“Then prove it. We need to fetch moss for the elders’ bedding,” Whitewing went on as her daughters gave themselves a quick grooming. “And for StarClan’s sake make sure there are no thorns in Purdy’s, or we’ll never hear the end of it. Come on!”
She bustled them toward the camp entrance, but before they reached the thorn tunnel Firestar appeared at the head of the dawn patrol. Jayfeather’s nose was flooded with the scents of his Clanmates. Brambleclaw bounded across the clearing to meet them, with Dustpelt, Cloudtail, and Brightheart hard on his paws. Foxleap raised his head from the fresh-kill pile, a mouse dangling from his jaws, while Berrynose strode importantly up to the patrol, followed more slowly by Leafpool and Squirrelflight.
Molekit and Cherrykit burst out of the nursery, scampered out into the clearing, and hurled themselves at Berrynose’s paws, tripping him.
“Careful!” he murmured, recovering his balance and sweeping his tail around the two excited kits.
Berrynose can be a real pain in the tail, Jayfeather pondered. How come he’s such a good father?
“Is ShadowClan attacking?” Molekit squeaked. “Can we go and fight?”
“I’ve learned a really good move!” Cherrykit exclaimed, pouncing on a leaf and shredding it with her tiny claws.
“Of course you can’t fight!” Poppyfrost panted as she caught up to her kits. “You’re not even apprentices yet!”
Brambleclaw skirted the kits and halted in front of his Clan leader. “Any news?” he asked.
“No, everything’s quiet,” Firestar responded as Jayfeather padded over to listen. “It looks as if all the Clans are at peace with one another.”
“Right,” Thornclaw agreed; the tabby tom had followed Firestar into the camp. “There was no evidence that either WindClan or ShadowClan had been anywhere near the borders, except to renew the scent markers.”
“That’s good news!” Brightheart exclaimed.
Jayfeather wasn’t so sure. He knew that the Clans were keeping to themselves because of the deep divisions within StarClan along Clan boundaries. All the warrior ancestors were warning every cat to stay apart from the other Clans, to trust none but their Clanmates, and prepare for something dreadful that lay in the future like storm clouds on the horizon.
At least ThunderClan has the three cats mentioned in the prophecy, Jayfeather thought. There will be three, kin of your kin, with the power of the stars in their paws. Me, Lionblaze, and Dovewing, all in the same Clan. That must make us safer, right?
He flexed his paws. After his sleepless night they didn’t feel particularly powerful, but at least they would carry him as far as the patch of marigold above the hollow. Then he remembered the other prophecy, from the Tribe of Endless Hunting barely half a moon before. For a moment Jayfeather was plunged back to that dark, windswept mountaintop, surrounded by dead cats who fixed their luminous eyes on him. Once again he seemed to hear the whispers of a long, long line of Stonetellers.
The end of the stars draws near. Three must become four to challenge the darkness that lasts forever.
Rousing from the trance, Jayfeather was once more aware of the sounds and scents of the camp around him.
How are we going to recognize the fourth cat? We had enough problems finding the first three. And this new prophecy says nothing about Firestar’s kin. Jayfeather bit back a hiss of frustration. It could be any cat from the Clans!
Chapter 2
Ivypool followed Whitewing until they stopped beside a tiny stream, not far from the camp. Leaves clustered thickly on the trees and the newleaf grass was long and lush, cool for Ivypool’s tired paws. Thank StarClan! She puffed out a breath of relief. Every hair on my pelt is aching.
The night before, she had taken part in a tough training session with Sunstrike and Redwillow. Hawkfrost had been supervising, not letting up until all three cats bore the marks of their opponents’ claws. Now Ivypool felt as if her body were nothing but a huge bruise, and one ear was still ringing from a well-aimed blow.
Glancing at her sister, Ivypool saw that she looked just as exhausted. Jayfeather should never have taken Dovewing to the mountains, she thought with a stab of anger. It could have been her that the eagle carried off, and she’s too important to the Clan to risk losing.
“Let’s rest for a bit,” Whitewing suggested, more sympathetic now. “You can have a drink and finish grooming.”
Ivypool could hear anxiety in her mother’s voice. I know she cares about us, even though she’s concerned that we’re falling behind with our duties.
“No, we’re fine,” Dovewing meowed, straightening her shoulders and raising her head in an effort to look alert. “We should keep going. There’s a good moss place a bit farther on.”
“You’re both a long way from fine,” Whitewing pointed out. After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “I know there’s something troubling you. I’m not going to ask what it is, if you don’t want to tell me. But remember that I’m your mother. Nothing you say could ever shock me or make me love you less.”
Ivypool twitched her ears. I bet I could prove you wrong.
But she kept quiet, happy to sit in the long, cool grass and relax as Whitewing helped groom her pelt with long, rhythmic strokes of her tongue. It felt good to be taken care of for once after her visits to the Dark Forest, where she couldn’t trust any cat, and always had to be on her guard.
“I had a bad dream last night,” Dovewing confessed, twisting her neck to get at a clump of matted fur on her shoulder. “I thought I was back in the mountains. Swoop was being carried away by the eagle.”
“You should try not to think about it,” Whitewing mewed gently, turning to Dovewing and helping her to tease out the clump with swift rasping licks. “You know that eagles never come to the lake.”
And if they did, Ivypool thought, Dovewing would hear them before any other cat.
Whitewing finished grooming Dovewing and rose to her paws, arching her back in a long stretch. Ivypool got up, too, ready to move on. Then she noticed that Dovewing was still sitting by the stream, shaking her head and pawing at her ear as if there was something lodged inside it.
Glancing at Whitewing, who was looking the other way, Ivypool leaned over to murmur quietly to her sister, “Are you okay? Are your senses still not working?”
“No… I still can’t hear properly!” Dovewing’s blue eyes were stricken. “I mean, I can hear you and Whitewing and what’s around us, but I can’t hear any farther than that. It’s all just noise and shrieking and the sound of the wind.”
Ivypool touched her nose to her sister’s shoulder. “It must be because you heard so much when you were in the mountains,” she meowed. “You said it was much louder when you crossed the ridge above WindClan. Maybe it will get better soon.”
“I keep hoping that,” Dovewing muttered. “But it’s been a moon. I feel like I’m useless to the Clan.”
“No way!” Ivypool shook her head. “Don’t think like that!”
Dovewing sighed. “But it’s like being deaf.”
“No, it’s like being normal,” Ivypool told her. “You—”
She broke off as Whitewing turned around. “It’s time we got moving,” she called. “We have that moss to collect, and then I want to do some hunting for the elders.”
She bounded off toward the lake. Ivypool exchanged a glance with Dovewing, and they both followed. They had just reached the gnarled oak whose roots were covered in thick green moss when Ivypool spotted a flicker of movement in the trees nearby. Her neck fur began to rise and she braced her muscles, ready to attack an intruder, then relaxed as she realized it was Jayfeather. She was still surprised by how confidently the blind medicine cat wove through the undergrowth.