Outcast

Stoneteller gave a doubtful snort but didn’t object anymore as Talon set the marker. He was silent as they continued around the pool where they had clashed with the three intruders and along the narrow valley where the young trespassers had ambushed them.

When they had climbed out of the valley, Pebble set a scent marker at the base of a huge boulder overlooking a craggy slope that led down to a clump of scrubby, windblown trees.

“What about those?” Stoneteller asked, pointing with his tail. “We need that place in our territory.”

Brambleclaw surveyed the terrain with narrowed eyes.

“It’s not worth it,” he decided. “They’re too hard to reach from here.”

“But Tribe cats have hunted there for seasons. The trees bear our claw marks.”

Lionpaw saw the slight bristling of his father’s neck fur that told him Brambleclaw was trying not to show his annoyance.

“Your border has to be manageable if you’re to stand any chance of defending it,” he explained. “Your main aim must be to enclose enough territory to support the Tribe. And you must leave the trespassers enough space for themselves; otherwise you’re asking them to attack you.”

Lionpaw saw Talon nodding as if he understood, but Stoneteller lashed his tail and hissed through bared teeth.

“Suit yourself, Clan cat.”

Brambleclaw just dipped his head and motioned to Talon to take the lead again.

Their route lay over the shoulder of a hill and down a boulder-covered slope to a stream in the valley below. Before they reached the bottom, icy rain began to fall, stinging as the wind drove it into the cats’ faces. Within a few heartbeats, Lionpaw’s pelt was soaked. Shivering, he longed for the shelter of thick, leafy branches.

“How do you Tribe cats stand it?” he asked Pebble. “Even when the sun shines, it’s so windy up here. And this rain is just—”

“I’ll show you,” Pebble interrupted.

She quickened her pace, bounding down among the boulders until she reached the side of the stream. Curious, Lionpaw followed her. He found her rolling in the mud on the bank until her pelt was thoroughly plastered with it.

“Try it,” she invited, springing up. “It keeps the warmth in and the cold wind out. And prey-hunters do it when they’re stalking prey so that they don’t stand out against the rocks.”

Lionpaw recalled seeing Tribe cats with mud-covered fur.

He’d just assumed that they hadn’t bothered to groom. Now he could see the advantages. Gingerly he lowered himself into a muddy hollow and rolled over and over until the brown mud covered his golden fur.

Hearing a snort of laughter, he looked up to see Breezepaw standing over him. “You’ll have fun licking that off,” the WindClan apprentice sniggered.

“So will you!” Before Breezepaw could react, Lionpaw leaped up and bowled him over, dragging him down into the mud with him. Breezepaw let out a startled yowl, scrambling to get out, but Lionpaw wrestled with him until his pelt was just as thoroughly mud-soaked.

“Stupid furball!” Breezepaw spat, hauling himself onto a nearby rock and surveying his filthy fur with a disgusted look.

Pebble was watching both of them, her tail curled up in amusement. “Fair’s fair,” she meowed. “You teach us Clan ways, and now you’re learning Tribe ways.”

Lionpaw clambered out of the hollow and shook himself.

He hated the smell of the mud and the way it stuck his fur together, but he had to admit Pebble had been right. The muddy covering did keep the wind out.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Let’s keep going.”

Talon jumped across the stream and led the way up the slope beyond. Lionpaw had only just begun to climb when he heard a yowl from somewhere above and looked up to see cat shapes outlined against the sky. Briefly he froze, expecting intruders. Then mingled Clan and Tribe scents reached him and he recognized Crowfeather’s patrol.

“Great!” he exclaimed. “That’s the whole border marked.”

The two groups of cats met on top of the ridge. Crowfeather reported an encounter with a couple of intruders, who had slunk rapidly away when they realized they were outnumbered. Otherwise they had set their scent markers with no trouble.

“Then let’s return to the cave,” Stoneteller meowed.

To Lionpaw’s relief, Talon led them back by a much quicker route. The rain eased off on the way, and when they reached the pool by the waterfall Hollypaw was in the middle of a training session with the to-bes who had stayed behind.

“Lionpaw!” She paused in the middle of demonstrating a fighting move, her green eyes wide with astonishment. “I hardly recognized you. You look just like a Tribe cat!”

Lionpaw shrugged uncomfortably, still hating the feeling of the mud on his fur. “I can’t wait to get it off.”

“Why? Doesn’t it work?”

“Yes, it works fine,” Lionpaw replied, “but it’s yucky.”

Hollypaw rolled her eyes. “Your golden fur really stands out against the rocks,” she pointed out. “You’ll catch much more prey the way you are now.”

“I suppose so.” Lionpaw sighed. He wished he was back in the forest, where his pelt blended with the dappled sunlight through the leaves.