SUNSET

“How did he die?” Sorreltail’s voice trembled, but she shifted until her kits were tucked once more in the curve of her body. The babies scrambled back into place and kept suckling, pressing into her belly with tiny soft paws.

“The badgers killed him,” Rainwhisker told her. “Sootfur was a brave warrior,” Brambleclaw meowed. “He’s safe with StarClan now.”

Sorreltail nodded and reached out to give Rainwhisker a comforting lick. “Thank you for telling me.”

Leafpool nudged her leaf wrap closer to the young tortoiseshell. “That’s borage,” she meowed. “It will help your supply of milk.” She hesitated and then added, “If you can’t sleep, I’ll get you some poppy seed, but it would be better for the kits if you can manage without.”

“It’s all right, I can do without it.” Sorreltail bent over and chewed up the borage, wincing at the taste but swallowing until it was all gone.

“Brackenfur, can you find some fresh-kill for her?” Leafpool suggested. “As for you, Rainwhisker, you’d better stay right here while I have a look at that leg.”

Brackenfur touched his nose to Sorreltail’s ear, promised, “I’ll be right back,” and slipped out of the nursery past Cinderpelt’s body.

Sorreltail’s gaze followed him. “It’s my fault Cinderpelt died.” Her voice rasped with grief. “She could have escaped the badger, but she stayed to help me.”

“It’s not your fault.” Leafpool sounded unusually fierce, and Brambleclaw glanced at her in surprise. “Cinderpelt was doing her duty as a medicine cat. That was the choice she made.”

“That’s true,” meowed Squirrelflight. “Sorreltail, just think—if Cinderpelt had left you, the badger might have killed you too, and your kits. You wouldn’t want that, and neither would she.”

Sorreltail shook her head, shuddering.

“They’re beautiful kits,” Brambleclaw said, trying to distract her. He got a good look at the newest members of ThunderClan for the first time. “Have you given them names yet?”

Sorreltail nodded. “This one is Molekit.” She touched the biggest kit’s head with the tip of her tail. “He’s the only tom. Then this is Honeykit and Poppykit.” She touched in turn a pale bracken-coloured tabby and a tortoiseshell-and-white kit who looked like a tiny copy of Sorreltail. “And this is Cinderkit.”

Brambleclaw heard a gasp from Squirrelflight. The fluffy grey kit looked hauntingly familiar, and he couldn’t help casting a rapid glance at the body of Cinderpelt behind him. Leafpool, bent over Rainwhisker’s injured leg, froze for a heartbeat. “I think Cinderpelt would like that,” she mewed softly, then carried on with what she was doing.

“They all look strong and healthy,” Brambleclaw meowed. “Come on, Squirrelflight, we have a job to do for Cinderpelt now.”

Squirrelflight paused and touched Leafpool lightly on the shoulder with the tip of her tail. “You should get some rest soon,” she mewed. “You look awful.”

“I don’t have time to rest,” Leafpool responded, not looking at her. “What are all these wounded cats going to do if I take a nap?”

Squirrelflight’s gaze was troubled. “But I’m worried about you. I can feel how tough it is for you right now.”

This time Leafpool didn’t reply. Brambleclaw could see that she just wanted to be left alone to take care of Rainwhisker. He nudged Squirrelflight’s shoulder. “Come on,” he repeated, lowering his voice to add, “give her a bit of space. She can cope; she just needs time.”

Squirrelflight still looked uncertain, but she turned round in the tight space and helped Brambleclaw carry Cinderpelt’s limp body out of the nursery. Daisy and the kits were still huddled by the entrance with Cloudtail and Ferncloud. Brightheart had brought the marigold and was treating Birchpaw’s wounds.

“You can’t leave,” Cloudtail was protesting. “You and the kits belong here.”

Daisy shook her head, her gaze falling on the dead medicine cat. “My kits could have been killed,” she mewed. “Or I could have died, and then what would happen to them? They’ll be safer back at the horseplace.”

All three of her kits let out meows of protest.

“But what about the Twolegs?” Cloudtail pressed. “You came here in the first place because you were afraid they would take your kits away from you.”

Daisy flexed her claws, her eyes clouded with indecision. Before she could speak, Brightheart meowed, “The kits might be safe from the Twolegs by now. After all, they’re nearly old enough to make themselves useful, catching rats and mice in the barn.”

“But we don’t want to go back there,” Berrykit wailed. “We want to stay here.”

Daisy flicked him with her tail. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Do you want a badger to come and get you?”

“But none of you are hurt,” Squirrelflight pointed out. “The Clan made sure you were safe.”

“Please stay,” Ferncloud urged. “Life will be much easier now that newleaf is here.”

Daisy gave her a doubtful look. “Can you promise me the badgers won’t come back?”

“No cat can promise that,” Cloudtail replied, “but I’ll bet we won’t see anything of them for a good long time.”

Daisy shook her head and pushed her kits in front of her into the nursery. “Come along. You need to rest after such a dreadful night.”

“But we’re not tired,” Mousekit complained.

Daisy didn’t reply. She cast one more glance back at Cloudtail, full of fear and uncertainty, before she vanished.

Ferncloud followed her. “I’ll just see her settled.”

“Daisy could be right, you know,” Brightheart meowed, without looking at Cloudtail. “She knows what’s best for her kits, and maybe they would all feel safer back at the horse-place.”

Cloudtail opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again.

“You’d better get over to Leafpool’s den,” Brightheart told him, as if she didn’t want to talk about the horseplace cat any more. “That torn claw is bleeding again. You need more cobwebs.”

Cloudtail glanced at the nursery entrance and muttered, “Right, I’ll be off, then.”

Brambleclaw turned back to Cinderpelt, his heart twisting with grief as he gazed at the sleek grey body, the blue eyes glazed and empty. Squirrelflight stood beside him with her head bowed; Brambleclaw saw a shiver pass through her and he pressed himself against her side, hoping she wouldn’t pull away. When she didn’t move, he stood for a moment with his eyes closed, breathing in her sweet, familiar scent.

“Come on,” he mewed softly. “The night will be over soon. It’s time for her vigil.”

He and Squirrelflight picked up Cinderpelt’s body again to carry her across the clearing and lay her beside Sootfur. Spiderleg and Whitepaw were crouching with their noses pressed into the grey-black warrior’s pelt.

“Goodbye,” Brambleclaw murmured, touching his nose to Cinderpelt’s fur. “StarClan will honour you.”

“We’ll miss you,” Squirrelflight added. “And we’ll never forget you.”

Brambleclaw would have liked to crouch beside the dead medicine cat and keep a proper vigil for her, but there was too much to do. He padded across to Firestar, who was still in the centre of the camp with Stormfur, Brook, and Midnight.

“I think we should start on the warriors’ den,” he meowed.

Midnight dipped her head to Firestar. “I go now,” she announced. “By night is travel well.”

“But you must be as tired as the rest of us,” Firestar protested. “Stay until you have slept for a while.”

Midnight’s white-striped head swung around as she surveyed the shattered camp. “No more here for me to do. I go back to sea cave, hear beating of waves on shore, rustle of wind in grasses.”

“ThunderClan would have been destroyed if you hadn’t brought WindClan to help us. We can never thank you enough.”

“No need is thanks. Too late warning come. My kin not hear talk of peace.”

“But why?” Brook asked, her eyes wide with distress. “In the mountains, we’ve never had trouble with badgers. Are they like Sharptooth, wanting to kill cats for their prey?”

Midnight shook her head. “My kin not eat cats. But cats drive them from territory, first from RiverClan on other side of lake, then from here. Revenge they want, and take territory back.”

“I remember Hawkfrost reporting that at the Gathering,” Firestar meowed. “He was the RiverClan warrior who drove the badger out.”

Brambleclaw drew a sharp breath, ready to defend his half-brother. Were his Clanmates going to blame Hawkfrost for the badger attack?

“We drove a badger out of our territory too,” Squirrelflight pointed out. “With her kits. And to think I felt sorry for her!”

“I wonder if that means they’ll come back,” Firestar murmured thoughtfully. “The patrols will have to keep a sharp lookout.”

“I also,” Midnight added. “When know anything, I come, or send word. But now I go, say farewell to cat friends.”

“Goodbye, Midnight,” mewed Stormfur. “It was good to see you again.”

Midnight’s small eyes rested on him for a moment. “Spirits watch over you,” she told Stormfur. “StarClan and Tribe of Endless Hunting also. Hard the path you walk, but not finished yet.”

The grey warrior dipped his head. “Thank you, Midnight.”

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Brambleclaw meowed to Midnight. With a glance at his Clan leader, he added, “Couldn’t you make a set in the woods here and stay with us?”

“Please!” Squirrelflight urged.

The old badger shook her head, her eyes deep with wisdom. “This not my place,” she warned. “But StarClan may lead us meet again.”

“I hope so,” meowed Brambleclaw.

“Then it’s goodbye.” Firestar lowered his head to Midnight in the deepest respect. “ThunderClan will always honour you.” He escorted her to the entrance, as if he didn’t want to see her go either. Dustpelt and Sandstorm, gathering up the thorns from the damaged entrance barrier, stopped work briefly to add their own farewells.

With Squirrelflight and Stormfur beside him, Bramble claw watched Midnight leave the hollow, her broad, flat paws tramping across the remains of the thorn barrier. For the second time now, ThunderClan had needed Midnight’s help to survive. How could they be safe when she was so far away, at the sun-drown-place? Brambleclaw wasn’t even sure he could find the sandy cliff again.

I must go on, he told himself. I’d give my last breath to help my Clan, and ThunderClan needs me now more than they ever have before.

Stormfur turned away from the dark forest where the badger had disappeared. “Right,” he meowed, “what needs doing next?”

“I think every cat has been accounted for, and Leafpool and Brightheart are taking care of the injuries. But we all need to rest and recover,” Brambleclaw meowed. “That means we need to sort out places to sleep. And do something about fresh-kill.”

“Brook and I will hunt for the Clan in the morning,” Stormfur promised. “For now, I’ll work on the warriors’ den. Where is it?”

Good question, thought Brambleclaw. He pointed with his tail at the trampled thorn tree beneath the far wall of the hollow. “Over there,” he meowed. The branches had been dense and low-growing, providing good protection against the cold winds and rain of leaf-bare. But the badgers had broken through the canopy to get at cats trying to shelter inside, and it didn’t look much like a den now.

Stormfur blinked. “OK, I’ll get started.” He bounded off in the direction Brambleclaw had pointed.

“Brook, you could check on the elders,” Squirrelflight suggested. “Their den’s under that twisted hazel over there. Come and find me if you need any help.”

Brook nodded and bounded off into the shadows.

Brambleclaw was about to follow Stormfur when Ashfur padded up. “Are you going to sit vigil for Sootfur and Cinderpelt?” he asked Squirrelflight.

“You go ahead,” Squirrelflight mewed. “I want to help rebuild the dens right now, but I’ll try to sit with them later. Cinderpelt and Sootfur would understand.”

Ashfur blinked at her with hurt in his blue eyes, as if he was taking her refusal personally. “OK, I’ll see you later, then.” He padded off and settled down beside the other cats circled around the two still bodies.

Squirrelflight flicked her tail lightly over Brambleclaw’s ears. “Don’t you think you should go to Leafpool’s den and get those scratches looked at?”

In spite of everything that had happened, the expression in Squirrelflight’s eyes made something in Brambleclaw’s heart purr like a kit. “Not yet,” he told her. “Leafpool has enough to do, and there are plenty of cats hurt worse than me. I’ll help Stormfur with the warriors’ den. Every cat is exhausted, and it’ll be dawn soon.”

“Then I’ll do something about fresh-kill. The pile must have been scattered, but the badgers wouldn’t have had time to eat our prey. I might be able to salvage enough to keep us going until we can send out hunting patrols. If I find anything fit to eat, I’ll bring you some.”

“Thanks.” Brambleclaw watched the ginger warrior as she padded across the clearing, then made his way to the remains of the warriors’ den. Every muscle in his body was aching, the scratch on his shoulder throbbed, and he felt almost too tired to put one paw in front of another. But his Clanmates needed him. He had to find the strength to help them.

The thorn tree where the warriors had made their den grew close to the highest part of the cliff, not far from the tumble of rocks leading up to the Highledge. As he approached, Brambleclaw saw that although the outer branches were broken and trampled down, further in, towards the trunk, there seemed to be less damage. He hoped that there might be enough shelter left untouched, even if the warriors were a bit cramped until the tree put on fresh growth in newleaf.

As he drew closer, sniffing cautiously at the wrecked outer branches, Stormfur appeared, hauling a tangled mass of thorns behind him.

“Hi,” he panted, setting the thorns down to catch his breath. Narrowing his eyes, he added, “Shouldn’t you be resting? You look very battered, you know.”

“We’re all battered,” Brambleclaw pointed out. “I can’t rest now; there’s too much to do.”

Stormfur’s gaze travelled around the clearing. “There certainly is.”

Brambleclaw rested his tail against Stormfur’s grey flank. “I’m glad to see you,” he meowed. “StarClan couldn’t have chosen a better time to bring you here.”

“Well . . . the Tribe of Endless Hunting watch over me now.”

“Some ancestors sent you to us. I don’t care whose, I’m just thankful.”

Squirrelflight trotted up just then, carrying a couple of mice by their tails. She dropped the fresh-kill at their paws. “There you are,” she mewed to Brambleclaw. “Eat. You need your strength.” She patted the second mouse towards Stormfur. “You too, Stormfur.”

“No thanks,” the grey warrior meowed. “Brook and I ate on the way here. I’m not hungry right now.”

“OK, if you’re sure, I’ll take it to the elders. I’ve found plenty of fresh-kill,” she added to Brambleclaw. “It’s a bit trodden on, but it’ll do until tomorrow.” With a whisk of her tail she picked up the spare mouse and headed for the elders’ den.

While Stormfur went back inside the den, Brambleclaw crouched down to eat the mouse. It was flattened and covered with earth, as if a badger’s huge paw had trampled it into the ground, but he was too hungry to care. He devoured it in a few famished gulps. Then he went to help Stormfur shift the damaged thorns. Blood began oozing again from the scratch on his shoulder as he struggled to drag the broken branches away from the rest; thorns pricked at his paws and scraped against his side, adding fresh scratches to his pelt.

As he was backing out of the den, tugging a particularly stubborn branch, Squirrelflight’s scent drifted around him. He dropped the end of the branch and turned to see her standing behind him with a dripping wad of moss.

She set it down and meowed, “I thought you might need a drink.”

“Thanks.” As he lapped water from the moss, he thought he had never tasted anything so delicious. It seemed to soak into every part of him, giving him new energy.

When he had drunk as much as he wanted, Squirrelflight picked up the moss and gently dabbed it against his shoulder wound. Her eyes met Brambleclaw’s; he shivered at the closeness of her.

“Squirrelflight, I’m sorry for everything—” he began.

She swept her tail-tip across his mouth. “I know,” she murmured.

Brambleclaw thought he could have stood like that forever, drowning in the depths of her green gaze. But a movement beyond her distracted him, and he looked up to see Ashfur staring at him.

The grey warrior had left the vigil for his dead Clanmates and was crossing the clearing. After a few moments, he turned away and disappeared behind the brambles that screened the medicine cat’s den.

Brambleclaw stepped back and faced Squirrelflight. “What about Ashfur?” he meowed. He didn’t need to say any more— Squirrelflight and Ashfur had become very close in recent moons, and the grey warrior might have good reason to feel that Brambleclaw was treading on his paws.

Squirrelflight dropped the moss. “Don’t worry about Ashfur. I’ll talk to him.” There was regret in her eyes, but no uncertainty. Briefly she touched her nose to Brambleclaw’s. “I have to fetch water for the elders now. I’ll see you later.”

Dazed, Brambleclaw watched her go before starting to tug at the branch again. He could hardly believe how quickly everything had changed, and how little he and Squirrelflight had needed to say to each other. Their quarrels, the way they had deliberately tried to hurt each other, all that was gone in the wake of the badger attack, now that they realised how much they cared about each other. They didn’t even have to apologise; they could just look forward to all the moons ahead of them.

As he finally yanked the branch free, Stormfur emerged from the den, pushing a tangle of moss and thorns in front of him.

“It’s good to see you and Squirrelflight are still getting on so well,” he meowed.

“Yes, she’s a terrific cat,” Brambleclaw mumbled. He didn’t want to tell Stormfur that the closeness he shared with Squirrelflight had melted away for a time. “Why don’t we take some of these thorns over to Sandstorm for the entrance barrier?”

“OK.” Stormfur looked faintly amused, as if he could tell Brambleclaw was deliberately changing the subject away from Squirrelflight. “You know,” he added, “I feel just the same about Brook.”

He picked up the end of a long branch, but before they had gone more than a couple of paces Brambleclaw spotted the young Tribe she-cat heading towards them with a huge bundle of moss in her jaws.

“The elders are going to be fine,” she reported, after setting her burden down beside Brambleclaw. “Leafpool has put cobwebs on Mousefur’s scratches, and given them all a few poppy seeds to help them sleep. Squirrelflight has gone to fetch them some water.”

“Thanks for your help, Brook,” Brambleclaw meowed, nodding at the ball of moss.

“I took it out of the elders’ den because it’s full of thorns. No cat could sleep on that. Can you tell me the best place to find some more moss?”

“Are you sure you’re not too tired?” Brambleclaw asked. “You’ve travelled a long way.”

Brook’s ears twitched. “I’m in better shape than you. Besides, we took it easy on the journey. It’s been more than a moon since we left the Tribe.”

“We thought we would never find you,” Stormfur meowed.

“How did you?” Brambleclaw asked. He jumped at a flicker of movement behind him, but it was only Brackenfur, padding across to the nursery with fresh-kill in his jaws. “Did the Tribe of Endless Hunting show you the way?”

A glance flashed between Stormfur and Brook.

“I wish they had,” Stormfur replied. “We might have got here sooner. We wandered around in the hills until we came across a rogue who knew some cats who live with horses. Do you know them?”

“Oh, yes, the horseplace cats,” Brambleclaw mewed. “We’ve met them—in fact, one of them is here now, with her kits.”

Stormfur looked surprised. “Well, the rogue said they told him a huge number of cats had moved into their area. We knew that had to be you, and the rogue told us which way to come.”

“So you haven’t been to RiverClan yet?”

Stormfur shook his head, but before he could say anything else, Brook prodded Brambleclaw in the shoulder with one paw. “Moss? Your elders will be waiting.”

“Oh, sure. Let’s take these thorns over to the camp entrance, and I’ll show you.”

Brambleclaw and Stormfur dragged the branches across to where Sandstorm, Dustpelt, and Firestar were working on the barrier. Brook followed with her bundle of moss.

“Over there.” Brambleclaw pointed with his tail into the forest. His pelt prickled with horror as he remembered how the badgers had come roaring out of the shadows with death in their eyes. “Keep going straight on, and you’ll find plenty of moss around the tree roots.”

“I’ll come with you, Brook,” Stormfur meowed. “You never know, there might still be badgers around.”

“I’ve posted guards,” Firestar called across. “It should be safe.” He flicked his ears towards the top of the hollow, where Brambleclaw could just make out the shadowy shapes of Cloudtail and Thornclaw.

Stormfur followed his gaze, then turned back to Brook. “I’m still coming with you. We’ll need more moss for the warriors’ den.”

He and Brook headed into the forest. As Brambleclaw turned back into the camp, he spotted Leafpool emerging from her den. When she reached Cinderpelt’s body she stopped, bowed her head, and rested her nose in her mentor’s soft fur.

“Forgive me, Cinderpelt.” Brambleclaw was just close enough to hear her murmured words. “I want to sit vigil with you, but there’s too much to do. I know you would want me to care for your Clan.”

Leafpool lifted her head, seemed to brace herself, and padded on towards Brambleclaw. “I want you in my den now,” she meowed. “Your wounds need treatment.”

“But—”

“Don’t argue, Brambleclaw. Just do it.” For a moment Leafpool sounded as forceful as her sister, Squirrelflight. “How much use will you be if your shoulder gets infected?”

Brambleclaw sighed. “All right. I’m on my way.” As the young medicine cat brushed past him, he rested the tip of his tail on her shoulder. “Thanks, Leafpool. I mean, thanks for coming back. ThunderClan needs you.”

Leafpool flashed him a glance filled with sorrow before padding on towards her father and mother by the camp entrance. “Firestar!” he heard her call. “I haven’t had a chance to look at your wounds yet.”

As Brambleclaw was approaching Leafpool’s den, he spotted Ashfur emerging from behind the bramble screen. His torn ear was wrapped in cobwebs, and more of them were plastered along his flank and on his foreleg.

“Are you OK?” Brambleclaw asked as Ashfur padded past him.

Ashfur didn’t look at him. “Fine, thanks,” he mewed curtly.

Brambleclaw watched him cross the clearing to the nursery, where Brackenfur and Spiderleg were dragging out the broken bramble tendrils. Ashfur set to work beside them.

Just outside the cleft in the rock wall where Leafpool had her den, Birchpaw was curled up asleep in a nest of bracken, one paw over his nose. Though he was only an apprentice, he had fought bravely in the battle and helped to protect Daisy and her kits as they escaped from the hollow. The wounds on his haunches, where fur had been ripped away, were covered with a poultice of marigold; Brambleclaw’s nostrils twitched at the sharp scent of chewed-up herbs.

On the other side of the cleft, Rainwhisker lay among more bracken. As Brambleclaw appeared around the screen of brambles he raised his head and blinked drowsily. “Hi, Brambleclaw.” His voice sounded blurred with sleep. “Is everything OK?”

“It will be. How’s your leg?”

“Not broken, thank StarClan. Just dislocated.” He let out a sleepy purr. “Leafpool put it back in place.” His eyes closed again and he rested his nose on his paws.