Hollyleaf’s Story

Hollyleaf battled her way to the middle of the brambles and turned in circles beside the knot of trunks until she had cleared a small, roughly circular space. She clawed at the dry grass to make a nest to lie on, then curled up and tucked her muzzle under her tail. Her belly growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since her morning “hunt” in the underground river, but there was no chance of catching any prey tonight. Hollyleaf pressed her spine against the clutch of bramble trunks, wishing it were Fallen Leaves beside her. Even though he never gave off any warmth, he had been oddly companionable on the rare nights he’d shared her nest. Is he sorry that he let me go?

Hollyleaf woke before dawn, too hungry to sleep any longer. She crawled out of the brambles and sniffed the air. The scent of rain was carried on the wind and she shivered. Her prickly den wouldn’t be completely waterproof, so she’d need to find some big leaves to weave into the stems immediately above her head. But first she had to hunt. Milky light was filtering down through the branches, just enough to reveal a tiny trail of footprints across the leaf mulch beneath a beech tree. Hollyleaf dropped into the hunter’s crouch, her muscles stiff and protesting after moons of not being used. She stalked forward, stepping lightly as she strained to hear the faint telltale rustle of prey. At the base of the trunk, a leaf moved and the tip of a smooth brown tail peeped out. Hollyleaf sprang and landed squarely on the back of the mouse, killing it with a swift bite to the neck.

It tasted like fresh-kill fit for StarClan. Hollyleaf ate where she crouched, relishing each mouthful. Her belly rumbled in appreciation—and almost at once clenched with pain. Hollyleaf hissed through her teeth. It had been a long time since she’d eaten this much. Perhaps she should have saved half the mouse for later, in her own fresh-kill pile. She lifted her head, looking around for the best place to store her catches. Then she shrugged. If she was only feeding herself, what was the point of storing prey? She’d hunt and eat when she was hungry, that’s all. Like a rogue would…

Hollyleaf stood up and trotted briskly through the trees. She wasn’t a rogue, was she? She was a Clan cat with no Clan, that’s all. Not a rogue, or a loner, or, StarClan forbid, a kittypet. None of those. A murderer, whispered a tiny voice inside her head, but Hollyleaf flattened her ears and ignored it, pushing on as the ground sloped upward. With her head down, she wasn’t aware of the woods thinning out until her fur was suddenly blasted by the wind. Startled, she looked up to see that she was nearly at the top of the ridge. Just a few paces more would take her to the peak, and she would be able to look down on the lake, and her old home.

Her paws stayed rooted to the grass. Hollyleaf felt her ears strain for any sound of cats: her former Clanmates on a border patrol, perhaps, or WindClan cats in pursuit of a rabbit. She heard nothing but the wind whistling over the crest and swooping down to rattle the trees below her. Almost without thinking, Hollyleaf started to back away. Part of her longed to hear the distinctive sounds of ThunderClan cats, and race over the ridge to join them; another part feared they might be looking for her to punish her for Ashfur’s death. Would Leafpool or Lionblaze and Jayfeather have revealed the truth by now? There was no way she would ever know, because she could never go back. Turning away, Hollyleaf raced down the slope and plunged into the sheltering trees.

A few days later, the first snowfall arrived. Hollyleaf opened her eyes to find her bramble den filled with a strange cloudy light. She pushed her way out and squeaked as a clump of sparkling frost fell onto her neck. She shook it off crossly and jumped clear of the remaining branches. Her paws sank into soft white snow and instantly chilled to the bone. Hollyleaf hissed under her breath as she bounded to the nearest fallen branch, where only a dusting of flakes had settled. The moss was slimy under her paws but at least she was able to shake them clear of the clinging white stuff. She’d be lucky to catch anything to eat today; all the prey would be burrowed far under a warm layer of leaves. In the Clan, Firestar would have stocked up fresh-kill in a hole outside the hollow, where the cold earth would keep it fresh. Hollyleaf’s belly rumbled at the thought, and she curled her lip, annoyed with herself for not being better prepared.