Dustpelt stood in the shadows beneath the trees with his mate, Ferncloud, and their son Birchkit, the only one of their latest litter to survive the lack of prey back in the forest. Ferncloud was crouched over Longtail, nosing him anxiously as he lay in the grass. Longtail was not many seasons older than Dustpelt, but he had been forced to join the elders when his eyesight failed; the journey from the forest had been particularly hard for him. Goldenflower, Brambleclaw’s mother, lay close to his flank on the other side. She was the oldest ThunderClan queen, and Brambleclaw realised with a pang of sympathy that she looked too weary to do anything more than press her warm fur against Longtail.
Dustpelt nudged the pale tabby tom’s shoulder. “Come on, Longtail,” he meowed. “Not far now.”
As Squirrelpaw bounded over to help, Brambleclaw spotted a sheltered place where the ground fell away a couple of tail-lengths beyond the clump of trees; grass grew thickly there, and a few bushes with low-growing branches.
“What about making a den over there?” he suggested, pointing with his tail.
“Good idea,” meowed Dustpelt. He nosed Longtail again. “It’s all right, Longtail; you can sleep as long as you want once we get you to a more sheltered place.”
Longtail heaved himself to his paws; Squirrelpaw padded beside him with her tail curled around his neck to guide him. Brambleclaw let Goldenflower lean on his shoulder, while Ferncloud encouraged Birchkit to follow.
“This had better be the place we’re looking for,” Dustpelt remarked, looking around at the exhausted cats. “None of us have the strength to travel any further.”
Brambleclaw didn’t reply. He knew Dustpelt was right—but he couldn’t tell him for sure that this was the place StarClan had meant them to find. He watched the others slide between the branches and settle into the piles of dry leaves under the bushes. Catching a glimpse of Leafpaw padding past with a mouthful of moss for bedding, he recalled the medicine cat apprentice’s unquestioning faith that their warrior ancestors had made the journey with them. He wished he could feel the same certainty. All along he had clung to the belief that their troubles would be over when they reached their new territory. Now, daunted by the strangeness of everything around him, he could see they were only just beginning.
Squirrelpaw’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Dustpelt, do you want us to hunt for you?”
Her mentor flicked her ear with his tail. “No, we’ll all hunt later. Look at you; you’re asleep on your paws. Go with Brambleclaw and get some rest.”
“OK.” Squirrelpaw’s jaws split into an enormous yawn.
“What about under that gorse bush?” Brambleclaw led the way to the spot he had pointed out a few tail-lengths up the slope, and crawled under the lowest boughs.
Squirrelpaw followed him and curled into a tight ball with her tail over her nose. “Good night,” she murmured indistinctly.
Brambleclaw scrabbled in the debris underneath the bush until he had made a comfortable nest. Curling up close to Squirrelpaw, he breathed in her warm, familiar scent. He was glad that they had not made a proper camp yet, where warriors and apprentices would have their separate dens. He would miss sleeping next to Squirrelpaw, he realised with the last flicker of conscious thought. Then sleep covered him like the lapping of a soft black wave.
Brambleclaw’s dreams were dark and confused. He was searching for something in the middle of a thick forest, but he could not remember what he was looking for, and every path he took ended abruptly in tangles of briar or impassable walls of thorn. In desperation, he tried to force his way through, but a branch poked him painfully in the side.
“Wake up, Brambleclaw! You’ve been asleep forever—what do you think you are, a hedgehog?”
Brambleclaw’s eyes flew open to see Squirrelpaw prodding him with her forepaw. Watery yellow daylight was seeping through the branches of the gorse bush.
“It’s morning,” Squirrelpaw went on. “Let’s go and see if we can hunt. If you can stop hibernating, that is.”
Blinking sleep from his eyes, Brambleclaw staggered to his paws, shook scraps of dead leaves from his pelt, and followed Squirrelpaw into the open.
The confusion of his dream slipped away when he remembered where he was. But it was replaced with a renewed feeling of anxiety as he looked at the landscape in daylight for the first time. He wondered if this vast, unfamiliar place would ever seem like home.
A cold breeze blew, ridging the surface of the lake and rattling through the reeds that edged the shore. The shining grey water stretched in front of Brambleclaw for almost as far as he could see; above the hills that rose on one side, a glow in the sky showed where the sun would shortly rise. Back the way they had come, the land sloped up more gently to bare moorland. The Twoleg fence stretched across it, and in the growing light Brambleclaw could just make out a couple of Twoleg nests in the distance. He let out a faint sound of approval; such small nests couldn’t hold many Twolegs, and being so far away they were unlikely to interfere with the Clans.
Further around the lake, below the hills, was a smudge that looked like grey-green mist; Brambleclaw realised it was a mass of leafless branches, stretching along the shore and up to the crest of the ridge. His heart lifted to think that soon he could be underneath trees again, however strange they might be.
At the far end of the lake the grey smudge of trees darkened, and Brambleclaw guessed that they were pines, still green in the depths of leaf-bare. They covered the ground like a gently rippling pelt as the wind stirred them.
The glow on the horizon grew too bright to look at as the sun edged up; the last stars were fading, and the sky was a clear, pale blue.
“Time to hunt,” Brambleclaw meowed to Squirrelpaw, who was standing beside him.
He looked around for Firestar or one of the senior warriors, to find out if any patrols were being sent out. His leader was emerging from a nearby gorse thicket with Leopardstar, Blackstar, and Mudclaw. The leaders must have been holding a meeting, Brambleclaw guessed, and he felt a twinge of apprehension to see Mudclaw in Tallstar’s place, representing WindClan.
“I wonder if Tallstar went to join StarClan during the night,” he muttered, his belly clenching with grief at the thought.
Squirrelpaw shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she mewed. “Or they would have brought his body out so his Clan could pay their respects.”
Brambleclaw hoped she was right. Before he could say anything else, Firestar leaped onto the tree stump where the leaders had addressed the Clans yesterday. Blackstar jumped up beside him, and Mudclaw scrambled up on the other side. There was barely room for all three cats to stand together on the flat top of the stump, so Leopardstar did not try to join them, but sat on a twisted root at the base.
“We’ll need a new place to hold Gatherings,” Squirrelpaw remarked.
Firestar’s yowl, calling the Clans together, interrupted her. Stems of grass and fern parted, and the branches of bushes shook as the cats emerged from their sleeping places. They all looked thin and worn, easy prey for any hostile creatures the territory might conceal, and they glanced around nervously, as if they could feel hungry eyes burning into their pelts on every side.
Brambleclaw bounded down the slope towards the stump, with Squirrelpaw close behind. Halfway down he spotted Tallstar’s black-and-white shape curled in the grass where he had gone to sleep the night before. The WindClan medicine cat, Barkface, was sitting beside him, sniffing anxiously at his fur. Neither cat made any attempt to join the others gathered around the tree stump; it was obvious Tallstar wasn’t well enough to take part in the meeting.
“Cats of all Clans,” Firestar was announcing as Brambleclaw reached his Clanmates. “Today there are decisions to be made and tasks to be carried out—”
“Hunting