Hawkwing felt his heart sink into his belly. Pebblepaw isn’t just grieving for her mentor; she’s blaming herself!
Until then, it hadn’t occurred to Hawkwing that Pebblepaw had done anything she might regret, but now he realized that they shared more than he had ever expected. I blamed myself for Duskpaw’s death because I saved Pebblepaw first. She blames herself for Billystorm because she helped me and Blossomheart defend ourselves when the badgers would have killed us.
Hawkwing knew that would only make Pebblepaw’s grief more painful. But because he’d felt exactly the same way, he also knew that this wasn’t the right time to discuss it with her. She needed time to think over what had happened. He kept his jaws clamped shut.
At that moment Waspwhisker called the rest of the patrol together. “What now?” he asked, and Hawkwing stood up at attention, eager to finally discuss what would become of their quest.
“We’re here in the open,” Waspwhisker continued, “and while there doesn’t seem to be any danger threatening us right now, the badgers aren’t all that far away. I know I’m injured, and that might make us vulnerable, but I’m willing to carry on. We need to decide if that’s what we want to do.”
“Do you think we should carry on?” Hawkwing asked. While he hadn’t been sure, he’d sort of assumed that Billystorm’s death would bring an end to their journey. How can we go on? We’ve lost our leader.
Waspwhisker nodded. “While Billystorm’s death was tragic, we all know how vital it is for us to complete the quest. We must find ‘the spark that remains.’ According to Darktail, we’re only two days’ journey away from the other Clans. We should find the cats we set out to find, in Billystorm’s memory, and as StarClan directed us.” He paused, and when no cat made a comment, he added, “What do you think?”
The silence stretched out for another few heartbeats. Somehow, after Billystorm’s death, Hawkwing was having trouble picturing the other Clans so close. But he supposed it made sense that they must still be.
Blossomheart was the first to speak. “I agree with you, Waspwhisker. We should carry on.”
“What?” Pebblepaw whipped her head around to stare at her friend. “It would be disrespectful to Billystorm’s memory to continue the quest without him!”
“But finishing the quest is what Billystorm would have wanted,” Waspwhisker pointed out.
“There’s no way to know what Billystorm would have wanted,” Pebblepaw mewed bitterly. “Because he’s dead.” Her voice shook, but a moment later she was able to continue.
“Besides, it looks like we can’t rely on Darktail’s directions. He said the badgers’ den was abandoned, and it clearly wasn’t. Who knows what else he was wrong about?”
“But, I guess the badgers could have moved back in without Darktail knowing,” Waspwhisker pointed out. “He might not have been wrong about anything else.”
“But we can’t take that risk,” Pebblepaw argued. “We should go back now, to tell Leafstar that her mate is dead, and to tell the others what happened. Going on isn’t safe, and it isn’t right,” she finished with an emphatic swish of her tail.
“Hawkwing?” Waspwhisker turned to him. “What’s your opinion?”
Hawkwing looked for a moment at Pebblepaw, who refused to return his gaze. He understood exactly how she felt. Right after Duskpaw died, he had felt the same. I missed Duskpaw so much, I couldn’t think about anything else. Imagine if I’d been expected to complete a quest right then!
He couldn’t blame Pebblepaw, and in any case her feelings didn’t change his decision. “We should go home now. I know one thing Billystorm would have wanted: for us to survive. And now, going home seems the best chance of that. We can worry about finding the Clans when we have a better plan.”
Blossomheart nodded. “The plan we had was pretty disastrous,” she meowed.
“Yes,” Hawkwing continued. “Who can say what else Darktail was wrong about? Who can say what other dangers lie ahead? We might meet more badgers, or something worse.” And we can’t afford to lose more cats.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Blossomheart announced as soon as her brother had finished speaking. “I agree with Hawkwing and Pebblepaw. I still think we should try to find the Clans—but it’s clear this quest has failed.”
Waspwhisker fluffed out his neck fur, and for a few heartbeats
Hawkwing thought he was upset to be challenged by younger warriors. “M aybe you’re too young to understand the importance of such a strong message from StarClan,” he suggested.
“Billystorm’s death was terrible, but we still must find the other Clans. And this seems like the best chance we have.”
Then he let out a sigh. “But there are four of us,” he mewed, “and if three of you want to go home, there’s nothing I can do.”
He rose to his paws. “Let’s go.”
The patrol set out on the long trek back to familiar territory.
Heartsick and in pain from his wounds, Hawkwing found it hard to remember the optimism with which they had set out. We were all so excited about meeting the other Clans, and now they seem farther away than ever. This whole quest has been a disaster. Surely StarClan didn’t mean for it to end like this?
They walked in silence until Waspwhisker called for a halt.
“We ought to hunt,” he meowed. “I know none of us feel like eating, but we have to keep our strength up.”
Hawkwing knew that he was right, though the thought of food made his belly heave.
The cats were standing at the top of a hill; on the far side it sloped down gently into a hollow with a pool at the bottom, edged by bushes and thick vegetation. Hawkwing remembered that they had found good prey there on the way out.
“Let’s stop and hunt down there,” Blossomheart suggested.
“We could rest for a bit, too.”
Waspwhisker nodded. “Good idea.”
As they padded down the slope, Hawkwing slowed his pace to walk beside his sister. “Let’s you and I hunt, once we’ve found a place to rest,” he murmured. “Pebblepaw can’t cope yet, and Waspwhisker is still limping.”
“Okay,” Blossomheart agreed, and added, “We all need Echosong to take a look at us.”
The cats found a sheltered spot in the middle of a clump of hazel bushes, the bare earth covered with a thick layer of dead leaves. Once Waspwhisker and Pebblepaw were settled, Hawkwing slipped out and crept closer to the pool, his ears pricked and his jaws parted to pick up the first traces of prey. Blossomheart followed him, then veered off into a bank of ferns.
As Hawkwing neared the pool he heard a plop, and spotted a vole swimming out into the center. Cautiously he crouched at the water’s edge and leaned over to spot a second vole poking its head out of a hole in the bank. Reaching down, Hawkwing fastened his claws into the back of the vole’s neck and hooked it upward; its high-pitched squeal of terror was cut off abruptly as he bit into its throat.
Easy catch, he thought with satisfaction.
Turning back toward their makeshift den, Hawkwing spotted Blossomheart emerging from the ferns with the body of a mouse dangling from her jaws.
“Good job,” Hawkwing mumbled around his own prey. “Let’s go eat.”
Waspwhisker’s eyes gleamed in the dim light beneath the bushes when he saw the fresh-kill, but Pebblepaw merely glanced at it, then turned her head away.
“You have to eat something,” Blossomheart urged her.
Pebblepaw shook her head. Hawkwing had noticed that she had hardly touched food since the battle with the badgers. She was starting to look skinny; he could make out her ribs underneath her pelt.