Darkest Night

He glanced over his shoulder as he led Jayfeather, Kestrelflight, and Puddleshine back toward the shore. Duskfur paced back and forth, her brown tabby pelt bristling as the RiverClan patrol glowered at them. He felt sick. He hadn’t expected hostility here.

Alderheart trudged back through the reed beds. Worry weighed like a stone in his belly. The Clans had taken so long to obey StarClan’s command to embrace what lay in the shadows that it had almost destroyed them. They couldn’t let the same thing happen this time.

And yet RiverClan refused to hear this prophecy. Rowanstar had interpreted it as a warning about SkyClan. Harestar had stepped up patrols. Leafstar was too busy, and Bramblestar was too weary of StarClan’s visions to care. The prophecy seemed only to have shone a light on the rifts between the Clans. We must work together to figure this out. Alderheart’s thoughts were spinning. How could he make them understand when they were too wrapped up in their own problems to think clearly?

CHAPTER 9

Violetpaw’s legs still ached from yesterday as she padded beside Hawkwing. The sun hadn’t risen yet, but the sky showed pink beyond the distant forest. They had been starting early like this for days. Hawkwing and Blossomheart had grown more and more excited as they neared their destination. They had told stories of a “farm cat” named Barley, and of their mother, Cherrytail, and Cloudmist, their sister. Violetpaw had felt warm from her nose to her tail-tip at the news that she had yet more kin. She felt as though she knew them already. She hadn’t realized how much Hawkwing had missed his mother and sister until she’d heard the throb in his purr as he talked about growing up with them in the gorge. But she was nervous about meeting them. She’d known Twigpaw her whole life, and even their relationship hadn’t always been easy. She’d always felt closer to Needletail than any cat. What if Cloudmist and Cherrytail didn’t like her? Would she feel as attached to them as she had been to Needletail? Her thoughts flitted back to Needletail often, and she’d been sleeping badly, waking at the smallest gust of wind or rustle in the undergrowth, hoping for another dream about her friend, wondering if Needletail’s spirit had returned again.

Hawkwing seemed to have sensed her distraction over the past few days and, though he hadn’t pressed her, she could tell he was worried about her. He always seemed to have one eye on her and one eye on the path ahead. She wished she could confide in him about the guilt that twisted her heart every time she remembered her friend. But how could she tell him that she’d left Needletail to be killed by Darktail? He might never look at her the same way again.

“It’s not far.” He spoke to her now, nodding to the meadows, which stretched toward the rosy dawn sky. They’d spent the night sheltering in the square mouth of a cave cut deep into a wide cliff, and they’d woken early. Stars still showed as they’d scrambled down the steep slope and crossed the stretch of stone to where rough grass softened into pasture.

Molewhisker had wanted to follow the sun to where it rose, but Hawkwing had recognized the distant moorland and remembered a route that would take them to the last place he’d seen his mother and sister. As the stars began to fade, they crossed a deserted Thunderpath and climbed past swaths of gorse. Now fields stretched ahead of them as the sun lifted above the treetops.

Molewhisker and Blossomheart competed for the lead as they followed the edge of another meadow. Rabbitleap padded behind them, his pelt still ruffled from sleep.

Violetpaw shivered. Each day, the wind had grown colder and she had grown more tired. She longed to rest in a sheltered clearing where sunlight fell in warm pools. Wearily, she stared at her paws.

Hawkwing brushed against her. “We’re nearly there. Look.”

She lifted her head and gazed at the stubbly field beyond a fence. Molewhisker, Blossomheart, and Rabbitleap were already crossing it. Short, dirty yellow stalks poked out of the brown earth in rows, like prickles on a hedgehog. Shattered stems littered the ground between.

“Last time I was here, the stalks were green and tall.” Hawkwing squeezed beneath the fence.

Violetpaw wriggled after him. “I wonder what ate them?” She glanced around nervously. Any creature that could bite through such thick stalks must be huge.

Hawking hurried after the others. “Whatever it was is gone now.”

Violetpaw saw white shapes moving in the next field. As big as bushes, they floated like small clouds over the ground. Were they dangerous? She wondered warily if they had eaten the stalks. As she padded closer, she could hear grass tearing as they grazed. They stared ahead, chewing blankly, clearly unaware that their thick coats were filthy and matted.

“What are they?” she breathed, her nose wrinkling at their musky smell.