Path Of A Warrior

“Let’s keep him between us,” Dovewing said from his other side, sounding grim. “I don’t like the look of that storm.”

As they stepped through the cave mouth, cold water drenched Tawnypelt’s fur, making her gasp in shock. With the storm, the waterfall had increased terribly in size: the narrow path of rocks that usually ran behind the water was soaked, heavy water pounding steadily against it. A harsh wind blew through the waterfall, cutting through the cats’ wet pelts and chilling them to the bone.

Tawnypelt scrambled to stop herself from falling as her paws slipped. Instinctively, she and Dovewing moved closer together, almost pinning Shadowkit between them to keep him from being blown off the path.

Past the waterfall, things were no better. The combination of the storm and the pounding of the waterfall was deafening, and the cats huddled together miserably, straining to hear Stoneteller’s yowl.

Stoneteller looked down at Shadowkit, his gaze trusting. “Now what?” he asked, raising his voice above the howl of the wind and the steady pounding of the water.

Shadowkit shut his eyes for a moment, shivering with cold.

He’s too young, Tawnypelt thought, her heart heavy with doubt and worry. He doesn’t know what these visions mean.

Then Shadowkit opened his eyes. “We have to get to the riverbank,” he announced without a trace of doubt. With his tail, he gestured to a steep, narrow trail that wound up the cliff beside the waterfall.

Up there? Tawnypelt thought with horror. The path, which looked like it would be treacherous and slippery at the best of times, was awash in rushing, muddy water.

“Are you sure?” Stormfur turned to Stoneteller, his face full of dismay and his voice almost a howl. “That’s a dangerous path!”

“All of us?” one of the nursing kit-mothers wailed. “We can’t take the kits up there!”

Shadowkit wheeled to face her, his eyes wide and sure. “It’ll be more dangerous for any cat who stays down here,” he yowled.

“We must do this,” Stoneteller said with a calm certainty. “I will go first.” He stepped toward the path.

Stormfur stared at him for a moment, and then sighed and shook his pelt. “Right,” he yowled. “A couple of strong cave-guards right behind Stoneteller. Kits and kit-mothers and elders—and you, Tawnypelt, you’re not used to the mountains—in the middle. Swiftest prey-hunters right behind them: You’re fast and sure enough to catch a falling kit. More cave-guards at the back. Nose to tail, and be ready to grab any cat who slips.”

Shivering, water dripping from their fur, the cats followed his direction. The kit-mothers crouched, letting their kits climb up onto their backs, and Dovewing lowered her belly to the ground, too. “Shadowkit, hold on to me with all your strength,” she warned as he scrambled onto her back.

The path was rough beneath Tawnypelt’s paws, small stones and grit slipping under her so that it was impossible to get any kind of grip on the rocks. Dovewing’s tail brushed her nose, and Tawnypelt’s muscles tensed, ready to leap to the rescue if Dovewing or Shadowkit slipped. She could feel Brook close behind and was grateful for her, and for the Tribe cats following her—without them, it would be a long, painful fall back down if she slipped.

It was a difficult climb, even harder than she would have predicted. Her claws ached from trying to find a hold on the rocks, and ice-cold water streamed over her face, almost blinding her, and dripped from her whiskers.

Once, a cat ahead of her slipped and skidded a few tail-lengths back, knocking the cats behind her one into the other. Dovewing fell back onto Tawnypelt, who felt her own paws skidding backward into Brook.

But no cat fell, and a moment later they were all pressing forward again, straining against the wind and rain.

At last, her paws sore and her soaking fur plastered against her sides, Tawnypelt followed Dovewing as the path led them to a thin strip of level ground above the waterfall.

Almost touching their paws, the stream rushed past, swollen to river size and overflowing its banks, then plummeted over the cliff. Leaves and sticks were swept along by the current, speeding past the cats before disappearing swiftly down the waterfall. Dovewing crouched to let Shadowkit off her back and then herded him away from the water’s edge, placing herself between her kit and the tumultuous water.

“Now what?” Stormfur yowled.

Shadowkit stepped forward. “This is the place,” he said, looking around. “We have to pile rocks in the stream. If we can build a strong enough barrier, we can stop the tree from falling.”

“What tree?” Night wailed, and turned to Stoneteller. “This is crazy. The water’s too strong; we can’t get into it.”

“The Tribe of Endless Hunting wouldn’t have set us an impossible task,” Stoneteller meowed. “Shadowkit has seen what we must do.”