Tigerheart shifted in his nest. Snowbird and Scorchfur’s words earlier that night still rang in his ears. From now on, we will only take our orders from you. The den was damp. The moss at the bottom of his nest was soaked with rain. It chilled his pelt. Stonewing and Grassheart breathed softly beside him, lost in sleep. Strikestone turned in his nest with a grunt and began to snore. Tigerheart pushed himself deeper into his nest and tried to sleep.
What should he do? He couldn’t please everyone. The cats he cared about all wanted something different from him. Dovewing wanted a mate; his unborn kits needed a father; Rowanstar needed his obedience; his Clanmates wanted his leadership. He couldn’t help one cat without hurting another.
StarClan, guide me! He sat up in his nest, staring at the roof of the warriors’ den. The stars were so far away, above the brambles, above the rain, beyond the thick clouds. Could his ancestors even see what was happening?
What does my instinct tell me? Protect my kits. Protect my Clanmates. Protect my father. How could he do all three? My dream. He pictured the sun shining on his pelt, his shadow stretching darkly behind him. Was there guidance in the vision that he’d failed to understand?
Puddleshine will know.
Tigerheart stepped softly from his nest and slid from the den. He hurried through the pouring rain to Puddleshine’s den. Gentle snoring sounded inside as Tigerheart ducked through the narrow entrance. In the darkness he could just make out Puddleshine’s shape in his nest. Tigerheart approached quietly and stood beside him. “Puddleshine,” he breathed, wanting to wake the cat gently.
Puddleshine’s eyes opened sharply. The medicine cat leaped up and scrambled to the back of his nest. Hissing, he narrowed his eyes defensively.
Tigerheart stiffened with alarm. Why was Puddleshine so scared? “It’s me. It’s okay. Everything’s fine,” he soothed.
Puddleshine blinked at him, his arched spine dropping as he relaxed. Pelt ruffled, the brown tom hopped from his nest, his white splotches glowing faintly in the gloom. “Sorry,” he mumbled thickly. “I was dreaming. A cat was looming over me in the dream, and I woke up and you were . . .” His mew trailed away as though thoughts distracted him. His gaze dropped for a moment; then he stiffened. “It was you!” He blinked at Tigerheart. “You were the cat I was dreaming about.”
Alarm jabbed Tigerheart’s chest. Had StarClan sent a sign after all?
“You were standing in front of me. I felt cold, even though the sun was shining. There was blue sky, but I felt chilly. . . .” He shivered. “Like the coldness of a cave that has never felt the warmth of the sun.”
“The sun?” Tigerheart echoed, his moth dry. Another dream about the sun. “What was I doing?”
“You stood over me, dark and huge, and I realized that the sun was streaming all around you. But you were blocking it.” Puddleshine’s mew slowed thoughtfully. “You were blocking the sunshine.”
Tigerheart stared at him, his thoughts flitting to his own dream. His pelt had shimmered in the sunshine. But the shadow I cast was darker than anything else in the camp. Suddenly he knew what the dream meant. He wasn’t the sun after all! He was getting in the way of the sun! Hadn’t his father faded in the dream? “I shouldn’t be here,” he mewed. Regret choked him as the idea cut through his muddled thoughts as clearly as the warning screech of a magpie. He’d let Dovewing leave without him for nothing. He’d wasted so much time. “If the sun is to be strong and the shadows are to be strong, I must go.”
“No!” Puddleshine leaned toward him. “You were casting a shadow, that’s all. Isn’t that what we need? Yours was the strongest shadow of all.”
Tigerheart hardly heard him. His own thoughts were spinning, faster and faster. No wonder he’d been confused. So many mixed messages. How could he support his father and lead his Clanmates at the same time? Of course it was impossible. He shouldn’t even be here. He should be at Dovewing’s side. The longer he stayed, the harder it would be for his father to lead ShadowClan back to greatness.
“Tigerheart!” Puddleshine’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. “ShadowClan needs you.”
Tigerheart blinked at him. “Don’t worry, Puddleshine. I know exactly what to do.” He dipped his head to the medicine cat. “Thank you for helping me.”
“Where are you going?” Puddleshine called as Tigerheart turned to leave the den.
“I need to get some sleep,” Tigerheart told him. It was true. He hadn’t slept well in days. But he wasn’t going to sleep now. He had something far more important to do. “Go back to your nest,” he told Puddleshine, and hurried out into the rain.
He scanned the clearing. There was no sign of movement. He could only smell the warm scent of sleeping cats curled in damp nests. He checked Puddleshine’s den. The medicine cat hadn’t followed him out. He pricked his ears and heard the rustle of Puddleshine’s nest as the tom climbed back into it.
Dipping his head in farewell to his sleeping Clan, he crept quietly to the camp entrance. He slunk through the tunnel and padded softly into the forest. Only when he was clear of the camp and felt sure the pounding of the rain would disguise the sound of his paw steps did he break into a run. I’m coming, Dovewing. For the first time in days, his heart felt light. It chimed in harmony with his thoughts. He raced for the Thunderpath, like a bird flying for warmer lands, not knowing what his journey held, but certain that he must make it—that making it was the most natural thing he could do. Somewhere, far beyond the Thunderpath, Dovewing was managing alone. He was going to find her and, in another moon, welcome his kits to their new home in the strange gorse-spined den.