The Darkest Hour

His paws skimmed the springy moorland turf as his legs drove him toward the WindClan camp. A cold wind flattened his fur, carrying the distant scent of ShadowClan. Although Firestar knew he was still too far away, he imagined he could hear the screeches of battle as Tigerstar’s warriors fell on the unsuspecting WindClan.

“We’ll be too late,” panted Graystripe at his shoulder. “Ho w long did it take Mudclaw to reach us, wounded like that?”

Firestar did not waste breath in replying. He knew Graystripe was right. This was not the first time that ThunderClan had raced to help WindClan against an alliance of ShadowClan and RiverClan. But that time they had been given more warning and they had managed to drive the attacking warriors away. No w, by the time they reached the WindClan camp, the battle could be over, and yet Firestar knew that they had to try. The warrior code, his own friendships within WindClan, and the urgency of joining together to resist TigerClan, all forced him to lead his warriors to the rescue as quickly as he could.

As they drew nearer, the scent of ShadowClan was joined by a trace of RiverClan, mingling in a new scent that Firestar realized was the distinctive odor of TigerClan. They were near enough that he expected to hear the yowls of fighting cats, and the silence gripped his heart like cold claws. The battle must be over. Firestar slowed his pace as he and his patrol climbed the last slope toward the camp, his belly filling with dread at the thought of what they might find.

Firestar slipped quietly up to the ridge where he could look down over the camp. There was a strong scent of WindClan in the air, along with the tang of blood and fear. A single eerie wail broke the silence as Firestar breasted the rise and saw what Tigerstar had done.

The hollow where the WindClan cats had their camp was lined with gorse bushes. A few yellow flowers still showed on the spiny branches. Beyond, in the center of the camp, Firestar could see cats huddled together, scarcely moving. As he watched, a tortoiseshell queen raised her head and let out another chilling wail.

“Morningflower!” Firestar exclaimed.

Flicking his tail for his warriors to follow him, he raced down through the bushes and into the camp. Bursting out into the open, he was confronted by the WindClan leader, Tallstar. The black-and-white tom’s fur was torn and covered in dust, and his long tail drooped with exhaustion.

“Firestar!” His voice was rough with pain. “I knew you would come.”

“Not soon enough. I’m sorry.”

The WindClan leader shook his head helplessly. “You did your best.” He turned toward the cats who crouched on the floor of the clearing, too shocked or injured to move. “You can see what Tigerstar has done.”

“Tell us what happened,” urged Graystripe.

Tallstar twitched his ears. “You can see. Tigerstar and his warriors crept up on us…we had no warning, and in any case there were too many for us to fight.”

Firestar padded forward, feeling his stomach turn over. None of the WindClan warriors had escaped with o u t wounds. Deadfoot, the WindClan deputy, was lying very still with blood trickling from a gash on his flank; next to him lay Runningbrook, a she-cat whose pale gray fur was hanging off her shoulder in clumps. Their eyes stared at nothing, as if they couldn’t believe what had happened.

Firestar could scarcely believe it either. This had been a completely unprovoked attack. There had been no warning at the last Gathering. Tigerstar had gained no extra territory for his Clan. The purpose of this attack had been nothing more than to bring fear to the WindClan cats.

“Hey, Firestar!” A weak voice made Firestar turn to see his old friend Onewhisker. The brown tabby warrior was lying on his side with deep wounds to his throat and shoulder. Barkface, the WindClan medicine cat, was pressing cobwebs to them, but the blood still oozed out sluggishly.

“Onewhisker…” Firestar trailed off, not knowing what to say.

Onewhisker’s eyes were bright with pain. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” He grunted. “You should have seen the other cat.”

“I wish we’d come in time,” Firestar meowed.

“I wish you had, too. Look over there.”

Onewhisker turned his head, and Barkface snapped, “Keep still!”

Firestar followed the injured warrior’s gaze. Morningflower, the tortoiseshell queen who had been wailing aloud, was crouched over the motionless body of another cat. A small body, with torn ginger-and-white fur.

“No…” Firestar’s throat closed so he had to choke out the words. “Not Gorsepaw.”

“Tigerstar killed him.” Onewhisker’s voice was tight with rage. “He pinned him down in the center of the clearing, with his warriors around him so none of us could get close enough to stop him. He…he said he was going to kill him to show the rest of us what we could expect if we refused to join him.”