Sunrise

Leafpool raised her head to gaze up at the icy glitter cast by her warrior ancestors. “May StarClan light your path, Ashfur.” She let her voice fall softly into the cold air as she repeated the words used by medicine cats for more seasons than any cat could count, whenever a Clanmate died. “May you find good hunting, swift running, and shelter when you sleep.”

The words that should have comforted her, promising a long and happy life for the fallen warrior, instead hurt her, sharper than thorns. Her mind filled with the moment she had discovered the neat teethmarks in Ashfur’s neck. Too small for a dog, too clean for a fox, too sharp for a badger. Only a cat could have left them. But which cat? Who hated Ashfur enough to kill him in cold blood, leaving no signs of a struggle? Had it been an honest clash over borders or stolen prey? Could it have been a WindClan cat, or a passing rogue? Please, StarClan, let it be that!

The thought that a ThunderClan cat might have murdered Ashfur made Leafpool cold to her bones. Ashfur had been outspoken and strong-willed, yes, but a loyal and respected warrior as well. Surely none of his Clanmates had any reason to want him dead?

Bending over his body again, Leafpool began to clean earth and grit out of the dead warrior’s pads. Something soft and light fluttered against her muzzle; she drew back to see a tuft of fur snagged in Ashfur’s claws.

No! This can’t be true! Leaning closer, Leafpool sniffed the fur. I know that scent!

Desperately she tried to convince herself that the clump of fur had come from one of the cats who had carried Ashfur back to the camp from where he had been found, floating in the stream on the WindClan border. But the smell of river water was too strong to have come from a cat with dry fur, and besides, Ashfur’s claws were soft and limp now. They would flex rather than pull out a tuft of hair if they brushed against another cat.

The only cat this tuft of fur could have come from was Ashfur’s killer.

Breathless and shaking, Leafpool gently teased out the fur and carried it into her den. She forced her trembling paws to place the tuft on a leaf, which she folded into a tight wrap. Then she pushed it right to the back of her store, deep into the cleft in the rock, behind the last bundle of herbs. The truth about Ashfur’s death must never come out.

In more pain than she had ever imagined she could feel without dying, she asked herself: Was all this my fault?

With a snarl, Yellowfang leaped on Bluestar, bowling her over and pinning her down in the lush grass of the forest where StarClan walked. “This is all your fault!” she spat. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t left that wretched secret to fester in ThunderClan.”

Bluestar battered at Yellowfang’s belly with her hind paws, but couldn’t dislodge the former medicine cat’s grip. “What’s wrong with you?” she hissed. “Don’t forget that I was your Clan leader.”

All the respect that Yellowfang had once felt for the former ThunderClan leader had vanished. Their shared history crumbled to dust in the face of the terrible future she foresaw for the Clan she had made her own.

“Your secret has been like a maggot eating away inside an apple,” Yellowfang growled, her bared fangs close to Bluestar’s ear. “ThunderClan is rotten to the core—and more blood will be shed before the truth comes out.”

“You can’t know that,” Bluestar protested, straining to throw off her opponent.

“A blind rabbit could see it! The truth will come out. Midnight told Sol everything. And we both know that Sol will return to ThunderClan.”

Summoning her trained warrior reflexes, Bluestar butted her head into Yellowfang’s chest and managed to slip to one side. Suddenly giving up, Yellowfang sprang away. She stood shaking her ruffled gray pelt.

Bluestar scrambled to her paws and stood, panting. “What’s the point of fighting?” she rasped when she had caught her breath. “The damage has been done—and whatever you say, this is not my fault.”

Yellowfang grunted.

“I still can’t believe Midnight betrayed us,” Bluestar went on. “I trusted her to watch over the Clans.”

“It’s not Midnight who was the traitor,” Yellowfang pointed out, her pelt bristling. “The betrayal began with the first lies, with the secret that you have kept for all these moons. ThunderClan has been living a lie! If these three cats are as powerful as the prophecy says they are, they would have been able to cope with the truth. Unless you think we’ve been wrong about them all along.”

“Never!” Bluestar retorted. “Who else could the Three be? I didn’t want to lie!” she added, her voice rising to a wail. “But when could I have told them? They have been happy. Squirrelflight and Brambleclaw are good parents. What good would it have done to tell them what really happened?”