Path Of A Warrior

The branches landing in the frothing water seemed to act as a signal, and the Tribe cats bolted back toward the path up the sheer rock. Tawnypelt ran with them, her heart pounding, pushing Dovewing along ahead of her.

The cats at the top of the path were yowling. “It’s coming loose!”

“It’s going to fall!”

There’s no chance we’ll all make it out of the way in time, Tawnypelt realized. Below, cats were rushing back and forth across the clearing, unsure whether they would be better off hiding in the back of the cave or trying to make it high enough on the path that the tree wouldn’t crush them.

The tree creaked louder than before. Tawnypelt was just high enough to see it slide forward, the water pushing it over the rocks. Branches were hanging over the side of the waterfall, and the enormous trunk began to tilt slowly, water streaming down its sides.

It’s too late, Tawnypelt thought, her stomach hollow with fear.

There was a crash of thunder, impossibly loud. Bright white light burst blindingly around them. Tawnypelt’s fur stood on end.

She blinked hard, and her vision cleared. Sticks and scraps of bark were raining down into the clearing. The cats by the pool screeched and ran, dashing behind the waterfall or sheltering at the clearing’s edge. Tawnypelt saw a couple of large pieces go over the waterfall, but they caused no damage.

The massive tree was gone.

“Lightning must have hit it,” Stormfur said, his voice hoarse with shock.

“We stopped the tree for just long enough,” Brook said in wonder. “Shadowkit’s vision saved us after all.”

A squeak made Tawnypelt turn. Still dangling by his scruff from his mother’s mouth, Shadowkit was blinking sleepily. “What happened?” he asked.

He’s all right. Tawnypelt felt weak with relief. We did the right thing. The Tribe is safe, and so is Shadowkit.

Chapter Nine

Weak morning sunlight was shining through the crack in the roof of the Cave of Pointed Stones when Tawnypelt opened her eyes. She could hear the rush of the waterfall outside, but no more rain was falling. The storm must be over.

She stretched and got to her feet, shaking feathers and moss from her pelt. Dovewing and Shadowkit were awake, too, curled together and talking softly. Stoneteller was sitting in his own nest, looking thoughtfully at the light reflecting off pools of water beneath the tall stones.

“Good morning,” he said, dipping his head to them all. After they replied, he went on, “I’d like Shadowkit to stay in here with me for a little while today. I’ve been trying to read the signs the Tribe of Endless Hunting is sending, and I may be able to help him learn to handle his visions so that they don’t cause him so much pain.”

“How are you going to do that?” Dovewing asked.

Stoneteller’s whiskers twitched. “Let’s leave that a secret between those of us who speak to the ancestors,” he said, casting a look at Shadowkit. “He will be fine in the end.”

Dovewing hesitated, wary, but Shadowkit’s chest was puffed out with pride. “It’s a medicine-cat secret,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll come find you if I need you.”

When Dovewing looked to her for support, Tawnypelt said, “I trust Stoneteller. And Shadowkit must practice standing on his own. Soon enough, he’ll be a medicine cat and belong to the whole Clan, not just his parents.”

“I suppose so,” said Dovewing unenthusiastically, her tail drooping.

Kits grow up, Tawnypelt thought, even if their mothers aren’t always happy about it.

As they padded into the main cavern—without Shadowkit—Brook came over to meet them. “I thought I’d be exhausted after yesterday,” she said, “but I woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep. How is Shadowkit feeling?”

“He slept well,” Dovewing told her. “Stoneteller is trying to help him find a way to handle his visions better. Once they’re done, we’ll begin our journey home.”

We will? Tawnypelt thought, surprised. She supposed it made sense: They would have done all they’d come here to do. But part of her ached at the thought of leaving the Tribe. The idea of going back to the resentments and squabbles of ShadowClan made her feel terribly tired.

Maybe Stormfur is right. Maybe life is simpler, and better, here.

“If you’re leaving today, we should have a feast first, to celebrate and to thank you,” Brook suggested. “I’m sure Stoneteller won’t mind if we eat at sunhigh instead of dusk.”

“That sounds very nice,” Dovewing mewed, looking pleased.

“I’ll gather some of the other prey-hunters, and Breeze, Lark, and another cave-guard can come to help protect us,” Brook mewed, hurrying across the cave. “Stormfur! Do you want to go hunting?”

“I’d like to come,” Tawnypelt said, watching Brook gather cats around her.