Outcast

“They went that way.” Crowfeather angled his ears toward the boulders that led to the narrow cleft in the rock. “Maybe they were taking prey back to their camp.”

“It’s worth a try,” Brambleclaw agreed, leading the way between the boulders and into the gap.

Lionpaw kept tasting the air as he followed, but the intruder scent was hard to follow, mingled with their own scent from the previous patrols. It grew stronger as they passed the place where they had fought the young cats, then seemed to fade away altogether by the time they reached the head of the valley.

“Mouse dung,” Tawnypelt muttered. “Don’t say we’ve lost them.”

Every cat stood silent, tasting the air, then cast about over the rocks for any trace of the elusive scent. Lionpaw’s belly growled as he detected the scent of mouse, and he had to remind himself sharply that they weren’t hunting now. But there was no sign of the trespassers.

“Over here!” Lionpaw turned to see Hollypaw waving her tail urgently from beneath a huge, jutting boulder. “I think they went this way.”

Brambleclaw padded up and drew in a long breath of air.

“You’re right.” He touched his nose to his daughter’s ear.

“That was well scented. You’d better take the lead.”

Hollypaw’s eyes glowed with pride. She led the way beneath the overhang and up a slope so steep it was hard to find a paw hold. At the top she paused for a few heartbeats, then began to pick her way down the other side. Lionpaw’s feet skidded as loose rock shifted beneath them. He hoped Hollypaw was right; he had lost all scent of the intruders.

“Your sister’s great, isn’t she?” Pebble murmured, catching up to him. “I don’t think even our prey-hunters could follow this scent.”

“She’s the best,” Lionpaw meowed proudly. “Back home, she always brings back the most prey.”

At the foot of the slope the scent grew stronger again.

Lionpaw could detect traces of many cats, and his pelt prickled. They must be getting close to the trespassers’ camp!

The trail crossed a dried-up watercourse, then led to a narrow cleft between two sheer rocks that tilted together so that they almost touched at the top. The gap led back into darkness; the intruders’ scent was overpowering.

“I think this is it,” Brambleclaw murmured.

“Do we go in?” Crag asked.

“No. We’ve got no idea how many cats we’d be facing.

Besides, we’d just be asking them to attack us if we set paw in their camp uninvited. We’ll wait.”

The cats spread out into a loose semicircle. Lionpaw saw Tawnypelt staring at the cleft with as much concentration as if she were waiting for a mouse to come out of its hole.

Crowfeather looked nervous, his ears flattened as he cast glances over his shoulder, keeping watch behind. Stormfur and Brook sat close together, quietly murmuring, while Crag paced restlessly back and forth.

Lionpaw padded over to Hollypaw until his pelt brushed hers. “Well done. You found it.”

Hollypaw’s whiskers twitched. “Let’s hope they’ll talk to us now that we’re here.”

Suddenly there was movement inside the cleft. A cat’s head poked out; Lionpaw recognized the young tortoiseshell he had encountered twice before. Her eyes stretched wide in horror when she saw the waiting cats, and she darted back at once into the shadow of the cleft. Lionpaw heard a panic-stricken yowling as she withdrew.

“It shouldn’t be long now,” Brambleclaw commented.

Every heartbeat felt like a season. Then Lionpaw spotted a pale pelt inside the cleft. Stripes, the silver-furred tom they had met when they first reached the mountains, stepped out of the cleft and faced Brambleclaw.

More of the trespassers crept out behind him. Lionpaw recognized Flora, the brown-and-white she-cat, and Flick, the skinny brown tom who had been with Stripes. The black tom was there, too, who had led the hunting patrol they met by the pool. They all looked thin, and some of them were limping. Lionpaw could tell that they weren’t finding mountain life easy. But he couldn’t ignore the glow of determination in their eyes.

“What do you want?” Stripes demanded.

Brambleclaw glanced at Crag, flicking his ears for the Tribe cat to speak.

“We need to talk to you,” Crag meowed. “We want an end to this conflict. The mountains are big enough to support every cat, but we need to divide up the territory so that we all have an equal chance at prey.”

He paused as if he expected Stripes to comment, but the silver tom just jerked his head and muttered, “Go on.”

“The Tribe has marked borders closing in our territory,” Crag explained. “Our scent will show you where they are. You are free to hunt in the rest of the mountains, but not to cross those borders. We—”

Outraged yowling drowned him out. The trespassers’ fur was bristling and their eyes blazed with anger.

Stripes took a pace forward until he was barely a tail-length away from Crag. “You have no right to any part of the mountains,” he growled. “You have no right to set borders.

Any cat can take prey from where it likes.”

“That’s not fair!” Tawnypelt protested. “Can’t you see, we’re trying to—”