Hollypaw shoved him away. “Move over. Your fur is soaking.”
Lionpaw rolled back against her.
“Lionpaw!” She scrambled to her paws and stared at her brother. Dawn light was filtering through the branches, just enough to give color to the pelts of the sleeping cats.
Lionpaw’s fur was drenched, as though he had spent the night out in the rain, though he was fast asleep now. Hollypaw sniffed him suspiciously. Perhaps he had just gone out to make dirt and slipped back into the den for more sleep.
She yawned and stretched, her tail shivering with the effort. She felt cold to the bone. Mousepaw, Berrypaw, and Honeypaw were asleep despite the rain. Poppypaw’s and Hazelpaw’s nests were empty but their scent was fresh; they must have gone out with the dawn patrol.
“Hollypaw?” Cinderpaw lifted her head and blinked open her eyes. “Did the rain wake you?”
Hollypaw shook her head. “Lionpaw did,” she mewed.
“He’s soaking wet.”
“He’s been out in this?” Cinderpaw rubbed her eyes with a paw.
“It looks like it.” Hollypaw’s fur was starting to itch with curiosity. This wasn’t the first time Lionpaw had done something weird. He had woken her before dawn only a few days ago, slinking back into the den. He said he’d been out to make dirt, but his fur smelled of leaves, as though he’d been farther into the forest than just the dirtplace.
Cinderpaw’s belly began to rumble. “I wonder if there’s any fresh-kill on the pile yet?”
“There may be some left over from last night,” Hollypaw suggested. “Let’s go and see.”
She picked her way among the warm bodies of her sleeping Clanmates and peered out of the entrance. She could hardly see the fresh-kill pile. The dawn sky was dark with clouds and the rain was so heavy that mud danced over the clearing.
Cinderpaw squeezed up beside her. “Let’s make a dash for it.”
“Okay.” Hollypaw screwed up her eyes and darted out of the den.
Stormfur and Brook crouched beneath Highledge, sharing a soggy robin beneath the sheltering overhang.
“This weather’s too wet even for RiverClan!” Stormfur called in greeting.
Hollypaw paused, blinking the rain from her eyes. “Now I know how fish feel!”
Cinderpaw scooted past her.
“Don’t sit there like a startled rabbit, Hollypaw,” Brook urged. “Find shelter!”
Hollypaw hurried after Cinderpaw and sent up a spray of mucky water as she skidded to a halt by the fresh- kill pile. A few sodden pieces of prey lay plastered in mud. She picked up a sorry-looking mouse and carried it to the shelter of the brambles that crowded one side of the medicine den.
“Yuck!” Cinderpaw dropped a dripping wren on the ground and shook herself. Hollypaw flattened her ears as the spray showered her.
“Sorry.” Cinderpaw crouched and took a bite of her wren.
“This tastes like mud!” she mewed with her mouth full.
At the entrance to the medicine den, the dripping brambles shivered and Leafpool hurried out, her jaws clutching a bundle of herbs. She dashed across the clearing and disappeared into the nursery.
“I hope Icekit and Foxkit are okay,” Hollypaw mewed.
“Daisy was sneezing last night,” Cinderpaw told her. “I think she has a cold.”
Hollypaw peered up through the brambles at the gray sky.
“We’ll all have colds if this rain doesn’t stop soon. That, or webbed feet.” It had been nearly a half-moon since the Gathering, and it seemed to have rained every day.
The rest of the camp was beginning to stir. Thornclaw yawned as he padded around the clearing followed by Dustpelt. As Hollypaw swallowed the last mouthfuls of cold mouse, Firestar emerged from his cave on Highledge and sur-veyed the camp. Brambleclaw darted from the warriors’ den
and bounded up the rockfall to meet him. The two warriors vanished into Firestar’s cave, their tails low against the rain that hurled against the cliff.
Mousefur peered out from the honeysuckle-draped bush that formed the elders’ den, before disappearing back inside with a snort of disgust. Graystripe padded from behind the warriors’ den, where he shared a makeshift den with Millie.
His thick gray pelt was plastered against his body. He picked two birds from the fresh-kill pile and hurried back to his nest.
Brackenfur emerged from the warriors’ den and stretched, arching his tail and reaching out with his forepaws until his chest touched the ground. Then he straightened and shook himself, fluffing out his golden fur. “Hollypaw?” He peered toward her through narrowed eyes, rain streaming from his whiskers. “Is that you?”
Hollypaw padded out from the shelter of the brambles. “I was just eating with Cinderpaw,” she greeted him.
“Well, if you’ve got a full belly, you can come hunting with me.”
Hollypaw felt a surge of delight. Hunting would warm her up. “Can Cinderpaw come too?” she asked.
Cinderpaw shook her head. “Cloudtail asked me to clean out the elders’ bedding this morning.”
“I’ll bring you back a warm mouse if I can,” Hollypaw promised.
“One without mud, please,” Cinderpaw purred.
“Come on, Hollypaw.” Brackenfur was already racing for the camp entrance.
Outside, the forest floor was soaked, the dead leaves slimy and rotten underpaw, but Hollypaw soon began to feel warm as she chased Brackenfur up the steep slope and they headed into the forest. The rain was beginning to ease and for the first time that morning she opened her eyes wide. The trees ahead were thickening and the forest darkened where pines began to grow among the leafless trees. ShadowClan territory lay this way. Hollypaw thought of the new kittens—her kin—in the camp beyond the border. If they shared her blood, would they share her scent as well? Was it blood or Clan that decided scent? How would they tell whose marker was whose?
“Brackenfur?”
Brackenfur skidded on the wet leaves and turned to face her, his eyes bright. “Do you smell prey?” he asked hopefully.
Hollypaw shook her head. “I was just wondering . . . ” She searched for the words to explain the unease that was nagging her.
“Yes?”
“Well, I was wondering . . . ”
Brackenfur shook the rain from his whiskers. “What is it, for StarClan’s sake?”
“If the new kits in ShadowClan are my kin, do I still have to fight them in battle?”
“Of course, if they threaten your Clan.” Brackenfur turned away and started padding through the forest once more, his nose twitching as he hunted for scent among the wet undergrowth.
Hollypaw hurried to keep up with him. “But what if my Clan threatens them and I don’t think it’s fair?”
“Why should we do that?” Brackenfur’s ears pricked and he dropped into a hunting crouch.
“But just say we did? Shouldn’t I feel some loyalty to kin?”
“A true warrior is loyal to her Clan above everything.”
Brackenfur began to knead the ground with his hind paws; he had spotted something ahead and was preparing to pounce.
But Hollypaw’s mind was hungrier than her belly.
“You can’t hurt cats that share your blood,” she argued.
“Does that mean there are more important things than the warrior code?” She blinked in alarm. “If that’s true, then how do we know what’s right—”
“Hush!” Brackenfur’s hiss silenced her as a leaf trembled a fox-length away and a small brown shape shot away into the safety of its burrow.
Brackenfur sat up and stared crossly at his apprentice.
“Why don’t you stop thinking about the warrior code and start following it? Your Clan is hungry and wet. You should be concentrating on feeding them, not on deciding what’s wrong and what’s right!”
