Tigerclaw’s Fury

“Why are you telling them this?” snarled Deerfoot, shouldering his way between his Clanmates. “These cats are no longer our Clanmates. They turned their back on the warrior code when they chose to follow Brokenstar.” He glared at Blackfoot and Tangleburr, then let his gaze rest on Tigerclaw. “And this cat is not to be trusted,” he growled softly. “What are you planning, Tigerclaw? I thought your Clanmates would have clawed your fur off by now.”

Tigerclaw forced his pelt to lie flat. “I chose to leave,” he meowed. “ThunderClan is ruled by a kittypet now that Bluestar listens to Fireheart before anyone else.”

Deerfoot’s nostrils flared. “I can’t imagine you giving up that easily, Tigerclaw.”

Tangleburr rested her nose against Fernshade’s flank. “You look so tired,” she mewed sadly. “Would you like us to hunt for you?”

“No!” snapped Tigerclaw and Deerfoot at the same time.

“We can hunt for ourselves,” insisted the ShadowClan cat.

“You owe these cats nothing,” hissed Tigerclaw. “I’ve heard enough. Come, follow me.” He turned, and for a moment his heart beat faster as he wondered if Tangleburr and Blackfoot would obey. There was a brief silence, then he heard paw steps padding after him.

“May StarClan light your path!” Fernshade called.

“And yours,” Tangleburr whispered in reply.

“We meet again, Tigerclaw!” snarled the ginger cat. “And this time, I won’t let you live!”

“Really, Fireheart?” Tigerclaw sneered. “Have you forgotten that you’re nothing but a soft-bellied kittypet?” He launched himself forward, claws raking the air in search of the orange pelt. All around him, he could hear ThunderClan cats yowling in fury, and the thud and scrape of paws as blows were landed. In his dream, Tigerclaw looked desperately around, trying to see who was fighting alongside him. Was he supposed to take on the whole of his former Clan alone?

But instead of well-trained ranks of warriors matching his strikes, there were nothing but shadows—shadows filled with shrieks and the crash of paw steps, but thin black air nonetheless. Tigerclaw felt Fireheart’s claws find the half-healed wound on his belly and he leaped sideways, snapping his teeth where the tom’s neck should be.

His jaws closed on a mouthful of dusty leaves, and Tigerclaw woke coughing and churning the leaf-mold with his paws.

“Are you all right?” Clawface asked sleepily from beside him.

“Fine,” growled Tigerclaw. He stood up and left the nest, shaking the bad dream from his pelt. If he had to fight every battle alone, he would not give up! Even with an army of shadows, he would still win!

He paused. He had dreamed of shadows fighting alongside him, screeching and matching him blow for blow. He tipped back his head and looked up at the milky sky between the branches. Was it an omen from StarClan?

Would it be ShadowClan that helped him destroy Fireheart?

Chapter 4

Tigerclaw waited until the patrol was nearly on top of him before stepping out from behind the clump of brittle ferns. Rowanberry stopped dead, her brown-and-cream pelt already spiking along her back. Behind her, the patrol scrambled to a halt, staring at Tigerclaw in alarm.

Tigerclaw flicked his tail. “I come in peace,” he rumbled. “I know about the sickness in ShadowClan. My friends and I will hunt for you, asking nothing in return except that your former Clanmates are forgiven for their misguided loyalty to Brokenstar. They know they were wrong, and they want to make amends.”

Rowanberry peered past him. “I don’t see them here, though.”

Tigerclaw bent his head. “They don’t know I’m talking to you. They would be too proud to beg for your forgiveness, so I am appealing on their behalf. Please, let us stock your fresh-kill pile, find herbs for Runningnose, at least until you have beaten this sickness.”

Dawncloud stepped forward, her pale ginger coat glowing in the dawn sunlight. “Do they want to come back to the camp?” she asked.

Tigerclaw shook his head. “No, we will stay out here, in the den we have made for ourselves. I promise, we want nothing else but to help you.”

“I can understand why our former Clanmates might want to hunt for us,” meowed Flintfang, a gray tom who looked ready to join the elders, if his legs held up long enough to get back to the camp. “But why you, Tigerclaw? You have never been a friend to ShadowClan.”

Tigerclaw shrugged. “I am rival to no Clan now that I live outside any borders. Your Clanmates helped me not so long ago, and I am in their debt.”

The old tom narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what Nightstar would say about this.”

“He’d say, ‘Pride won’t stock the fresh-kill pile!’” retorted Dawncloud spiritedly. “Tigerclaw, it’s a generous offer, and we accept.”

“But you don’t need to bring the fresh-kill to the camp,” meowed Flintfang. “We’ll meet you here at dawn tomorrow, and take it from you.”