Tallstar’s Revenge

The edge of Clan territory? Tallpaw paused and reared onto his hind legs, trying to catch a glimpse. But the ridge of earth they had been walking on had given way to a rutted sheep trail, and gorse blocked his view.

“You’ll see soon enough.” Dawnstripe veered onto a rabbit trail, roofed by heather fronds. Tallpaw ducked after her, his pelt pricking uneasily as the heather closed around him. The air was stuffy and still. Imagine how much worse a tunnel would be. Tallpaw took a deep breath and focused on Dawnstripe’s golden tail as it bounced in front of him.

Suddenly he felt wind on his whiskers as the heather opened onto a grassy hilltop. Tallpaw blinked with relief as short, wind-dappled grass rolled away in front of him. He could breathe again! The grass sloped down to the Thunderpath, pale and flat and striking against the soft landscape. It was closer here, and Tallpaw flinched as a monster tore past, roaring louder than the wind. Beyond the Thunderpath, squares of grass marked out by thin rows of bushes surrounded a cluster of dark gray Twoleg nests and, farther still, tall cliffs marked the beginning of a range of jagged peaks. “Is that Highstones?” Tallpaw whispered, his gaze on the distant horizon.

“Highstones are the cliffs.” Dawnstripe stood beside him, her ears stiff against the streaming wind. “You’ll travel there one day, when you visit Mothermouth and touch the Moonstone.”

Tallpaw shivered as the wind lifted his fur. Every WindClan apprentice shared tongues with StarClan at the Moonstone before they received their warrior name. He shifted his paws, trying to ignore his stinging pads. The long walk around WindClan’s territory had left them tender and grazed. How would he ever make it to Highstones?

“Look out!” A voice echoed from the heather behind. “Mud-hole!” There was alarm in the mew.

Tallpaw whipped around and scanned the heather. “What was that?”

Dawnstripe padded toward a rabbit hole that was half-hidden between the roots of a bush. “The tunneling patrol’s down there,” she explained.

Another voice echoed from the darkness. “Let’s shore it up with rocks.”

“I shifted some back at the double fork.”

“Fetch them, before there’s a slide.”

Tallpaw crept forward, sniffing. He smelled Plumclaw’s scent, and Hickorynose. “Do you think they need help?” he asked warily. He didn’t want to creep down into the earth.

“They know what they’re doing,” Dawnstripe told him. “They won’t want us getting in the way.” She headed away from the rabbit hole.

Tallpaw hurried after her. “Aren’t we even going to look?” Surely the tunnels were part of WindClan territory? Their Clanmates might be in trouble.

“I’m a moor runner. I don’t go underground if I can help it.” Dawnstripe shook her pelt as though she were shaking out soil. “One of the tunnelers will take you down during your training and teach you the basics of hunting and patrolling down there.”

Tallpaw tried to ignore the tightening in his chest. I will be able to breathe underground; I will. Instead he gazed toward the distant horizon, relishing the wind that lifted his fur. He lifted his chin. If Shrewpaw, Ryepaw, Stagpaw, and Doepaw can survive basic tunnel training, so can I. As Dawnstripe headed through a gorse patch, Tallpaw raced to catch up. He was relieved to feel the ground smooth underpaw, well trod by sheep. His paws burned with every step and he winced as he hopped over a lump of dirt-berries. “Where are we going now?”

“Camp.” Dawnstripe glanced at him. “You must be tired.”

“No,” Tallpaw lied. “I could stay out for days.”

A purr rumbled in Dawnstripe’s throat. “Did you like what you saw?”

Tallpaw nodded enthusiastically. “I didn’t imagine WindClan territory was so huge.”

“We guard the edge of the world,” Dawnstripe told him. “The other Clans sit cozy in their marshes and woods, fed by the river and sheltered by our moor. They never know the true taste of the wind or the scent of first snow. There’s no Clan cat faster or more nimble than a WindClan cat.” She glanced at Tallpaw’s long, black tail. “You’ll have good balance. It won’t be long before you can outpace a rabbit even on rough ground.”

“I was named for my tail.” Tallpaw puffed out his chest. He remembered what Sandgorse had told Heatherstar: that it was a tunneler’s tail and would make it easy to drag him from a cave-in. Relief flooded Tallpaw’s pelt. He’d never have to face a cave-in now that he was going to be a moor runner. Then he pictured Sandgorse’s eyes, dark with disappointment. Guilt formed a lump in his throat as the gorse opened onto heather and Tallpaw glimpsed the hollow cradling the camp. He broke into a run, overtaking Dawnstripe and racing for the entrance. His paws skidded on the grass as he swung around and ducked through the gap in the heather to burst into the clearing beyond.