Tigerclaw’s Fury

Tigerclaw burst through the wall of thorns with a yowl. Five pairs of eyes stared at him in horror. Then, one by one, they blinked and lost the sheen of terror.

“Tigerclaw!” meowed a scrawny brown tom. “You survived!”

“No thanks to you, Clawface,” Tigerclaw snarled.

“We were going to come back for you once our wounds had healed,” protested a broad-shouldered white tom with one black forepaw. His name was Blackfoot, and like Clawface, he had been a ShadowClan warrior loyal to their leader, Brokenstar, before he had been taken prisoner and his followers driven out of the Clan.

Two other former ShadowClan warriors, a brown tabby named Stumpytail and a gray-and-brown she-cat called Tangleburr, stood up and stepped alongside Tigerclaw to brush their tails against him.

“I’m so pleased to see you,” purred Tangleburr, but the row of fur pricking along her spine told Tigerclaw that she was lying. All of these cats, including the former stray Snag, a huge ginger tom who lingered at the back of the makeshift den, watching with wary amber eyes, were terrified to see Tigerclaw risen from the dead. They knew they had failed him, had let themselves get beaten by a bunch of queens and elders in an unguarded camp. Tigerclaw breathed in their fear-scent and felt a thrill of satisfaction. These cats would do anything he wanted. He forced his long claws to stay sheathed, pushed down the urge to rip their ears for leaving him to face his former Clanmates alone. These were the only allies he had for now, and while they were scared of him, and in his debt, he could shape them exactly as he wanted.

He looked around. “Where’s Mowgli?” He had found the green-eyed, brown tom among the loners in Twolegplace, spotting at once the potential in his sleek muscles and hard, unflinching gaze. Tigerclaw had vowed to make Mowgli a senior warrior if he fought alongside him, and the brown tom had lapped up his promises as hungrily as any forestborn cat.

Stumpytail shrugged. “I don’t know. He got his ears clawed pretty harshly by that brown ThunderClan apprentice—Brackenpaw, I think he’s called. We haven’t seen him since.”

Tigerclaw curled his lip. Beaten by an apprentice? He hoped he hadn’t been wrong about Mowgli. Clearly he needed more training, more encouragement to fight to the limits of his strength, even if his opponent still had kitten fluff around his ears.

Clawface limped forward with a scrap of fur and meat in his jaws. He dropped it at Tigerclaw’s feet. “I caught this mouse earlier,” he mewed. “You can have the rest if you want.”

Tigerclaw eyed the pathetic piece of fresh-kill. Would he be showing weakness if he admitted to his hunger and ate it? Or should he take advantage of these cats offering to feed and shelter him? What would a Clan leader do?

Bluestar would look for the weakest elder and give them the fresh-kill, purred the voice. But is that the kind of leader you want to be?

Tigerclaw bent his head and devoured the mouse loin in a single bite. He looked up, swiping his tongue around his lips. “We’ll need more than that to survive. Who is the least wounded among you?”

Tangleburr raised her tail. “I have a bite on my flank, but it’s healing fast.” She glanced over her shoulder. “And Snag’s fur was thick enough to save him from any deep scratches.”

The loner padded out of the shadows. “I’ll hunt if you want,” he rumbled.

Tigerclaw nodded. “Good. You two, bring back at least two pieces each of fresh-kill.”

Tangleburr’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. Well done, you’re learning, thought Tigerclaw. The two cats threaded their way out of the brambles.

“Tigerclaw, your belly seems to be bleeding,” mewed Blackfoot hesitantly. He stretched out his neck and sniffed at the sticky scarlet fur on Tigerclaw’s side.

“It’s nothing,” snapped Tigerclaw. “It’ll heal in a couple of days.”

Blackfoot stepped back. “Those ThunderClan cats fought more fiercely than I expected,” he admitted. Beside him, Clawface nodded. “Especially that so-called kittypet, Fireheart,” Blackfoot went on. “He may have been born in Twolegplace, but he’s sure learned how to fight like a warrior.”

“He is a kittypet!” Tigerclaw spat. “Don’t ever speak of him as a warrior. He has no right to be in the forest, no right to speak to Bluestar as if the blood of the Clans runs in his veins.” He turned away and paced in a tight circle, flicking his tail. “I will find more cats, and teach you how to fight properly, and then we will take on ThunderClan again and Fireheart will die!”

Chapter 3