Graystripe carries the wet ball of moss gently between his teeth. Some of the moisture had dripped out on the journey home, soaking his chest and cooling his forepaws but there would be plenty to quench the thirst of the queens. He purrs, looking forward to seeing his kits again, all nestled by Goldenflower's side amongst their foster littermates.
The Clan lies in small groups around the clearing, while the sun slowly begins to slide toward the treetops. Most of them had finished eating and are now sharing tongues with each other quietly in the customary grooming session, pausing briefly between licks to greet Graystripe as he pads over to the nursery with the wet ball of moss. He nods to Runningwind, Mousefur and Thornpaw as they head out for the evening patrol.
Brindleface is getting the elders ready to try getting water again, where she is gathering them together by the fallen oak. He hears Smallear's determined mew as he passes by, "We'll need to keep our ears pricked and our eyes sharp while we're traveling." The old gray tom goes on: "You see that nick in my ear? I got that when I was an apprentice. An owl swooped out of nowhere. But I'll bet my claws left a bigger scar than his!"
His fur relaxes as he hears the familiar murmurings of Clan life surrounding him. There was no sign of Tigerclaw or his rouges, and it seems like the Shadowclan cats had moved on, as their scent was stale when he reached Sunningrocks, close to where The Great Sycamore is. Bluestar would be pleased, along with Yellowfang, that Cinderpelt had done so well in healing them of the sickness.
Slipping into the nursery he places the ball of moss between the three queens, where they can each get a lick.
"Thanks, Graystripe." meows Willowpelt.
"There will be more after supper." he promises the three queens as they lick the precious drops of moisture from the moss ball. Finding Bramblekit staring hungrily from the shadows, as his mother presses her muzzles to squeeze another drop of water, he purrs.
"Brindleface is going to lead the elders to get more water after the sun is set and the woods are clear of twolegs," he explains.
Goldenflower licks her lips, " "It's been a while since some of them have been out in the forest after dark,"
"I think Smallear is looking forward to it," he purrs, " He was telling stories about the owl that used to live near Sunningrocks. Poor Halftail looked frightened."
"A little excitement will do him good," Willowpelt remarks, "I wish I could go with them. A scrap with an owl would be just the thing to stretch my legs!"
"Do you miss being a warrior?" he asks, surprised. The pale silver gray she-cat looks comfortable lying in her nest with her three fast growing kits scrambling over her. It had never occurred to him that queens, while raising their kits, would miss their old life.
"Wouldn't you?" Willowpelt challenges.
"Yes, but you have your kits," He meows, he wishes he could spend more time with Stormkit and Featherkit. But he is deputy, and as such he has so many responsibilities to tend to, especially since Bluestar still isn't quite herself yet.
Willowpelt twists her head to pick up a tiny tortoiseshell-and-white she-kit that has tumbled off her flank. She drops it gently between her forepaws and gives it a lick. "Oh, yes, I have my kits," she agrees. "But I miss running through the forest, hunting for my own prey, and patrolling our borders." She licks the kit again and adds. "I'm looking forward to taking these three out into the forest for the first time."
"I can't wait to do the same with mine." he purrs.
Dipping his head to the queens he pushes himself out of the nursery. He wishes he could stay with them longer, but the Sunset patrol could be back at any moment, and some cat might be looking for him.
Walking to the fresh kill pile, he had a choice of pigeon, squirrel, or mouse. Settling with the mouse, he notices Sandstorm by the clumps of nettles. Her slender body was stretched out, her tail laying neatly over her hind legs. Dropping the mouse beside her, and beginning to eat, he hears Sandstorm begin to purr.
Suddenly a terrible caterwaul makes Graystripe jerk his head up. Sandstorm scrambles to her paws as Mousefur and Thornpaw thunder into the clearing. Their fur is matted with blood and Thornpaw is limping heavily.
Swallowing his mouthful of mouse quickly, he heaves himself to his paws and rushes over to the two cats.
"What happened? Where's Runningwind?"
His clanmates gather behind him, hissing with fear and their fur bristling preparing for trouble.
"I don't know. We were attacked," pants Mousefur, gasping for breath.
"By who?" he demands.
Mousefur shakes her head. "We couldn't see. We were in the shadows."
"What about their scent?"
"Too near the Thunderpath. Couldn't tell," answers Thornpaw, his breath coming in short gasps. Looking at the apprentice, he is swaying unsteadily on his paws. "Go and see Yellowfang!" He orders the tabby gold brown apprentice.
"Whitestorm!" he calls to the white warrior, who is racing to him from Bluestar's den. "I want you and Sandstorm to come with us." Turning to Mousefur he mews, "Can you lead us to where this happened?"
"Longtail, Dustpelt, guard the camp along with the other warriors. This might be a trap to lure most of our warriors away and we can't let that happen."
Knowing that Tigerclaw might be the one behind this, he has to leave the camp well protected.
Charging out of camp with Sandstorm by his side, Whitestorm at their rear with Mousefur together they scramble up the ravine and into the low-lit forest.
Graystripe slows down, realizing Mousefur is struggling to keep up. "Quick as you can." He urges. He knows she must be in pain after the battle, but they have to find Runningwind before Tigerclaw does something to the lithe tom.
"No." Mousefur calls out to him. "It's this way." She brushes past him, quickening her pace and veering off toward Fourtrees. Graystripe, Sandstorm, and Whitestorm race after her through the undergrowth.
Mousefur skids to a halt between two towering ash trees. The Thunderpath drones on in the distance, its foul stench drifting through the undergrowth. Ahead, he sees Runningwind's lean brown body lying on the ground, ominously still. A black and white tom was leaning over the unmoving warrior's body and with a jolt he recognizes it as Whitethroat.
The Shadowclan's warrior eyes stretch wide, and he stumbles back, his tail between his legs, "He's dead!" The wail didn't sound victorious. Intrigued, he leaps forward at Whitethroat who shrinks away hissing, not noticing what Sandstorm and the others are doing.
He knocks the Shadowclan warrior backward and he lands limply on the ground, offering no resistance as Graystripe looms over him.
Hissing he bares his teeth, "Who did this?"
Whitethroat's eyes are terrified slits, and he mumbles, "Rogues. They attacked a patrol but by the time I came it was too late the fight was over and…..and the….the tom was dead."
Before he can ask another question, Whitethroat darts off and bolts into a tangle of brambles. Chasing after him, Graystripe ignores the thorns that dig through his fur. Rouges? If rouges had done it, he wanted to know if Tigerclaw was a part of those mangy rouges. Pushing forward through the brambles, and catches a glimpse of Whitethroat's tail.
Emerging a moment later, he sees the Shadowclan warrior poised at the end of the Thunderpath. Hurtling himself towards Whitethroat, the warrior takes one look at him and races onto the Thunderpath. With horror and dread he watches as Whitethroat blindly scrambles across the hard gray-black surface. A deafening roar reaches his ears and he shrinks back, screwing up his face as a foul-smelling wind blasts his fur.
When the monster has passed, he opens his eyes. Horror sinks through him as he sees the Shadowclan warrior lying ragged and limp on the hard-stone surface of the Thunderpath.
Knowing he could not leave the cat there, when he had chased Whitethroat to his death he peers up and down the Thunderpath. No monsters in sight. Scurrying across to where the warrior lay, the tom looks smaller than ever, his white chest glistening with blood like fire in the rays of the slowly sinking sun.
Graystripe knows moving Whitethroat would only hasten his death. Trembling from shock he stares down at the warrior Cinderpelt cared for in the last few days.
"Was Tigerclaw a part of that patrol?" he asks, not really knowing if the dying cat could speak in his condition. Leaning down as the Whitethroat opens his mouth to speak, but the warrior's gurgling mew is cut off by the sound of a roaring monster that is too close for comfort.
Whitethroat opens his mouth again, releasing a thin trickle of blood. He swallows painfully, sending a juddering spasm the length of his body. But before he could speak, his eyes focused on a point over Graystripe's shoulder, back toward the woods of Thunderclan territory. Graystripe watches as Whitethroat's eyes glitter with fear before they glaze over for the last time.
He spins around to see what had filled Whitethroat's final moments with such terror. His heart lurches when he sees who stood at the edge of the Thunderpath—the dark warrior who had prowled through so many of his thoughts. Tigerclaw.