Enjoy this early sneak peak at the first three chapters of Guiding Light!

ALLEGIANCES

THUNDERCLAN

LEADER     Squirrelstar—dark ginger she-cat with green eyes and one white paw

DEPUTY     Ivypool—silver-and-white tabby she-cat with dark blue eyes

MEDICINE CATS     Jayfeather—gray tabby tom with blind blue eyes

Alderheart—dark ginger tom with amber eyes

WARRIORS   (toms and she-cats without kits)

Whitewing—white she-cat with green eyes
Birchfall—light brown tabby tom
Mousewhisker—gray-and-white tom
Bayshine—golden tabby tom
Bristleclaw—orange-and-white tabby she-cat
Sunbeam—brown-and-white tabby she-cat

Apprentice, Moonpaw (she-cat whose face is split between black and orange tabby)

Poppyfrost—pale tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat
Lilyheart—small, dark tabby she-cat with white patches and blue eyes
Nightheart—black tom
Wafflepelt—gray-and-brown tom
Bumblestripe—very pale gray tom with black stripes
Cherryfall—ginger she-cat
Molewhisker—brown-and-cream tom
Stemtail—orange tabby tom
Cinderheart—gray tabby she-cat
Finchlight—tortoiseshell she-cat
Graywhisker—white tom with gray spots
Blossomfall—tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat with petal-shaped white patches
Eaglewing—ginger she-cat
Dewnose—gray-and-white tom
Stormcloud—gray tabby tom
Hollytuft—black she-cat
Fernsong—yellow tabby tom
Honeyfur—white she-cat with yellow splotches
Sparkpelt—orange tabby she-cat
Thriftear—dark gray she-cat
Sorrelstripe—dark brown she-cat
Twigbranch—gray she-cat with green eyes
Finleap—brown tom

Apprentice, Goldenpaw (golden tabby tom)

Shellfur—tortoiseshell tom
Plumstone—black-and-ginger she-cat
Flipclaw—brown tabby tom

Apprentice, Shinepaw (black she-cat)

Leafshade—tortoiseshell she-cat
Lionblaze—golden tabby tom with amber eyes
Spotfur—spotted tabby she-cat

QUEENS   (she-cats expecting or nursing kits)

Daisy—cream long-furred cat from the horseplace
Myrtlebloom—pale brown she-cat (mother of Oakkit, a pale brown tabby she-kit with white spots; Sunkit, an orange tabby tom; and Hazelkit, a tortoiseshell she-kit with white spots)
Fernstripe—gray tabby she-cat (mother of Shykit, a gray-and-white she-kit; Puffkit, a fluffy gray tabby she-kit; and Leapkit, a black-and-white tom)

ELDERS   (former warriors and queens, now retired)

Thornclaw—golden-brown tabby tom
Cloudtail—long-haired white tom with blue eyes
Brightheart—white she-cat with ginger patches
Brackenfur—golden-brown tabby tom

SHADOWCLAN

LEADER     Tigerstar—dark brown tabby tom

DEPUTY     Cloverfoot—gray tabby she-cat

MEDICINE CATS     Puddleshine—brown tom with white splotches

Shadowsight—gray tabby tom

WARRIORS

Tawnypelt—tortoiseshell she-cat with green eyes
Stonewing—white tom
Scorchfur—dark gray tom with slashed ears
Flaxfoot—brown tabby tom
Dovewing—pale gray she-cat with green eyes
Cinnamontail—brown tabby she-cat with white paws
Snowbird—pure white she-cat with green eyes
Yarrowleaf—ginger she-cat with yellow eyes
Grassheart—pale brown tabby she-cat
Whorlpelt—gray-and-white tom
Hopwhisker—calico she-cat

Apprentice, Quickpaw (ginger tabby tom)

Blazefire—white-and-ginger tom
Lightleap—brown tabby she-cat
Flowerstem—silver she-cat

Apprentice, Beechpaw (pale brown tom)

Snaketooth—honey-colored tabby she-cat
Redcloud—reddish-brown tom
Slatefur—sleek gray tom

Apprentice, Poolpaw (white she-cat)

Pouncestep—gray tabby she-cat
Gullswoop—white she-cat
Spireclaw—black-and-white tom
Fringewhisker—white she-cat with brown splotches
Sprucetip—silver tabby and white she-cat
Bloompetal—black she-cat
Firbark—brown tabby tom
Whisperbreeze—gray tom
Streamripple—gray tabby she-cat
Hollowspring—black tom
Sparrowtail—large brown tabby tom

ELDERS

Oakfur—small brown tom

SKYCLAN

LEADER     Leafstar—brown-and-cream tabby she-cat with amber eyes

DEPUTY     Hawkwing—dark gray tom with yellow eyes

MEDICINE CATS     Frecklewish—mottled light brown tabby she-cat with spotted legs

Fidgetflake—black-and-white tom

MEDIATOR     Tree—yellow tom with amber eyes

WARRIORS

Macgyver—black-and-white tom
Dewspring—sturdy gray tom
Rootspring—yellow tom
Needleclaw—black-and-white she-cat
Plumwillow—dark gray she-cat
Sagenose—pale gray tom
Harrybrook—gray tom
Cloudmist—white she-cat with yellow eyes
Turtlecrawl—tortoiseshell she-cat
Rabbitleap—brown tom
Reedclaw—small pale tabby she-cat
Beetleshine—white-and-black tabby tom
Mintfur—gray tabby she-cat with blue eyes
Nettlesplash—pale brown tom
Tinycloud—small white she-cat
Palesky—black-and-white she-cat
Violetshine—black-and-white she-cat with yellow eyes
Bellaleaf—pale orange she-cat with green eyes
Quailfeather—white tom with crow-black ears
Pigeonfoot—gray-and-white she-cat
Gravelnose—tan tom

Apprentice, Robinpaw (a reddish-brown she-cat)

Sunnypelt—ginger she-cat
Beesting—white-and-tabby she-cat
Nectarsong—brown she-cat

Apprentice, Starlingpaw (black-and-white tom)

Ridgeglow—reddish she-cat with a white nose
Birchfeather—light brown tom
Blossomheart—ginger-and-white she-cat
Duskshine—white tom with brown paws and ears

QUEENS

Wrenflight—golden tabby she-cat (mother of Vinekit, a white tom with tan patches, and Conekit, a golden tabby tom with white paws)

ELDERS

Fallowfern—pale brown she-cat who has lost her hearing
Sparrowpelt—dark brown tabby tom
Cherrytail—fluffy tortoiseshell and white she-cat

WINDCLAN

LEADER     Harestar—brown-and-white tom

DEPUTY     Crowfeather—dark gray tom

MEDICINE CATS     Kestrelflight—mottled gray tom with white splotches like kestrel feathers

Whistlebreeze—gray tabby she-cat

WARRIORS

Brindlewing—mottled brown she-cat
Featherpelt—gray tabby she-cat
Leaftail—dark tabby tom with amber eyes
Woodsong—brown she-cat
Emberfoot—gray tom with two dark paws
Breezepelt—black tom with amber eyes
Heathertail—light brown tabby she-cat with blue eyes
Leafcurl—white she-cat with gray spots

Apprentice, Rustlepaw (white tom with a brown tail)

Crouchfoot—ginger tom
Grassfur—auburn she-cat
Branchleap—white tom
Songleap—tortoiseshell she-cat
Silkypod—long-haired gray tom
Sedgewhisker—light brown tabby she-cat
Flutterfoot—brown-and-white tom
Slightfoot—black tom with white flash on his chest

Apprentice, Stretchpaw (brown tabby she-cat with white face markings)

Oatclaw—pale brown tabby tom
Hootwhisker—dark gray tom
Flufftail—fluffy pale brown tom
Larkwing—pale brown tabby she-cat
Brookripple—black-and-white tom
Stripeheart—gray tabby tom
Appleshine—yellow tabby she-cat

ELDERS

Whiskernose—light brown tom
Nightcloud—black she-cat

RIVERCLAN

LEADER     Icestar—white she-cat with blue eyes

DEPUTY     Owlnose—brown tabby tom

MEDICINE CATS     Mothwing—dappled golden she-cat

Frostdawn—light gray she-cat with blue eyes

WARRIORS

Duskfur—brown tabby she-cat
Minnowtail—dark gray-and-white she-cat
Havenpelt—black-and-white she-cat
Troutshine—brown-and-white spotted tom
Mallownose—light brown tabby tom
Rapidsplash—gray-and-white she-cat
Podlight—gray-and-white tom
Shimmerpelt—silver she-cat
Lizardtail—light brown tom

Apprentice, Eelpaw (black tom)

Sneezecloud—gray-and-white tom
Brackenpelt—tortoiseshell she-cat
Mistpool—tortoiseshell-and-white tabby she-cat

Apprentice, Heronpaw (silver she-cat)

Gorseclaw—white tom with gray ears
Nightsky—dark gray she-cat with blue eyes
Graysky—silver tabby tom
Floatshimmer—tawny she-cat

ELDERS

Mosspelt—tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat

“Monkeystar is right,” Fang agreed, stepping forward to look down at the apprentices. “Marking the border is serious business!”

Bigteeth and Buttercup did have the sense to look a little ashamed of themselves as they jumped up and hurried to join the others.

“But patrol is so boring,” said Rustpaw.

“Rustpaw, show some respect to your leader!” said Fang.

“He’s not wrong, Monkeystar,” said Bigteeth. He cocked his head, his two oversized fangs sticking out from his lower jaw. “Why do we do this every single day? We’re the only Clan in the forest; we don’t need to guard our borders as if there’s going to be a dispute over prey.”

Maybe I was wrong to make him a mentor, Monkeystar thought. She’d hoped it’d make him feel a bit more invested in the Clan. But he still had a Twoleg nest to go back to—as did she—so was he just teaching the new full-time Clan cats not to really value Clan life?

“We love being in a Clan,” said Buttercup. “But we don’t have to do everything exactly like they did in the old days, do we?”

“We don’t really have enemies to fight,” said Darkpaw. “Or anything threatening our territory, or big evil cats trying to kill us all.” Her eyes glistened, as if being attacked by a big evil cat would really brighten her day.

“It is a real Clan,” Monkeystar bristled. She straightened her tail in annoyance. “And there are real dangers! What about the foxes?”

“They stay near the Twolegplace,” said Bigteeth. “They stuff themselves from the Twoleg scraps; they’re not interested in coming after us—”

“Even if that’s true,” Monkeystar insisted, “there could be rogue cats! And there’s more to being a Clan than fighting. There’s . . . there are patterns. Like how one season follows another.”

All of them apart from Fang and Petunia gave her blank looks.

Monkeystar sat back on her haunches, thinking hard. How could she explain how she felt about it?

“Leaf-bare comes after leaf-fall,” she said slowly. “And then newleaf, and greenleaf, and then leaf-fall again. The seasons change, and the Clan changes—kits become apprentices, and then warriors. Cats join us or leave to spend their elder days in the Twoleg dens. Cats live and die, and join StarClan ”

“Do you think StarClan is really real?” Pricklepaw piped up.

“I do.” Monkeystar licked her paw thoughtfully. “I remember when Graystripe came, and he showed us the Mothermouth, where the Moonstone was.”

“What’s the Moonstone?” asked Rustpaw.

“It’s . . .” Monkeystar hesitated. She had never actually seen it with her own eyes. “StarClan used to communicate with the old forest Clans there. Graystripe took me there, with Clawwhistle and Fang.”

“Petunia was able to communicate with Gremlin’s spirit there,” Buttercup pointed out. “But she can’t speak to StarClan like the medicine cats by the lake can.”

Monkeystar glanced at Petunia, wondering if she’d be annoyed by this, but Petunia’s expression remained cool, and she said nothing.

“But I believe StarClan knows and loves us, just like the other Clans,” Monkeystar went on. “And what’s more, I believe that one day they will reach out to us. The Moonstone was shattered by lightning when Graystripe was here, but maybe he’ll come back, or another Clan cat will. Maybe we’ll find our own way to talk to them one day. I can’t tell you exactly why; I just think . . .” She sighed, looking into the faces of the three apprentices and the three older cats, seeing a mixture of skepticism, awe, and blank incomprehension. “I think we need to be ready.”

He’d been her friend when she was just the weird, awkward apprentice who hid out in the medicine-cat den but didn’t want to be a medicine cat. He’d forgiven her when Morningkit had scratched him—using Moonpaw’s own claws—in a fit of jealousy. He’d stayed friends with her even when she’d told him she was followed everywhere by the spirit of her dead littermate; he’d told her secret to Squirrelstar when he knew she needed help; and then, when she’d finally given up on being a normal Clan cat and run away from ThunderClan, he’d followed her.

He’d chosen her at every step. With a fizzy mixture of wild delight and utter astonishment, Moonpaw watched him arch his back and splay out his paws on the cold earth.

“Moonpaw?” Goldenpaw tilted his head, catching her watching him. “Are you okay? Do you need to rest for a little while?”

Ooooooh, Moonpaw, Morningkit’s voice immediately butted in. Are your poor delicate paws sore?

“I’m fine,” Moonpaw snapped. At the taken-aback look Goldenpaw gave her, she winced. “Sorry. I’m all right, really. Let’s keep moving for now.” Goldenpaw’s eyes narrowed in understanding, and they walked on a few more paw steps.

I bet he’d just loooove to lick them all better, Morningkit whispered in Moonpaw’s ear.

“Shut up, Morningkit!” Moonpaw hissed.

“Why, what’s she saying now?” Goldenpaw rounded on her, aiming a mock-stern glare at the air beside Moonpaw’s ear where he guessed Morningkit might be. “It’d better not be about my hunting technique again,” he said with a slight smile. He’d picked the wrong ear, but Moonpaw appreciated the attempt to keep things light.

“She was making fun of me,” Moonpaw told him.

Why don’t you tell him what I really said? Morningkit snickered at the same time as Goldenpaw shook his head and said, “Leave your sister alone, Morningkit.”

Despite his gentle tone of voice, Moonpaw heard Morningkit sniff disdainfully again, and Moonpaw could hear her move from right next to Moonpaw to somewhere in front of her— between her and Goldenpaw.

I’m tolerating you, she said, because you’re nice to my sister, but no cat’s going to tell me what to do!

Moonpaw sighed.

“What? What did she say?” Goldenpaw asked. “I’d always rather you just told me.”

“She says she tolerates you because you’re nice, but you can’t tell her what to do,” Moonpaw related, rolling her eyes a little.

“Well, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Goldenpaw said. “Tell her that, will you? I’m only trying to look out for your sister, Morningkit.”

“He says he’s only trying to—”

I can hear him, mouse-brain!

“All right!” Moonpaw shook her head. “All right. Let’s just walk quietly, okay? Please.”

“All right,” said Goldenpaw.

He looked a little confused, but neither he nor Morningkit spoke again for a while as the sun rose weakly to its fullest leaf-bare height, barely peeking over the tallest trees on the horizon. The wind whipped up and whistled over the empty fields, stinging their faces and making their fur stand up on end. All the scents were mixed up: the smell of the Thunderpath, the cold churned earth, the rabbits and the cats themselves swirling chaotically back and forth. Rain passed over them in sudden bursts, blowing almost sideways across the field, shockingly cold on their whiskers and then gone again as soon as it had come.

“We can’t hunt in this,” Goldenpaw said at last. “If the wind can’t keep still, there’s no way we can creep up on anything.”

“I’m not sure I could chase a rabbit in this anyway,” Moonpaw mewled. “I feel like if I tried to run right now, the wind would knock me right off my paws!”

“We just have to press on,” Goldenpaw agreed.

Hey, what’s that? Morningkit suddenly said.

“What? Where?” Moonpaw looked around, trying to guess what her sister had seen. Goldenpaw gave her a curious look. “Morningkit saw something,” Moonpaw explained. “What was it?”

There’s something glowing. I think the Thunderpath turns up ahead— look.

She was right. Moonpaw squinted through a sheet of rain and saw that the high bank that had been to their right for more than a day suddenly took a turn to the left, cutting them off. More bare trees loomed around them, and as they drew closer, they started to see flashes of bright light from the eyes of the monsters that hurtled along the path.

“Where do we go now?” Goldenpaw wondered. “Do we go left too, keep walking beside it? Can we get around it somehow?”

Moonpaw frowned. There was that question again. Where were they going? They needed to find somewhere they could make a home, somewhere with prey, shelter, safety.

“I don’t want to end up looping back toward the lake,” she said slowly. “Maybe there’s a way…”

She shivered. Last time she and Morningkit had encountered a Thunderpath, her sister had almost gotten her killed. But she was with Goldenpaw now, and she had left the Clans to make Morningkit happy. It would be different this time. Wouldn’t it?

“Let’s climb up the bank and take a look,” Goldenpaw said. “We’ll be really careful.”

Moonpaw nodded.

They scrambled up through the thick bushes to the top of the slope, then climbed up into the branches of one of the biggest trees and looked out over the Thunderpath. The flashing lights and harsh scents blinded them for a moment, but then Moonpaw let out an awed, slightly frightened breath.

“It’s a Twolegplace,” she said. “I . . . suppose?”

“It’s not like the one we were in before,” Goldenpaw said.

The Twoleg dens they’d seen had been a mixture of shapes and sizes, and there had been lots of them, all arranged around a tangle of small Thunderpaths. Here, the dens were all the same: massive, squat, and square. Moonpaw couldn’t see windows or doors like the normal dens had—each one was a plain gray, though some of them had huge thin pieces of wood with bright colors on them stuck to their sides. There were . . . Moonpaw counted at least six of the huge dens, and there were probably more. Giant monsters swarmed around them, crawling along the Thunderpaths and sleeping in rows in fields of dusty, dirty stone.

“What do you suppose that is?” Moonpaw asked. The weak leaf-bare daylight was swiftly running out, and one Twoleg den stood out among the rest—a smaller shape, still blocky and flat-looking, but with light spilling from large windows and a flame-red light glowing above the door. Even from here, Moonpaw could see that it was busy with Twolegs, who climbed out from the bellies of their monsters to enter the strange, glowing den.

“It looks like it might have a crow-food pile,” Goldenpaw mused. “Shall we go and have a look?”

“We have to get across this Thunderpath first,” Moonpaw reminded him. “Let’s wait a little longer. Maybe there’ll be fewer monsters after dark.”

She was right, eventually—the two cats huddled together in the crook of the tree, watching and waiting for their chance, and a while after sunset, the monster patrols did seem to become much less frequent. They eventually jumped down and descended the bank toward the edge of the Thunderpath. Moonpaw’s heart was in her paws as they drew closer and closer to the acrid smell of burning and metal, but the path was dark and quiet.

“Ready?” she asked Goldenpaw.

Goldenpaw stared into the darkness, eyes wide, and then nodded.

The Thunderpath felt gigantic now that they were right beside it, and Moonpaw shuddered as her paw struck the rough, jagged black dirt.

Finally! Morningkit’s voice suddenly spoke up in Moonpaw’s head, just as she was setting her paws on the slightly raised white line that ran down the center of the Thunderpath. I’ve been waiting! You could’ve just crossed with me.

“Not without getting crushed,” Moonpaw muttered back through gritted teeth.

This would be a good place to do it, Morningkit went on. You’d hardly know what hit you. Then you and I would be together. We’d be free; you could go anywhere you wanted.

Moonpaw suppressed a huge shudder and checked over her shoulder, half afraid that her sister might have seen a monster coming, might be rooting for her to be killed right now. . . .

But there was nothing there. The Thunderpath was dark between the orangey pools of light from the tall fire boxes by the side of the path. She put her head down and made a run for it, dashing across the hard black surface to catch up with Goldenpaw, who was already clambering gratefully off the path and into a sparse and unnatural patch of dirt. A few small bay trees grew at weirdly regular intervals, and the ground was scattered with chunks of wet bark that smelled like they came from no real tree Moonpaw had ever seen. The two of them huddled there for a moment, catching their breath.

“What was that, back there? ‘Without getting crushed’?” Goldenpaw gave Moonpaw a concerned look. “What did she say to you?”

“Oh, she’s just being creepy,” Moonpaw said, her mood lightening now that they were past the big Thunderpath. “She likes to remind me how much easier it is to be alive when you’re dead.”

Hey. Morningkit mewled. Quit making it sound stupid! Moonpaw felt a shove against her shoulder, and her body tensed, remembering the last time her sister had physically touched anything—but there was laughter in Morningkit’s voice. Moonpaw found herself chuckling back.

“Come on,” she said. “Those of us who have bellies need to fill them with something.”

There were more Thunderpaths to navigate, but they were much smaller on this side of the big black path, and the monsters moved much more slowly. Moonpaw and Goldenpaw hunkered down in the bark, their ears flat to their heads, and waited as a monster nearly the size of a Twoleg den rumbled past. Morningkit giggled in Moonpaw’s head, and Moonpaw had the definite feeling her sister was running back and forth across the Thunderpath, under the six round paws of the monster.

They could no longer see the brightly lit Twoleg den, but even through the blinding stink of the monsters they could smell it. The scent was definitely Twoleg prey, and Moonpaw started to salivate as she followed her nose around the corner of one of the gray, featureless Twoleg dens and found herself looking up at the burning-red light. Despite the sounds of the Thunderpath, she heard Goldenpaw’s stomach rumbling beside her.

“It smells delicious,” he admitted with a slightly shame-faced dip of his head. “What is it?”

“Twoleg prey,” Moonpaw said, scenting the air. “I have no idea, but it smells amazing.”

The two cats slowly circled the den. There were Twolegs inside, their big clumsy shadows moving against the lighted windows, and monsters sleeping at the edge of the Thunderpath all around. Moonpaw’s pelt twitched nervously as she slunk between the looming black paws of the monsters, trying not to imagine the danger they could be in. She smelled something coming from another of the bark-covered places. There was a box there, red like the light above the den. She nosed it open, drooling, and looked down with disappointment.

“It’s just bones,” she said as Goldenpaw hurried up beside her. She gave the bones a lick, and reeled as the taste hit her tongue—greasy, salty, meaty, and delicious. Goldenpaw reached in and grabbed one in his jaws and tried to chew it, but there was only a tiny scrap of greasy flesh left, and the bone splintered when he crunched on it.

“It’s definitely some kind of bird.” Goldenpaw took another long sniff of the bones in the brightly colored box. “But what? And what have they done to it . . . and why does it taste so good?” he added, with a slightly embarrassed purr.

“There have to be more scraps around here somewhere,” Moonpaw said. “Come on, let’s keep looking.”

They reluctantly left the bird bones behind and kept circling the den, until Moonpaw saw Goldenpaw look around the next corner and turn back to her, his tail twitching with excitement. “There!” he said, and broke into a happy run. Moonpaw scampered after him and saw it too—a huge blue crow-food bin, as tall as a Twoleg, pushed up against the wall of the den.

The scent of the bird bones was all over it, and other smells too, intense and tasty prey-scents mixed with rot and decay.

Moonpaw and Goldenpaw waited a few moments longer, huddled together under the belly of the sleeping monster. Then she glanced at him, her ears pricking up. She wondered if he’d say they should move on, that it was too risky—but Goldenpaw’s expression was determined.

“There’s good prey here,” he said. “There’s got to be a way to get it.”

She nodded her agreement and sidled out from between the monster’s paws, ears swiveling as she listened for any sign of more sudden Twolegs.

“I’m going to go up there,” she said again, eyeing the blue bin. She was a little less confident now that she’d seen the Twoleg open it and heard the heavy thunk as the lid had slammed back down, but she had to try.

She launched herself up and onto the top of the bin easily enough. Her paws slipped for a moment on the smooth surface, but she regained her balance and hunkered on top of the bin. She sniffed around for an opening, a way in, but though the scent of Twoleg food was strong, the lid was very firmly shut. “There’s got to be a way,” she muttered. There was a shape to the lid, a gap where the Twoleg had put its hand to push it open. Maybe she could do the same with her head. She wedged her nose underneath the gap and tried to give it a shove, but the lid was heavy, and Moonpaw couldn’t get a good enough grip on the smooth surface of the bin.

Push! Morningkit cheered. You can do it!

“I appreciate it,” panted Moonpaw, pulling her head out of the gap and shaking it, “but I think I can’t.”

Pfft. Let me try, then.

To Moonpaw’s amazement, there was an ever-so-slight shift in the position of the crow-food bin lid. A tiny scraping and squeaking sound came from it, and then it settled back, and there was silence.

“Well?” Moonpaw asked, feeling cheeky. “When are you going to try to lift it?”

Shut up, said Morningkit.

“Maybe if we both try together?” Goldenpaw called down from below.

“I don’t know if there’s room,” Moonpaw began, but too late—he had jumped up to join her.

“Oh, I see.” Goldenpaw sniffed around the gap, and the tiny ledge of bin they would have to stand on to push it open. “Well, what if we…” He looked around, his tail lashing thoughtfully. “We couldn’t push the whole thing over, could we?”

“It’s huge,” said Moonpaw. “And full of Twoleg scraps. There’s no way.”

“All right,” said Goldenpaw. His face creased in thought. “Well… they have to empty it sometime, right? What if we wait till then…”

Moonpaw watched him think, her heart warming despite the sinking feeling that they would never be able to get the bin open. He wasn’t done trying; she could see it in his eyes.

“Maybe,” she began.

Then the door into the den opened again.

Moonpaw and Goldenpaw both flattened themselves to the lid of the bin. Moonpaw’s heart pounded as she looked from the light of the doorway down to the ground. Should they run? Maybe if they froze, the Twolegs wouldn’t see them. . . .

The Twoleg that emerged from the den was one of the pair from before, Moonpaw thought. As Moonpaw watched, hunkered against the lid, it took the red pelt off its head and let its head-fur puff out from underneath. It looked around, and then its gaze landed on Moonpaw, and its eyes widened. It gasped, and it made a series of small sounds—nothing like the hissing and hollering the other Twoleg had made. These were soft, cooing noises.

Moonpaw had hardly ever seen a Twoleg before, and never this close up, and certainly never eye to eye like this. Now that she had more time to look, she could tell this was a Twoleg female. Her eyes seemed huge and dark this close up, and there were thick black markings around them. Was that normal?

The Twoleg took a step closer to the crow-food bin, made a soft sucking sound with her mouth, and held out her hand. Moonpaw twitched, but the Twoleg didn’t seem to be making a grab for her or doing anything at all—just holding her paw out in their direction.

Is she . . . offering herself to be sniffed? Moonpaw wondered.

The Twoleg seemed as amazed by Moonpaw as she was by her, and she realized with a jolt that Twolegs probably hadn’t seen many cats with faces like hers either. She crept backward until her paws met the very edge of the bin, wishing she could disappear.

The Twoleg made another soft noise, and then suddenly went back inside the den, but didn’t close the door. Moonpaw cast a nervous glance at Goldenpaw, who seemed equally frozen by the strange experience of seeing a Twoleg so close.

Then, just a moment later, the Twoleg was back holding something in her paws. It was a small metal bowl, and the smell that wafted from it was amazing. Inside, Moonpaw thought she could see chunks of something, probably meat, probably more of the bird meat they’d scented on the box of bones. . . .

The Twoleg placed the bowl down beside the scrapcan and then backed away. She folded herself up and sat down on her haunches on the step up to the inside of the den, in the open doorway.

“She’s watching us,” Goldenpaw whispered. “I think she wants to know if we’re going to eat the food.”

“Are we?” Moonpaw asked. It was tough to even get the words out, her mouth was so busy drooling over the fantastic smells rising from the bowl.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Can we really do this? Moonpaw thought. Accept food from the paws of a Twoleg? Is it really delicious enough to act like a kittypet? What would the Clan say?

For a moment, she tried to imagine her friend Brambleclaw looking down from StarClan and waiting to see what she would do. He’d been a leader, a warrior, a proud ThunderClan cat. Surely he’d tell her to run and not look back?

But he would also understand, she thought. He knew about Morningkit. He’d know why we can’t go back.

“I’m going down there,” said Moonpaw, and she saw Goldenpaw’s tense muscles relax as he let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Me too,” he said with feeling, and jumped down from the scrapcan to the hard stone floor.

The food in the bowl was as delicious, as juicy and warm and salty as Moonpaw could have dreamed. Whatever the Twolegs had done to this food, it was good. They ate quickly, casting nervous looks at the Twoleg in the doorway.

You two are pathetic, Morningkit sniffed.

“Morningkit thinks we’re pathetic,” Moonpaw translated through a mouthful of prey. “Well, I think you’re the reason we’re rogues now, so you don’t get to criticize.”

Morningkit humphed to herself but said nothing else.

Moonpaw and Goldenpaw lay in a patch of sunlight, in the tiny den they had made for themselves beneath an evergreen bush behind the brightly colored Twoleg dwelling. Moonpaw felt comfortable and happy, which was strange—the smells and the sounds of the Thunderpath and the monsters roaring in and out of the Twolegplace hadn’t changed. She guessed she’d just gotten used to them. They had only been here a few days, but already she found she could see the patterns in their movements. There was always a lot of activity at the beginning and middle of the day. The really big monsters slept in the open field at night, and the smaller ones came and went and were mostly gone by sundown.

The kind Twoleg had fed them every night, and every night she held out a hand for the cats to sniff, and every night so far Moonpaw and Goldenpaw had kept their distance—except for last night. Moonpaw had finally gone close enough to smell her, and had been surprised to realize she could smell other cats on the Twoleg’s skin, alongside the scents of Twoleg prey and a flowery, acidic smell that made Moonpaw sneeze. The Twoleg must have kittypets at her den. Perhaps that was why she was kind to a pair of rogues. Perhaps some Twolegs just liked cats, no matter where they met them.

It was embarrassing, relying on a Twoleg, but if the choice was between a loss of dignity and an empty stomach, Moonpaw was pretty happy with the choice she’d made.

The Twoleg would be back after sundown, so until then, the two cats lay in their small space, Moonpaw with her back to the den wall, with Goldenpaw lying beside her, like they always did now. It had started in the den back in ThunderClan, and they’d just kept doing it. This way, Goldenpaw would know if Morningkit decided to take Moonpaw’s body for a walk in the night—though since they’d left the Clans and were out on their own, nothing like that had happened. Moonpaw guessed that meant that Morningkit was happier.

The sun was setting now, and a chilly shadow fell over them as it sank behind the huge, squat Twoleg dens. Goldenpaw gave a small shudder and turned over, resting his chin on Moonpaw’s leg. Moonpaw felt a flush of happiness at this closeness with him, before she realized that he had let out a big sigh.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“Oh—no, I’m fine,” purred Goldenpaw.

Moonpaw nudged his ear with her nose. “Come on, tell me.”

“No, really, it’s nothing,” Goldenpaw insisted.

Moonpaw hesitated. She could guess what he didn’t want to say. Should she just let him feel his feelings privately, or should she keep prodding him? She wriggled around so she could reach to lick the top of his head, and he made a pleased mrrrp noise.

“I was just thinking,” he said eventually. “What do you think Shinepaw’s warrior name will be?”

Moonpaw took a deep breath, feeling a stab of grief at the mention of her friend, Goldenpaw’s sister. Neither of them had said goodbye to Shinepaw or any of the ThunderClan cats, and the homesickness was like an aching cut in her paw sometimes. “She’ll be having her warrior assessment soon,” she said. Realization struck her. “And you would be too.”

“Maybe something like Shinepelt,” Goldenpaw speculated. “Or maybe Shineshadow? Does that sound silly?”

“I like it,” mewed Moonpaw. “Goldenpaw, I’m sorry we can’t be there.”

“It’s okay,” said Goldenpaw. “It’s just, we’ve been gone nearly a moon, and I miss her. I miss the Clan. But I’d rather be here with you.”

Moonpaw gave him another lick on his head, grateful that he’d say so, even if he didn’t always feel it.

In the quiet that fell between them, there was suddenly a small noise that made both their ears prick up. A scratching, scuttling sound, nothing like the paw steps of a Twoleg or the roar of a monster. Goldenpaw rolled silently onto his belly and peered under the branches of the shrub.

“I think it’s a mouse!” he whispered.

Moonpaw purred. “Let’s hunt!” she said. “It’ll be good to feel like a real warrior again!”

There was a noise from behind them, and Moonpaw and Goldenpaw both jumped, hunkering down over their prey.

The door to the Twoleg den had opened without them noticing, and the friendly Twoleg stood there with another Twoleg beside her.

The second one was not the other red-pelted Twoleg who had yelled at them, but a third one, a male they had seen one time before. He was much taller, with scraggly-looking brown fur on the bottom of his face as well as the top. He didn’t have the red pelt over his body—Moonpaw had realized that the kind Twoleg took hers off at the end of every day—but they’d never seen this Twoleg male wearing one.

The two Twolegs were chattering to each other in low voices, and the bigger Twoleg put his arm around the smaller one. Moonpaw couldn’t tell what they were thinking from their strange, flat faces, but they kept looking at the cats and looking at their mouse and murmuring things to each other. For a moment, Moonpaw tensed, wondering if they were going to try to take the mouse away. But neither Twoleg moved toward them, and after a moment they stepped back into the den and closed the door.

Moonpaw. Hey, are you awake?

Moonpaw stirred. She was awake—well, mostly. Goldenpaw had headed off to make dirt and Moonpaw had just shut her eyes for a second. Now she sat up, shaking herself, and looked around, even though there was little point because she wouldn’t see her sister there.

“I’m here,” she said. “Morningkit?”

It had been days since she’d heard her sister’s voice, and it was a bit of a surprise to hear it now when nothing much was happening.

I’ve been exploring, Morningkit told her. This place is so weird. She sounded delighted by it. The Thunderpaths are such a tangle, and there are more fields on the other side. I even snuck into one of the other Twoleg dens. It was full of Twoleg pelts, just hanging there! And I saw trees on the other side of the Thunderpath, and a horseplace, but I didn’t get that far.

“It’s all right for you,” Moonpaw said lightly. “You’re not really here; you don’t have to dodge monsters to cross the Thunderpath.”

There was a moment of silence, and Moonpaw wondered if Morningkit had returned just to tell her all about her exploration and then run off again—but after a moment a small voice said:

Not really here?

“Oh, Morningkit.” Moonpaw sat up, her fur prickling with guilt. “I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Morningkit didn’t respond. Moonpaw caught Goldenpaw’s scent and trailed off, intensely aware of the awkwardness of pleading for forgiveness from the empty air and also desperate to reassure her sister. . . .

A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked over to see Goldenpaw jumping up onto a low metal wall that lined the Thunderpath. He would normally have jumped right over to join her, but he hesitated. His whiskers twitched, and he turned his head, sniffing. Instead of jumping down, he prowled along the top of the wall, carefully placing his paws.

“It looks like he’s scented prey,” Moonpaw explained to Morningkit, getting up as she tracked his progress around the corner of the Twoleg den. He was almost out of sight. “I have to go; he might need help. I promise I didn’t mean . . .”

Morningkit didn’t answer.

“I have to . . . ,” Moonpaw said. “I’ll be back.” Her sister still said nothing.

With a mewl of frustration, Moonpaw crept out from beneath the bush and hurried after Goldenpaw. He’d gone around the corner now, and she slowed as she approached, worried she might spook some mouse or other kind of prey.

Moonpaw, be careful, Morningkit suddenly said. A shiver ran down Moonpaw’s back, and she sped up again. Around the corner, at first she didn’t see Goldenpaw at all. Then she realized what she was seeing: a black box with a silver fence at one end, and a golden tabby blur inside it.

“Goldenpaw!” Moonpaw yowled, scrambling across the stone and clawing at the fence. She clamped her jaws around the silver and pulled, but it barely budged.

“There was prey,” Goldenpaw whimpered. “I’m sorry, Moonpaw—there was prey and I thought . . .”

“It’s okay,” Moonpaw told him. “I’m going to get you out of here. There’s got to be a way.” She hauled at the fence once more, but it wouldn’t move. Frantically, she sniffed all around the box. She could smell Goldenpaw and the prey that had been inside and a smell that reminded her of the monsters. She clawed at the edges of the thing, stuck her nose into tiny holes, looking for anything she could rip or tear apart, but she kept on hitting nothing but hard, shiny surfaces. Then there was a hole! It was big enough for her to get inside, and she could see Goldenpaw through it—perhaps she could get to him and pull him back out?

“Goldenpaw, this way!” she yowled, and darted inside.

But when Goldenpaw turned, his face pressed up against an invisible wall between them, and there was a hollow thud and a click.

Moonpaw turned, slowly, to see the silver fence that had come down behind her, trapping her inside.

“Moonpaw, no,” Goldenpaw mewed sadly. “Not you too!”

Loud, hurried paw steps crossed the stone, coming closer and closer. Moonpaw crouched low to the hard floor of the box and pressed herself to the invisible barrier between her and Goldenpaw as a Twoleg made its way over to them, bent down, and hooked its massive paws around part of the box and lifted it into the air. Moonpaw and Goldenpaw both let out mews of terror as the box swung around and began to drift through the air, held in the Twoleg’s mighty paw.

“Put us down!” Moonpaw yowled. The Twoleg made a soft noise in return, but he did not put them down.

Let my sister go! Morningkit’s voice yowled from somewhere down on the ground. Or you’ll regret it!

Moonpaw squinted up through one of the small slits in the box and made out the shape of a long Twoleg face with fur on the top and on the bottom. It was the male, the friend or mate of the kind Twoleg who’d been feeding them.

Through the barrier, her eyes met Goldenpaw’s, and they tried to huddle close to each other, feeling the tiniest scrap of heat from each other’s pelts as they were carried off.

Where was he taking them?

Tawnypelt looked around at the close-packed trees. There were no landmarks that she could see, but she supposed if Leafstar had patrolled and marked this territory enough in her youth, those memories would likely never leave her.

“It’s about time,” muttered Breezepelt. The WindClan warrior shivered. “The air’s clawing my throat every time I breathe. Were leaf-bares this cold when we were young?”

Tawnypelt heard both Brightheart and Leafstar give snorts of agreement to this statement, while the younger cats— Frecklewish and Harrybrook, and the RiverClan medicine cat Frostdawn—looked perplexed.

We wouldn’t have been quite so cold if we hadn’t put this journey off so long, she thought, a hot flash of annoyance warming her under her fur.

They had all agreed, all five Clans, that they must make the journey to the gorge, to see if SkyClan’s Whispering Cave could still connect them to StarClan. The Moonpool was lost to them, turned from a spiritual sanctuary into a simple pond by the Twolegs’ reckless interference. Every cat agreed that it was worth finding out if the Whispering Cave still held the spirits of their ancestors—even Tigerstar, once he’d accepted that the threat was real and the Twolegs were going nowhere. And then…. delays. So many delays. Of course Tawnypelt wanted the elders who’d volunteered to be healthy and strong for the journey, and of course Brightheart’s brief attack of whitecough had been worrying. She was glad the ThunderClan elder had made a full recovery. But it had cost them precious time, and now all of them were at risk of freezing. And if it was all for nothing, if they didn’t find anything to point them toward a solution . . .

“Look,” said Leafstar. She suddenly broke into a flat sprint, leaving the others mewing in her wake. Tawnypelt ran after her while the others were still hesitating, and nose-to-tail they sprinted across the thinning forest floor. The darkness of the forest began to break up, and Tawnypelt realized they were coming to the tree line. She saw nothing but pale sky beyond.

Suddenly Leafstar skidded to a halt.

“Step carefully, Tawnypelt,” she panted, looking back. “These trees have spread since my day. They’ve grown right up to the edge.”

“The edge ?” Tawnypelt began, and a moment later she reached the last tree and stopped abruptly. She was looking down over a sheer drop onto bare rock. She let out a small yelp and crouched back, low to the ground.

Leafstar raised her head and closed her eyes, took a breath of the icy air that suddenly whipped around them, and laughed at her.

“Not afraid of heights, are you, Tawnypelt?”

“Absolutely not,” Tawnypelt mewed back. “But this place is . . .” She managed to get back up and moved to Leafstar’s side.

The edges of the rocks glowed red under the sinking sun of leaf-bare, and the shadows were deep and black. Patches of greenery grew out between the cracks in the rocks, and birds nested on the high ledges, but compared to the forest and the lake, the place seemed barren and empty. Down at the very bottom of the gorge, a wandering line of gray water flowed in between the rocks.

She had understood, of course, what a gorge was. She knew there were cliffs and rocks and a river. But it had been seasons since Tawnypelt had seen the gorge between WindClan and ThunderClan in the old forest, and the scale of this place made Tawnypelt feel very small all of a sudden.

The forest territories aren’t that far from here, she thought. But no cat from the Clans ever came this way—until they did. We didn’t know there could be a place like this. When I was a warrior in the forest, this place was here, home to a whole Clan nobody knew about. They followed the code, they were connected to StarClan, but we knew nothing of our kin over the horizon.

What other wonders are hiding just outside the boundaries of the world we know?

“There’s the Skyrock.” Leafstar leaned over—perilously far, to Tawnypelt’s eyes—and looked along the top of the gorge to where a large, flat rock was perched, sticking out of a patch of small trees and new growth to their right. “We’re just about above where the dens were. The Whispering Cave is over there.” She nodded across to the opposite side, where the rocks rose back up in a tumble of red and gray. Tawnypelt strained her eyes but couldn’t see which of the shadowy clefts in the cliff side Leafstar might be talking about.

Tawnypelt couldn’t help wondering if Leafstar was thinking about her own life and legacy in SkyClan. If they did find StarClan in the Whispering Cave, that could mean Leafstar’s time as leader was over. Her Clan had voted to pass the leadership to Hawkwing, and the only reason she hadn’t become Leafdapple once again and retired to the elders’ den was because they hadn’t been able to reach StarClan.

She looked back to Leafstar and saw that her eyes were large and liquid with emotion, her pupils huge, as if she was trying to take it all in as fast as she could. Her jaws hung open, and her quick breath rattled slightly in her chest.

It wasn’t just the dash to the edge of the forest that had exhausted her. Leafstar had been weaker every day since they’d left the lake. Tawnypelt winced, watching her.

Should we have brought her? She desperately wanted to come back to the gorge, but we could have found it without her… what if she’s not strong enough for this?

But Leafstar’s breathing gradually calmed, and the rattling sound faded to a background wheeze.

“It’s all still here,” she said, under her breath. “And I’m here, at last. I made it.”

Tawnypelt relaxed. We couldn’t have left her behind. She needed to come here—one last time.

“Leafstar,” said Frecklewish, hurrying up beside her leader. “Are you all right? Let’s take a break, okay?” She peered into Leafstar’s cream-and-brown face, seemingly searching for something, though Tawnypelt couldn’t quite tell what. Harrybrook was right behind her, scurrying to his mother’s side and offering his shoulder for her to lean against, but Leafstar imperiously ignored both her son and her medicine cat.

“We should be careful on our way down,” she announced. “The path was often treacherous, even when it was trodden by cats every day. We SkyClan cats should act as if we’ve never been here before,” she added to Harrybrook and Frecklewish. “There’s no telling what might have changed since we were last here—or what might be living in our abandoned dens.”

It was a sobering thought, and the cats duly fell into a cautious single file as they picked their way down the side of the gorge, following the lines of ridges and leaping over gaps where rocks had fallen away. Harrybrook muscled his way in front of his mother to lead the way down, and Tawnypelt couldn’t help feeling relieved—Leafstar’s vision had been fading, she knew, though she wasn’t sure how bad it had become.

“Here’s the warriors’ den,” Harrybrook said, sniffing at a dark cave entrance. “It looks empty.” The cats all gathered around, cautiously peering inside. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Tawnypelt saw the faint pattern of scratches on the sandy walls, and a small pile of shriveled and dry leaves that might once have been part of a nest. The scent of cats was still on the air, though it was very, very stale.

“This is where Hawkwing found the cats who stayed behind,” said Frecklewish. “But I don’t think any other creature’s been here since then.”

If StarClan could still come to the Whispering Cave, would there be cats living here? Tawnypelt wondered. There was no way to be sure, but she didn’t feel full of confidence as their group continued down the uneven path toward the bottom of the gorge. They passed the elders’ den, and the leader’s, where Leafstar hesitated for a long moment.

“This is so strange,” Frecklewish muttered. “Look, there’s the medicine cats’ den. And the flat stone that caught the morning sun…”

“Careful,” said Harrybrook. “It’s very wobbly here; roots have grown under the path. But I think we can jump down to the river from here.” He cast a look at his mother, who gave him a firm nod.

“SkyClan elders jump and climb better than other Clans’ warriors,” she said. “Watch.”

She walked to the edge of the lip they were standing on, eyed the distance to the riverbed, and then delicately ran down the side of the cliff in a few small leaps. She stumbled a little at the bottom, and for a moment Tawnypelt’s heart froze as she thought Leafstar might fall into the water, but the SkyClan leader recovered and sat down, looking around as if nothing had happened.

The other cats followed her down. Frecklewish tried to check on Leafstar, who brushed her off with a twitch of her tail, and she shook her head.

“The Whispering Cave is just over the river,” Leafstar said. “You can cross over those rocks.”

Frecklewish exchanged a look with Frostdawn. “We should go,” she said. “Tawnypelt, I feel like you should come with us.”

Tawnypelt started with surprise. “Are you sure? I’m no medicine cat.”

“StarClan sent their message to you,” Frostdawn pointed out. “I think they would want you there.”

“I would be honored to be there,” said Tawnypelt, dipping her head to the two medicine cats.

They left the others soaking up what little sunlight they could beside the cold river and followed the flow upstream until they found the tumbled rocks where the water bubbled out from between the stones. Frecklewish led the way, and Frostdawn and Tawnypelt walked in her paw steps as she picked her way toward a dark opening in the stones.

“Here,” Frecklewish said, her voice suddenly echoing. “The Whispering Cave.”

Tawnypelt held her breath as she poked her head inside. The chilly air turned freezing inside the cave. The water that trickled over her paws was terribly cold, but there was moss growing on the floor and the walls . . .

Tawnypelt gasped as she stepped deeper into the cave. The moss on the walls was glowing, giving off a soft green-blue light. And there was a whispering sound, too—the wind passing across the mouth of the cave and the water dripping and dribbling across the rocks made a soft, persistent whooshing. The entire effect was eerie, and Tawnypelt’s skin prickled beneath her pelt.

Frecklewish made a quiet, sad sound.

“There was so much more of the moss, before . . . ,” she muttered.

“Look, Frecklewish. Are those claw marks?” Frostdawn walked up to the cave wall and sniffed at it.

She found herself trying to breathe as softly as possible, trying not to disturb the medicine cats. There was a long moment of silence, apart from the quiet noises of the Whispering Cave.

Then Frecklewish opened her eyes. “I’m sorry, Tawnypelt.”

Frostdawn shook herself. “Nothing. But, Tawnypelt, maybe it’s just that StarClan doesn’t want a non–medicine cat here after all? Why don’t you head back to the others, and we’ll keep trying.”

Tawnypelt nodded and got up. She tried to keep her steps light as she walked out of the cave, but as soon as she had left their sight, her face fell.

It’s not going to work, she thought. From outside the cave, she could see down the twisting path of the river to the others: Leafstar and Harrybrook sitting close beside each other, Breezepelt and Brightheart exploring the gorge nearby. How do I tell them? We’ve come all this way for nothing.

Night was falling by the time the medicine cats emerged, and Tawnypelt could see from the moment they stepped out of the cave that it was bad news.

All five of the other cats were huddling together at the edge of the old medicine-cat den, sheltering from the chilly wind that howled down the gorge. Tawnypelt watched as the two medicine cats walked down toward them, their paws heavy. After an achingly long time, they reached the others.

“Nothing,” said Frecklewish.

“We tried everything,” said Frostdawn. “But we didn’t feel StarClan’s presence in the cave. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Brightheart kindly. “It was worth trying.”

There was an awkward silence.

“It was, Tawnypelt,” Brightheart said more firmly.

“We should get back,” Tawnypelt said. “We’ve left the Clans without a connection to StarClan, without a plan. We should get back and let them know it didn’t work.”

“Tonight?” Breezepelt peered at the darkening sky. “Now?”

Tawnypelt’s paws felt full of energy. She opened her mouth to say that yes, they should at least make a start on the journey back, when Leafstar spoke up.

“No. Not tonight,” she said. There was a leader’s confidence in her voice. “Brightheart is tired, and so are you, Tawnypelt, even if you don’t feel it right now. We don’t want to climb out of the gorge in the dark, and we won’t find better shelter than this after we do. We stay here for tonight.”

Tawnypelt stood up and shook herself from head to tail. “Then I’ll go on a hunt,” she said. “Harrybrook, Breezepelt, will you join me?”

The two toms got up and stretched.

“I know where the squirrels used to nest in the old days,” Harrybrook said. “We can start there.”

Their hunt was swift in the end—not only were there still squirrels in the high caverns on the other side of the gorge, but they’d grown much less wary over generations of living without cats regularly hunting them. The warriors’ jaws laden with a squirrel for each cat, they made their way back and shared prey and tongues with the rest of the group.

“It must have been tough,” Tawnypelt said to Harrybrook. “Living in the gorge, I mean. There aren’t many places for prey to hide, not much shelter it must have been sweltering in greenleaf, as well as freezing in leaf-bare.”

Harrybrook shook out his long gray fur and gave her a thoughtful look. “I don’t remember feeling that it was particularly hard,” he said. “At least until we had to leave. It was a good place to live. For a while.”

Tawnypelt couldn’t help feeling there was quite a bit of Clan pride behind that answer.

Still, I suppose a Clan can get used to anything, if they have to. And Leafstar seems genuinely nostalgic for the place. . . .

Where was Leafstar? She had quietly slipped out after they’d eaten their squirrels—to make dirt, Tawnypelt had assumed at the time, but she wasn’t back yet. Looking around, she realized that Frecklewish was gone too.

With a strange, sinking feeling, Tawnypelt stepped outside the medicine cats’ den and looked into the starlit gorge.

Leafstar and Frecklewish were sitting together, sharing tongues. Tawnypelt couldn’t make out their words, but there was an urgent, hissing quality to their voices that she didn’t much like. She carefully picked her way across the dark rocks, trying not to either startle them or look like she was creeping up to listen in.

“Tawnypelt,” Leafstar acknowledged, with a nod.

“What’s wrong?” Tawnypelt asked.

Leafstar let out a slight snort of laughter. “Frecklewish is fussing over me, that’s all,” she said. “She is convinced this quest is going to be the death of me.”

Tawnypelt looked up at the clear sky and shivered. “Good thing you have more than one life, then,” she said.

Neither of the two SkyClan cats answered, and Tawnypelt looked back down, her eyes narrowing. She turned her gaze from Leafstar, who seemed to be stubbornly studying her paws, to Frecklewish, whose ears were pinned back and her tail low.

“Are you on your last life, Leafstar?” Tawnypelt asked.

Neither of them answered for another long moment.

“A leader’s lives don’t prevent her from aging,” Frecklewish finally said. “When a leader’s time in the living world comes to an end, it doesn’t matter how many lives she has left.”

Tawnypelt stared at Leafstar, who sighed and curled her tail around her paws before looking up and meeting Tawnypelt’s eyes with a determined stare.

“I have not been completely honest with you, Tawnypelt,” she said. Her throat sounded dry. “I lost a life on our way here.”

“What? How?” Tawnypelt gasped.

“I died in my sleep.” To Tawnypelt’s shock, Leafstar actually seemed to find this funny. “Quietly and peacefully. I came back, thank StarClan. I woke up before any other cat was stirring.”

Frecklewish shook her head. “I’m just glad you told me,” she said. “I probably never would have guessed, though I knew something was wrong.”

“It seemed irresponsible not to tell my medicine cat that I had died,” Leafstar said, her flat delivery undercut once more by the glint of humor in her eyes. Frecklewish rolled her eyes.

“But wait.” A thought dawned on Tawnypelt. “If you died, did you go to StarClan? Did you see them?”

“I did,” said Leafstar. “They are still there. Still waiting for us to find a way to share tongues with them again. The eternal hunting grounds are as green and beautiful as ever.” She let out a slightly wistful sigh. “I’ve glimpsed them a few times. I will not be too sad to spend the rest of eternity there, with my Billystorm.”

“Did they have anything to say about our quest?” Tawnypelt pressed.

Leafstar hesitated again, and Tawnypelt felt a flash of frustration warm her pelt.

“Cloudstar . . . hinted that the gorge might not hold the answers we were seeking.”

“Leafstar!” Tawnypelt yowled. “You knew this, and you didn’t mention it? Frecklewish, did she tell you?”

“No.” Frecklewish frowned. “She didn’t tell me this part.”

“I . . . have little to say in my defense,” said Leafstar stiffly. “Except that I wasn’t certain—how often are you really sure of what StarClan means? And we were already closer to the gorge than the lake.” Her voice softened, and she looked out over the dark gorge, with its winding river reflecting the silver light of the stars. “I could not turn away. Not when we were so close to my old home. My real home. I had to see it one last time.”

Tawnypelt said nothing. Anger boiled inside her for a moment longer. Then it ebbed away, just as Leafstar said, “I am sorry for misleading you.”

“I understand why you did,” said Tawnypelt.

The older cat gave Tawnypelt a small acknowledging headbutt and then turned back to looking over the gorge. Tawnypelt sat with her a little longer, trying to imagine what it must be like for Leafstar—to know that she might be dying, to have the opportunity to revisit the beginning, now that she was close to the end.

“Are you afraid?” Tawnypelt asked. “To lose your last life?”

“No,” said Leafstar. “I may have more to do in this world . . . or I may not. I leave it up to StarClan. I know they guide our paws even now.” She smiled to herself, and Tawnypelt wondered if she was thinking of her last visit to StarClan—of the fields of endless hunting, and the proud warriors of her Clan, and of Billystorm, her lost mate.

She saw them. They are still out there. The thought followed her as they all made their way back into the shelter of the cave, and as she lay down to sleep. A spark of hope, even though her hopes for the Whispering Cave had come to nothing.

Starlingpaw still thought she shouldn’t have to give up the leadership, but what could an apprentice do to prevent it? The Clan had decided to remove her. Once the Clans reconnected with StarClan, and Hawkwing became Hawkstar, she would have no choice.

“Hawkwing hasn’t let you off yet?” a voice piped up beside Starlingpaw, and he turned to see his littermate, Robinpaw, carrying a small vole in her jaws.

“Soon,” Starlingpaw sniffed. “I don’t want Hawkwing to ‘let me off.’ If I’m to be punished for speaking up, so be it.”

“Well, I’d be spitting thorns,” Robinpaw said lightly. She sat down in front of him and cleaned behind her ears with one paw. “We hunted around the old Twoleg den today. A whole colony of voles had moved in. It was brilliant.”

Starlingpaw forced himself to smile at his sister. “That’s great. I hope we’re both warriors by the time Leafstar and the others get back with the good news about the Whispering Cave.”

“Me too,” said Robinpaw. “You really think they’ll find StarClan there?”

“Of course,” he said. “It’s the gorge. It’s our real home. Why wouldn’t StarClan be able to reach us there?”

Robinpaw rolled her eyes. “You really have one paw out of this place, don’t you?”

Starlingpaw was about to reply when he heard Gravelnose calling from the fresh-kill pile, and Robinpaw leaped to her paws.

“See you later,” she mewed, and hurried off to add her vole to the pile.

Starlingpaw sighed and went back into the elders’ den. Inside, he found himself locking eyes with Sparrowpelt. The elderly tom was shaky on his paws these days, but unlike Fallowfern, his hearing was as good as ever.

“It would be wonderful to see the gorge again,” he sighed. “Though I’m not sure if my creaky old legs will carry me that far.”

“We’ll all help you,” Starlingpaw said with feeling. “No cat will be left behind when we go.”

“I love your optimism, young Starlingpaw,” Cherrytail chuckled. “I wish I shared it. I remember one particular rock—do you remember this, Sparrowpelt? We used to race to see who could get to it first. By midmorning the sun had warmed it until it felt like lying on your mother’s belly in the nursery. I’ve never enjoyed sunning myself more than on that rock.”

“I remember when the apprentices staged a play fight to decide who would be first onto the sunning rock,” Sparrowpelt snorted. “And by the time they’d declared the winner, one of the warriors had already claimed it. Who was it, Cherrytail? Was it Waspwhisker?”

“It was me,” said Fallowfern with deep satisfaction. “It was Waspwhisker who first found the squirrels in the cave,” she said. Her eyes seemed to lose focus as she gazed into the past, thinking of her mate. Starlingpaw couldn’t remember what had happened to him.

“And it was me who twisted a hind paw fighting them,” Sparrowpelt said. “Looking back, I think those squirrels are to blame for my bad paws now.”

“Remember the moon trees?” Cherrytail asked.

“What are those?” Starlingpaw asked, eyes widening. “Are they like the Moonpool? I thought the Whispering Cave was the only way to share tongues with StarClan?”

“Oh, this wasn’t a StarClan thing,” Sparrowpelt said. “Two old oak trees grew at one end of the lip of the gorge. If you stood in the right spot at moonrise, their branches perfectly framed the moon. It felt so special to sit and watch the moon slip between those two trees. The closest us warriors ever got to feeling what the medicine cats felt, I think.”

Starlingpaw briefly shut his eyes. This wasn’t the first time the elders had reminisced with him about the gorge, and he’d encouraged them every time, asking questions, hungry for details about their old home. Now he felt as if he could almost feel the hard stone under his paws and the leaf-bare sun warming the flat rock.

When I live in the gorge, I’ll make sure I get to that rock first. At least some of the time!

He could see himself chasing squirrels up and down the tall red rock walls, splashing in the river during greenleaf, eating and sharing tongues with Robinpaw and Nectarsong and Needleclaw and all the others. He could climb up onto the outcrops over the gorge and overlook everything, seeing his Clan going about their lives in peace.

His Clan.

A burst of possessiveness, of pride, of . . . of authority.

Is this a daydream—or a vision of the future? Is this how things are meant to be? SkyClan back in the gorge, and me . . . in charge?

A strong young warrior, a black-and-white tom with a white chest and white tail-tip, standing alone on a high rock. A fierce and honorable leader, dedicated to telling the truth and doing what was right for his Clan.

Starlingstar.

It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it, obviously. He was certain all apprentices secretly lay in their dens at night and added star to the end of their names, testing out how they felt. But this felt so . . . right.

“Starlingpaw? Are you in there?”

“He’s here,” said Cherrytail. “He’s helping us with our bedding.”

“Good job, Starlingpaw.” Nectarsong pushed her way into the den. “I’m almost reluctant to tell you now; maybe I’d better let you finish.” Her eyes glinted with mischief in the dim light. “Your punishment is over.”

Starlingpaw tried not to look as delighted as he felt. He dipped his head respectfully to his mentor and to the elders, as if he were an apprentice who’d made a real mistake and felt properly chastised.

Nectarsong didn’t seem to need him to apologize or cower, though. “Finally, we can get back to training,” she said. There was no disappointment or snootiness in her voice, only impatience. Starlingpaw couldn’t help wondering if she actually agreed with what he’d done at the Gathering. Of course she couldn’t say so—it wouldn’t be appropriate to give such credence to the voice of a lowly apprentice—but if he finished his training and became a full warrior, she’d have no reason not to back him up. He could be a voice against Hawkwing’s irrational opinions about not going back to the gorge. Once Leafstar returned . . .

He shook himself. His daydreams were one thing, but they’d never come true if he didn’t make good on his promises.

“I’ll finish the bedding, of course,” he said. “It’s the least I can do for our elders.”

“What a polite young tom,” murmured Cherrytail, giving him an affectionate, if slightly patronizing, lick on the middle of his forehead.

* * *

“Nectarsong,” Starlingpaw said as they left the elders’ den. They hadn’t spoken much as they’d fetched new moss for the bedding and set it all out, but now they were heading to the fresh-kill pile, and Starlingpaw had been thinking. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” said Nectarsong.

“Do you think I can take my warrior assessment a little early?”

I need to have a voice. If I don’t have my warrior name when Leafstar gets back, I won’t have a real voice in the Clan. I’ll get put back on punishment duty if I try to speak up in her defense. Hawkwing will stomp over everyone else’s opinions to keep us here, even if that’s not what Leafstar wants.

He studied Nectarsong’s face, trying to see her answer before she spoke.

Nectarsong’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and she said nothing.

“I’ve accomplished a great deal as an apprentice,” Starlingpaw went on, his heart speeding up. Could she be persuaded? “I dealt with my punishment without complaining—I did everything I was asked and loads more; you can ask any of the elders, or Fidgetflake. I think I’m ready. I’ll pass.”

“I’m not arguing with your accomplishments, Starlingpaw,” said Nectarsong. “But your skill isn’t the only thing we have to think about.”

“It isn’t? Why?” Starlingpaw asked.

Nectarsong gave him a long look. “For a start, you cannot officially be made a warrior without our leader,” she said. “Until we get StarClan back, that’s Leafstar, and she’s not here. Hawkwing is not Hawkstar yet ”

Starlingpaw stifled a snort. Nectarsong narrowed her eyes at him.

“And even if he were, I’m not sure he’d be too enthusiastic about giving you your assessment, let alone your warrior name, less than a quarter moon after you finished your punishment duty.”

Starlingpaw growled a little in the back of his throat.

“Starlingpaw,” Nectarsong said, a warning in her voice. “Whether you like it or not, Hawkwing is going to be our leader, probably quite soon. Challenging him and questioning him for no reason is only going to make your life harder. I’m not saying you have to be his closest friend, but if you keep chewing his tail, he’s not going to be inclined to do you any favors.”

But what if I’m challenging him for really good reasons?

Starlingpaw took a deep breath. They were in the middle of the camp, with plenty of other warriors around to overhear. Even if Nectarsong was secretly on his side about Crowfeather, she wouldn’t feel able to say so if he asked her right now.

“How much Hawkwing likes me shouldn’t matter, though, should it?” he said. “All that should matter is that SkyClan has strong, capable warriors. And what if it takes forever for Leafstar to get back? I’m ready now!”

“Would you like to ask Hawkwing?” Nectarsong said. “You can. But he’ll say no. You would have to do something truly impressive to merit an early assessment. More impressive than taking on tick duty without complaining—which, I grant you, is pretty remarkable.” She was making a joke, trying to lighten her bad news, but Starlingpaw hesitated.

Could I tell her about my one big achievement? That I might already have saved the Clans?

But she would only ask him why he hadn’t mentioned it before. And he didn’t have any proof that Moonpaw was the cat with a paw in both worlds, the one Tawnypelt’s vision had warned about—although it made perfect sense, and he had no regrets about encouraging her to leave the Clans.

“It’s okay, Starlingpaw,” Nectarsong said, touching her tail to his briefly. “You just focus on being the best apprentice you can be. The rest will fall into place, I promise.”

“Thanks,” Starlingpaw muttered. “I’m just going to make dirt before we go back to training.”

“Well, hurry,” his mentor told him. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

Of course I’ll hurry, he thought, but managed to bite back his annoyance. Haven’t I already shown them I can be diligent, patient, hardworking? How can I prove my worth to them?

As he made his way outside the camp to the pebble-strewn dirtplace, Starlingpaw’s thoughts spun in his head.

What could he possibly do to impress Hawkwing? The deputy didn’t like him for some reason, even though they were kin. Maybe he never had. Maybe he still blamed him for Kitescratch’s death, or maybe he just thought he was too loyal to Leafstar, too willing to speak the truth even if it was inconvenient.

Or was it something else?

Maybe he’s seen it too—that I’m destined to grow into a strong, capable warrior, maybe even a rival for the leadership? If he makes me a warrior before StarClan makes him officially Hawkstar, who’s to say what could happen?

The thought was exciting, validating—and frustrating. If Hawkwing was afraid of being challenged, then the only way for Starlingpaw to take and pass his warrior assessment before Leafstar returned would be to show the whole Clan that he was ready. He’d have to do something so big, so impressive, that Hawkwing wouldn’t be able to turn him down.

Starlingpaw finished at the dirtplace and began to head back toward the camp, still turning the problem over in his mind, following the scent of prey to the fresh-kill pile, where he would meet Nectarsong. . . .

Except this scent wasn’t leading him to the fresh-kill pile. He could smell prey, but it was outside the camp. Where was it? What was it?

I know I said I’d hurry, he thought, but I can’t just leave it alone. Maybe some cat left prey behind by accident or even on purpose? Maybe some cat has been stealing from the fresh-kill pile! If I could expose them, would that be enough for Hawkwing?

He followed the scent, more and more puzzled as he walked farther away from the camp.

It didn’t smell like mouse or squirrel, or vole, or rabbit. It didn’t smell like a dead cat, either. What was it? The scent was strong enough to lead him several tree-lengths outside camp, past more hawthorns and a stand of trees, and then . . .

There was a fox.

Starlingpaw jumped and huddled behind the trunk of a tree in case the thing was about to get up and chase him. A moment later, he felt foolish. The prey-scent was coming from the fox! It was dead, lying unmoving on the ground with its eyes rolled right back in their sockets. Was this the source of the snuffling noises SkyClan had been hearing near camp?

“Ha,” Starlingpaw said, and stepped out from behind the tree. He walked over to the fox and prodded it hard with a paw. It moved, its limbs flopping limply around. It was even still warm! It couldn’t have been here long at all. . . .

Starlingpaw stared into the empty eyes of the fox and started to have an idea.