Tigerclaw’s Fury

Redtail deserved to die! He was too much like Bluestar, always looking for peace and reconciliation. It was only luck that Oakheart hadn’t killed him before being caught by that rockfall. Redtail would have never survived that battle.

“Tigerclaw!” Bluestar broke into his memories of dust and falling stones and the bright red slash opening up in Redtail’s throat. “No more of this. Go now.”

Tigerclaw lifted his head and met her gaze. “I’m going. But I’ll be back; you can be sure of that. I’ll be revenged on you all!” He turned and walked away, gritting his teeth against the pain in his belly. I will not show them how badly I have been wounded! He paused as he drew level with Fireheart. “And as for you…” he growled. “Keep your eyes open, Fireheart. Keep your ears pricked. Keep looking behind you. Because one day I’ll find you, and then you’ll be crow-food.”

“You’re crow-food now,” Fireheart snapped, but the stench of fear rose from him.

Tigerclaw stared into the warrior’s wide green eyes. You know already that I will kill you one day. Your last breath will be gasped beneath my paws. Your last drop of blood will be spilled on my fur. Stones will break and the sky will fall when we meet in our final battle.

With a flick of his tail that felt as if it was ripping his belly apart, he walked across the clearing without looking back. From inside the nursery he heard the tiny mewls of his son and daughter, Bramblekit and Tawnykit, quickly hushed by their mother, Goldenflower. I will come back for you, Tigerclaw vowed. He would not leave his kits to be raised in this Clan of weaklings. They deserved to learn from his example, to model themselves on his courage and skill in battle. Some skill you showed today! came the voice in his head again. Thistleclaw would have clouted you over the ears for letting yourself get beaten by a kittypet and a star-crazed old she-cat.

Thistleclaw wouldn’t have dared to take on the leader of his Clan! Tigerclaw lashed back. If he hadn’t let Bluestar become deputy in the first place, everything would be different. He would have chosen me to succeed him, and ThunderClan would be as strong as we deserve!

He pushed his way through the gorse tunnel, hardly noticing the thorns that clutched at his blood-matted fur. The barricade had been ripped and scattered by fleeing cats, cats who had sworn to fight alongside Tigerclaw until he had killed Bluestar, on the promise that he would make them his foremost warriors in the new ThunderClan. Tigerclaw spat onto the dusty earth. He should have known better than to rely on those half-trained rogues. Only a forestborn cat had the true instincts of a warrior. The ShadowClan outlaws had disappointed him, too, made soft by moons of surviving alone, too easily cowed by cats fighting to defend their home. Tigerclaw needed more time with them, to remind them of the training they had received under Brokenstar. The former ShadowClan leader may have been criticized for asking too much of his warriors, but he had made his Clan the most feared and powerful in the forest. Who could judge him for that?

And Tigerclaw might still have won if RiverClan hadn’t turned up at the tipping point of the battle, Mistyfoot and Leopardfur bounding in to rescue the Clan cats who had been their sworn enemies just a few moons earlier. Why did the Clans show so much mercy to one another? What did it matter to RiverClan if ThunderClan lost its leader? Tigerclaw felt his hackles rise. Of course, it was in RiverClan’s interests to keep Bluestar in command, weak and addled and unable to maintain her grip on Sunningrocks. It was probably Crookedstar’s greatest fear to have Tigerclaw in charge of his closest neighbors.

The dappled shadows cast by breeze-stirred oak and beech leaves gave way to cool damp gloom beneath the pine trees that bordered Twolegplace. Tigerclaw paused for a moment to check that no cat was following him, but the woods were silent apart from the call of a blackbird and a tree branch resting against another with a soft creak. He let himself sink down on a patch of moss, letting out a grunt of pain. He craned his neck to study the wound on his belly. Fireheart had been lucky to get so close to him. But if he’d really wanted to hurt Tigerclaw, he should have gone for his neck.