Graypaw’s sigh of relief made Rusty’s ears twitch. He heard the approval in Bluestar’s voice and noticed as she swapped a meaningful glance with Lionheart. The look made him curious. What flashed between the two warriors? Quietly he asked, “Is survival here really so hard?”
“Our territory covers only part of the forest,” answered Bluestar. “We compete with other Clans for what we have. And this year, late newleaf means prey is scarce.”
“Is your Clan very big?” Rusty meowed, his eyes wide.
“Big enough,” replied Bluestar. “Our territory can support us, but there is no prey left over.”
“Are you all warriors, then?” Rusty mewed. Bluestar’s guarded answers were just making him more and more curious.
Lionheart answered him. “Some are warriors. Some are too young or too old or too busy caring for kits to hunt.”
“And you all live and share prey together?” Rusty murmured in awe, thinking a little guiltily of his own easy, selfish life.
Bluestar looked again at Lionheart. The golden tabby stared back at her steadily. At last she returned her gaze to Rusty and meowed, “Perhaps you should find out these things for yourself. Would you like to join ThunderClan?”
Rusty was so surprised, he couldn’t speak.
Bluestar went on: “If you did, you would train with Graypaw to become a Clan warrior.”
“But kittypets can’t be warriors!” Graypaw blurted out. “They don’t have warrior blood!”
A sad look clouded Bluestar’s eyes. “Warrior blood,” she echoed with a sigh. “Too much of that has been spilled lately.”
Bluestar fell silent and Lionheart meowed, “Bluestar is only offering you training, young kit. There is no guarantee you would become a full warrior. It might prove too difficult for you. After all, you are used to a comfortable life.”
Rusty was stung by Lionheart’s words. He swung his head around to face the golden tabby. “Why offer me the chance, then?”
But it was Bluestar who answered. “You are right to question our motives, young one. The fact is, ThunderClan needs more warriors.”
“Understand that Bluestar does not make this offer lightly,” warned Lionheart. “If you wish to train with us, we will have to take you into our Clan. You must either live with us and respect our ways, or return to your Twolegplace and never come back. You cannot live with a paw in each world.”
A cool breeze stirred the undergrowth, ruffling Rusty’s fur. He shivered, not with the cold, but with excitement at the incredible possibilities opening up in front of him.
“Are you wondering if it’s worth giving up your comfortable kittypet life?” asked Bluestar gently. “But do you realize the price you will pay for your warmth and food?”
Rusty looked at her, puzzled. Surely his encounter with these cats had proved to him just how easy and luxurious his life was.
“I can tell that you are still a tom,” Bluestar added, “despite the Twoleg stench that clings to your fur.”
“What do you mean—still a tom?”
“You haven’t yet been taken by the Twolegs to see the Cutter,” meowed Bluestar gravely. “You would be very different then. Not quite so keen to fight a Clan cat, I suspect!”
Rusty was confused. He suddenly thought of Henry, who had become fat and lazy since his visit to the vet. Was that what Bluestar meant by the Cutter?
“The Clan may not be able to offer you such easy food or warmth,” continued Bluestar. “In the season of leaf-bare, nights in the forest can be cruel. The Clan will demand great loyalty and hard work. You will be expected to protect the Clan with your life if necessary. And there are many mouths to feed. But the rewards are great. You will remain a tom. You will be trained in the ways of the wild. You will learn what it is to be a real cat. The strength and the fellowship of the Clan will always be with you, even when you hunt alone.”
Rusty’s head reeled. Bluestar seemed to be offering him the life he had lived so many times, and so tantalizingly, in his dreams, but could he live like that for real?
Lionheart interrupted his thoughts. “Come, Bluestar, let’s not waste any more time here. We must be ready to join the other patrol at moonhigh. Tigerclaw will wonder what has become of us.” He stood up and flicked his tail expectantly.
“Wait,” Rusty meowed. “Can I think about your offer?”
Bluestar looked at him for a long moment and nodded. “Lionheart will be here tomorrow at sunhigh,” she told him. “Give him your answer then.”
Bluestar murmured a low signal, and in a single movement the three cats turned and disappeared into the undergrowth.
Rusty blinked. He stared—excited, uncertain—up past the ferns that encircled him, through the canopy of leaves, to the stars that glittered in the clear sky. The scent of the Clan cats still hung heavy in the evening air. And as Rusty turned and headed for home, he felt a strange sensation inside him, tugging him back into the depths of the forest. His fur prickled deliciously in the light wind, and the rustling leaves seemed to whisper his name into the shadows.
Chapter 3
That morning, as Rusty slept off his night’s wanderings, the mouse dream came again, even more vivid than before. Free of his collar, beneath the moon, he stalked the timid creature. But this time he was aware of being watched. Shining from the shadows of the forest he saw dozens of yellow eyes. The Clan cats had entered his dream world.
Rusty woke, blinking in the bright sunshine that was streaming across the kitchen floor. His fur felt heavy and thick with warmth. His food bowl had been topped up, and his water bowl rinsed out and filled with bitter-tasting Twoleg water. Rusty preferred drinking from puddles outside, but when it was hot, or he was very thirsty, he had to admit it was easier to lap up the water indoors. Could he really abandon this comfortable life?
He ate, then pushed his way out of the cat flap into the garden. The day promised to be warm, and the garden was heavy with the smell of early blossoms.
“Hello, Rusty!” mewed a voice from the fence. It was Smudge. “You should have been awake an hour ago. The baby sparrows were out stretching their wings.”
“Did you catch any?” Rusty asked.
Smudge yawned and licked his nose. “Couldn’t be bothered. I’d already eaten enough at home. Anyway, why weren’t you out earlier? Yesterday you were complaining about Henry sleeping his time away, and today you’re not much better yourself.”
Rusty sat down on the cool earth beside the fence and curled his tail neatly over his front paws. “I was in the woods last night,” he reminded his friend. At once he felt the blood stir in his veins and his fur stiffen.
Smudge looked down at him, his eyes wide. “Oh, yes, I forgot! How was it? Did you catch anything? Or did anything catch you?”
Rusty paused, not sure how to tell his old friend what had happened. “I met some wild cats,” he began.
“What!” Smudge was clearly shocked. “Did you get into a fight?”
“Sort of.” Rusty could feel the energy surging through his body again as he recalled the strength and power of the Clan cats.
“Were you hurt? What happened?” Smudge prompted him eagerly.
“There were three of them. Bigger and stronger than any of us.”
“And you fought all three of them!” Smudge interrupted, his tail twitching with excitement.
“No!” Rusty mewed hastily. “Just the youngest one; the other two came later.”
“How come they didn’t shred you to pieces?”
“They just warned me to leave their territory. But then…” Rusty hesitated.
“What!” mewed Smudge impatiently.
“They asked me to join their Clan.”