Yellowfang’s Secret

Cinderfur nodded. “True. Especially with so many kits scampering around. You know how the little ones are always bothering the elders.”

Yellowfang didn’t want to hear any more. She padded over to where the elders were clustered together in front of their den.

Poolcloud’s shoulder fur was bristling, and she lashed her tail. “Brokenstar can’t do this to us!” she snarled. “Has he forgotten how well we’ve served our Clan?”

Archeye nodded; he was working his claws into the ground, rage flaring in his eyes. “If he remembers, he obviously doesn’t care,” he spat. “What would he do if we refused to go?”

“I don’t think we want to find out,” Nightpelt warned, resting his tail on the older cat’s shoulder. “He could make us fight, prove that we can still be warriors by invading the other Clans. Do you want to be a part of that?” In a lower voice he added, “We all know that these battles aren’t necessary.”

Hollyflower sighed. “Let’s just go,” she growled. “This isn’t the ShadowClan I knew, not anymore.” She brushed her tail along Crowtail’s side. “Come on, let’s collect our bedding.”

Nightpelt gazed up to where Brokenstar still stood on the Clanrock. “We will go, Brokenstar.”

“Good,” the Clan leader meowed. “Move out at once, and good luck with your hunting.”

As the elders filed back into their den more murmurs of protest followed them, but no cat dared to speak out loud.

Yellowfang halted Nightpelt with a paw on his shoulder. “This is wrong, and you know it,” she hissed.

Nightpelt looked at her with troubled eyes. “I know,” he murmured, “but Brokenstar is our leader. StarClan gave him nine lives. They have done nothing to stop him so far. This must be their will as well as his.”

Yellowfang couldn’t think of an argument against that. No! This can’t be the will of StarClan!

Inwardly seething, she slipped into the elders’ den and helped them to gather up their favorite soft bits of bedding. Runningnose followed her and rolled up the moss and fern into bundles for carrying. When everything was ready, Yellowfang led the way back into the clearing. Refusing to look at Brokenstar, she headed for the entrance, hotly aware that the gaze of all the rest of the Clan was fixed on her and the elders.

The group of cats trekked out of the camp in silence and padded across the marsh. Yellowfang took them to a spindly copse of trees that offered some shelter; it was still within ShadowClan territory, and not too far from the camp. There she found a spot where rock had fallen away to make a hollow in a bank, shaded by overarching clumps of fern. Yellowfang and Runningnose cleared away the debris inside and dug out more soil to enlarge the space until it was big enough for all the elders. Nightpelt tried to help, but the vigorous exercise brought on a fit of coughing.

“Let us finish this,” Yellowfang told him. “You scout around to see if you can find any prey.”

When the den was ready, the elders brought in their bedding and began arranging it into nests.

“This is okay,” Crowtail mewed, sounding determined. “We’ll be fine here, Yellowfang.”

Yellowfang wondered if the black tabby she-cat was trying to convince herself as well as her denmates. “I’ll visit every day with herbs and whatever prey I can catch,” she promised.

“Don’t neglect your duties,” Poolcloud sneered, “or Brokenstar might banish you as well.”

“You haven’t been banished!” Yellowfang protested. “You’re still part of ShadowClan. You still live in our territory.”

Nightpelt trotted up with a mouse dangling from his jaws, in time to hear her last words. “It feels like banishment,” he commented quietly.

Yellowfang left Runningnose to finish settling in the elders, and marched off to find Brokenstar. Shrill squealing from the training area alerted her as she approached the camp, and she turned her paw steps toward the sound. When she reached the edge of the clearing she saw all five kits and Mosspaw stalking one another, leaping and swiping as they practiced battle moves. Brokenstar sat on an ivy-covered tree stump, watching them with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

Yellowfang strode over to Brokenstar. “I have to speak with you,” she meowed.

Brokenstar stared down at her. “Go on, then. Speak.”

Yellowfang took a deep breath. “What are you doing?” she demanded. “Training kits who are too young to fight? Sending the elders away from their den? This isn’t part of the warrior code!”

Brokenstar narrowed his eyes. “Nor is questioning your Clan leader,” he hissed. “You are my medicine cat, so you do as I say. Are the elders safe? Sheltered?”

“Yes,” Yellowfang answered reluctantly. “But—”

“Then they are fine,” Brokenstar interrupted. “And if the kits want to learn how to fight, why should I stop them? We have many enemies, Yellowfang.”

You have made us many enemies, you mean, Yellowfang thought.