Disclaimer: I do not own Warriors.


Chapter 4

Brindlefur and Shrikesong followed in Thistlefeather's pawsteps as they crossed the windswept moor. Sometimes Brindlefur could glimpse the lithe cream, silver, and golden shapes of the ThunderClanners and her own deputy, sometimes shallow dips in the desolate expanse swallowed them up. But they remained steadfast in their path to the camp, however much Brindlefur hoped Thistlefeather would change her mind and switch directions.

Her anger was dissipating quickly, although a little remained, like an ember smoldering long after the fire has gone out. A cold, icy feeling was replacing it: dread. How could Thistlefeather be the right deputy for WindClan if she risked the lives of her clanmates to aid her enemies? All of Brindlefur's friends and family — Willowface, Nightfang, Bleakpaw, Dawndapple — were in danger because Thistlefeather couldn't put her own heart aside for once and do what was best for her own clan. Maybe I don't have much foresight, Brindlefur thought grimly, but that has to be better than what Thistlefeather would do to WindClan.

She glanced over at Shrikesong; his expression was cold and distant, lacking the smug, confident demeanor he usually had. He's probably thinking about the risk Thistlefeather took bringing ThunderClan to camp. And how harebrained she is. It felt strange to finally agree with a cat she'd been at odds with for so many moons.

"Do you think anyone will get sick?" Brindlefur asked, breaking the tense silence. Shrikesong's vivid copper eyes focused again.

"Cats are already sick."

Brindlefur's tail lashed. "You know what I mean."

"I don't know." He spat it out like the words were painful admit. "Probably not, but it's always better to be safe than sorry. Thistlefeather was stupid, bringing them into camp."

Brindlefur hissed wordlessly in agreement.


It was easy to tell when Shrikesong and Brindlefur neared camp. Yowls and snarls echoed from the depression that formed WindClan's home; clearly Thistlefeather had already arrived with the ThunderClanners. There were several gaps in the prickly gorse blockading the hollow; Brindlefur pushed through a tiny one that she'd once caught Pebblekit, Silverkit, and Smokekit sneaking out of. Shrikesong glared at her — he was much too large to fit through any but the widest hole in the barrier — and stalked away on large white paws to the main entrance. Brindlefur ignored the tugging of claw-sharp thorns against her tawny-and-black-mottled pelt. Emerging from the shadows of the gorse wall, she surveyed the camp.

Palewhisker and Laurelpelt sat uncomfortably in the middle of the roughly circular camp. They looked very different — while Palewhisker was meek and submissive, her tail between her legs and her head lowered, as Brindlefur watched Laurelpelt leaped to her paws, her fur on end and her hackles up. A sleek black tom had his muzzle in her face and his lips drawn back to reveal delicate ivory fangs. Nightfang, of course. She pricked her ears to catch his words.

"Don't you dare say a thing about my sister. She's the most loyal warrior you'll ever meet, including any of your clanmates. I wouldn't expect loyal warriors to go behind their leader's back and beg for herbs —"

Oh no, not the protective big brother routine. Nightfang broke off his snarling as he noticed Brindlefur's compact tortoiseshell form slinking towards him, her golden eyes narrowed. He ducked his head in greeting, his night-black tail raised with happiness; he didn't seem to notice her sour expression.

"Hey, Brindle!"

"Nightfang." She mewed, a hint of irritation sharpening the words. She hated when her brother used his kithood nickname for her. "Why don't you step away from our guests —" she spat it with obvious sarcasm "— and come with me? I need to hear what Thistlefeather's saying to Hazelstar. There's no way I'm going to just let her give away our supply of catmint —"

"Hold on there, Brindle. I don't know who you think you are, but deputy you most certainly are not. You can't just go barging in there." Nightfang meowed.

"Why not?"

"Oh come on, are you really that harebrained?" Nightfang sighed in exasperation. "Don't you think that's a little bit impertinent? I don't believe Hazelstar would appreciate it very much at all if you suddenly interrupted a private meeting between her and her deputy."

"But she's going to just give away all our catmint because ThunderClan asked for it!" A desperate hiss edged Brindlefur's voice. "We don't have any to spare —"

"Hazelstar's not stupid. She knows how much catmint we have and she knows if we can afford to give any away — that's why she's the leader, because she's smart. You're getting worked up over nothing. Lower your voice, too. Cats are staring."

Brindkefur glanced around. Willowface had her pale gray ears pricked and her mismatched blue-and-yellow eyes were focused on her two arguing kits. One-eye sat next to her, her rich creamy brown tail curled around white-splashed paws. She, too, was fixated on Brindlefur and Nightfang. Even Swanpelt, her ears flattened slightly with disdain, was watching. The tortoiseshell molly gave no sign of embarrassment outwardly, but inwardly she burned with humiliation. She shut her mouth with a snap; Nightfang's whiskers twitched, and she turned her best death stare on him.

"Hey, aren't you supposed to be guarding us?" Laurelpelt interrupted the two siblings' quarrel. She looked like she was on the verge of purring with amusement. "Still want to defend your sister, squirrelbrain? Questioning a leader's decision doesn't sound very loyal to me."

Nightfang spin around in an instant, his white teeth bared. "Shut up, forest dung." He spat with surprising ferocity. Laurelpelt snarled wordlessly at him, looking deeply affronted by the insult, and lifted a pale golden paw threateningly. Her pearly white claws caught the early-morning sunshine. Nightfang growled, a warning meowrrr coming from deep within his chest.

"Nightfang!" No one had noticed Hazelstar bound up the white-rock, so absorbed they were by the confrontation taking place. "I thought you were better than this. Leave our guests alone; they're only looking for help, not to pick a fight."

Nightfang looked mutinous, his unsheathed claws flexing as if they itched to bury themselves in ThunderClan fur, but he had always been one to abide by the rules. He dipped his neat night-black head respectfully and stepped away from Laurelpelt.

"I'm sure you're wondering what two ThunderClan warriors are doing in our camp." Hazelstar addressed the entirety of the gathered Clan now. "ThunderClan is overrun with greencough, and they've come seeking aid. However, we too have several sick cats, and we don't have any surplus to give away. I'm sorry, Laurelpelt, Palewhisker, but we can't spare any catmint for you right now."

Brindlefur let out a sigh of relief, but the two ThunderClanners sagged. Palewhisker sank to her dainty gray paws and Laurelpelt, although she tried to remain stoic, couldn't stop her whippet-thin tail from dragging on the dusty ground. Brindlefur couldn't help but feel sorry for the two warriors — they were the very picture of hopelessness. She tried not to imagine what would happen if her own clanmates began falling ill around her and she could do nothing but watch. Sickness was one battle she couldn't fight with claws.

"We will not attack you while you are weak; it would be an unjust battle. There is nothing more we can offer you. Fallowpelt, Willowface, please escort these two to the border." Hazelstar concluded. Palewhisker dipped her head to WindClan's leader in gratitude, but Laurelpelt said nothing. Her bright orange eyes were narrowed shrewdly and her tailtip twitched. The two warriors Hazelstar had named padded forward and gently nudged the ThunderClanners towards a large gap in the prickly gorse; it didn't take more than a few heartbeats for them to disappear from view.

"The Gathering is in two days," Hazelstar reminded the clan once they were gone, "and those who wish to go might want to find a way to impress me." With that she leapt smoothly from the rock, although as she landed she stumbled towards Thistlefeather, who was sitting at the foot of the stone in the traditional deputy's position. Brindlefur was struck by how old the creamy brown molly must be now. She'd succeeded Emberstar when Brindlefur was just three moons old, and at the time, Brindlekit. That was ten seasons ago. Hazelstar couldn't have many lives left.

She shook her head, dispelling her thoughts, and padded towards Thistlefeather, intending to give the molly a piece of her mind, but Hazelstar got there first. The leader's tail lashed and she looked at her newly appointed deputy with narrowed olive eyes.

"I don't want to see you put the lives of another clan before your own clanmates' lives again. I need my deputy to be completely loyal to WindClan, and if you can't do that there are others that can."

Thistlefeather said nothing as Hazelstar stalked lightly away, but Brindlefur knew her well enough to recognize her resentment at what she viewed as injustice in the slight twitch of her pale cream tail. She brushed passed Thistlefeather without a word. Hazelstar had said all she'd wanted to say, and the words would hurt much more coming from the leader's mouth, she didn't need to rub it in — and although now they were at odds, she didn't want to push to far and lose her best friend forever.

Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Bleakpaw's slim silver-and-white form basking in the weak winter sunlight. With a sudden inspiration she loped towards the young tom. She wanted to go to the Gathering; maybe convincing Bleakpaw to finally attack would impress Hazelstar enough to let both mentor and apprentice attend.


"Thistlefeather?"

Brindlefur padded forward on silent paws. It was already nightfall; soon Hazelstar would be announcing who was going to the Gathering. Bleakpaw followed behind her like a silver shadow. Brindlefur had finally managed to persuade him to attack her, and now the young tom was nearly glowing with pride. His mentor was proud too, but she didn't show it.

She glanced around. Thistlefeather had to be around here somewhere — there. She was carefully grooming every inch of her short, smooth cream-and-white fur on the edge of camp, hidden in the shadows cast by the gorse barrier. Brindlefur hurried towards the molly with Bleakpaw at her side.

"Thistlefeather!" She called again. Thistlefeather's blue eyes, like chips of ice, flashed at her in the gloom. Brindlefur lowered her own golden eyes in submission (she hadn't talked with Thistlefeather since ThunderClan had entered their territory, and for the most part during the past two days they'd behaved like strangers) and mewed, "Bleakpaw is doing well in his battle training, and I would appreciate it if you could relay that to Hazelstar and ask if she would consider letting Bleakpaw and me attend the Gathering."

Thistlefeather nodded slightly. "I will."

Brindlefur had half expected Thistlefeather to refuse, but she'd always been a fair cat and she knew as well as Brindlefur that Bleakpaw deserved to attend. Her silky tail waving jauntily in the air, she padded away to wait for Hazelstar's announcement. She had a fair chance of being chosen now, and Bleakpaw had a better one. Maybe she didn't always appreciate her apprentice (alright, she didn't usually appreciate her apprentice) but she had a bond with him, as did all mentors, and that meant she wanted him to be happy.

She didn't have long to wait. The moon rose, its round cratered form giving off a luminous glow that lit the entire camp. When it was halfway to its peak, a shadow trotted out of the leader's den and leaped onto the white-rock. In the moonlight, Hazelstar looked like a StarClan warrior (or what Brindlefur imagined a StarClan warrior to look like — she'd never seen one). "May all cats old enough to sleep under that stars gather beneath the white-rock for a clan meeting!" She yowled.

Cats slunk from the shadows like snakes, one by one joining the throng of light-washed felines that had answered Hazelstar's call. Nightfang sat down one Brindlefur's right side, his pale green eyes glinting with anticipation and his pitch-black tail twitching. Willowface slipped through the crowd to Brindlefur's other side. Her pale speckled gray pelt, so unlike her daughter's tawny-and-black tortoiseshell, seemed to glow white in the light of the moon.

"Clanmates, it is time for me to announce who will attend the Gathering tonight. All the clans are on edge, so I've chosen a small group, just in case we are attacked." Hazelstar paused. "Don't be disappointed if your name isn't called. You'll get another chance to go."

Nightfang leaned towards Brindlefur. "I hope I'm going. There's something I need to find out." He whispered to her; she twitched one brindled ear but didn't reply.

"Dawndapple, Bleakpaw, Dacetail, Brindlefur," the tortoiseshell molly purred slightly, "Duskclaw, Thistlefeather, Blizzardpaw, and of course, Shrikesong, will accompany me to the Gathering. I don't want to hear any complaints. If you've been chosen, we'll leave as soon as you're all gathered by the entrance."

Brindlefur shot Nightfang a triumphant look and slipped through the dissipating crowd to stand in front of the largest gap in the gorse. She found herself jostled by Duskclaw, who forced his muscular body between her and Thistlefeather and immediately began chatting with the deputy. A yowl from Hazelstar silenced his obvious attempt at flirting with the molly.

"Follow me. Sharing tongues is fine, but don't let anything about WindClan slip."

With that she raced forward, and as silent as shadows in the night her clanmates surged after her.