Tallstar’s Revenge

Before Tallpaw could answer, the rogue slipped into the shadow of the moor. Tallpaw turned back to the valley and gazed at the stars on the horizon, his heart feeling lighter and freer than it had in moons.

You chose your destiny, Sandgorse. I’ll choose mine.

“You’re still half-asleep!” Dawnstripe nudged Tallpaw’s shoulder as he dragged his paws toward the entrance. His feet felt as numb as stones and his mouth was dry. He’d sat on Outlook Rock until the horizon had started to lighten. Only then did he return to his nest. He’d managed to snatch a short sleep before the sun rose, but it wasn’t enough to stop his eyelids from drooping as he headed out on patrol with Aspenfall, Dawnstripe, and Stagleap.

“Bring back a mouse!” Lilywhisker called from outside the elders’ den. “Flailfoot’s starving.”

Tallpaw frowned. Hadn’t Sparrow restocked the prey heap like he’d promised?

“Reedfeather’s patrol will be back soon,” Dawnstripe called back. The WindClan deputy had taken Doespring and Appledawn hunting.

Mole padded from the gorse and stopped beside Lilywhisker, his nose twitching. “I smell rabbit.” As he spoke, the entrance tunnel shivered and Sparrow padded into camp. A plump rabbit hung from his jaws.

Lilywhisker’s eyes lit up.

Dawnstripe purred. “You’re just in time.” She flicked her tail toward the elders’ den. Sparrow nodded and carried his catch across camp.

Belly rumbling at the scent of fresh prey, Tallpaw stumbled dozily after the rest of his patrol.

“Excuse me.” Hickorynose shouldered past with Mistmouse, Plumclaw, Woollytail, and Sandgorse behind him.

“Why can’t tunnelers wait their turn like other warriors?” Aspenfall grumbled under his breath as he halted to let the tunneling patrol through the entrance first.

Tallpaw snapped his head up and tried to catch Sandgorse’s eye. Before he pushed his way through the heather, his father shot him a look that stabbed Tallpaw’s heart.

Dawnstripe brushed softly against Tallpaw. “Why don’t you run to the first marker?” she suggested. “It might wake you up a bit.” Tallpaw heard sympathy in her mew. She saw how Sandgorse looked at me.

“Okay.” Running wouldn’t make Sandgorse’s angry stare hurt any less, but Tallpaw was grateful that his mentor cared. As he raced onto the grass, he saw the ginger tip of Sandgorse’s tail snake into the bushes. Why can’t I have normal kin who care about my training and who are proud of me?

Scowling, Tallpaw rounded the edge of the camp and raced for the first marker. As he neared the border with Fourtrees, he began to pick up scents from the forest. Somehow the wind carried scents more easily from this side of the moor—including, when the breeze blew in the right direction, the harsh smell of Twolegplace. Tallpaw paused and tasted the air. Something was different; there was a faint, ominous tang below the scent of the bright-yellow gorse flowers and the tiny, purple blooms on the heather. His hackles rose.

Not dog. Not Twoleg. He sniffed again. Sparrow? Perhaps the rogue had left scent when he was hunting. It didn’t smell like Sparrow, but it was familiar. I smelled it at the Gathering! Concentrating, Tallpaw sifted through his memory of the scents he’d learned at full moon. Pinesap? Stale river water? Neither! It’s ThunderClan!

Tallpaw scanned the heather. The scent was fresh. A ThunderClan cat had passed this way since dawn. He had to tell Dawnstripe. He whirled around and raced back toward camp. Plunging through a swathe of bristly gorse, he exploded out on the other side. Dawnstripe, Aspenfall, and Stagleap were padding across the grassy clearing, following his trail to the border.

“Invasion!” Tallpaw skidded to a halt, panting.

Aspenfall’s pelt bushed up. “Where?”

Tallpaw tasted the air. ThunderClan scent was wafting from the slope behind him to the moor-top. He scanned the hillside. Thick-furred tails bobbed through a swathe of dark-green bracken. “Everywhere! ThunderClan has invaded!” Hurtling forward, he streaked past his patrol.

“Tallpaw!” Dawnstripe yowled after him.

He glanced backward. She was staring at him wide-eyed. Why wasn’t she following? Tallpaw pounded upslope and crashed into the bracken. ThunderClan scent flooded his nose as he pursued them though the feathery fronds. He burst onto open grass, astounded to see the ThunderClan patrol already nearing the moor-top. Two broad-shouldered warriors, one tortoiseshell, one gray, were leading two younger cats at a calm, purposeful walk.

How dare they trespass so deep into WindClan territory? They weren’t even trying to hide! Tallpaw raced toward them. “Weasel hearts!” he screeched.

The ThunderClan patrol turned and stared at him. The tortoiseshell arched her back, eyes wide.

“Tallpaw!” Dawnstripe’s yowl sounded behind him.