MIDNIGHT. Эрин Хантер

yourselves . . .” he began. “Squirrelpaw, what can you scent?”

      “Apart from vole, you mean?” Squirrelpaw mewed cheekily. Springing to her paws, she tasted the air. The breeze was blowing from RiverClan territory, and she soon replied, “RiverClan cats—strong and fresh.”

      “Good.” Dustpelt looked pleased. “A patrol just went by. Nothing to do with us.”

      And no sign of WindClan, Brambleclaw commented to himself as they moved off again. Not that this meant his suspicions were wrong—he did not expect to see any of their cats this far downstream, the whole length of ThunderClan territory away from their own border.

      As they drew closer to Fourtrees and passed the Twoleg bridge, all three cats paused to scan the slope. The breeze had dropped and the air was still and heavy with the scent of cats.

      “WindClan and RiverClan,” Brambleclaw mewed quietly to Dustpelt.

      The older warrior nodded. “But they’re allowed to go down to the river,” he reminded him. “There’s no sign that they’ve crossed our border.”

      “So there!” Squirrelpaw couldn’t resist adding.

      Brambleclaw shrugged, telling himself that he would rather be proved wrong. He didn’t want trouble with WindClan.

      Dustpelt was just moving off again toward Fourtrees when Brambleclaw caught another scent—WindClan again, but much stronger and fresher than before. Not daring to call out, he signaled frantically to Dustpelt with his tail, angling his ears in the direction where he thought the scent was coming from. Dustpelt crouched down in the long grass and signaled to his companions to do the same.

      Please, StarClan, Brambleclaw begged, don’t let Squirrelpaw make a smart remark!

      But the apprentice remained silent, flattening herself to the ground and staring at the clumps of bracken that Brambleclaw had indicated. For a while, the only sound was the slap and murmur of the river nearby. Then there was a dry, rustling sound, and a mottled brown cat peered out of the bracken before creeping into the open a couple of tail-lengths on the ThunderClan side of the border. Brambleclaw recognised Mudclaw, the WindClan deputy. He was followed by Onewhisker and a smallish dark grey cat Brambleclaw had never seen before—an apprentice, he guessed—carrying a vole in his jaws.

      Glancing back, Mudclaw murmured, “Head for the border. I can smell ThunderClan.”

      “I’m not surprised,” Dustpelt growled, rising up out of the grass.

      Mudclaw recoiled and drew his lips back in a snarl. At once Brambleclaw leaped up to stand beside his Clan mate, and Squirrelpaw dashed up to her mentor’s other side.

      “What are you doing on our territory?” Dustpelt demanded. “As if I need to ask.”

      “We’re not stealing prey,” Mudclaw retorted.

      “Then what’s that?” Squirrelpaw asked, flicking her tail toward the vole that the apprentice was carrying.

      “It’s not a ThunderClan vole,” Onewhisker explained. An old friend of Firestar’s, he looked thoroughly embarrassed to be caught like this on ThunderClan territory. “It ran across the border from RiverClan.”

      “Even if that’s true, you’re stealing it from RiverClan,” Brambleclaw pointed out. “You’re allowed to drink from the river, not to take prey.”

      The grey-black apprentice dropped the vole and launched himself across the grass at Brambleclaw. “Mind your own business!” he spat.

      He barrelled into Brambleclaw and knocked him over; Brambleclaw let out a surprised yowl as the apprentice’s teeth closed in the loose skin on his neck. Twisting his body, he managed to score his claws down the other cat’s shoulder, and felt strong hind paws scrabbling at his belly. With a screech of fury he tore his neck free and dived for his opponent’s throat.

      As his teeth found their mark, Brambleclaw caught a glimpse of Onewhisker aiming a blow with his paw. He braced himself to fight both cats at once, before he realised that the WindClan warrior had batted the apprentice away and was standing over him, rage smoldering in his eyes.