Читать книгу TWILIGHT - Erin Hunter, Эрин Хантер - Страница 11

Squirrelflight used her claws to tear moss from the roots of an oak tree and began patting it into a ball to take back to camp. A quarter moon had passed since the battle with Mudclaw and his followers, and the Clan was beginning to recover. Wounds were healing and the memory of Mudclaw’s rebellion was fading.

Brambleclaw had started his training sessions, and Sandstorm had insisted that every warrior take a turn with the apprentice duties. Squirrelflight would rather be hunting or exploring than fetching fresh bedding for the elders, but the job wasn’t too boring when you had a friend to share it with.

Casting a mischievous glance at Ashfur, who was gathering moss from another tree nearby, she hooked up her ball with the claws of one paw and hurled it at him. It landed accurately in the middle of his back and disintegrated, covering his pelt with scraps of moss.

Ashfur spun around to face her. “Hey!”

His eyes gleaming with laughter, the grey warrior scooped up his own moss and flung it at Squirrelflight. She dodged behind the tree to avoid it, and crashed straight into Brambleclaw.

“What’s going on?” the tabby tomcat demanded. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting moss for the elders’ bedding,” Squirrelflight replied. Regret for their lost friendship pierced her like a thorn, along with fury that he had to appear at the exact moment she’d stopped working.

Ashfur hurtled around the tree with more moss in his jaws and skidded to a halt when he saw Brambleclaw.

“Collecting bedding? So I see.” Brambleclaw used his tail to flick a scrap of moss from Ashfur’s shoulder. “Carrying it back on your pelt, are you?”

Ashfur put the moss down. “We were only having a bit of fun.”

“Fun?” Brambleclaw snapped. “Wasting time is what I’d call it. Don’t you realise how much there is to do?”

“OK, OK.” Squirrelflight felt her neck fur bristle. “There’s no need to treat us like lazy apprentices.”

“Stop behaving like lazy apprentices, then,” Brambleclaw flashed back at her, a glint of anger in his amber eyes. “Being a warrior means putting the Clan first.”

Squirrelflight’s fury rose like a wave. “Do you think we don’t know that?” she spat. “Who died and made you deputy?”

As soon as the words were out she knew she had said something unbelievably stupid. She wanted to snatch it back, but it was too late.

Brambleclaw’s eyes blazed, but when he spoke his voice was icy calm. “No cat knows whether Greystripe is dead or alive. Do you have any idea what Firestar must be suffering?”

“Of course I do!” Deep inside, Squirrelflight wanted to say she was sorry, but she couldn’t back down when Brambleclaw was being so unfair. “Firestar is my father, for StarClan’s sake! Don’t talk to me like I don’t care.”

“Steady.” Ashfur stepped forward and pressed his muzzle against Squirrelflight’s shoulder.

Squirrelflight struggled to control her anger. “I’d give anything to have Greystripe back.”

“Yes, we know,” Ashfur reassured her. His breath felt warm against her pelt. “Look, Brambleclaw,” he went on, straightening up, “we’ll get the moss, OK? You don’t need to hassle Squirrelflight.”

Brambleclaw twitched his ears. “OK, but be as quick as you can. And when you’ve done that, make sure the elders have had some fresh-kill.” Without waiting for a reply he turned and stalked off towards the camp.

“Feed the elders yourself!” Squirrelflight yowled after him. There was no need for Brambleclaw to behave like this—not unless he was punishing her for being suspicious about Hawkfrost.

If Brambleclaw heard her, he didn’t show it. He just carried on walking until soft green ferns hid him from sight.

“Take it easy,” Ashfur meowed. “He’s just trying to make sure everything gets done. We’re all under pressure, with only one apprentice.”

“He should do more himself then, instead of striding around giving orders,” Squirrelflight grumbled. “If he thinks I’m collecting moss for him, he can think again! I’m going hunting.”

She spun around and raced into the trees. Behind her she heard Ashfur call her name, but she was too furious to slow down. Part of her wanted to launch herself at Brambleclaw and wipe that look of scorn from his face, while part of her was torn apart with guilt for implying that Greystripe was dead. Every time she and Brambleclaw spoke to each other they seemed to plunge deeper into a pit of anger and mistrust. Squirrelflight wondered if anything could put things right between them.

With these troubled thoughts churning in her head she hardly noticed where her flying paws were taking her. Too late she saw a bramble thicket looming up in front of her; she tried to skid to a halt and stumbled headlong into the prickly tendrils.

“Mouse dung!” she spat.

Thorns tugged at the fur on her back as she struggled to wrench herself free; she couldn’t bear the indignity of Brambleclaw or Ashfur coming up to find her stuck. Digging her claws into the ground, she managed to drag herself out of the thicket, leaving scraps of ginger fur on the bramble thorns.

Scrambling up, she saw that the trees around her were unfamiliar—huge grey trunks hung with moss and ivy, packed closer together than in the woods around the camp.

“Squirrelflight! Watch out!”

Ashfur’s gasp of alarm came from close behind her. She spun round, her pelt standing on end. Just beyond the bramble thicket was a clearing where the ground was thick with dead leaves. Squirrelflight’s heart started to pound as she spotted a russet-brown, wedge-shaped face peering out at her from a clump of thorns on the far side of the clearing. She watched in horror as the fox stepped delicately out, its jaws parted in a snarl and its eyes gleaming with hunger.

“Back away slowly.” Ashfur’s quiet meow came from close by.

Squirrelflight’s legs felt as if they had turned to stone, but she forced herself to take one step back. At once the fox leapt. Squirrelflight raised her claws to defend herself, but in the same instant a grey streak flashed between the fox and her: it was Ashfur, slashing at the creature’s muzzle with both forepaws. He let out a fearsome caterwaul, but the fox stood its ground in the centre of the clearing. It wrenched its head towards Ashfur, jaws snapping. Squirrelflight hurled herself at the fox with a furious yowl and raked her claws down the side of its face. It reared up, throwing her off; she hit the ground with a thud that drove the breath out of her. When she scrambled to her paws she saw Ashfur on the ground, battering at the fox with his hindpaws as it tried to bite down on his throat.

Squirrelflight sprang again, claws stretched towards the russet fur. As the fox rounded on her, she glimpsed Ashfur trying to drag himself away with blood pouring from his neck. While her attention was distracted, the fox snapped at her, and this time its teeth met in her shoulder. Squirrelflight yowled with pain and tore at the fox’s muzzle with her claws. She heard Ashfur’s voice calling weakly, “Squirrelflight, run!” But the fox wouldn’t let go. Angry and terrified, Squirrelflight fought harder.

The fox gave her a shake that rattled her teeth. Squirrelflight hung limply in its grip, feeling her strength ebbing away. A black wave was rising behind her eyes, threatening to drown her, when she heard a loud yowling close by. Abruptly the fox’s jaws opened and let her drop. For a few heartbeats she lay half-conscious among the leaves, aware of furious snarls somewhere above her head.

Gasping for breath, she staggered to her paws. The forest swirled around her; when her vision cleared she saw Brambleclaw, his tabby fur fluffed out with rage so that he looked twice his normal size. He was driving the fox back into the trees with slashing claws and bared fangs; Ashfur fought alongside him, looking shaky but determined. Squirrelflight stumbled over to join them, letting out a yowl of defiance. At the sight of a third attacker, the fox backed off rapidly, then turned and vanished into the undergrowth. For a moment they heard rustling as it crashed through the ferns, then silence.

“Thanks, Brambleclaw,” Ashfur gasped. “How did you know we were in trouble?”

“I heard you,” Brambleclaw replied. His voice was tight with anger. “Great StarClan, what did you think you were doing out here? You know we haven’t explored this part of the territory properly yet. Surely finding that badger should have made you more careful?”

Squirrelflight was almost speechless with fury. Why did it have to be Brambleclaw who had come along to help? What made it worse was that he was right; she shouldn’t have gone tearing through the forest in a temper without looking where she was going. But he didn’t have to be so obnoxious about it. “What is your problem?” she spat. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you!”

“We thought we’d hunt,” Ashfur explained, brushing his tail across Squirrelflight’s mouth before she could say anything else. “I’m sorry we came further than we meant to.”

Brambleclaw’s gaze raked over him, fury still burning in his amber eyes.

“It’s a good thing we came across that fox,” Squirrelflight pointed out. “The Clan needs to know about it.”

“And how much would the Clan have known if the pair of you were killed?” Brambleclaw growled. “For StarClan’s sake, have a bit more sense next time.”

He stepped forward to sniff the wound in Ashfur’s neck. To Squirrelflight’s relief it had almost stopped bleeding; it looked deep, but not the kind of wound that would kill.

“You’d better get back to camp and let Cinderpelt have a look at that,” he advised. “You too, Squirrelflight. You have some pretty bad scratches there.”

Squirrelflight twisted her head to see along her flanks and over her shoulders. Several clumps of fur were missing, and blood trickled out in sticky red streams where the fox’s teeth had sunk into her flesh. The bitemarks stung fiercely, and every muscle throbbed. Squirrelflight longed to creep back to camp for a pawful of soothing herbs and her soft nest under the thorn bush. But they couldn’t let the fox go without trying to find its den.

“Shouldn’t we follow the scent trail and see if the fox has a den close by?” she suggested. Her voice was cold, hiding the anger that burned inside her. “There’s no use going to Firestar with half a story.”

“Good idea,” Ashfur agreed. “That fox looked thin and desperate, as if it’s competing for food with stronger foxes. That makes it dangerous. If it lives in our territory, we need to work out how to get rid of it.”

Brambleclaw hesitated, then nodded. “OK, we’ll follow for a while, at least.”

He led the way to the thicket where the fox had disappeared. The reek of its scent was still strong.

“What a stink!” Ashfur snarled.

Brambleclaw took the lead as the three cats followed the trail through the undergrowth. Before long it crossed the old, overgrown Twoleg path that led back to the stone hollow and continued into the woods on the other side. As the trees thinned out and gave way to moorland, Squirrelflight realised it was becoming mingled with the scent of cats. Not far off she could hear the gurgling of a stream.

Brambleclaw halted. “This is the WindClan border,” he announced.

“If the fox has crossed into their territory, it’s not our problem any more,” meowed Ashfur.

“Don’t be too sure of that.” Brambleclaw glanced from side to side. “Let’s just check if we can see its den.”

“Its den must be in WindClan territory, mousebrain,” Squirrelflight muttered, but she helped in the search, padding along the border for several fox-lengths in each direction before heading further back into the trees.

When the three cats joined each other again at the border, none of them had found the den.

“It looks as if the fox crossed the border. WindClan can deal with it now,” Squirrelflight mewed.

“I’m not sure Firestar will see it that way,” Brambleclaw warned. “He might want to warn Onestar.”

Squirrelflight knew he could be right. The awkward meeting with the WindClan patrol a few days before hadn’t seemed to change her father’s faith in his friendship with Onestar. And a true friend wouldn’t keep news of the fox to himself. Besides, even if the fox crossed the border, ThunderClan cats were still in danger.

“OK,” she agreed. “Let’s get back to camp and tell Firestar about it.”

Squirrelflight lay near the entrance to Cinderpelt’s den, gritting her teeth while Leafpool dabbed chewed-up marigold leaves onto her scratches. Nearby, Cinderpelt was applying cobwebs to the wound in Ashfur’s neck. He flinched, and Squirrelflight gave him a sympathetic glance.

“That should be fine,” the medicine cat told him. “Take it easy for the next couple of days, though. And make sure you let one of us check the wounds every day, to make sure they’re not infected.”

“You say the fox went across the WindClan border?” Leafpool asked her sister.

She looked worried. Squirrelflight couldn’t imagine why Leafpool should be bothered about a fox in WindClan’s territory. It would be much more worrying if it lived on the ThunderClan side of the border.

“That’s right,” she mewed, wincing as marigold juice seeped into the puncture wounds where the fox’s teeth had pierced her fur.

“You didn’t see any WindClan cats, did you?” Leafpool went on. Squirrelflight began to pick up embarrassment from her, and some deep, churning feeling she couldn’t identify. “Like—like Crowfeather, for instance?”

“No. If we’d seen any WindClan cats we would have told them about the fox, mousebrain. We wouldn’t have to think about visiting them again.” Brambleclaw was with Firestar right now, describing what had happened, and Squirrelflight was fairly sure what her father’s reaction would be. “Anyway, what made you think of Crowfeather?”

Leafpool was taking a long time to sort through the heap of marigold leaves. “Oh, no reason,” she mewed. “I just know he’s a friend of yours, from when you went to the sun-drown-place.”

“I don’t know about a friend,” Squirrelflight remarked. “I don’t think Crowfeather is capable of getting close to another cat—especially now that Feathertail’s dead. He really loved her. He must miss her so much.”

“I expect he does,” Leafpool replied. She sounded as if something was choking her, and Squirrelflight looked at her in concern, but she had bent down to chew up another leaf.

Ashfur hissed at the sting of marigold as Leafpool slapped the chewed-up leaf on his clawed hindleg. Squirrelflight blinked. Her sister was usually gentler than that!

There was a rustle among the brambles that sheltered the den and Firestar appeared, followed closely by Brambleclaw.

“Brambleclaw said you’d be here,” the Clan leader meowed to Squirrelflight and Ashfur. “I’ve decided to go over to WindClan to warn Onestar about the fox, and I want you to come with me.”

Squirrelflight wasn’t surprised. But we didn’t warn ShadowClan about the badger, she thought.

Cinderpelt raised her head. “I don’t think—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Firestar interrupted. “But my shoulder’s fine now, and I’ve made up my mind.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” The medicine cat’s blue eyes flashed. “These cats have been hurt in a fight and they need to rest.”

“I need them to tell Onestar what they saw,” Firestar objected.

“They can tell you, and you can pass on the message,” Cinderpelt mewed stubbornly.

“Hang on.” Squirrelflight heaved herself to her paws. “What about asking us? I feel strong enough to go over to WindClan. What about you, Ashfur?”

“Sure.” The grey warrior rose and stood beside her.

Firestar’s gaze swept over them. “Yes, you look fine to me. You can rest when we get back.”

“And if you get into another fight over there?” Cinderpelt challenged him.

“That won’t happen,” Firestar said calmly. “WindClan are our friends.”

Cinderpelt let out an angry hiss and stalked into her den, her tail twitching irritably.

Firestar watched her with a warm look in his green eyes. “She gets more like Yellowfang every day,” he murmured.

By the time Firestar led his patrol across the WindClan border the sun was beginning to set. There was no sign of any other cats; even the scent of the most recent WindClan patrol was faint. Squirrelflight struggled to pick it out among the rich odours of rabbit that drifted down from the moorland, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since early morning. They had not gone far when she spotted three rabbits hopping slowly along as they nibbled the grass.

“It’s as if they know we’re not allowed to chase them,” she complained to Ashfur.

Ashfur’s whiskers twitched. “I know. But just think what Onestar would say if he caught us taking prey in his territory.”

Soon they came to a stream that fell steeply over a series of tiny waterfalls. A few stunted thorn trees grew beside it. There were no WindClan cats to be seen until the patrol was climbing the slope that led to the camp. Then Squirrelflight spotted the outline of a single warrior keeping watch on the skyline; the cat whisked round and disappeared as Firestar led the others up the final stretch of turf. A few heartbeats later, Onestar appeared from the thorn bushes that surrounded the hollow and stood waiting for them. Webfoot and Crowfeather flanked him, their faces expressionless.

“Firestar.” Onestar dipped his head in greeting. “What are you doing in WindClan territory?”

His tone was polite, but he spoke to Firestar as an equal, his head proudly raised and his gaze steady. This was not the cat who had pleaded to Firestar for help when Tallstar first made him Clan leader.

“We came to see how you are,” Firestar replied. “I’d have come before, but I wrenched my shoulder in the battle.”

“WindClan is fine,” Onestar meowed. “Is there any reason we shouldn’t be?”

Squirrelflight’s jaws gaped in astonishment. How could he ask that, when less than a moon had passed since Mudclaw’s rebellion?

Firestar’s gaze slid past the WindClan leader to where Webfoot was standing in front of the barrier of gorse bushes. Squirrelflight guessed her father was reluctant to point out that some of the traitorous cats were still members of the Clan—not when one of those cats was in earshot.

Onestar’s eyes narrowed. “Every cat in my Clan knows that I am the cat chosen by StarClan to be their leader. There will be no more trouble. You don’t need to watch over me as if I were a helpless kit.”

“That’s not what I was doing,” Firestar protested. “We also came to bring you some news,” he went on. “Brambleclaw, tell Onestar what happened today.”

Brambleclaw stepped forward beside his leader. “These two”—he flicked his tail at Squirrelflight and Ashfur—“surprised a fox.”

“A young dog fox,” Ashfur put in. “One of the biggest I’ve seen.”

“The three of us fought it off,” Brambleclaw explained, “and it crossed the border into your territory. We think it must have a den—”

“—among some rocks near the foot of the hill,” Onestar finished. He flicked his tail dismissively. “My warriors have already tracked it. We’re keeping an eye on it; don’t worry.”

“It’s more savage than most foxes,” Brambleclaw warned. “Look at the wounds on Squirrelflight and Ashfur.”

“You can say that again!” Squirrelflight murmured, wincing as she flexed her shoulders.

“WindClan can deal with it,” Onestar insisted. “Many seasons have passed since ShadowClan drove us out of our old home, but too many cats still see WindClan as the weakest clan. You act as if we can hardly feed ourselves. But WindClan is as strong as any other Clan and we shall prove it. We do not need help from any cat.”

Firestar bent his head. Squirrelflight saw pain in his eyes and she longed to be anywhere but here, listening to one of her father’s oldest allies rejecting his friendship.

“WindClan did just as much as any other Clan to bring us to our new home,” Onestar went on. “We owe nothing to any cat.”

Squirrelflight barely stopped herself from yelling, That’s not true! Without ThunderClan, WindClan would have died in their former home, every last cat caught by Twolegs or killed by their gigantic, churning monsters!

Firestar lifted his head. “I’m sorry if we offended you,” he said evenly. He gestured with his tail at his Clanmates, indicating that they should leave. “Goodbye, Onestar,” he mewed. “I’ll see you at the Gathering.”

“Do you want a patrol to follow them to the border?” Webfoot spoke for the first time.

Onestar shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” Without saying anything else, he turned and disappeared into the bushes. Firestar watched the place where he had vanished until the leaves stopped trembling. Then without speaking he turned and headed down the slope. Squirrelflight was about to follow when she heard a low voice call her name. She glanced back; Crowfeather was still standing in the shadow of the bushes.

“Squirrelflight, I wanted to ask you—” he began.

Webfoot thrust his head out of the bushes. “Crowfeather!”

“I’ll be there in a moment!” Crowfeather called back. “Squirrelflight, listen,” he began again.

But Firestar had paused at the foot of the slope. “Come on, Squirrelflight!”

“Can’t this wait until the Gathering?” Squirrelflight mewed to the WindClan warrior. “I’ve got to go.”

Crowfeather took a step back, his tail drooping in disappointment. “OK, I guess it can wait.”

Webfoot called out again, and with a last frustrated look at Squirrelflight, Crowfeather turned away.

Squirrelflight bounded after her Clanmates. She still couldn’t believe the way Onestar had spoken to her father. Any new leader would want his Clan to be strong and independent, but surely he couldn’t have forgotten everything he owed to Firestar?

If that’s the way Onestar wants it, she thought as she caught up to her Clanmates, then fine. It didn’t do us any favours to be his allies. But he’ll be sorry in the end, when he needs ThunderClan’s help again.