Cloudstar hauled himself stiffly out of his nest and stretched each leg in turn. “Okay,” he meowed. “Let’s go.”
He let Stoatfur take the lead, and walked beside Quailheart and Rainleap as they headed into the dense trees that lay between the camp and the border with ThunderClan. The yellow monsters rumbled in the distance, and where the ground was bare of leaf mulch, Cloudstar could feel the earth trembling beneath his paws. Where are they taking the trees? And why? The cats were used to fir trees being harvested by Twolegs, but not the trees that shed their leaves in the coldest seasons.
Stoatfur directed Rainleap to refresh the first border mark they came to, on a tree stump covered with ivy. At the next, a twisted hazel tree, Stoatfur nodded to Cloudstar, offering him the task. Cloudstar stepped forward, enjoying the role of a warrior rather than leader. He was about to rejoin the patrol when a hiss through the bracken stopped him.
“Patrolling the borders again, Cloudstar?” The bracken rustled and a dark ginger tom stepped through. “Seedpelt told me she’d seen you here recently. Is SkyClan lacking in warriors?”
Cloudstar forced his fur to stay flat. “There is no reason why a Clan leader shouldn’t patrol with his warriors,” he growled. “After all, isn’t that what you’re doing here, Redstar?”
The ThunderClan leader flicked his tail as if he was bored of the subject and padded forward until he was almost muzzle to muzzle with Cloudstar. “What’s all this noise we hear coming from your territory?” he asked, leaning close to peer into Cloudstar’s eyes. “Is there trouble in SkyClan?” His yellow eyes gleamed hungrily.
Behind him, Cloudstar heard Quailheart snarl. “No, no trouble at all,” Cloudstar replied. “Just some Twolegs playing with monsters beyond the far boundary. My Clanmates know better than to fret about every little thing a Twoleg does. Is the noise making your warriors nervous, Redstar?”
The ThunderClan leader curled his lip, and Cloudstar felt a small stab of satisfaction that he had gotten under Redstar’s fur. “Nothing scares ThunderClan warriors!” Redstar growled.
Cloudstar turned to leave. “If they have any sense, they should be more wary of SkyClan warriors!” he called over his shoulder. His Clanmates fell in behind him as he stalked away from the hazel tree, leaving Redstar glaring after them.
Once out of sight of the ThunderClan cat, Cloudstar stepped off the path to let Stoatfur take the lead again. The orange-and-white tom looked anxious. “Don’t you think you should have told Redstar the truth?” he meowed. “That our border has been destroyed, and we have lost territory?”
Cloudstar stared at him. “Have moths got into your brain? Why would I let ThunderClan know there is anything wrong?”
Stoatfur scraped one paw over the ground. “Because if the Twolegs destroy much more of the forest, we might need ThunderClan’s help.”
“ThunderClan warriors can’t chase off Twolegs and monsters!” Rainleap snapped. “I’d rather die than ask them for help!”
Cloudstar twitched his ears. “That’s a little extreme, Rainleap. But you’re right: SkyClan will fight its own battles.”
“What about the territory that used to belong to us?” Stoatfur persisted, nodding toward the dense strip of oak trees just beyond the SkyClan scent marks. “If we lose much more from the far side of our hunting grounds, we should ask ThunderClan to give it back.”
Cloudstar bristled. “SkyClan can survive without it. I will never go groveling to Redstar to get us out of trouble, and we can’t go back on Duskstar’s decision to let them have that territory. It would be like challenging all our ancestors, as well as the warrior code.” He gazed at each of his warriors in turn, wincing at their troubled eyes and ruffled pelts. I have to stay strong for them. “SkyClan will survive, without the help of ThunderClan. We are strong, skillful, and more honorable than any of the five Clans of the forest. Trust me, warriors. The Twolegs will not destroy our home.”
By the time they returned to the camp, the sun was high, blazing down through the trees. Cloudstar headed straight for the stream at the edge of the camp, just beyond the elders’ den, and took a long drink. His pelt felt itchy and dusty, and his legs ached, but he had insisted on double-checking all the border marks. He didn’t trust Redstar. Cloudstar was beginning to fear he had been too relaxed about letting ThunderClan warriors cross the border by a few paw steps, in the interest of keeping things peaceful with their closest neighbor. Now he wanted to maintain a much stricter border, with more frequent patrols and marks refreshed three times a day, not just twice.
Padding back into the clearing, Cloudstar’s belly rumbled. He trotted over to the fresh-kill pile and stopped short with a yelp of dismay. There was only a tough-looking starling and the remains of a vole under the elderflower tree. “Haven’t the hunting patrols returned yet?” he called to Weaselwhisker, who was sunning himself on the tree stump in the center of the clearing.
Weaselwhisker lifted his head and peered over the edge of the stump. “Yes, and gone out again,” he reported.
“And this is all they caught?” Cloudstar exclaimed.
Weaselwhisker nodded. “They said the woods where the trees have fallen are empty, and the rest of the territory is so noisy that prey is being frightened away from there, as well.”
Cloudstar cursed under his breath. “I’ll go out myself,” he told Weaselwhisker. Perhaps one cat alone would have a better chance of stalking nervous prey. Ignoring the pangs in his belly, he turned away from the fresh-kill pile and headed back into the woods. The trees hummed with the noise of the yellow monsters. It drowned out the rustling of the leaves, the creaking of branches, and any sound of birds or squirrels that might offer good hunting. Cloudstar felt a worm of alarm squirm in his belly. There must be something we can eat! Suddenly feeling impatient at being trapped on the ground, he leaped up the trunk of the closest tree and hauled himself into the branches.
He could still hear the monsters up here, but now the leaves whispered around his ears, and a soft breeze lifted his fur. Cloudstar pressed his ear to the bark and heard the tiniest scratching sound. Squirrel! Lifting his head, he waited for a moment, opening his jaws so that the scents of the forest flooded in. His prey was farther up the tree, on one of the thinnest branches. SkyClan warriors tended to avoid hunting at the tops of the trees because it was more dangerous, with the branches much less able to bear their weight, but hunger quelled Cloudstar’s nerves. He clawed his way upward, stretching his tail behind him to keep his balance. There was a desperate scrabble above him as the squirrel spotted Cloudstar launching himself up, but Cloudstar put on an extra burst of speed and slammed one of his front paws into the tiny fluffy creature before it had a chance to run.
He studied his catch disappointedly. It was hardly old enough to be out of its nest, and wouldn’t feed an elder let alone a warrior. But it was a start. Peering down through the leaves, Cloudstar carefully dropped the squirrel between the branches, then scampered down the trunk to bury it beneath a heap of earth and twigs until he collected it later.
He hunted until the sunbeams slanted low through the trees and the first star appeared in the hazy sky. He was exhausted, his pelt ruffled and filthy, and the stiffness along his spine had sharpened to a fierce burn. But all he had to add to his squirrel was a blackbird, plump enough but hardly a good meal for more than two cats. Unearthing the squirrel, Cloudstar dragged his fresh-kill back to the camp.
Birdflight was waiting for him on the far side of the brambles. “Where have you been? Weaselwhisker said you went out hunting on your own!”