Violetpaw flinched. Perhaps she should be worrying about the tiny kits Puddleshine had helped deliver, but instead, she couldn’t help remembering the battle and the look in Twigpaw’s eyes when Violetpaw had attacked her.
There was a flurry of paw steps, and the bramble tendrils that overhung the elders’ den waved wildly as Needletail barged inside.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” she meowed to Violetpaw, ignoring the two old toms. “Why are you messing around with that gross mouse bile and ticks? You should come with me and have something to eat.”
“Dawnpelt told me to come and help the elders,” Violetpaw explained, dropping the twig with the bile-soaked moss.
Needletail flicked her tail dismissively. “Dawnpelt isn’t the boss of you anymore,” she pointed out. “Darktail and Rain are right—the elders need to start looking after themselves. We don’t have room for cats who don’t contribute.”
Ratscar fixed her with a glare. “There was a time ShadowClan didn’t have room for rude little flea-pelts,” he rasped.
“
Violetpaw cast a guilty look at the elders. “Okay,” she mewed.
“Hey, you haven’t finished!” Oakfur protested. “There’s a huge tick right down my back next to my tail. I can feel it!”
Violetpaw would rather have stayed to help, but Needletail was waiting for her, her tail-tip giving impatient twitches.
“Sorry,” Violetpaw whispered, and followed her friend out into the camp.
Needletail led the way to the fresh-kill pile, where Thistle, a muscular gray rogue, was sniffing around the edge, taking his time to choose. Needletail picked out a blackbird for herself. Violetpaw spotted a plump vole and whisked it away; her jaws watered as she crouched beside Needletail to eat it.
But before she had taken more than a mouthful, Thistle bounded toward them. Violetpaw eyed him warily. She didn’t know him very well, as he and some other rogues had only recently arrived. She couldn’t help wondering how many more cats Darktail would welcome into camp as “Kin.”
Thistle padded up and halted beside Violetpaw, his cold blue eyes fixed on her succulent piece of prey. “That was
Violetpaw would have given him the vole to avoid a fight, but before she could move, Needletail broke in.
“Hey, back off, mange-fur!” she challenged Thistle, baring her teeth and letting out a furious hiss. “Prey is not yours until you take it.”
“Okay, okay,” Thistle meowed. “Keep your fur on.” With a furious glare he headed back to the fresh-kill pile and started pawing over the prey again.
“Thanks, Needletail,” Violetpaw murmured. “I wish there weren’t so many rogues in camp these days. Some of them look kind of scary.”
“Huh!” Needletail snorted around a mouthful of blackbird. “They’re all meow and no claws, if you ask me. But you don’t need to worry, Violetpaw. I’ll look out for you.” She tore off another mouthful, swallowed, and then added more thoughtfully, “Mind you, Rain is suspicious of some of these new rogues, just like you.”
Violetpaw wasn’t sure what to make of that.
She gulped down her vole, casting sidelong glances at Needletail as she did so.
“Have you got something on your mind?” Needletail asked. “Spit it out!”
Violetpaw hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I can’t stop thinking about hurting Twigpaw,” she confided shyly. “I feel so bad about it. I didn’t
Needletail touched her nose reassuringly to Violetpaw’s ear. “No cat ever got crippled from a little fall like that,” she stated. “Twigpaw will be fine. You