from a gray tabby tom who had pressed his face against the transparent barrier and was caterwauling for help.

“There must be a way to get him out of there,” Bramblestar mewed, pawing at the gap.

“What would you know about it, flea-pelt?” the kittypet hissed.

Bramblestar felt his shoulder fur begin to bristle and consciously forced it to lie flat again. She’s asking for a clawed ear!

“I’ve seen stuff like this before,” he replied, remembering the way that he and the others had got into the Twoleg den from the ledge while they were rescuing Minty. Experimentally he pressed his forepaws against the top of the transparent barrier, and let out a grunt of satisfaction as it swung inward, opening a narrow gap at the bottom.

But the space wasn’t wide enough for the tabby tom to get out.

“Press harder,” the she-cat ordered, adding her weight to Bramblestar’s. “Frankie, you push from the bottom.”