Darkest Night

As she spoke, Leafpool padded quickly into camp, a bundle of herbs in her jaws. She dropped them and hurried to Leafstar’s side. “Is Fallowfern okay? I saw her following Juniperclaw. She looked worried.” She glanced at the ShadowClan tom. “Why’s he here?”

“I caught that fleabag stealing our herbs!” Juniperclaw snarled.

Leafpool looked distraught. “That’s my fault. I’m not used to the new borders. I probably sent her to the wrong herb patch.”

Juniperclaw rolled his eyes. “What sort of Clan is this? You have a borrowed medicine cat who knows even less about your territory than you do.” He looked around the camp. “Where is every cat?”

“Busy.” Leafstar straightened defensively. Twigpaw guessed that she didn’t want to admit that the Clan was so small right now that even one hunting patrol left the camp empty.

“When they stop being busy”—the black tom curled his lip—“tell them to pay more attention to their borders. We will shred the next SkyClan cat we find on our territory.” He stormed off.

“Sorry.” Leafpool shook her head and turned to Leafstar. “I should have been more careful.”

“It’s okay,” Leafstar assured her. “The borders probably weren’t properly marked. ShadowClan is just as short on warriors as we are.”

“They’d never admit it,” Leafpool grunted.

“Nor would we,” Leafstar pointed out. “But we don’t try to make up for it by throwing our weight around like a troop of badgers.”

Twigpaw poked the moss ball nervously. Border tension was never a good sign. Was ShadowClan beginning to regret giving some of their land to SkyClan? Would they ask for it back?

As Leafpool walked toward Fallowfern, her eyes filled with remorse, Leafstar headed back to her den.

The SkyClan leader glanced at Twigpaw and Finpaw as she passed them. “Why don’t you two make yourselves useful?” she mewed crossly.

“How?” Twigpaw blinked at her.

“Clear out the warriors’ den.” Leafstar lashed her tail.

Twigpaw dipped her head. “Okay.”

As Leafstar padded to her den, Finpaw screwed up his nose. “Why should we clean out dens?” he muttered. “We’re here because of my tail, not because we’re in trouble.”

“Some cat’s got to clean them,” Twigpaw pointed out.

“Let the warriors clear up their own mess.” Finpaw jerked his muzzle toward the camp entrance. “We should have fun. Let’s go find another frog for Dewpaw’s nest.”

Twigpaw’s whiskers twitched with amusement as she remembered how Dewpaw had shot out of his nest when the frog had wriggled beneath his bedding. She glanced at Finpaw out of the corner of her eye. His mischievousness was infectious. “Let’s find a hedgehog!”

“How would we get a hedgehog back to camp?”

“We could lay a trail of worms for it to follow.”

Finpaw’s eyes brightened. “Great idea!” He headed for the entrance.

“I was joking!” Twigpaw hurried after him.

“I know.” He paused at the entrance while Leafpool and Fallowfern disappeared into the medicine den. “But we can clean out dens later, while everyone else is showing off their catch or reminiscing about the gorge.” Winking at her, he scampered out of camp.

Twigpaw followed. “I guess we could hunt,” she suggested. They could share their catch with their Clanmates. And it would be great to hunt without Sandynose for a change. He was always criticizing where she put her paws or how she killed her catch. “I know a great place for mice.”

Without waiting for an answer, she headed to where one of ShadowClan’s ditches ran onto SkyClan land. Wind whirled through the canopy and whipped through her pelt. She smelled the musty flavors of leaf-fall, her heart pricking as she remembered ThunderClan’s forest. Leaves would be fluttering down like snow there, lining the paths and choking the ferns. Here the pines stood green and straight, heedless of the changing season.

“Mouse dung!” Finpaw cursed behind her. She glanced back and saw him stagger as he followed her over an uneven stretch of ground. His stubby tail flicked back and forth wildly as he tried to steady himself.

Twigpaw slowed down and let him catch up to her. “You’ll get used to your tail eventually.”

He glanced at her. “But I’ll never be a normal cat again.”

“Who wants to be normal?” she mewed lightly.

As the trees thinned, she saw the ditch. She could smell mouse already. She stopped at the edge and peered in. Weeds sprouted from the sides, and beneath their shriveling leaves she saw movement. “Quick! Get down.” She dropped into a crouch.

Finpaw squatted beside her. “Prey?”

“It’s a mouse.” Twigpaw could hear it pattering over the pine needles at the bottom of the ditch. She flicked his haunches with her tail-tip. “You can have the first catch.”

Finpaw edged forward and peeked into the ditch. His hindquarters quivered with excitement. He bunched his paws tightly beneath him and held his breath. Twigpaw could sense he was about to pounce but, as his stubby tail swept the forest floor, he wobbled. His hind paw shot out to stop himself toppling. Pine needles sprayed the ditch. The mouse darted away.