Chapter 2: Thistle's Mistake

A small group of ragged cats were standing in front of the tree's roots, glaring at the siblings. Smokey wriggled out of the den and stood between the cats and his sister, growling. The cat that had spoken was a white tom with glitteringly long claws. Standing next to him was a black cat with a white underbelly, a dark gray tabby and a smaller lighter gray tom.

"Who are you? What do you want?" demanded Smokey, hissing.

He was putting on a big show of bravado, his fur was puffed out and his back was arched but he was scared. He and Thistle were outnumbered greatly: it was four to two and Thistle wasn't a good fighter.

"Who are we?" the white tom growled. "We are ShadowClan cats: this is OUR territory. We rule this forest."

"Eagleclaw, calm down," the dark gray she-cat said. Her voice was surprisingly deep. She turned her attention to Smokey, who was breathing heavily now. "My name is Shadewing. This is my apprentice Sootypaw. And this is our Clan's deputy, Crowcall."

Smokey was utterly bemused. He had no idea what this cat was talking about. A Clan? And what was with those weird names?

"I've never heard of ShadowClan," came Thistle's voice as she climbed out of the den and went to stand next to her brother. Smokey looked at Thistle nervously. He didn't want his sister to get hurt.

"Never heard of ShadowClan?" asked the black tom named Crowcall incredulously.

"Me and my brother Smokey have lived here since we were born. We have as much rights to this land as you do," Thistle continued.

Smokey felt a growing feeling of unease twisting in his belly. Thistle shouldn't argue with these cats; Smokey could tell they weren't any old housecats.

"Well we know who they are now," Eagleclaw said tartly. "They're loners. We should just kill them. They don't deserve to live if they do dumb to join a Clan."

Smokey spat at the white tom, his terror mounting. He could tell the other cat smelled his fear-scent. Eagleclaw bared his teeth in a grin.

"We can't kill them," the cat called Shadewing said. She seemed to be appealing to the sturdy black tom, Crowcall. "The gray one is barely six moons."

Crowcall's eyes darted over the two cats and they rested on Thistle's defiant glare.

"Is it only the two of you who live here?" he asked. At the same time he sniffed the air around the den, searching for scents.

"Yes," replied Smokey immediately. hoping to get on this cat's good side. Maybe they could get out of here safely… "Our parents died many moons ago."

"Crowcall! You can't be thinking of letting them stay!" exclaimed Eagleclaw, his eyes wide. "Look at all the prey they've already wasted. And leafbare is coming!"

"What's leafbare?" questioned Thistle.

Smokey nudged his sister's shoulder, trying to get her to be quiet.

"Leafbare? How do you not know what leafbare is?" asked the cat Shadewing had called an 'apprentice.'

"Leafbare is when the days get cold and it snows and prey becomes hard to find," Shadewing replied, cuffing her apprentice on the head.

"Oh you mean winter?" said Thistle.

The other cats looked confused. Smokey felt an urgent need to escape rise in his chest.

"It's not important," he said, stepping on Thistle's foot. "We'll stop catching so much prey if you want us to. We don't want to fight."

Crowcall looked appraisingly at Smokey and opened his mouth as if to say something, but he was cut off by Thistle's irate meow.

"We will not stop hunting. Smokey, why would you promise that?" she said angrily. "I don't see why we can't live here together."

"See! We cannot let these cats live in OUR territory," Eagleclaw hissed at Crowcall. The apprentice, Sootypaw, nodded his head. Shadewing looked torn.

"If you let these cats live here, I will notify Darkstar and I doubt he'll be happy," Eagleclaw continued. Crowcall suddenly looked afraid.

"You're right Eagleclaw. They must go," he said. Eagleclaw smirked as he began to approach the two cats. Smokey saw in horror that all four cat's claws were unsheathed now.

"We'll fight you and win," Thistle declared, her own claws dangerously glittering.

'NO!" Smokey suddenly cried, stepping in front of his sister. "We'll go. You don't have to fight us."

Shadewing looked relieved; she instantly retracted her claws.

"At least he's not completely stupid," spat Eagleclaw, "there's no way you could beat us."

"Smokey!" Thistle hissed impatiently.

"We can't win. There's too many of them and they probably know how to fight better than us. We don't have a chance. If we leave now, we can get out of this alive," Smokey whispered back at Thistle.

His sister looked shocked and angry for a moment, but then her shoulders sagged as the fight went out of her. "Okay, you're right," she said. "We'll go."

Smokey turned back to the ShadowClan cats and dipped his head to them, trying not to show his anxiety. Then he grasped Thistle by the scruff of her neck and hauled her away from the other cats. The two siblings slipped in the trees around their den and headed off north. Smokey was starting to breathe properly when he heard a snarl from behind them. He turned just in time to see Eagleclaw and Crowcall charging at them.

"This way we'll make sure you leave," yelled Eagleclaw, his teeth bared at them.

"Run!" Smokey commanded, rushing forwards besides Thistle.

His sister's fear-scent was suddenly as clear as a dying rabbit's distress call. Thistle's legs were flashing, her body a dark blur as she sped away from the other cats. Smokey, panting hard, chased after, trying to catch up. The sounds of the ShadowClan cats were growing fainter as they ran faster. Smokey and Thistle had always been swift cats, dashing around to catch their prey. But now they were the hunted.

Smokey suddenly realized that they were running towards the Twoleg's road, the one where they rode in their machines. Thistle had vanished, running too fast for him to follow. The roar of a passing car made Smokey's fur stand up. The air become clogged with smog from the car. Smokey ran on, blindly, trying to find Thistle.

"Thistle! Thistle wait! We're right by the road, stop running!" he called out, coughing on the smoke from the cars. Suddenly he felt pavement under his paws and stopped dead.

"Thistle?"

The exhaust cleared as Smokey stared out at the road. A small gray lump was lying in the middle of the road. Smokey felt his heart drop into his stomach. He glanced down the road, checking for cars, then he stepped out and darted over to where the clump of fur was lying still.

It was Thistle.

His beautiful, strong, fast sister was stretched out in the center of the road. Her head was twisted at an odd angle and her eyes stared, unseeing. Blood was trickling down her back from an open gash. Smokey figured she'd run out, blinded by the car's fumes, and thrown herself directly in the path of another car.

"Smokey…" came the rough whisper of Thistle's voice. Smokey looked down at his sister.

"Thistle, oh Thistle. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Smokey felt himself choking with tears as he gazed at Thistle's glassy eyes.

"Not your fault…I love you…Smokey…goodbye." Thistle's eyes glazed over and finally shut. Her chest heaved one last time and then she was still.

"No, Thistle, Thistle. Thistle!" Smokey cried, prodding his sister's body with his paw. She didn't move. Smokey looked at the sky and the rapidly sinking sun and yowled.

She was dead.