Path Of A Warrior

“I was a half-Clan cat,” Stormfur told her. “A paw in RiverClan, a paw in ThunderClan, and never quite accepted in either. Life is simpler here, without all the Clan rivalries and distrust. I mean, you’re a half-Clan cat, too. Didn’t you ever feel that way?”

“No,” Tawnypelt replied automatically. “I chose ShadowClan. I knew it was my home.” But is that true? She’d been born in ThunderClan and had left because she hadn’t felt they’d ever accept her. And she’d fought hard, determined to be a loyal ShadowClan warrior. But now ShadowClan was changing. Is it still my home?

“Tawnypelt’s deputy of ShadowClan now,” Dovewing put in, breaking off from her conversation with Snow.

“That’s great, Tawnypelt,” Brook purred warmly. “And Dovewing, now that you and Tigerstar are mates, you must be in ShadowClan, too.”

“Yes.” Dovewing looked down at her paws. “It was … hard leaving ThunderClan. We didn’t see for a long time how we could be together, not if we wanted to be accepted by either of our Clans.”

And so you left, Tawnypelt thought, with a pang of sympathy. And it took StarClan to bring you back.

“Clans,” Bird, the gray-brown elder, scoffed. “You cats at the lake only make trouble for yourselves by dividing into Clans. You should go where your heart lies.”

Once, Tawnypelt would have flicked her ears dismissively: What did a Tribe cat know about Clans? But now she stilled, doubts filling her. Where does my heart lie? she wondered. Is it still with ShadowClan … now that Rowanclaw is dead? And Dawnpelt and Flametail, too?

“Dovewing! Tawnypelt!” There was a patter of small paws, and Shadowkit flung himself between them. “The Cave of Pointed Stones is full of moonlight, and it’s so amazing!”

Tawnypelt felt her heart warm at the sight of the kit. He does hold a piece of my heart… .

Stoneteller followed Shadowkit across the cave. “I’ve been trying to read the signs the Tribe of Endless Hunting has for us,” he explained. “I still don’t know exactly what Shadowkit’s vision means, but I am sure that he’s seeing the Tribe and is here for a reason. We’ll keep working together to figure it out. And I hope we can also help him control the symptoms he’s been having with his visions.” Noticing that the cats around them were listening, he raised his voice a little. “In the meantime, Dovewing, Tawnypelt, and Shadowkit are our honored guests. And now it is time to eat.”

Around the cave, cats jumped up and hurried toward the fresh-kill pile. Unlike Clan cats, who ate whenever they liked, Tribe cats ate only one meal a day, together. When Tawnypelt had been here as a young warrior, she had been glad the Clans didn’t wait to eat together: When she wanted a mouse, she wanted a mouse. But now, as she looked around at the cats settling down to share a meal, it seemed … nice.

Breeze hurried up to Tawnypelt and placed a vole in front of her. Glancing beside her, she saw that other to-bes were bringing Dovewing and Shadowkit prey as well.

“Would you like to share prey with me, Dovewing?” Stoneteller asked. She purred in agreement, and they each took a bite of the prey before them, then exchanged, Stoneteller’s mouse going to Dovewing, her sparrow to him.

“I like the way they do that here,” Shadowkit said. “Will you share with me, Tawnypelt?”

“Of course,” she said affectionately, and they each took a bite and then exchanged their prey. I like it, too, Tawnypelt decided, looking around at the cats peacefully eating and sharing their meal.

What must it be like, all being from the same Tribe? There were a few rogues in the mountains, Tawnypelt knew, and that was why the Tribe patrolled their borders, but there were no divided Clans continually arguing over territory, distrusting kits who were neither one Clan nor the other.

No deaths in battle here, Tawnypelt thought. It was a hard life in the mountains, she was sure: vicious eagles swooping from above, unforgiving peaks and sheer cliff faces. But cats did not kill cats.

Darktail would never have come here. This territory is too harsh for him—he wanted the rich prey of the lake.

If Darktail had never come, ShadowClan would never have been torn apart. Dawnpelt and so many others would not have died. Without Darktail’s death, no cat would have sought to avenge him.

If we were cats of the Tribe, Rowanstar would still be alive.

The tender sparrow suddenly felt dry in Tawnypelt’s mouth.

A gust of cold air blew through the waterfall, a fine mist of cold water falling over the cats. Shadowkit squeaked in surprise.