Tawnypelt nodded and slipped into the bushes, following her Clan mates. Brambleclaw hurried over to join Firestar, hoping that his shock and fear did not show on his face. He had tried to forget his dream, but if Tawnypelt had dreamed it as well, he had no choice but to take it seriously. Trouble was coming, and he did not know what to do about it, nor understand how midnight could tell him anything.
Oh, StarClan, he mewed silently. I hope you know what you’re doing!
Brambleclaw emerged from the warriors’ den and glanced around the clearing. Another quarter moon had passed, and still there was no rain. Over all the forest, the air was hot and heavy. The streams near the camp had dried up, so the Clan had to travel to the stream that flowed past Fourtrees when they needed water. Luckily it ran deep through the rocky soil, and flowed even in the driest greenleaf.
Ever since the Gathering Brambleclaw’s sleep had been disturbed, and when he woke each morning he struggled with the foreboding that something terrible had happened to the camp during the night. But everything seemed as peaceful as it had been the day before. This morning, Whitepaw and Shrewpaw were practicing their fighting moves outside the apprentices’ den. Mousefur emerged from the gorse tunnel with a squirrel clamped in her jaws, followed by her apprentice, Spiderpaw, and Rainwhisker, who also carried fresh-kill. Firestar and Greystripe were talking together at the base of the Highrock, with Squirrelpaw and Dustpelt listening close by.
Firestar beckoned Brambleclaw over with his tail. “Are you up for an extra patrol?” he asked. “I want to check the border with ShadowClan, in case they get the idea of coming across here to find water.”
“But Blackstar said that his Clan has all the water they need,” Brambleclaw reminded him.
Firestar’s ears twitched. “True. But we don’t necessarily believe what Clan leaders say at a Gathering. Besides, I’ve never trusted Blackstar. If he thinks we have richer prey in our territory, he’ll send warriors in to help themselves, for sure.”
Greystripe growled agreement. “ShadowClan have been quiet for too many moons. If you ask me, it’s about time they started making trouble.”
“I just thought—” Brambleclaw stopped, embarrassed to be seen objecting to his leader’s order, and amazed that he could see a possibility Firestar didn’t seem to have considered.
“Go on,” Firestar prompted.
Brambleclaw took a deep breath. He couldn’t get out of this now, in spite of the green glare that Squirrelpaw was giving him for daring to disagree with her father. “I just think that if there is trouble, it’s more likely to come from WindClan,” he ventured. “If their territory is as dry as Tallstar said, then they’re bound to be short of prey.”
“WindClan!” Squirrelpaw burst out. “Brambleclaw, are you completely mouse-brained? RiverClan gave WindClan permission to drink at the river, so if they steal prey from anywhere they’ll steal it from RiverClan.”
“And that strip of RiverClan territory is really narrow between the river and our border,” Brambleclaw retorted. “If WindClan do hunt, the prey could easily cross into our territory.”
“You think you’re so clever!” Squirrelpaw sprang to her paws, her fur bristling. “Firestar ordered you to check the ShadowClan border, so you should do what you’re told.”
“Of course, you’ve never disobeyed a warrior, have you?” Dustpelt put in dryly.
Squirrelpaw ignored her mentor. “ShadowClan have always caused trouble,” she persisted. “But we’re friends with WindClan now.”
Brambleclaw found himself getting angrier and angrier. Of course he didn’t want to question Firestar’s authority. Firestar was the hero who had saved the forest from the terrible ambitions of Tigerstar and the rogue cats who followed him. There would never be another cat like him. Yet Brambleclaw really believed that ThunderClan should take a possible threat from WindClan seriously. He would have liked to discuss it properly with Firestar, but that was impossible when Squirrelpaw insisted on arguing with everything he said.
“You’re the one who thinks she knows it all,” he spat, taking a step toward her. “Will you just listen for one moment?”
He ducked to avoid her paw as she lashed at him, claws unsheathed, and his last scrap of self-control deserted him. Falling into a crouch, he got ready to spring at her, his tail twitching back and forth. If Squirrelpaw wanted a fight, she could have one!
But before either of the young cats could attack, Firestar pushed in between them. “That’s enough!” he snarled.
Brambleclaw froze in dismay. Straightening up, he gave his chest an anxious lick and murmured, “Sorry, Firestar.”
Squirrelpaw stayed silent, giving him a mutinous glare, until Dustpelt prompted her. “Well?”
“Sorry,” Squirrelpaw muttered, and instantly spoiled her apology by adding, “But he’s still a mouse-brain.”
“Actually, I think he’s got a point, don’t you?” Dustpelt meowed to Firestar. “I agree that ShadowClan have always been trouble and always will be, but if WindClan happen to spot a juicy vole or a squirrel on our side of the border, don’t you think they might be tempted?”
“You could be right,” Firestar conceded. “In that case, Brambleclaw, you’d better take a patrol up the RiverClan border as far as Fourtrees. Dustpelt, you and Squirrelpaw can go as well.” His eyes narrowed as he glanced from his daughter to Brambleclaw and back again. “And you will get along with each other, or I’ll want to know why.”
“Yes, Firestar,” Brambleclaw replied, relieved that he had gotten off so lightly for nearly flattening Squirrelpaw.
“That’s two patrols, then,” Greystripe mewed cheerfully. “I’ll find some more cats to go with me up the ShadowClan side.” He jumped to his paws and vanished into the warriors’ den.
Firestar nodded to Dustpelt, giving him authority over the patrol, and padded away to his den on the other side of the Highrock.
“Right, let’s go,” meowed Dustpelt. He set off toward the gorse tunnel, only to glance back at Squirrelpaw, who had not moved. “What’s the matter now?”
“It’s not fair,” Squirrelpaw muttered. “I don’t want to patrol with him.”
Brambleclaw rolled his eyes, but had the sense not to start their quarrel again.
“Then you shouldn’t have said what you did,” Dustpelt told his apprentice. Pacing back, he stood over her and gazed sternly down at her. “Squirrelpaw, sooner or later you must learn there are times to speak, and times to be silent.”
Squirrelpaw heaved a noisy sigh. “But it seems like it’s always time to be silent.”
“There, you’ve got the idea.” Dustpelt flicked her ear with his tail, and Brambleclaw caught a glimpse of the affection there was between mentor and apprentice. “Come on, both of you. We’ll renew the scent markings, and with any luck we’ll come across a mouse or two while we’re out.”
Squirrelpaw recovered her good temper when she caught a plump vole at Sunningrocks. Brambleclaw had to admit that she was an efficient hunter, patiently stalking her prey and pouncing on it to dispatch it with one blow of her paw.
“Dustpelt, I’m starving,” she announced. “May I eat it?”
Her mentor hesitated for a heartbeat and then nodded. “The Clan has been fed,” he replied. “And this isn’t a hunting patrol.”
Squirrelpaw shot a glance at Brambleclaw as she crouched over the fresh-kill and took an eager bite. “Mmm . . . delicious,” she mumbled. Then she stopped and