Dawn

Squirrelpaw felt an uncomfortable pang of guilt that their long and difficult journey had kept them safer and better fed than the cats they left behind. The sun was sinking in a clear blue sky, and a chill wind swayed the branches above them, tugging at the last stubborn leaves. She paused, listening. A few birds chirped a muted chorus, but in the distance she heard monsters all the time, humming like angry bees. Their sticky stench hung in the air and clung to her fur, and Squirrelpaw realized that she had returned to a forest that no longer smelled or sounded like home. It had become another place, one where cats could not survive. No place left for cats. You stay, monsters tear you too, or you starve with no prey. Midnight’s prophecy was already coming true.

The pale gray bulk of Sunningrocks loomed beyond the trees, and Squirrelpaw made out the shapes of cats moving over the stone.

A yowl startled her, and she saw white and ginger fur flashing through the undergrowth. A heartbeat later, Sorreltail and Brackenfur burst out of the bushes in front of them.

“I thought I could smell a familiar scent,” Sorreltail meowed breathlessly.

Squirrelpaw stared at the two warriors. They were as disheveled as Cinderpelt, and beside her, Brambleclaw’s eyes were wide with shock as his gaze flicked over their gaunt bodies.

“We didn’t think you were coming back,” Brackenfur meowed.

“Of course we were coming back!” Squirrelpaw protested.

“Where have you been?” Sorreltail demanded.

“A long way away,” Stormfur murmured. “Farther than any forest cat has ever been.”

Brackenfur glared suspiciously at the RiverClan warrior.

“Are you on your way home?”

“I need to talk to Graystripe first.”

Brackenfur narrowed his eyes.

“Let him come,” Cinderpelt advised. “These cats have a lot to tell us.”

Brackenfur’s whiskers twitched, but he dipped his head and turned to lead the way through the trees toward the rocks.

“Come on,” Sorreltail mewed, padding after Brackenfur.

“The others will want to see you.”

Squirrelpaw fell into step beside her, trying to ignore the anxiety that gnawed her stomach like hunger pangs. It was starting to look as if their journey had been in vain, and hearing what Midnight had to tell them had come too late to help the Clans. She prayed that the dying warrior’s sign would be enough to save them. Glancing sideways at Sorreltail, she saw that the tortoiseshell warrior’s tail was drooping and her gaze rested wearily on the ground.

“Cinderpelt told me about Leafpaw,” Squirrelpaw murmured.

“I couldn’t do anything to save her,” Sorreltail answered dully. “I don’t know where they’ve taken her. I wanted to look, but we moved camp the next day, and there hasn’t been a chance.” She paused and looked at Squirrelpaw, her eyes flashing with desperate hope. “Did you see her while you were traveling? Do you know where she is?”

Squirrelpaw’s heart twisted. “No, we haven’t seen her.”

The strong, familiar scent of ThunderClan filled the air.

Squirrelpaw longed to rush forward to greet her Clanmates, but instinct warned her to approach them warily. She stood still for a moment, hoping that her thudding heart couldn’t be heard by every cat on Sunningrocks.

The smooth stone slope, lined with gullies and small hollows, rose ahead of her. Trees bordered one side, and at the far edge, where the slope fell steeply away, Squirrelpaw could see the tips of more trees, following the river as far as Fourtrees—or the place where Fourtrees had been. The cold stone, blasted by the leaf-bare winds, was a chilly resting place for the Clan. Squirrelpaw looked at Sorreltail’s paws and saw dried blood staining the white fur around her claws.

She remembered how the rocks in the mountains had grazed her own paws while they were staying with the Tribe of Rushing Water.

There was no central clearing here for cats to gather, as there had been in the ravine. Instead, the cats were huddled in small groups; Squirrelpaw spotted the dark pelt of her mentor, Dustpelt, sheltering beneath an overhang, with Mousefur next to him. He seemed much smaller than when she had left, his bony shoulders jutting out from beneath his ungroomed fur. Frostfur and Speckletail, two of the Clan elders, were crouched in the deepest gully. Even in the shadows, Squirrelpaw could see that their pelts were matted and dull, speckled with scraps of moss and dried mud. Farther down, where the gully widened, the pale gray shape of Dustpelt’s mate, Ferncloud, was hunched over her two remaining kits.

“It’s more sheltered down there,” Cinderpelt explained, following Squirrelpaw’s gaze. “But the queens still feel very exposed after being used to a nursery made of brambles. The apprentices make their nests in that hollow over there,” she went on, lifting her muzzle to point at a dip in the rocks.

Squirrelpaw recognized the brown fur of Shrewpaw, one of Ferncloud’s first litter, fluffed up against the cold.