I was frog-brained enough to think the silent treatment wouldn't be so bad at first. By the end of the third day, I don't just wish the ground would open up and swallow me; I feel like it already has. It's as if I don't even exist no more. I've found myself shaking my fur and lickin' my paws just to make sure I'm still a real cat.
It'd be different if I knew when the punishment would end, or if I was by myself. Being shunned in a busy camp, with clanmates talkin' and laughin' and goin' about their business, is a special kind of torture. Cats walk around me like I'm a rock. They don't even let their eyes rest on me for more than a heartbeat. It hurts the most comin' from my brother and warriors I considered friends. I turn away when Tangleburr yanks her curious kits outa my path, hopin' she don't see me on the brink of despair. Lightningkit tries to talk to me the morning after my punishment, but I run away from her fast, not wantin' to get her in trouble.
For the first couple days, Boulder was the one bright spot in the endless silence and drudgery. He never actually spoke to me, but he'd make excuses to come near me whenever he could, nuzzling me briefly or just lettin' his pelt brush against mine, tellin' me in his quiet way that he still cared about me. But Tigerstar got mad when he saw the silver tom leave a fat frog under the thornbush where I sleep.
"You ordered us not to talk to her. You didn't say nothin' about not touching her or giving her prey," Boulder pointed out. I tensed, expectin' Tigerstar to punish him, but he just told Boulder to go to the island camp straightaway and relieve Jaggedtooth on guard duty. After that, nobody else has come near me.
Not that I get to laze around feelin' sorry for myself. Tigerstar keeps me hard at work. First I fortify the camp entrance with brambles, biting back yelps of pain when thorns prick my pads. Then I'm goin' around the camp collectin' new bones for the Bonehill. I spend a whole morning gathering all the pinecones from the camp floor, a task all the more infuriating because it's meaningless. I pick ticks off the elders until the smell of mouse bile chases me into my dreams. On the fifth day, Blackfoot takes a special pleasure in ordering me to clean the dirtplace.
I'm in the middle of this disgusting chore when I hear several sets of pawsteps comin' through the thorn tunnel and pick up the smell of fish. Every day, a few River warriors come to our territory to practice fighting alongside us. They usually show up just before sunhigh. I turn away, uninterested in somethin' I ain't allowed to participate in. But raised, snarling voices grab my attention again.
Being real careful not to make a sound, I creep out of the dirtplace tunnel and crouch in the shadow of a pine tree at the edge of the main clearing. Three RiverClan warriors I don't know are nervously creeping away from Mistyfoot. Tigerstar looms over the blue-gray warrior, his lip curled.
"Leopardstar sent me for battle training," Mistyfoot meows, her voice quiet and steady as the Great Rock.
"Does she really think I'm going to train a ThunderClan spy?" Tigerstar growls.
"I'm not a spy," Mistyfoot says.
Every eye in camp be fixed on the two of 'em now, watchin' the show. No cat is even pretending to do their work. Mistyfoot's eyes flick to me. I shake my head and mime runnin' a claw across my throat.
"Are you sure?" Tigerstar asks in his dangerously quiet voice. "My warriors report that you often leave camp alone, without even taking your half-clan apprentice."
"Leave Stormpaw and Featherpaw out of this. They're barely seven moons old," Mistyfoot snaps, though the tip of her tail has started to twitch.
"Why do you always sit right across the river from SUNNINGROCKS?" Tigerstar demands. "Are you passing information to your ThunderClan friends?"
"No!" Mistyfoot cries defensively. "It's a good fishing spot, that's all. We'll always be loyal to our clan." I notice she don't specify TigerClan or RiverClan.
"Get out," Tigerstar orders, flicking his tail toward the entrance. "I don't allow half-clan cats in my camp."
Mistyfoot looks like she wants to snap back, but then she just dips her head. Before she leaves, she murmurs something to one of her clanmates. The gray she-cat touches her muzzle to Mistyfoot's briefly, then turns to listen to Tigerstar give instructions. I slip back into the dirtplace tunnel.
I've almost pushed the scene outa my mind when a familiar voice whispers, "Nettlethorn."
My fur spikes in surprise as Mistyfoot edges into the narrow opening, her nose wrinkling at the smell. "What in the Dark Forest are you doing?" I whisper, my voice hoarse from disuse. "You wanna get us both in more trouble? Tigerstar will line his nest with our pelts if he catches us talkin'."
"I'll leave right now if you want. But why are you so thin? Did he punish you for speaking out?" I look for any duplicity in her voice or face but don't find it. Maybe she is genuinely concerned. I guess this is what it means to be somebody's friend.
"He's forbidden me from speaking since the meeting, and I only get enough prey to keep up my strength so I can work," I meow.
Mistyfoot's eyes widen with shock. "What do you mean, forbidden you from speaking?" she asks tremulously.
"Just what it sounds like. I'm not allowed to talk unless he or Blackfoot says so, and no cat is allowed to talk to me. My own brother hasn't looked at me or said a word to me in days. It's been . . . bad." I almost laugh at that simple word, because it does so little to explain the humiliation, my isolated sleepin' place under the thornbush, the pain of hardly existing.
"All that just because of what you said?" It's like she can't get her head 'round it. I nod.
I go rigid when Mistyfoot's tail gently drapes over my shoulders, but I make myself relax. It's the first physical contact I've had with another cat since the TigerClan meeting. "I'm so sorry you got in trouble on our account," she murmurs.
I shrug. "Ain't your fault. You didn't make me say what I did."
"But that's completely irrational, Nettlethorn," Mistyfoot says firmly. "I've never heard of a clan leader punishing a warrior like this. A good leader should listen to his warriors, even if they disagree with him. For StarClan's sake, it's not like you murdered a clanmate or gave away Tigerstar's secrets to his enemies."
I hold her gaze and ask, "What Tigerstar said ain't true, is it? About you passin' our secrets to ThunderClan?"
Mistyfoot's hackles go up. But she don't answer for a long moment. I get the feeling she's decidin' how much she trusts me.
"Okay, I did see Firestar and Graystripe on the border once, but I swear I didn't tell them about TigerClan. All I said is that Tigerstar and Leopardstar are allies, and two of your clanmates are stationed in our camp. Talk about spies. They almost never hunt or patrol, just sit around watching us."
I'm caught somewhere between defensiveness and anger. "Tigerstar ordered 'em to stay in camp. And what do you call talkin' to the leader of an enemy clan if not spying?"
"Firestar may be Tigerstar's enemy, but he's not mine," Mistyfoot says defiantly. "He saved two of my kits from a flood and fed RiverClan when we were starving. And he brought WindClan back to the forest after Brokenstar drive them out. Do you want to know what he told me about Tigerstar?"
"I guess," I say, uncomfortable but also curious as all get out.
"Tigerstar doesn't have allies, only followers," Mistyfoot meows.
Her words echo in my brain. Followers, not allies. Haven't I had more or less the exact same thought multiple times since we threw in our lot with him?
"You should go before someone else finds you," I tell Mistyfoot.
She shakes out her fur, obviously flustered and worried she's said too much. "Yeah, you're right. I hope things get better for you." She slides out of the tunnel and disappears among the pines.
I got a decision to make. Do I keep quiet about this conversation, or do I report it to my leader? My brother and all my friends would tell me that I'm sposed to be loyal to Tigerstar, not some RiverClan warrior I hardly know. The warrior code says I should obey my clan leader, no matter what. But what will happen to Mistyfoot if I betray her? Will she and her littermate be driven out of the forest? Killed? Just the idea makes me feel ill.
Ain't your problem, says the voice of self-preservation. You gotta make sure Nightwhisper's safe, keep your own fur in one piece, and serve TigerClan. That's just how it's gotta be. What if Mistyfoot gives more away in her next friendly cross-border chat? What if Blackfoot was right all along, and I defended a traitor? And then there's Tigerstar's threat to send me back to BloodClan. I'll do almost anything to avoid that. I have to keep my place in this clan, even if that means doin' hard things.
I square my shoulders and pad back into camp. I done made up my mind, but my paws are heavy as stones. Blackfoot's over by the fresh-kill pile, listening to Wolfstep make his report on a ThunderClan border patrol. I'm glad I can make my report to him instead of Tigerstar, on account of he's slightly less intimidating. The deputy nods, dismisses Wolfstep with a flick of his ears, and turns to me.
"If you've finished with the dirtplace, Tigerstar's den needs cleaning," he orders. I nod but don't move.
"Don't let grass grow under your paws," Blackfoot snaps. When I blink up at him, he asks with the faintest of sighs, "What is it, Nettlethorn? You can speak."
For a horrible moment, I don't think I'll be able to get the words out. They stick in my throat like burrs. But I swallow hard and manage, "I… I got somethin' to report."
Tigerstar calls a clan meeting as the sun starts to disappear beyond the pines. Blackfoot takes his place just below the Clanrock and gestures for me to join him. I'm extremely conscious of every cat watching me, of the wind in the pine needles. I wish I could be safe and anonymous in the circle again.
"You've no need to be afraid," Blackfoot murmurs. "You did well. Tigerstar is pleased with you."
"It seems that Nettlethorn has learned her lesson," Tigerstar begins, lookin' down at me with somethin' that could almost be warmth. "Earlier today, she came to Blackfoot with proof that the half-clan cats are every bit as treacherous and disloyal as I feared. Mistyfoot confessed to Nettlethorn that she's spoken to Firestar and given away our secrets. Rest assured that they will all be punished severely. Only when TigerClan is purified of these abominations will StarClan bless us and give us dominion over the forest. Thanks to Nettlethorn's cunning and loyalty, that day is one pawstep closer."
A few growls rise from the forest warriors. But a few cats—Nightwhisper, Fernshade, Jaggedtooth, Stumpytail—call my name in approval. "Nettlethorn! Nettlethorn!" Before, the approval of my leader and clanmates made me feel special and warm inside. Now, I feel like a sewer rat. But I lift my head and try to look as happy as I was when the clan praised me for finding Lightningkit.
"Does this mean we can talk to Nettlethorn again?" Russetfur calls.
Tigerstar nods. "She has proved herself worthy of being a full TigerClan warrior once again."
"Thank you, Tigerstar," I meow respectfully.
As soon as the meeting breaks up, Nightwhisper is all over me, pressing his pelt against mine and lickin' my ears. "That was brilliant, leadin' Mistyfoot on like that. Now everything will be right again. I've missed talkin' to you," he purrs.
"What do you think will happen to the half-clan cats?" I ask.
"Who cares?" Jaggedtooth growls. "They're traitors." His callous tone shouldn't shock me, but somehow it does.
"You did the right thing," Nightwhisper assures me.
Jaggedtooth flicks me with his tail and says in his I'm-jokin'-but-not-really voice, "Why you always gotta make life harder for yourself, Nettlethorn? Things are so much easier when you just follow orders and quit worryin' 'bout things that ain't your business."
That ain't the kind of life I want. Not in a thousand seasons. Somewhere deep inside, a voice that sounds a lot like Mama's lets out a thin little scream. If I really did the right thing in reportin' Mistyfoot, why do I feel so guilty?
My brother leads me to the fresh-kill pile and picks out a plump squirrel, but I can only swallow a few bites. I pretend not to notice the worried glint in Nightwhisper's green eyes as I make my excuses and pad into the warriors' den to make up my old nest.
In the dream, I'm standing by the Bonehill, the stench of blood and rotting prey enough to make any cat sick. My paws are wet with blood. Mistyfoot's body is sprawled on the ground in front of me, her throat and belly ripped open. All the TigerClan cats are cheering, their voices hoarse with bloodlust.
"Oh, baby, what have you done?" Mama's voice whispers, unseen somewhere in the shadows. "StarClan says fire will save the clans, but there are other skies, other prophecies. Without the nettle's sting, the fire will go out before it has a chance to burn."
Another she-cat's voice, harsher and deeper than Mama's, meows, "Blood will rule the forest unless the lost daughter of the pines returns."