Path Of A Warrior

Dovewing sighed, her tail drooping. “He’s had such a hard life so far,” she said, her voice bleak. “He was born away from the lake, among strangers, all because I dreamed that the ThunderClan nursery wasn’t safe. And then we brought him and his littermates on a long, dangerous journey back to the Clans. He saw Spiresight die, and they were so close. And it’s been hard for him, learning to live in a Clan. Not every cat has welcomed my kits. Now this. He’s sick and I don’t know what to do. Are we right to take him so far? On this dangerous journey? What if we don’t make it up the mountain? What if we do, and the Tribe still can’t help him?”

“I don’t know,” Tawnypelt admitted. She felt terribly sorry for Dovewing. “Raising kits is hard,” she mewed carefully. “You never do know if you’re doing the right thing, not while you’re doing it.”

“No,” Dovewing agreed, wrapping her tail tightly around herself.

“But those things you talked about—leaving the lake, then coming back home—those were decisions you made because you thought they were right for Shadowkit and the others, weren’t they?”

“Of course,” Dovewing said, her green gaze shining. “My kits mean everything to me.”

A pang shot through Tawnypelt. She thought of Flametail, her shy, sweet-tempered ginger kit, always eager to help his Clanmates, who’d grown to be a medicine cat and then drowned in icy waters; of Dawnpelt, who’d as a kit been fierce and playful by turns, who’d left ShadowClan for the Kin and been murdered by Darktail. And of stubborn, good-hearted Tigerstar. Her kits meant everything to her, too, and now Tigerstar was the only one left. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting the sorrow rush through her, then opened them and looked at Dovewing again.

“The hardest lesson I’ve learned as a mother is that you can’t control what happens to your kits,” she told the younger cat. “All you can do is love them, and guide them, and try to do what you think is right for them when you can. That’s what you’re doing. You’re a good mother.”

Dovewing looked back at her, her tail gently twitching as she thought. “Thank you,” she mewed at last. “That means a lot. It helps.”

They sat in the grass, huddled close together for warmth, and watched over Shadowkit as he slept. The silence between them felt more comfortable now.

After a while, Shadowkit opened his eyes, stretched, and yawned. “I’m feeling better now,” he announced. “Are we going onto the mountain?”

Tawnypelt got to her feet, looking up at the narrow ledges they would have to travel to reach the Tribe. She brushed her tail over the kit’s back and exchanged a glance with Dovewing. “We’ll go as soon as you’re both ready.”

Chapter Six

Ice crackled beneath Tawnypelt’s paws with every step. “I thought you remembered how to get to the cave,” she meowed, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. She raised her paw and shook it to loosen the snow stuck between her paw pads. Her legs were scratched and raw from all the times she’d slipped and lost her footing. It felt as though they’d been climbing up the narrow, icy path forever.

“We must be close. I can hear the waterfall,” Dovewing answered. Tawnypelt flicked her ears and then, above the roar of the wind, she could hear the rush of water, too, quite close, but she couldn’t see it. The sound echoed off the stones all around them, making it impossible to know which direction it came from.

So close, and yet so far.

She felt exhausted—both physically and mentally. The path was treacherous, but even more exhausting was their worry for Shadowkit, and the constant struggle to keep him safe. Each time he’d slipped, Dovewing or Tawnypelt had lunged forward to grab him by the scruff. Each time he’d groaned or cried out in frustration, Tawnypelt’s breath had stopped, and she’d braced herself for another of his fits. Each time a shadow had darkened her vision, she’d cringed and searched the sky for a swooping predator. For a while, it had seemed impossible to her that the three of them would survive this journey with their wits intact. In their frustration, she and Dovewing had started to snap at each other, until they were both so tired that they just fell silent.

Now they were in a narrow, winding cleft between huge boulders. At least we’re safe from eagles, Tawnypelt thought, looking up to where a black dot circled lazily, high in the sky. “Stay close, Shadowkit,” she warned, glancing down at the kit between them. The snow was up to his belly and he looked tired and cold, his tail drooping, but he wasn’t complaining.

As they came around a bend, the cleft abruptly ended, sheer gray rock rising ahead of them.