Squirrelflight's Hope

Thriftpaw glanced toward the heap of prey at the edge of the clearing. The long body of a weasel lay on top. Her eyes widened. “Is that a weasel?”

Flippaw nodded. “Mousewhisker caught it this morning.”

“But weasels are vicious,” Thriftpaw mewed, her eyes widening.

“That one was,” Flippaw told her. “Mousewhisker’s in the medicine-cat den right now covered in bites.”

Squirrelflight pricked her ears. Mousewhisker must have returned while she was in the elders’ den. “Is he badly hurt?”

“I don’t know,” Flippaw told her.

Squirrelflight headed toward the medicine-cat den.

“Imagine being wounded by prey,” Bristlepaw murmured.

“Imagine being killed by prey!” Thriftpaw mewed.

“Put your rabbit on the fresh-kill pile,” Dewnose told her again. “When you’ve had something to eat, we’re going to practice battle moves.”

Squirrelflight glanced back at the gray-and-white tom. “Can you take a look at the elders’ den when you’re finished? The roof needs mending.”

“Sure.” Dewnose swished his tail as Squirrelflight ducked through the brambles that trailed over the entrance to the medicine-cat den. Inside, cool shadows swathed the wide stretch of earth. Herb scents filled the air. Her littermate, Leafpool, glanced up warmly as Squirrelflight entered. “Well, hello.”

Mousewhisker sat stiffly in the middle of the den. Leafpool returned to lapping ointment into his wounds.

“Are you badly hurt?” Squirrelflight crossed the den and stopped beside them. “I see Leafpool is taking good care of you.”

“She is. And it’s just a few bites,” Mousewhisker told her.

“There are a couple of deep ones,” Leafpool reported. “But I’ve cleaned them and put plenty of herbs on them. They should heal quickly.” She looked earnestly at the gray-and-white tom. “But if you get any fever or the pain keeps you awake tonight, come straight to me.”

Mousewhisker nodded.

“Where did you catch the weasel?” Squirrelflight was curious. Weasels were rare in this part of the forest.

“Near the beeches,” Mousewhisker told her.

Squirrelflight realized she’d been wondering if he’d caught it on ThunderClan’s strip of moorland. “Not the moor?”

Mousewhisker looked at her, puzzled. “Why would I be hunting on the moor? That’s WindClan territory.”

“The stretch beyond the stream is ThunderClan territory now,” she reminded him, twitching her tail in irritation.

“Oh, yes.” He sounded surprised. “I keep forgetting. It feels so unnatural to hunt in the open.”

Squirrelflight stifled a sigh. Harestar had been right about the wasted land. “We all need to learn,” Squirrelflight prompted.

“Of course.” Mousewhisker peered distractedly at a bite mark on his shoulder. “I just hope hunting in the wind doesn’t make us as stunted as WindClan warriors.”

Leafpool used her paw to fold the leaf she’d mixed the ointment on. “WindClan warriors are only smaller than us because their ancestors were smaller, not because of the wind.”

Mousewhisker sniffed. “So what made their ancestors small?”

Leafpool shrugged. “Only StarClan knows.”

“It was probably the wind.”

Squirrelflight caught her sister’s eye and swallowed back a purr. Was Leafpool going to argue with that kind of logic?

“Go and rest in the sunshine,” Leafpool told Mousewhisker, changing the subject. “It’ll dry out your wounds.”

“Thanks, Leafpool.” Mousewhisker dipped his head and headed for the entrance.

“Wait,” Squirrelflight called after him. Mousewhisker turned to her questioningly. “Have you patrolled the edge of ThunderClan territory lately, beyond the abandoned Twolegplace?”

Mousewhisker frowned. “I was up that way a quarter moon ago with Larksong and Cherryfall.”

“Do you know what the land’s like beyond the border?” Her fur pricked along her spine. Bramblestar wouldn’t be happy if he knew she was asking these questions. “Are there any strays living there, or foxes?”

“Occasionally there are unfamiliar scents on the border. But if there are strays or foxes up there, they’re smart enough to know not to cross into our territory.”

“Thanks, Mousewhisker.” Squirrelflight nodded at him, and the gray-and-white tom pushed his way out of the den.

“What was that about?” Leafpool was staring at her.

Squirrelflight sat down and curled her tail over her paws, relieved to have a moment alone with her sister. “Last night’s meeting with Harestar was tense.”

“I heard that they want the borders to go back to the way they were before SkyClan.” Leafpool’s gaze was dark with worry.

“Not exactly,” Squirrelflight explained. “No cat wants to deprive SkyClan of a home. But the new borders have left ShadowClan with land they can’t hunt. And we have a strip of moorland that, clearly, we hardly use.”

Leafstar’s pelt ruffled. “But we can’t go back to our old borders. What would happen to SkyClan?”

“That’s why I was asking Mousewhisker about the area beyond the abandoned Twolegplace. It might make great territory for SkyClan.”

Leafpool looked curious. “Would they move there?”

“They might if they knew it was good land.” Squirrelflight looked at her sister hopefully.