Tigerclaw’s Fury

“Of course not,” Tigerclaw soothed. “But surely any choice that the medicine cat makes is guided by StarClan, whether he knows it or not?”

Runningnose looked troubled. “You mean, StarClan would ensure that I made the same decision as it would?”

Tigerclaw nodded. “Think about it, Runningnose. There are still several days before the Gathering. Keep watch for signs from your ancestors—but also listen to the voice inside your own mind.”

Ha! purred Mapleshade.

Runningnose pushed his way out of the hawthorns, his eyes still troubled. Almost at once the branches on the other side of the little clearing rustled and Jaggedtooth emerged.

“He should choose you, if he has any sense,” the ginger tom meowed. “Why didn’t you tell him that, and help him make the decision?”

Tigerclaw blinked. “I cannot determine the will of StarClan.”

Jaggedtooth’s eyes glittered. “I don’t share your faith in dead cats,” he mewed. “Perhaps that makes things easier?”

Tigerclaw held his gaze and gave him a tiny nod. “You’ve been a good friend to me, Jaggedtooth. I won’t ever forget that.”

Jaggedtooth nodded back. “I know,” he mewed.

The sky above the pines was as dark as the water in the marshes, but the trees glowed silver in the light of a swollen moon.

“Tomorrow is the night of the Gathering,” Tigerclaw heard Fernshade whisper to Rowanberry. “Has Runningnose told you what he’s going to tell the other Clans?”

“I don’t think he’ll need to tell them anything,” Russetfur put in. “It’s going to be pretty obvious that Nightstar has died and we don’t have a leader.”

“Or a deputy,” added Applefur. “The other Clans will laugh us out of Fourtrees.”

“Be patient,” urged a quiet voice. Tangleburr had joined them. “There is still time for StarClan to answer our prayers.”

There was a stir of movement outside the medicine den, and Runningnose appeared, his gray-and-white pelt lit up by the moonlight. He crossed to the rock and hauled himself onto it. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather for a meeting!” he called, his thin voice echoing through the trees.

Tigerclaw unfolded himself from the shadows and joined the others as they sat at the foot of the rock. Runningnose looked no bigger or stronger than a kit, and Tigerclaw marveled at the way his Clanmates gazed at him with such respect, such trust that he would restore their Clan to how it should be.

“Clanmates, I know you are troubled about the Gathering,” Runningnose began. “I share your fears, but be strong! Have faith in our warrior ancestors to send us a new leader soon!”

There was a murmur from the watching cats, and Deerfoot stood up. “Soon isn’t now!” he hissed. “The Gathering is tomorrow! Does StarClan want us to look weak and leaderless in front of the other Clans?”

“Has StarClan given up on us?” wailed Rowanpaw. He was hushed by Stumpytail, who clouted him gently with one paw.

“Of course they haven’t given up on us,” Runningnose mewed, but his words were drowned by his Clanmates’ increasingly noisy protests.

“We’ll be pounced on like rats as soon as the Clans hear about Nightstar’s death!” yowled Ratscar.

“How can we survive without a leader?” snarled Tallpoppy. “No other Clan has ever turned up at a Gathering without one!”

Runningnose hung his head and said nothing. Tigerclaw could smell the misery coming from him. Don’t give up now, he urged. There is still something you can do.

Suddenly the medicine cat tensed. His ears pricked, and his gaze fixed on something at the foot of the rock. There was a tiny, pale glint among the grass, dappled in the moonlight. Runningnose jumped down and put his muzzle close to it. Then his head shot up in astonishment.

“It’s a claw!” he gasped. “Here, at the bottom of the rock. Has any cat lost a claw today?”

Warriors and apprentices shook their heads, and puzzled murmurs spread through the Clan.

Runningnose was studying the claw again. He reached out carefully and touched it with his paw, shifting it so that the other cats could see it. “Look,” he whispered. “The moon has cast shadows on it. Not shadows, stripes.” He looked up and stared at Tigerclaw. “Stripes like a tiger’s pelt.”

“It’s a sign!” gasped Dawncloud. “It must be!”

“StarClan has chosen our new leader!” called Blackfoot.

“Tigerclaw!” breathed Runningnose, and as one the cats of ShadowClan turned to gaze at Tigerclaw. “StarClan has spoken,” the medicine cat mewed. “And we must listen.”

Tigerclaw felt the breath catch in his chest. After all this time, the ancestors had chosen him! He had served them for so long, tried to challenge the weak leadership in ThunderClan, been driven out and forced to prove his loyalty to a new Clan. And now at last StarClan was rewarding him with a leadership of his own. “Thank you,” he whispered.