Bramblestar’s Storm

Daisy twitched her whiskers. She knows what I mean. Another falling tree would tear the heart out of this Clan.

“I’ll go,” Daisy agreed, “but I probably won’t get any sleep, what with the wind and the stench of mouse bile. Honestly, I think every tick in the forest heads straight for Purdy!”

Bramblestar looked around for Squirrelflight, wondering if it was too late to send out more patrols. Spotting her outside the warriors’ den, he headed toward her, only to be intercepted by Millie.

“Briarlight is very worried about falling trees,” the gray she-cat told him. “She won’t be able to run away.”

Looking at Millie’s troubled eyes, and the way she was agitatedly working her claws into the ground, Bramblestar thought that Millie was more terrified than Briarlight for her daughter’s safety. “Okay, I’ll talk to her,” he meowed.

Millie led him to the fresh-kill pile, where Briarlight was sharing a rather shriveled shrew with Molewhisker.

“Where would you feel most comfortable sleeping?” Bramblestar asked her.

Briarlight shivered. “Somewhere there are no trees,” she replied.

Bramblestar figured that Briarlight might feel safest up on the Highledge, where the rock would shelter her. “You can sleep in my den,” he told her. “Come on, I’ll carry you up there.”

Briarlight blinked at him in surprise. “Really? Wow!”

“Thank you, Bramblestar,” purred Millie.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Bramblestar crouched down so that Briarlight could haul herself onto his back. Molewhisker gave her a boost, and Brackenfur saw what was going on and came to help too. With the toms steadying Briarlight on either side, Bramblestar struggled up the slope of rocks, wincing every time their paws dislodged small stones. Millie brought up the rear, and Bramblestar heard her gasp with alarm at each stone that pattered down into the clearing.

At last Bramblestar reached his den and settled Briarlight into his nest, pulling the moss and bracken closely around her to make her cozy. “You’d better stay with her, Millie,” he meowed. “Call me if there are any problems. I’ll be in the warriors’ den.”

“We’ll be just fine here, Bramblestar,” Millie responded. “Thank you so much.”

Bramblestar headed down into the clearing and found Squirrelflight still sitting outside the warriors’ den, her tail wrapped around her paws.

“Do you think we should take out another hunting patrol?” he meowed.

“In this?” Squirrelflight glanced up at the trees, still buffetted by the roaring wind. “No. We’ll just have to go hungry tonight, and hope things are better in the morning.”

Bramblestar was glad to agree with her. His head and his shoulder were aching, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and go to sleep.

“That was very kind, what you did for Briarlight,” Squirrelflight murmured as they slipped inside the warriors’ den.

Bramblestar felt embarrassed all over again. “It was logical,” he mewed with a shrug.

As the Clan settled down to sleep, Dustpelt and Brackenfur padded around to check each den, making sure that the branches were woven as securely as they could be, and plugging any new holes with moss and bramble.

“Don’t stay awake too late,” Bramblestar advised them. “You need your sleep too.”

Dustpelt didn’t reply. Bramblestar suppressed a sigh. He wondered if the tabby tom was deliberately working himself into exhaustion to have a chance of sleeping in his empty nest.

Though his mossy bed was comfortable, Bramblestar found it hard to sleep because of the noise of the wind. He couldn’t stop listening out for the creaking sound that would warn of a tree about to fall. But at the same time he enjoyed hearing the breathing of his Clanmates and seeing their furry shapes in the dim light. He realized for the first time how much he missed their company when he was sleeping alone in his den on the Highledge.

If I had a mate, I wouldn’t be alone, he thought, then gave himself a shake. There’s no point dwelling on that.

Finally Bramblestar gave up his attempt to sleep and crept into the clearing. He staggered as the force of the wind hit him, with a slap of rain that probed his pelt with icy claws. Recovering himself, he began to pad around the camp.

Purdy’s voice came from the elders’ den. “So, I says to the dog, ‘Listen, flea-pelt, this is my garden, so take your stench-ridden body out of here.’”

“Wow…” Daisy’s voice sounded so drowsy that Bramblestar thought she was talking in her sleep. “How brave of you.”