The Raging Storm

“It was raining on RiverClan land.” The kit’s mew was weak. Dovewing pressed against him, supporting him with her flank as he went on. “I was in the marshes there, and the rain kept getting heavier and heavier. The sky was black with clouds, and I could barely see the trees for the rain. It got worse until I could feel water pressing against my fur, in my ears, in my nose.” The kit shivered, fear showing in his eyes. “It was in my mouth. I couldn’t breathe and then” —as he paused again, Dovewing wrapped her tail around him with a sob—“everything went black.”

Dread ran like icy water along Alderheart’s spine. He stared at the kit, his mouth dry.

“What does it mean?” Shadowkit blinked at him.

“I’m not sure.” Alderheart shifted his paws uneasily. “It might just be a nightmare brought on by the fit.”

“Of course,” Dovewing mewed brightly. She settled into her nest and pulled Shadowkit protectively against her belly. “It was just a dumb nightmare.”

“It didn’t feel like a nightmare,” Shadowkit whimpered.

“Eat the thyme,” Alderheart told him. “And rest with Dovewing. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“My head hurts.” Shadowkit’s eyes were dark.

“I’ll fetch some poppy seeds. They’ll ease the pain.” Alderheart staggered out of the den, his mind swimming and his legs quivering, as if they could barely hold him up. He could think of only one meaning for Shadowkit’s vision, and it filled him with dread.

The kit was going to die.

“Was it just a nightmare?” Tigerstar’s mew startled him. The ShadowClan leader had followed him out and was staring at him in the moonlight.

Alderheart tensed. “I hope so.”

Tigerstar narrowed his eyes. “But you think it meant something else.”

Alderheart dropped his gaze. How do you tell a father that his kit has seen his own death? “I-I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“Is he going to drown, like Flametail?” Grief glittered in the ShadowClan leader’s eyes, the fur around his neck spiking. Alderheart knew it must be hard for Tigerstar to remember his brother, who had fallen through the ice on the lake and been trapped there.

“I can’t predict the future.” Alderheart’s belly tightened. “But he did see something dark. Something that must be avoided.”

“His own death?”

Alderheart tore his gaze away from the stricken leader. It frightened him to see such a strong cat so scared. “I don’t know.” How could he tell Tigerstar he might be right? And what if Shadowkit’s vision did come true? Tigerstar was already threatening to destabilize the Clans by putting pressure on SkyClan. With a shiver, he wondered what terrible vengeance a grieving father would wreak upon the forest.

CHAPTER 11

Twigbranch glanced anxiously around the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of Finleap’s pelt. Overhead, sunshine flickered between the branches. As she breathed the musty scents of the forest, a soft breeze swirled dead leaves around her paws.

“Have you seen Finleap?” Flypaw looked at her eagerly.

“He went out early.” Twigbranch’s ears twitched uneasily. It was midmorning and Finleap had still not come home. But Flypaw seemed unconcerned. Her gaze was flitting around the forest, alighting one moment on a leaf fluttering in the morning breeze, another moment on a bird as it hopped along a branch overhead.

“Snappaw says he was supposed to do battle training with Finleap this morning, but Finleap wasn’t even in his nest.” Flypaw darted forward and slapped her paws down to trap a quivering fern stem.

“He left before dawn.” Twigbranch hated lying, but she wanted to protect Finleap until she’d had a chance to find out where he’d gone. She’d brought Flypaw along the beech trail this morning because it still smelled of Finleap’s scent. He must have come this way yesterday, before he disappeared. Her paws pricked with worry. Should she report him missing? Perhaps he needed help. If we don’t find him before sunhigh, I’ll tell Bramblestar he’s gone.

She tasted the air. Finleap’s scent trail lingered here, but it was stale. Narrowing her eyes, she peered through the shafts of sunshine, which slanted between the trees, and scanned the forest. Her heart ached for a glimpse of his brown pelt. Where is he?

“Twigbranch?” Flypaw looked up from the fern stem she’d captured.

“Yes?” Twigbranch dragged her attention back to her apprentice.

“Are we going to practice hunting?”

“Of course.” Twigbranch had promised they would. “We’re heading for the beeches. There might be mice there.” Or fresher scents of Finleap.

“Why do you keep scanning the forest? Are you looking for something?”

Twigbranch hesitated. Flypaw was sharper than she’d thought. “I’m just looking out for squirrels,” she mewed lightly.

Flypaw straightened and gazed between the trees. “There’s one over there,” she mewed, nodding to a tall oak tree on the far side of a dip in the forest floor.