Tallstar’s Revenge

Tallpaw crept in. The earth was loose beneath his paws and he unsheathed his claws, digging them in to stop himself from sliding as the tunnel sloped steeply down. Blackness wrapped around him as the entrance faded behind. Tallpaw strained to see the walls of the tunnel, or where he was placing his feet, but no light eased the darkness. He could hear his father behind him, Sandgorse’s breath warm on his tail as the air at his muzzle turned cold. Tallpaw’s pelt, hot from the sun a few moments ago, felt the chill, and he bushed out his fur.

Sandgorse purred. “If you think this is cold, wait till we’re deeper.” Tallpaw tried not to imagine it. “Listen.” Sandgorse paused. Tallpaw stood still. He could hear Mistmouse’s fur brushing the walls ahead.

“Wait, Mistmouse!” Sandgorse called. Her paw steps stilled. “Can you hear it?” Sandgorse asked.

Tallpaw pricked his ears. “Hear what?”

“Keep listening.”

Tallpaw strained to hear, closing his eyes to block out the stifling darkness. Muffled paw steps sounded at the edge of his hearing.

“That’s your patrol, heading along the gorge,” Sandgorse mewed softly.

“How do you know?” Tallpaw whispered.

“Three sets of paw steps, heading away from us.”

Tallpaw was impressed. “It could have been rabbits,” he suggested.

“No.” Sandgorse shifted his paws. “They thump; they don’t patter.”

“Can you tell if it’s sheep?”

“Of course. Their steps are harder, while a dog’s resonate more deeply in the earth.”

Mistmouse moved ahead of them, stirring the darkness with thicker shadows. “Your father can tell ThunderClan paw steps from WindClan,” she told Tallpaw with a hint of pride.

Sandgorse’s tail whisked the side of the tunnel. “ThunderClan high-step like deer,” he growled. “When they pass overhead on the way to the Moonstone, they prance over us like they own the moor.”

“Typical ThunderClan,” Mistmouse huffed.

Sandgorse snorted. “They have no idea we can track them from underground. We know exactly when they arrive and when they leave WindClan territory.”

“We’d know if they dared stop to hunt,” Mistmouse added.

Tallpaw felt a nudge from behind. “Let’s get going,” Sandgorse prompted. “Hickorynose and Woollytail are probably already digging through the cave-in from the other side. They’ll need our help.”

Tallpaw blinked, wishing his eyes would adjust to the darkness. But without a spark of light, he began to realize that he was utterly blind here. Mistmouse’s paws scurried ahead and Tallpaw followed, pressing back the queasy feeling in his belly. Sandgorse won’t let anything happen to me.

Tallpaw’s whiskers dragged along the tunnel sides, sending shivers through his fur. A sudden gap in the wall on one side surprised him, along with the blast of cold air that struck his flank.

“That tunnel leads toward the high-moor,” Sandgorse told him.

“Do you know where you are all the time?” Tallpaw was amazed. He felt as helpless as a mouse—as though the earth had swallowed him like prey.

“Every tunneler knows each twist and turn,” Sandgorse meowed. “We can get to any part of our territory from here, and cross any border.”

Tallpaw’s thoughts quickened. Having the tunnels meant that WindClan could thwart any invasion and outwit any enemy. No wonder the tunnelers defended their skills so fiercely. “Has Heatherstar been in the tunnels?” he asked.

“She comes on patrol occasionally,” Sandgorse replied. “But she doesn’t really understand the darkness, or the power it gives to a warrior. She’s a moor runner who can only imagine hunting and fighting overground.”

“I can hear them.” Mistmouse slowed down.

Tallpaw nearly bumped into her. Stopping clumsily, he strained his ears and heard muffled mews ahead. He felt Sandgorse press behind him.

“Make way, Tallpaw.” Tallpaw squeezed against the side of the passage to let his father pass. “They’re digging,” Sandgorse reported. “We should start work this side and meet them in the middle.”

Tallpaw heard Mistmouse begin scooping earth with her front paws. The tunnel was wider here. Tallpaw could feel space around his whiskers. There was enough room for Sandgorse and Mistmouse to work side by side.

“We always work in twos,” Sandgorse told Tallpaw, pushing a heap of dirt back toward him. “If there’s a cave-in, you never leave your companion. It’s the most important rule of tunneling. Another cat’s life is as precious as your own. Never forget it for a moment.”

Mistmouse chimed in. “One tunneler dies; two tunnelers survive.”

Tallpaw reached for the earth Sandgorse had kicked back to him. “What do I do with this?” Surely it was dumb just to fill up the space behind?

“Spread it out,” Sandgorse told him. “As thin as you can, even if it means dragging it right back up the tunnel.”

Tallpaw was still pushing loose soil around when he heard a stone scraping earth. He felt its hardness against his muzzle as Sandgorse pushed it back toward him. “How do I get rid of stones?” Tallpaw called.