Yellowfang’s Secret

Yellowfang had given up hoping that her Clanmates would stand up to their leader. Brokenstar had convinced them that every living creature was their enemy, and his cats would do anything, even surrender their own kits, to keep their Clan safe. And the elders, whose wisdom had once been so important in guiding the Clan, were still exiled in the marshes.

He has complete power now! Great StarClan, is there nothing any cat can do?

At the end of the Gathering, Brokenstar swept away from Fourtrees at the head of his Clan. Badgerpaw was pattering along beside him, his eyes still full of excitement at seeing the other Clans for the first time. Walking behind them, Yellowfang was able to overhear their conversation.

“You’ll be able to fight in your first real battle soon,” Brokenstar promised the apprentice. “You’ve been training for half a moon, so you’re ready.”

“Really?” Badgerpaw gasped.

Brokenstar nodded. “I’ve scented traces of WindClan on our territory, so we will attack at dawn! Those rabbit-eaters will soon discover they can’t set paw in ShadowClan territory and get away with it.”

Ready to burst with excitement and pride, Badgerpaw darted off to his mentor, Flintfang. “I’m going to fight!” he announced, dancing along beside the powerful gray tom. “Brokenstar said! I’ll use that two-pawed move you taught me, and the leap-and-scratch…”

Flintfang gazed down at him. “Just remember everything I’ve taught you, and that there’s no shame in losing your first battle,” he meowed. His tone was heavy, and Yellowfang wondered just how keen he was to lead his tiny apprentice into a hostile Clan.

Fernshade, who was walking beside Yellowfang, looked fondly across at Badgerpaw. “I’m so proud of him!” she exclaimed. “I thought I’d never manage to give birth to him, and he’s everything to me. And now he’s going to be a true ShadowClan warrior!”

Yellowfang drew a breath to speak, but bit back the words. He shouldn’t even be an apprentice yet!

Yellowfang crouched in the prickly grass, listening to the sounds of the skirmish with WindClan that came from the far side of the Thunderpath. The sun shone brightly over her head and branches in the fresh green of newleaf rustled at the edge of the forest.

This is not a day when cats should die.

Paw steps sounded behind Yellowfang and she turned her head to see Nightpelt approaching with the limp body of a vole in his jaws. In spite of the elders’ exile, the young black cat looked settled and confident. Yellowfang knew he had found a purpose in life, doing most of the hunting for his companions, keeping up their spirits when they were far from the camp where they had expected to live out their days.

Nightpelt set down his prey and sat beside Yellowfang, his ears pricked as he listened to the screeches and thuds from the battle. “How long will this continue, do you think?” he murmured.

“Until every cat is dead,” Yellowfang replied bitterly, “either here or in WindClan.”

“Why does StarClan let Brokenstar do it?” Nightpelt asked.

“Perhaps they are proud of him,” Yellowfang responded. I have begged StarClan for reasons, but they ignore me. They have abandoned us to wherever Brokenstar leads. “After all,” she went on out loud, “ShadowClan is the strongest and most feared of all the Clans now.”

Nightpelt shook his head. “I cannot believe our ancestors would find any glory in this constant bloodshed.” With a deep sigh, he picked up his prey and headed for the elders’ den in the copse.

Yellowfang felt a pang of guilt. Every night her dreams were full of blood and darkness, demonstrating over and over that what Brokenstar was doing was absolutely wrong. But there was no guidance from StarClan, not even an appearance from Silverflame to promise that all would be well in the end. Whatever Yellowfang did, it was up to her alone. I have to stop him! she thought. I am his medicine cat; he must listen to me!

Just then, Russetfur came panting up. “Yellowfang!” she gasped. “Runningnose sent me to find you! Brightflower’s kits are coming!”

Yellowfang sprang to her paws and raced back to the camp. But when she reached the nursery, she found Brightflower already curled around two furry little scraps, while Runningnose looked on with satisfaction.

“Oh, they’re beautiful!” Yellowfang exclaimed, with a nod of approval for Runningnose. “Have you named them yet?”

Brightflower looked up from licking a tiny tortoiseshell she-cat. “This is Marigoldkit,” she purred, “and the little gray tom is Mintkit. Kits, this is Yellowfang. She’s your big sister.”