Tigerclaw’s Fury

Tigerclaw dipped his head. “Your former Clanmates would not stand by and let you starve, and my loyalty is to them now. This is not courage, it is merely following the warrior code.”

Dawncloud went over to Nightstar. “Look, do you see the fresh-kill pile?” she prompted gently. “We will all fill our bellies tonight!”

“We can still hunt for ourselves,” growled a voice from the side of the clearing. Deerfoot walked forward, his eyes glistening with what Tigerclaw thought might be the beginnings of the infection. “These cats left our Clan for a reason. Maybe we should think twice before welcoming them back.”

Runningnose flattened his ears. “These cats, as you call them, may have saved us all from starving to death,” he meowed. “Show them some gratitude, Deerfoot.”

Clawface was looking around. “Where’s Cinderfur?” he asked. “I heard he’d been made deputy.”

Rowanberry padded over to him. Tigerclaw recalled that she and Clawface had been mates a long time ago, and Cinderfur was one of their kits. “He died, Clawface,” she whispered, leaning into the fur on his shoulder. “He was the one who brought the sickness into the camp, when he caught an infected rat.”

Clawface swayed and took a step back. “He died?” he echoed. “I should have been here, Rowanberry. If I had caught that rat instead…”

The she-cat tapped his mouth with her tail. “Hush. Our son walks with StarClan now. He will know what you have done for us today.”

Tigerclaw put his head on one side. “Who replaced Cinderfur as deputy?” he asked Nightstar.

The old leader started, as if he had dozed off while still on his feet.

“Nightstar has been too sick to choose a new deputy,” Runningnose put in. He stepped a little closer to the black tom so that he was supporting some of his weight. Tigerclaw thought he had never seen a weaker, more pitiful-looking pair of cats. “I fulfill the duties of a deputy for now,” the medicine cat went on.

Tigerclaw couldn’t imagine that took up much time. There weren’t enough healthy cats to organize regular hunting or border patrols, as he and the others had noticed from the other side of the boundary. He felt a stir of curiosity in his belly. A sick, elderly leader, no deputy, a medicine cat run ragged trying to treat the illness that ravaged his Clanmates… ShadowClan was sinking faster than a stone in a river.

Nightstar twitched and stood more upright. “Tigerclaw, you are most welcome to stay and share the fresh-kill with us,” he meowed formally. He gestured with his tail. “Please help yourself first.”

Tigerclaw bowed his head low. “We wouldn’t dream of it, Nightstar,” he mewed. “We caught this prey for you. ShadowClan’s need is far greater than ours. But, if you will allow it, we will continue to hunt on your behalf, until your Clanmates are strong and well again.”

Nightstar let out a faint purr. “You are so kind,” he rasped. “May StarClan light your path, always.”

“Oh, they will,” Tigerclaw murmured as he turned and summoned his cats with a flick of his tail. Clawface drew reluctantly away from Rowanberry, and Stumpytail cast a yearning glance toward Dawncloud, but they all followed him as he padded out of the camp and into the pine trees.

“I’ll show you to the border,” Flintfang offered, but Tigerclaw shook his head.

“Stay and eat with your Clanmates,” he urged. “We know the way back.”

Behind him, the other cats whispered their shock to one another, at finding their former Clan so ill and weak. Snag was sympathetic, vowing to catch every squirrel in the woods if that’s what it took to make the cats well again. Tigerclaw listened with half an ear. He didn’t care if every ShadowClan cat got sick and died. For now, he had an entire Clan in his debt, and that could only work in his favor.

If mercy is power, then I have never been more powerful.

The following day, Tigerclaw let the others go off and hunt for ShadowClan again, on the understanding that after sunhigh they would have a session of battle training. When the cats had crashed noisily through the bracken, deeper into the woods, Tigerclaw headed in the other direction, toward Twolegplace. The memory of Mowgli nagged at him; the loner may have turned tail and fled during the clash with ThunderClan warriors, but there had been something about the young brown cat—his eagerness to learn about Clan life, his appetite for battle—that suggested he might still be useful. Tigerclaw pictured the last time he had seen Mowgli, grappling with Fireheart, aiming his claws at the kittypet’s throat, before Brackenpaw had caught him off balance and dragged him away. Tigerclaw knew he couldn’t judge Mowgli too harshly, not after Fireheart had overpowered him in Bluestar’s den. This Twolegplace rogue had skills that could be very helpful indeed. Tigerclaw decided that he was willing to give him one more chance. But if the brown cat failed again, he would regret it more than anything else in his life.