Squirrelflight's Hope

Squirrelflight nodded, knowing that the young warrior was probably thinking of Ambermoon, his former mentor, who had been attacked by an owl a moon before on a day very much like this. She had died. It’s good to remember, Squirrelflight thought, that even the clearest days hold their dangers.

Squirrelflight narrowed her eyes, straining to make out a dark shape near the top of the moor. She was leading the border patrol and had promised to report back on their neighbors. It had been nearly three moons since the Clans had redrawn their borders to make room for SkyClan, and the new scent lines had remained unchallenged. Bramblestar was happy—the new peace suited him—but he’d confided in her that he was worried that it was too good to be true.

The dark shape dipped beneath the heather. Another darted after it. “Is that a WindClan patrol?” Squirrelflight wondered.

Bumblestripe followed her gaze. “I think so.”

“They’re heading away.” Plumstone narrowed her eyes.

Squirrelflight shifted her paws. “We’d better check the border to make sure it hasn’t been crossed.”

Eaglewing padded forward and sniffed the edge of the stream. Plumstone headed along the bank.

Squirrelflight flicked her tail toward the stretch of prickly gorse beyond. “The border’s been moved,” she reminded them.

“Yeah, but the stream is where the forest ends.” Eaglewing blinked at her.

“We have to get used to our new borders, too.” Squirrelflight glanced at the ginger she-cat, surprised that a young warrior should already be so rooted in Clan traditions. Did her sister, Plumstone, feel the same way? “Have you ever marked the new border?”

“Thornclaw said there was no point,” Plumstone told her. “He says ThunderClan cats don’t hunt on moorland. We hunt in the forest.”

Squirrelflight widened her eyes, surprised. A strong Clan should adapt to change, not ignore it. Bramblestar would have to speak to his senior warriors. Has the peace only held because the Clans haven’t been trying to enforce our new borders? She padded downstream to where stones jutted out of the water, and hopped onto the first one. “ThunderClan cats hunt on ThunderClan land,” she called back to her Clanmates. “From now on we mark all our borders.” She scrambled onto the next stone, uncurling her claws as her pads slipped on the wet rock. Then she leaped onto the far shore. The air tasted peaty here and stringent with gorse scents. She was surprised that it could be so different only a few paces from the tree line. But the moor wind was brisk, always carrying fresh smells. In the calm of the forest, scents hung longer in the air.

Behind her, Eaglewing and Bumblestripe looked distrustfully at the crossing stones.

“Are you coming?” Squirrelflight whisked her tail impatiently.

Plumstone brushed past her sister and leaped onto the first stone. “Come on!” She pricked her ears. “We’ve never been on WindClan land before.”

“It’s ThunderClan territory now,” Squirrelflight corrected her. The stretch of moorland had clearly been left unhunted. The grass was untrampled, and no prey-scent sweetened the air. And yet ThunderClan hadn’t gone hungry since the border changes. It had been a good greenleaf. Prey had been plentiful. But when leaf-bare drove prey underground, they’d need this precious hunting territory. They had, after all, given a good swath of their forest to SkyClan.

Plumstone hopped onto the bank and stopped beside Squirrelflight. “It smells like WindClan here.”

Squirrelflight sniffed again as Bumblestripe and Eaglewing crossed the stream. There was a hint of WindClan, but the scent wasn’t fresh. “It’s probably the wind carrying the smell down from the high moor,” she told Plumstone.

Plumstone sniffed the grass. “Everything smells like WindClan here.”

Bumblestripe reached them. “It was their land for a long time,” he commented, looking warily toward the moor. “I guess it’ll take a while for ThunderClan scent to take hold.”

Squirrelflight headed toward the line of gorse that marked the border. “It’ll take hold quicker if we leave scent marks.” She grazed her cheek along a branch, wincing as the prickles snagged her fur. Bumblestripe padded stiffly along the border, leaving marks as he went, while Eaglewing and Plumstone plucked at the grass, rubbing their scent into the earth.

“I can’t smell any WindClan scent markers.” Eaglewing looked puzzled. “They haven’t marked the new border.”

“Perhaps they’ve been busy. Remember, Whitetail died recently, and they would have had her vigil. Wait till the weather starts to turn,” Squirrelflight warned her. “They’ll be more careful about borders when prey is scarce.”

Bumblestripe jerked his muzzle toward the forest. His ears pricked with excitement. Eaglewing stiffened as she followed his gaze.

“Rabbit!” Plumstone darted toward the stream as a fat buck bounded from the forest.