Outcast

Lionpaw’s first reaction was disappointment. No more of that wonderful coordination of muscles, teeth, and claws? No more of the light of fear in his opponents’ eyes as they fled?

He took several deep breaths and looked around. Cats of Clan and Tribe were watching him, impressed—and maybe scared? Why? What have I done?

“You fought well, Lionpaw,” Crag told him quietly. “Your skill and courage will be remembered as long as the Tribe exists.”

Lionpaw looked down at himself and saw his fur clumped together with drying blood. He felt hot and sticky, and his stomach heaved at the stench of it. He staggered; then Hollypaw was at his side, her green eyes horrified.

“Where are you hurt?” she asked anxiously.

Lionpaw shook his head in confusion. The only pain he felt was from his bitten ear, and in his paws, which had been sore for days from scrambling over rock. “I’m okay,” he mumbled.

Before Hollypaw could say any more, a few of the trespassers crept timidly out from among the rocks. Stripes was in the lead. He had lost most of the fur from one shoulder and his muzzle was bleeding. He limped up to Crag and Brambleclaw and dipped his head.

“You have won,” he rasped. “We will respect your borders from now on, if only you leave our queens and kits alone.”

Crag and Brambleclaw glanced at each other, as if they were considering what the silver tom had said. Part of Lionpaw wanted to yowl, No! Drive them out! But he kept silent.

“The Tribe has no quarrel with queens or kits,” Crag meowed at last. “We will leave you in peace so long as you stay on your own side of the border.”

Stripes dipped his head again and waved his tail to lead his battered companions back through the cleft into their camp.

Lionpaw watched them go. Had Tigerstar and Hawkfrost really fought beside him in the battle? Or did their shadows stalk the woods beside the lake, waiting for his return? There were no voices now, no praise for the way he had fought, nothing but Hollypaw trying to check him for wounds.

“Lie down and rest,” she begged. “Do you want me to fetch Jaypaw? I’ll get him here somehow.”

“I’m okay,” Lionpaw insisted. “I don’t need help.”

Brambleclaw was rounding up his warriors, Clan and Tribe, ready for the journey back to the cave. Lionpaw joined them, falling in beside Breezepaw and Pebble, trying to ignore Hollypaw’s fussing as she padded along on his other side, clearly expecting him to collapse at any moment.

Pebble’s eyes were gleaming. “Did you see them run?” she mewed.

“I always knew the Clans would sort out the Tribe’s problems,” Breezepaw told her loftily. “You’ll be grateful to us forever!”

Catching Hollypaw’s troubled green gaze, Lionpaw could see that she wasn’t so sure. But the battle was won. He had won the battle. And he would fight it all over again in a heartbeat.

Chapter 29

Jaypaw lay in the sleeping hollow where the scents of his littermates still lingered. He did not try to sleep; his ears were pricked for the first sounds of the returning warriors. His belly churned with apprehension. What if Hollypaw or Lionpaw died in the battle? What would happen to the prophecy then, if three suddenly became two—or even one? How could he bear to be without them?

The endless thunder of the waterfall sounded different, hollow and echoing, with the cave almost empty. The two kit-mothers were with their litters in the nursery. The elders, Cloud With Storm in Belly and Rain That Rattles on Stones, had retreated to their sleeping places at the other side of the cave. Wing Shadow Over Water, the prey-hunter who had been badly injured in the fight over the eagle, was sleeping nearby. Every other cat had gone to fight, for there was no point in leaving guards to protect the cave when all the intruders would be caught up in the battle.

Eventually Jaypaw couldn’t bear to keep still any longer.

He rose to his paws and padded across the cave, pausing to lick up a few icy drops where they trickled from the rock into the pool of fresh water. Then he slipped down the passage that led to the Cave of Pointed Stones.

Inside, all was silent. Jaypaw felt the faint stir of wind against his face and drew in the scent of the Tribe’s Healer, strong and fresh.

“Stoneteller?” he mewed.

“I am here, Jaypaw.” The old cat’s voice came from the far end of the cave; it sounded sad and defeated. “What do you want?”

“Is there any word from the Tribe of Endless Hunting?”

Jaypaw asked.

“None. I stare into the puddle, and I see nothing but moonlight upon water.”