desperate hope. “Did you see her while you were travelling? Do you know where she is?”
Squirrelpaw’s heart twisted. “No, we haven’t seen her.”
The strong, familiar scent of ThunderClan filled the air. Squirrelpaw longed to rush forwards to greet her Clanmates, but instinct warned her to approach them warily. She stood still for a moment, hoping that her thudding heart couldn’t be heard by every cat on Sunningrocks.
The smooth stone slope, lined with gullies and small hollows, rose ahead of her. Trees bordered one side, and at the far edge, where the slope fell steeply away, Squirrelpaw could see the tips of more trees, following the river as far as Fourtrees—or the place where Fourtrees had been. The cold stone, blasted by the leaf-bare winds, was a chilly resting place for the Clan. Squirrelpaw looked at Sorreltail’s paws and saw dried blood staining the white fur around her claws. She remembered how the rocks in the mountains had grazed her own paws while they were staying with the Tribe of Rushing Water.
There was no central clearing here for cats to gather, as there had been in the ravine. Instead, the cats were huddled in small groups; Squirrelpaw spotted the dark pelt of her mentor, Dustpelt, sheltering beneath an overhang, with Mousefur next to him. He seemed much smaller than when she had left, his bony shoulders jutting out from beneath his ungroomed fur. Frostfur and Speckletail, two of the Clan elders, were crouched in the deepest gully. Even in the shadows, Squirrelpaw could see that their pelts were matted and dull, speckled with scraps of moss and dried mud. Further down, where the gully widened, the pale grey shape of Dustpelt’s mate, Ferncloud, was hunched over her two remaining kits.
“It’s more sheltered down there,” Cinderpelt explained, following Squirrelpaw’s gaze. “But the queens still feel very exposed after being used to a nursery made of brambles. The apprentices make their nests in that hollow over there,” she went on, lifting her muzzle to point at a dip in the rocks. Squirrelpaw recognised the brown fur of Shrewpaw, one of Ferncloud’s first litter, fluffed up against the cold.
Squirrelpaw glanced at Brambleclaw, who gave her a tiny nod, but there was anxiety behind his eyes, and his shoulders were tense as he began to pad up the slope. Nervously she followed him. As she passed Ferncloud, the queen looked up at her, and her green eyes darkened with anger.
Squirrelpaw flinched. Did the Clan blame them for what had happened?
Some of the other cats had spotted them too. Thornclaw heaved himself out of a gully near the top of the slope, flattening his ears; with a menacing hiss, Rainwhisker padded from a crevice at the edge of the rocks. The dark grey warrior’s eyes gleamed, but not with any warmth or welcome for the returning cats.
Stormfur was scanning the rocks for Greystripe. Squirrelpaw followed his gaze, but there was no sign of the grey ThunderClan deputy, or of her own father. She fought down the urge to turn tail and flee back to the forest, back to the mountains even. She miserably met Brambleclaw’s gaze. “They don’t want us here,” she whispered.
“They’ll understand once we’ve explained,” he promised. Squirrelpaw hoped he was right.
The sound of rapid pawsteps behind them made her spin around, startled. A pale grey warrior, Ashfur, skidded to a halt in front of her. She searched his eyes, afraid to find rage, but there was only surprise.
“You came back!” He held his tail high and reached out his muzzle to touch hers in greeting.
Squirrelpaw felt a rush of relief. At least one cat seemed glad they had returned.
Shrewpaw scrambled out of his hollow and raced across the rock toward them, with Whitepaw close behind.
“Shrewpaw!” Squirrelpaw cried, trying to sound as if she’d been no farther than Highstones, and for no more than a couple of sunrises. “How’s the training going?”
“We’ve been working hard,” Shrewpaw answered breathlessly as he reached her.
Whitepaw halted beside him. “We would have seen our first Gathering if the Twolegs hadn’t destroyed Four—”
Ashfur shot the white she-cat a warning glance. “They won’t have heard about that yet,” he hissed.
“It’s OK,” Brambleclaw put in. “We know about Fourtrees. Webfoot told us.”
“Webfoot?” Ashfur narrowed his eyes. “Have you been on WindClan territory?”
“We had to travel back that way,” Squirrelpaw explained.
“Back from where?” meowed Shrewpaw, but Squirrelpaw didn’t answer. She had seen Dustpelt and Mousefur emerging from their makeshift den. Sootfur crept out from a hollow beside them. All the warriors were moving closer now, like ghosts slipping through the shadows. Squirrelpaw stifled a shiver as they padded down the rock. She backed away, brushing against Brambleclaw’s pelt and feeling Stormfur edge closer, equally wary. It reminded her of their first meeting with the cats from the Tribe of Rushing Water. Fear stabbed Squirrelpaw’s heart as she realised that it was not just the forest that had changed. Her own Clan was different, too.
“So? Where did you go?” growled a distinctive voice. Frostfur had climbed out of the elders’ gully above them. The old she-cat had lost much of the sleekness from her snow-white pelt, but Squirrelpaw still flinched under her icy stare.
“We’ve been on a long journey,” Brambleclaw began.
“You don’t look like it!” Ferncloud had left her kits and pushed her way to the front. “You look better fed than us.”
Squirrelpaw tried not to feel guilty about the amount of fresh-kill she had caught on the journey. “Ferncloud, I heard about Larchkit, and I’m sorry . . .”
Ferncloud was in no mood to listen. “How do we know you didn’t just desert the Clan because you couldn’t face a hungry leaf-bare with the rest of us?” she hissed.
Squirrelpaw heard Mousefur and Thornclaw mew in agreement, but this time anger overcame her fear. “How could you think such a thing?” she spat, her fur bristling.
“Well, your loyalty clearly lies outside the Clan!” growled Mousefur, staring at Stormfur.
“Our loyalty has always been to the Clan,” Brambleclaw replied evenly. “That’s why we left.”
“Then what’s a RiverClan warrior doing with you?” Dustpelt demanded.
“He has some news for Greystripe,” Brambleclaw meowed. “He’ll leave as soon as he’s spoken to him.”
“He’ll leave now,” Mousefur hissed, taking one pace forwards.
Cinderpelt stepped between Mousefur and Brambleclaw. “Tell them about StarClan’s prophecy,” she urged.
“A prophecy? StarClan has spoken?” Squirrelpaw’s Clanmates stared at her and Brambleclaw like hungry foxes.
“We must tell Firestar first,” Squirrelpaw mewed quietly.
“Where’s Firestar?” Brambleclaw called out.
“He’s away hunting.” It was Sandstorm’s voice.
Squirrelpaw waited breathlessly, half-joyful and half-anxious, as the ginger she-cat padded towards her daughter and stopped a tail-length away to stare at her.
“We’re back.” Squirrelpaw searched her mother’s expression for some sign of welcome.
“You’re back,” Sandstorm echoed wonderingly.
“We had to leave. StarClan gave us no choice.” Brambleclaw defended Squirrelpaw, and she was grateful for the warmth of his flank as he pressed closer. She wanted to confess to her mother that StarClan had not sent the dreams to her, and that she had insisted on going along with Brambleclaw even though he had been reluctant to take her away from the Clan, but fear made the words stick in her throat.
Then Sandstorm’s whiskers quivered and she bounded forwards. “One of my kits has returned!”