Outcast

“That’s fine. I understand.” Squirrelflight bounded lightly across the stepping stones and into WindClan territory, giving Tornear a glare as she passed him. Hollypaw crossed more carefully, the swift-flowing stream bubbling past a mouse tail away from her paws.

As she followed her mother and the WindClan warriors up the hill, Breezepaw hung back until he was padding beside her. “What are you doing here?” he muttered into her ear.

“Have you come to spy on our camp?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hollypaw replied. “What would we want with your stupid camp? We need to speak to Crowfeather, that’s all.”

“What about?” Breezepaw demanded.

“That’s none of your business, mouse-brain!”

Breezepaw’s eyes narrowed in anger. “But he’s my father,” he began. “He—”

“Breezepaw.” Tornear glanced over his shoulder and flicked his tail to beckon the apprentice. “Come here and walk beside me.”

Breezepaw let out a hiss of annoyance, but he quickened his pace and caught up to the senior warriors.

“How’s your training going, Breezepaw?” Squirrelflight asked.

“Not well.” Whitetail didn’t wait for her apprentice to reply. “He led out a patrol of apprentices to see if the dogs had come back to the far corner of our territory. Without asking permission, of course, and without even a single warrior for backup.”

“We were only trying to—”

“To get yourselves killed,” Tornear interrupted.

Hollypaw had heard the stories of how dogs had killed Swiftpaw back in the forest, and she’d seen the terrible injuries they had given Brightheart. Breezepaw must be even more stupid than she thought if he imagined that a few apprentices could take on a pack of dogs and survive.

“And then there was the fight you provoked with the RiverClan patrol,” Tornear continued, his voice sharp with annoyance. “They were not trespassing, they were not stealing prey, and Onestar didn’t appreciate having to apologize to Mistyfoot for the trouble you caused.” He let out a long sigh and added to Squirrelflight, “Breezepaw has many lessons to learn before he becomes a warrior.”

Breezepaw glared at the senior warriors as they turned away and muttered something Hollypaw didn’t catch.

Whitetail and Tornear led the way up a long slope to a barrier of gorse bushes. Hollypaw followed as they pushed their way through, feeling the thorns snag on her pelt. On the other side she found herself looking out over the WindClan camp.

A steep slope led down into a natural dip, dotted with gorse and bramble. Blinking, Hollypaw tried to guess the lay-out. The camp was more exposed than she was used to, though toward the bottom of the dip there were hollows where cats could shelter. She tasted the air, trying to work out from the scents where each group of cats lived. A pungent smell of mouse bile was coming from a deep hole that looked like an abandoned badger set. That must be the elders’ den. They’re always needing mouse bile to get rid of their ticks. From a crack in a huge boulder she picked up the aromatic scent of herbs and realized that must be Barkface’s den. And warm, milky scents came from a gorse thicket; that would be the nursery.

“Go and take some fresh-kill to the elders,” Whitetail ordered Breezepaw, interrupting Hollypaw’s thoughts.

Waving her tail to Squirrelflight she added, “Follow me. We’ll see if Onestar is in his den.”

Hollypaw bounded down the slope behind her mother, while Whitetail raced ahead. But before the ThunderClan cats reached the bottom of the hollow, Crowfeather appeared from the bushes at the other side, a rabbit dangling from his jaws. He spotted the visitors, froze for a heartbeat, then ran lightly down to deposit his prey on the fresh-kill pile.

As Squirrelflight padded up to him he turned to face her, his gray-black fur bristling. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Squirrelflight replied, while Hollypaw wondered what was bothering Crowfeather. Did he have ants in his pelt? “At least, yes, but not with the Clans.”

Squirrelflight seemed to have gotten herself into a tangle, so Hollypaw stepped forward. “The Tribe of Rushing Water need our help,” she explained. “The cats who went to the sun-drown-place must go to the mountains.”

Crowfeather looked surprised, and Hollypaw thought maybe she had been too outspoken. “And they want apprentices to come too, do they?” he growled.

Squirrelflight gave his shoulder an affectionate flick with her tail. “Crowfeather, neither of us can complain about apprentices making the journey.” When Crowfeather didn’t respond, she went on. “Talon and Night—do you remember them?—came to our camp to fetch Stormfur and Brook. The Tribe is being threatened by a group of invading cats who are trying to take over its hunting grounds. We—I mean Brambleclaw and I—thought we would go and help too.”

Crowfeather paused before replying; Hollypaw couldn’t read anything from his expression. “What’s it got to do with us?” he asked eventually.