Dawn

Dustpelt and Mousefur flattened their bellies to the ground, ready to make a dash for the kit.

“Wait!” Brambleclaw ordered. “It’s too dangerous.”

The Clan held its position.

Tallpoppy began to struggle through the mass of ShadowClan cats to reach her kit, but one of the RiverClan queens was closer. Dawnflower leaped onto the Thunderpath and scooped the kit out of the way of the monster. She carried it back to the verge, dropped it on the grass, and began licking it roughly.

Suddenly she stopped and swiped her tongue around her lips in confusion as she realized the kit was not her own. She glanced self-consciously at her Clanmates as Tallpoppy bounded over and snatched up her kit. Leafpaw tensed, hoping Tallpoppy wasn’t offended by the RiverClan queen’s intervention. But her eyes were brimming with gratitude, and she dipped her head to Dawnflower before carrying her kit away.

“That’s where Feathertail rescued me from the fence stuff.” Squirrelpaw pointed with her nose to the shiny prickly thread that hung between the wooden posts. The Thunderpath was behind them now, and Leafpaw’s paws had finally stopped shaking. She was grateful to her sister for distracting her with stories of her first journey here. “While the others were busy arguing about what to do,” Squirrelpaw went on, “Feathertail rubbed my fur with some chewed-up dock leaves and I slipped out like a fish.”

“You left half your pelt behind, though,” Stormfur reminded her, and Squirrelpaw swatted him playfully with her forepaw in reply.

There seemed to be no danger here, no fresh scents of Twolegs or dogs; just lots of sheep that grazed noisily, paying little attention to the cats. The cats spread out across the meadow, each Clan keeping to itself. Only Crowpaw, Tawnypelt, Brambleclaw, Squirrelpaw, and Stormfur broke away from their Clanmates, taking turns hurrying up and down the line, watching for stragglers.

Tallstar trekked wearily along. Onewhisker had not left his side all day. The other leaders glanced at the elderly WindClan cat from time to time, clearly worried.

“We should find a place to rest,” Barkface advised as the sky darkened and a chill breeze ruffled the cats’ fur.

“There’s a copse up ahead,” Firestar meowed. “We could find shelter there.”

The other leaders nodded, and the cats climbed to the top of the sloping field and padded into the wood. Leafpaw sank gratefully onto a pile of moss.

“I smell fox,” Blackstar warned.

“The scent is stale,” Leopardstar observed, scenting the air.

“But it might come back while we’re sleeping,” Mudclaw meowed.

“The Clans should all sleep together,” called Dawnflower, reaching out with her tail to stop her tom kit, a plump, round-faced tabby, from wandering after a woodlouse. “Lie down, Tumblekit,” she scolded.

“The kits and queen, should sleep in the center,” Onewhisker suggested. “They’ll be safest there.” He glanced at Tallstar.

“The oldest cats should join them.”

“Very well,” Blackstar agreed. “Each Clan will post two guards to keep watch.”

Leafpaw padded over to Sorreltail, grateful for the shelter of the bracken. Ferncloud should sleep soundly tonight, she decided, with four Clans and thick undergrowth to keep Birchkit warm. The woods were very quiet, the frosty silence broken only by the hooting of an owl. It wasn’t home, and the jumbled scents of four different Clans made Leafpaw’s nose twitch, but she felt safe enough to curl up next to Cinderpelt and go to sleep.

Leafpaw slowly grew used to dealing with Thunderpaths as they trekked toward the setting sun. The Clans still crossed separately, but the queens watched out for each other’s kits now, having seen how easily the youngest cats were confused by the noise and the stench of the monsters. Like cobwebs in the rain, the Clan boundaries were beginning to dissolve.

“We should reach the mountains this evening,” Brambleclaw announced as Leafpaw did her morning rounds of the Clan, checking for injuries or signs of infection.

“Are we that close?” She stared up at the peaks, which had grown from a tiny line on the horizon into a forbidding mass of stone. She shivered at the sight of the snow that capped the highest crags. Some of the cats had already begun coughing, awakening Leafpaw’s fear of greencough, the illness that could wipe out an entire Clan in leaf-bare.

“Leafpaw!” Firestar called. “Are you up for a little hunting?”

“Yes, please,” she replied eagerly. She had been so busy tending to the Clan, padding cuts with cobweb, soothing scratches with dock, trying to make the best of what herbs she and Cinderpelt had found along the way, that she had not hunted in days.

“Go with Brambleclaw and Squirrelpaw, then,” Firestar ordered. “See if you can bring back a mouse or two.”

Squirrelpaw bounded to her side. “Which way shall we go?”

“There should be plenty of mice in that field over there.”

Brambleclaw pointed with his tail to an open meadow beyond the hedgerow.

“Come on then,” Squirrelpaw urged.