“That’s what’s bothering me,” Mistyfoot muttered to Greystripe.
Leafpaw felt a tingle spread through her fur. She remembered her own conviction, back when she had been little more than a kit, that it was right for her to heal and comfort her Clan mates, and to interpret the signs of StarClan for them. Had Mothwing felt the same? Leafpaw wondered. Could she have felt the same, if she was not Clan-born? Even Yellowfang, the medicine cat before Cinderpelt, had been forest-born, though ThunderClan had not been the Clan of her birth.
Voices all around the clearing echoed Blackstar’s questions. At the base of the rock an old brown tom heaved himself to his paws and waited for quiet; it was Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat.
As the noise died down, he raised his voice. “Mothwing is a talented young cat,” he meowed. “But because she was born a rogue, I am waiting for a sign from StarClan that she is the right medicine cat for RiverClan. Once I have received that sign, I will take her to Mothermouth at the half-moon time. If I act without the blessing of StarClan, then you can all complain—but not until then.” He flopped back down again, his whiskers twitching irritably.
The crowd had parted so that Leafpaw could make out the young cat crouched beside him. She was startlingly beautiful, with glowing amber eyes in a triangular face, and a long golden pelt with rippling tabby stripes.
“Is that Mothwing?” she whispered to Feathertail.
“That’s right.” Feathertail gave Leafpaw’s ear a quick lick. “When the leaders have finished I’ll take you to meet her, if you like. She’s quite friendly, once you get to know her.”
Leafpaw nodded eagerly. She was sure that Mudfur would soon receive the sign that Mothwing could be accepted. There were no other medicine cat apprentices in the forest, and she looked forward to making friends with another one—someone she could talk to about her training and all the mysteries of StarClan that were slowly being revealed to her.
The protests had died down after Mudfur’s speech, and as Leopardstar had no more to say Tallstar brought the meeting to an end.
Feathertail leaped to her paws. “Come on, before we all have to leave.”
As Leafpaw followed the RiverClan warrior across the clearing, she felt sympathy already for Mothwing. Judging by the response of the other cats tonight, it was easy to imagine the hard path that lay ahead of her before she would be fully accepted by her Clan.
As the Gathering drew to a close and the cats began to separate into their own Clans, Brambleclaw looked around for his sister, Tawnypelt. He had not seen her, and wondered if she had not been chosen to come this time.
He saw Firestar halt in front of a young tabby tom who was sitting near Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat.
“Congratulations, Hawkfrost,” Firestar meowed. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine warrior.”
So that’s Hawkfrost, Brambleclaw thought with interest, pricking up his ears. The rogue-born RiverClan cat.
“Thank you, Firestar,” the new warrior replied. “I’ll do my best to serve my Clan.”
“I’m sure you will.” Firestar touched Hawkfrost on the shoulder with the tip of his tail in a gesture of encouragement. “Pay no attention to all the fuss. It’ll all be forgotten in a moon.”
He walked on, and Hawkfrost raised his head to look after him. Brambleclaw couldn’t quite suppress a shiver when he glimpsed the tom’s eyes, an eerie ice blue that seemed to stare through the ThunderClan leader as if he were made of smoke.
“Great StarClan!” he murmured aloud. “I wouldn’t like to meet him in battle.”
“Meet who?”
Brambleclaw spun around to see Tawnypelt standing behind him. “There you are!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Answering her question, he added, “Hawkfrost. He looks dangerous.”
Tawnypelt shrugged. “So are you dangerous. I’m dangerous. It’s what warriors are for. This whole full-moon thing could be broken by the slash of a claw—and has been before.”
Brambleclaw nodded. “True. So how are you, Tawnypelt? How’s life in ShadowClan?”
“Pretty good.” Tawnypelt hesitated, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Look, there’s something I wanted to ask you about.” Brambleclaw sat down and pricked his ears expectantly. “The other night I had this weird dream. . . .”
“What?” He couldn’t bite back the exclamation, and Tawnypelt’s green eyes flew wide with alarm. “No, go on,” he meowed, forcing himself to be calm. “Tell me about the dream.”
“I was in a clearing in the forest,” Tawnypelt explained, “but I didn’t recognise exactly where it was. There was a cat sitting on a rock—a black cat; I think it was Nightstar. You know, ShadowClan’s leader before our father? I . . . I guess if StarClan were going to send a cat to ShadowClan, it wouldn’t be Tigerstar.”
“What did he say to you?” Brambleclaw asked hoarsely, already knowing what his sister’s answer would be.
“He told me that there was some great trouble coming to the forest, and a new prophecy had to be fulfilled. I had been chosen to meet with three other cats at the new moon, and listen to what midnight would tell us.”
Brambleclaw stared at her, his fur crawling with ice.
“What’s the matter?” Tawnypelt asked. “Why are you looking like that?”
“Because I had exactly the same dream, except that the cat who spoke to me was Bluestar.”
Tawnypelt blinked and her brother saw a shiver pass through her tortoiseshell fur. At last she meowed, “Have you told any other cat about your dream?”
Brambleclaw shook his head. “I didn’t know what to make of it. To be honest, I thought it was due to something I ate. I mean, why would StarClan send a vision like that to me, instead of to Firestar or Cinderpelt?”
“I thought the same,” his sister agreed. “And I expected the other three cats to be from ShadowClan, so when no other cat mentioned it . . .”
“I know, me too. I thought they would be from ThunderClan. But it looks as if we were wrong.”
Brambleclaw glanced around the clearing. The Gathering was thinning out as cats began to leave, and in spite of the protests over Hawkfrost and Mothwing the general mood was good-humoured. No other cats looked as if they had received doom-laden dreams. What possible trouble could be coming—and if it did, what could he and Tawnypelt do about it?
“What do you think we should do now?” Tawnypelt echoed his thoughts.
“If the dream was true, then two other cats should have had it,” Brambleclaw replied. “It makes sense that there would be one from each of the other two Clans. We should try to find out who.”
“Oh, yes.” Tawnypelt sounded scornful. “Are you going to walk into WindClan or RiverClan territory and ask every cat if they had a weird dream? I’m not. They would think we were mad, if they didn’t claw our ears off first.”
“What do you suggest, then?”
“We’re all supposed to meet at the new moon,” Tawnypelt mewed thoughtfully. “Nightstar didn’t say where, but it must be here at Fourtrees. There isn’t anywhere else where cats from four different Clans can get together.”
“So you think we should come here at the new moon?”
“Unless you can think of a better idea.”
Brambleclaw shook his head. “I only hope the other cats do the same. If . . . if the dream is real, of course.”
He broke off as he heard a cat calling his name, and turned to see Firestar standing a short distance away,