Bramblestar’s Storm

“The trouble is,” Squirrelflight went on, “it could be seen as interfering, insulting to ShadowClan, and a stupid risk to our own warriors.”

Bramblestar sighed. “You’re right,” he admitted.

Squirrelflight leaned toward him and gave his ears a brisk lick. “It’s behind us,” she told him. “We need to focus on our own Clanmates now.”

As she finished speaking, Sandstorm padded up with a mouse dangling from her jaws. “Come on, Bramblestar, you need to eat.”

Bramblestar realized that his belly was growling with hunger. The warm scent of the mouse made his jaws water, but he hesitated for a moment, looking around until he had checked that all his patrol had headed into the tunnel to have Jayfeather deal with their injuries. Then he crouched down and bit into the mouse.

“Thanks, Sandstorm,” he mumbled around his mouthful.

While he was eating, Graystripe appeared, giving him a friendly nod. “I know you’re worried about whether you did the right thing,” he began. “But you shouldn’t. Firestar would have done exactly the same.”

Bramblestar winced. “That’s what Rowanstar said.”

Graystripe was quiet for a moment, while Bramblestar gulped down the rest of the mouse. When he spoke again, he seemed to be aware of exactly what Bramblestar was thinking. “You know, Firestar wouldn’t have seen it as interfering. He truly believed that if another Clan needed our help, it was our duty to give it.”

“But it’s not,” Bramblestar pointed out, swiping his tongue around his whiskers. “Not according to the warrior code. My loyalty should be to my own Clanmates, no other cats.”

Graystripe snorted. “There’s such a thing as basic decency,” he pointed out.

“What would you have done?” Bramblestar asked.

“Followed Firestar,” Graystripe replied without hesitation.

While Bramblestar was thinking that over, Purdy ambled out of the tunnel and settled down beside him. “Y’know, this reminds me of when I was a young cat, livin’ with my Upwalker,” he began.

Bramblestar suppressed a sigh. Purdy, this isn’t the time for one of your long-winded stories. But there was no stopping Purdy, who embarked on a complicated tale of how he had helped a cat in the den next door deal with his Upwalker’s new dog, and how the cat had then crept into Purdy’s den and stolen his food.

“Well, I said to myself, I’m not puttin’ up with that, so I…”

Bramblestar stopped listening as a clump of fern at the edge of the clearing shivered and Leafpool emerged. Her fur was ruffled and she had an agitated air.

Bramblestar bounded across the clearing to her side. “Leafpool! Are you okay?”

“Rowanstar asked me to leave!” Leafpool’s eyes were sparkling with indignation. “He said he’d had enough of ThunderClan interference. Bramblestar, what have you done?”

Ivypool and Cinderheart appeared from the tunnel at that moment, their wounds treated with cobwebs and poultices of marigold. They helped Bramblestar explain to Leafpool what had happened in the battle with the kittypets.

“How could you be so mouse-brained?” Leafpool sighed, shaking her head. “The medicine-cat code extends to helping other Clans, but not the warrior code. You should stop trying to imagine what Firestar would have done, and be true to yourself.”

“And Lionblaze is badly hurt,” Cinderheart added.

“What?” Leafpool paused for a heartbeat, her eyes stretched wide with shock. Then without another word she raced to the tunnel and vanished inside.

Be true to myself? Bramblestar thought, looking after her glumly. His responsibilities weighed as heavy on his shoulders as if he were trying to carry the whole forest.

I wish I knew how.

Chapter 23

Bramblestar sat in the shelter of a hazel bush, watching Minty creep up on a mouse. Frankie and Jessy, the other members of the patrol, were watching from farther around the edge of the clearing.

I can’t believe this! Bramblestar thought wryly. A hunting patrol of kittypets!

But in the quarter moon since the expedition into ShadowClan’s hunting grounds, all three of them were improving their tracking skills—even Minty, who had the twin advantages of being small and light-pawed. The mouse, nibbling something among the roots of a beech tree, had no idea that she was stalking it. She had even remembered to check the wind direction.

Suddenly Minty leaped forward and trapped the mouse under an outstretched paw. “Got it!” she exclaimed.

The mouse let out a squeal of terror.

“Oh, poor thing!” Minty sprang back, raising her paw, and the mouse scuttled off.

Frankie shook his head with an exaggerated sigh, then took off after the mouse and killed it with a quick blow to the head.

“Neat catch!” Bramblestar praised him as he padded back with the body dangling from his jaws.

Minty’s head was hanging as she rejoined the patrol. “I’m sorry,” she mewed. “It freaks me out when they squeal.”