Tallstar’s Revenge

Brackenwing leaped out of the Meeting Hollow and hurried over. “Don’t bother Palebird,” she warned. “She needs rest.”

Tallpaw scowled. She’s been resting for six moons. She must have recovered from kitting by now.

“She hasn’t been sleeping well,” Meadowslip explained.

“Tell me about it later, Tallpaw,” Palebird murmured. “I’m sure you’ve had fun.”

Tallpaw’s tail whipped crossly and he slouched away from the nursery, eyeing Barkpaw and Shrewpaw. They were chattering like thrushes now that he was gone.

Behind him, Tallpaw could hear Meadowslip talking to Palebird and Brackenwing. “Do you think the visitors will return this greenleaf?”

Tallpaw’s ears pricked. Visitors?

“I’m sure they will,” Brackenwing answered the young queen. “I can’t remember a time that they didn’t.”

Tallpaw stopped and sat down. He needed a wash after his meal. He might as well wash here, where he could listen to the queens.

“I hope Wee Hen made it through leaf-bare.” Brackenwing lowered her voice. “She was very frail last time we saw her.”

“Whiteberry will be disappointed if she doesn’t come,” Meadowslip commented.

Tallpaw cleaned his muzzle with a freshly licked paw.

Brackenwing purred. “Wee Hen and Whiteberry could swap stories from dawn to dusk. There was talk of her settling with the Clan once.”

“Settling with us?” Meadowslip sounded shocked. “How would we explain her to the other Clans?”

“WindClan wouldn’t be the first to take in a rogue,” Brackenwing pointed out.

“But we’re the only Clan that lets visitors share our dens and our prey every greenleaf,” Meadowslip replied. “What would the other Clans say? What if they thought we were training rogues to attack them?”

Tallpaw lapped the fur along his spine as it lifted with interest. He’d never heard of visitors living with the Clan. Why hadn’t anyone mentioned them before?

“Who cares what the other Clans say?” Brackenwing sniffed. “They huddle in the marshes and woods, hiding like prey from the wind and the sun. We live with our tails touching the sky. If we want to share our territory, that’s our choice.”

“Tallpaw!” Dawnstripe called from the camp entrance. Tallpaw jumped to his paws, his fur still wet from washing. Dawnstripe’s whiskers twitched as she beckoned him with her tail. “Put your tongue away and let’s practice some battle moves.”

Tallpaw hurried after her as she ducked through the heather. “Who are the greenleaf visitors?” he asked as he caught up to her on the smooth grass outside camp.

Dawnstripe paused, her eyes narrowing. “Who told you about the greenleaf visitors?”

“Meadowslip and Brackenwing were talking,” he told her.

“You shouldn’t eavesdrop.”

“I wasn’t,” Tallpaw protested. “They weren’t exactly whispering.” He frowned at Dawnstripe. “Are the visitors a secret?”

“We don’t talk about them when they’re not here, and especially not outside the Clan.” Dawnstripe headed along the sheep trail that wound through the gorse patch.

Tallpaw trotted after her. “Why do they come?”

Dawnstripe didn’t look back. “They just always have.”

“Do they live in camp with us?”

“Just for greenleaf.”

“Do they join patrols and hunt for the Clan?”

“Sometimes.”

Tallpaw stopped. “Are they rogues?” He stared after Dawnstripe. Why was she acting like he’d discovered a secret? If they came every greenleaf, he was bound to know eventually.

Dawnstripe halted and turned around. “I guess you could call them rogues. They don’t follow the Clan code.”

“Do we have to let them stay with us?” Tallpaw unsheathed his claws. Did WindClan really let a band of rogues take over their camp and their prey every greenleaf?

Dawnstripe swished her tail. “Of course not. We choose to let them stay, and make them welcome.”

“But rogues are bad, aren’t they?” Tallpaw tipped his head on one side.

“Not all rogues are bad.” Dawnstripe kept going along the trail. “Not these rogues.”

Tallpaw trotted after her. “Then why’s it such a secret?”

“It’s best the other Clans don’t know.”

“Why?” Is WindClan breaking the warrior code?

“You sound like a kit.” Dawnstripe nosed her way out onto a stretch of grass. “Stop asking questions and show me that move you used on Shrewpaw this morning.”

Chapter 9

Tallpaw paced the camp entrance. Dew soaked his paws. The sun was just lifting over the horizon. Its rays spilled over the heather, setting the purple flowers alight until the moor glowed. Tallpaw was the first cat awake, eager to leave for the dawn patrol. He’d poked Shrewpaw as he padded out of the den, but the dark brown apprentice was still half asleep. Through the gap beneath the gorse, Tallpaw could see him blinking groggily over the edge of his nest.

The long grass rustled beside the Meeting Hollow and Dawnstripe slid out. She yawned and stretched, then padded over the tussocks. “Good morning, Tallpaw.”