“We’re healers, not fighters.” Pipsqueak, a brown-and-white tom, squared up to Tigerheart in the middle of the cavern beneath the gathering place.
“But Fierce says the cats who stay on here each have their own role,” Tigerheart reminded him. “She said some heal, some hunt, and some guard.”
Dotty, a pale white-and-ginger she-cat, padded to Pipsqueak’s side. “Keeping watch and warning if danger is near is different from mounting an attack on a pair of foxes.”
In the two days since the fight with the foxes, Tigerheart’s tail had healed, thanks to the poultice Spire had smeared over the torn fur. At first Tigerheart had been concerned that Spire was inexperienced, because he kept mumbling, “Is this right?” as he prepared the salve. But after a while, he began to wonder—could Spire be seeking guidance from some unseen mentor?
The guardian cats’ herb store was running low, and a chill in the air warned that frost might come sooner rather than later. Frost would kill the leaves the healers needed to see them through leaf-bare. Besides, they needed to drive the foxes away before the pair settled into a den. They couldn’t afford to wait until any cubs were born; Tigerheart knew that as soon as the vixen was expecting, the foxes would be fighting for their young. It would be impossible to win a battle for the land, and the guardian cats’ precious herb source could be lost within a moon.
Tigerheart had assembled the guardian cats in a circle while Dovewing rested in their nest. He wanted to teach them how to fight.
Tigerheart glanced around the circle. Fierce hung back, curiosity flashing in her bright green gaze. Blaze was watching excitedly beside Spire. The strange healer’s gaze was drifting as usual, following the dust motes that hung in the shafts of sunshine cutting the air. Ant and Cinnamon shifted their paws impatiently. Tigerheart knew that they, at least, wanted to learn battle moves. Cobweb was still recovering from the bitemarks the fox had left on his back. But Boots, the one-eyed tabby who had tended to him, said the wound was superficial: Cobweb’s spine was unharmed. The long-furred gray tom watched from his nest now, his eyes still dull with pain while Boots sat beside him. Rascal and Mittens, the tabbies known best for their hunting skills, eyed Tigerheart with interest, exchanging glances as Pipsqueak and Dotty stared at him challengingly.
Peanut, a healer cat, caught Tigerheart’s eye. “We need to restock the herb store soon,” she mewed, flicking her gaze from Tigerheart to Dotty. “And if that means fighting, we should fight. Cats’ lives may depend on it.”
Dotty stared back at her. “You won’t be doing the fighting,” she pointed out. “You’re a healer here. You barely hunt.”
Fierce padded forward at last. Tigerheart’s belly sparked with hope.
“If you don’t want to fight, then don’t fight,” she mewed casually.
Tigerheart stared at her. “You should encourage them!”
Her eyes widened. “Why me?”
“You’re the leader.” She acted like one, and all the cats dipped their heads in respect when they greeted her.
“You seem to have misunderstood.” Fierce flicked her tail. “We are equals here. This isn’t a Clan.” She spoke the word as though the strangeness of warriors was beyond her understanding.
Irritation pricked in Tigerheart’s pelt. “If you want to protect your territory, you’re going to have to start thinking like a Clan.”
“We don’t have territory,” Dotty mewed querulously. “We simply shelter here and take care of one another.”
“What’s the land you gather herbs on if not territory?” Tigerheart challenged.
“It’s just land,” Pipsqueak meowed.
Tigerheart’s ears twitched. “So you don’t mind foxes taking it?”
“Of course we mind,” Pipsqueak snapped. “We need the herbs.”
“Then you’re going to have to fight for them!” Tigerheart raised his voice, looking pleadingly at Fierce. Hadn’t she asked him directly for this help? Why wasn’t she supporting him now?
Fierce padded around Pipsqueak and Dotty. “This warrior does have a point,” she mewed casually. “We all joined this community because we needed help or shelter. Without herbs, some of us wouldn’t be here now, and we owe it to future visitors to give them the same care we received.”
Pipsqueak tipped his head thoughtfully. “Are you telling us to fight?”
Tigerheart’s belly fluttered with hope.
Fierce glanced into a shaft of sunlight. “If we learn fighting skills, we can drive the foxes away and gather all the herbs we want. But it’s your choice. Learn to fight or don’t. It’s up to you.”
Dotty narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to let this warrior teach you how to fight, Fierce?”
“Of course.” Fierce stopped in front of Tigerheart. “I think he has a lot of useful knowledge. It seems foolish not to learn from him.”
He blinked at her gratefully. She was going to convince them!
Ant padded forward. “I want to learn how to fight too.”
“And me.” Cinnamon joined him.
Rascal and Mittens looked at each other.
“There are foxes everywhere in this city,” Rascal meowed.
“And dogs.” Mittens whisked his tail. “We’d be pigeon-brained not to learn some fighting skills from a warrior.”
Tigerheart blinked at Pipsqueak and Dotty. Were they going to agree too?
“I guess there’s no harm in learning,” Pipsqueak conceded.
“So long as this outsider doesn’t start thinking of himself as our leader,” Dotty mewed.
“We’re equals here,” Pipsqueak reminded Tigerheart.
“I only want to help.” As Tigerheart dipped his head modestly, his thoughts flitted back to ShadowClan. Scorchfur and Snowbird had practically begged him to lead them. Here the cats didn’t want anyone to lead them, especially not him. His frustration with the guardian cats melted away. It felt good not to be weighed down by responsibility. These cats only wanted to learn a few battle moves that would help them save their herb patch. Their simplicity warmed him, and he purred. “Let’s start.” He padded to the center of the cavern and dropped into the first battle crouch Oakfur had ever taught him. He looked around at the watching cats. “This is the easiest position to launch most battle moves from.”
Before long, the guardian cats were practicing moves on one another while Tigerheart wove among them, adjusting crouches and advising which paw was the best to lead with or to push back on. As he moved from one cat to another, he remembered training Sleekpaw. He had spent long days in the forest with his apprentice, going over moves that could defeat ThunderClan, or confuse a RiverClan cat, or unbalance a lithe WindClan warrior. That was before the apprentices had turned on their own Clan, before the rogues had come and trouble had torn ShadowClan apart. The memory pierced his heart like a thorn, and he jerked his thoughts back to the present. These cats were learning how to defeat foxes, not warriors. There were no rogues here, or Clans to betray.
Tigerheart looked toward the nest where Dovewing was sleeping, her chin hooked over the side. She looked so peaceful and content, her eyes closed, her ears twitching as she dreamed. She and their kits were all he needed to worry about now.
Fierce’s mew surprised him. “I think we’ve learned enough basic moves. We need to come up with a plan.”
Dovewing opened her eyes and gazed sleepily at the cats. Tigerheart blinked at her reassuringly and turned to Fierce. “A plan to deal with the foxes?”
Fierce nodded.
“We need to remember that we are not fighting alone, but together.” Tigerheart remembered the skirmish on the slope. The cats had fought bravely but had been uncoordinated. He looked seriously around the guardian cats, who had turned to face him. “Be aware of the cats around you. Fit your moves with theirs. Let your attacks fill gaps they have left. See openings you can use, and always distract your enemy if you see your Clanmate in trouble.” He corrected himself as he saw confusion flutter in their gazes. “If you see your friend in trouble.” He hesitated. Did these cats see one another as friends, or merely as cats they lived beside?
Gray fur moved at the edge of his vision. Dovewing was padding toward them. “I’ve been thinking about how to start the attack on the foxes.” She stopped beside Tigerheart and sat down heavily, clearly still sleepy. “If the patrol can take up positions around the slope, one cat can wait in the middle as bait.”
“Bait?” Tigerheart looked at her, unease rippling through his fur.
“To make the foxes think there’s no threat, so we can catch them off guard.” she explained. “A cat who looks harmless.” She shifted her swollen belly as though it was uncomfortable. “Like me.”
“No!” Fierce cried out before Tigerheart could open his mouth.
“How could you put your kits in danger?” Dotty looked at her in shock.
“You’re too fat to run away,” Ant pointed out.
Tigerheart stared at Dovewing sternly. “You’re not going anywhere near the herb patch.”
“But I want to help,” Dovewing objected. “And I’ll worry about you if I’m not there.”
“I could be the bait.” Spire padded forward. For once, his gaze was fixed on the other cats. He looked from Fierce to Tigerheart, his yellow eyes glittering. “I’m skinny and small, and I look harmless and half-crazy most of the time.”
“You don’t look half—”
Spire cut Fierce off. “I know my thoughts wander and I often seem lost. But I’m no fool. These foxes need to go. That herb patch is important. I’m fast on my paws, and I trust you to protect me.” His gaze swept around the guardian cats.
They nodded solemnly.
“Are you sure?” Fierce asked. “You’ll need to keep your mind on what you’re doing.”
“I’m sure,” Spire promised her. “And I will.”
Tigerheart searched the strange tom’s gaze anxiously. “You’ll . . . concentrate?” He still wasn’t sure what to make of Spire’s conversations with invisible cats. Surely he couldn’t be talking to StarClan. But Tigerheart couldn’t help worrying what might happen if one of them suddenly wanted to talk to him while he was out playing fox bait.
Spire flicked his tail. “Yes.” He winked at Tigerheart. “I know you think I’m a featherbrain, but there’s more to me than meets the eye. You’ll grow to like me eventually. We might even become friends one day.”
Tigerheart blinked at him. Would they be here long enough to become good friends with any of these cats? Once Dovewing had kitted and the kits were weaned and ready to travel, he’d thought that perhaps he’d be able to persuade Dovewing to return to the Clans. And yet, why should they? He liked the simplicity of this group: There were no leaders, no grudges, and no responsibility except to take care of the weak. Did he really want to rush back to a Clan on the brink of collapse and be caught up once more in a storm of distrust, betrayal, and recrimination?
Blaze bounced forward and began brushing around Spire. “You’re so brave! I want to come with you. I could be bait with you. A fox wouldn’t suspect a kit.”
Spire touched his muzzle to the top of the kit’s head. “You have to stay here with Dovewing. You can keep her busy so she doesn’t worry about Tigerheart.”
Tigerheart’s whiskers twitched with amusement as the healer flashed him a knowing look. Spire knew exactly how to distract Blaze—perhaps he wasn’t so crazy after all.
Blaze puffed out his chest. “I can do that.” He hurried toward Dovewing. “I’m the best at keeping cats busy. Spire tells me I keep him busy all the time. With me around, you won’t even think about Tigerheart.”
“She won’t need to.” Fierce lifted her chin. “With a little more training, we will be able to fight those foxes off easily.”
Rascal narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “How do we make sure they stay away?”
Mittens nodded. “We don’t want to have to fight them every time we gather herbs.”
The guardian cats looked toward Tigerheart expectantly. He blinked at them. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t told them already. “That’s simple. We’ll block up their den. My mentor taught me that if you block a fox’s den, it never comes back. Foxes are far too lazy to dig the same den twice.”
Fierce padded around the circle of cats, her tail whisking. “Let’s get back to training then. The sooner we drive those foxes away, the better.”
The next day, as the sun lifted over the soaring Thunderpath and cast the herb patch into shadow, Tigerheart crouched between the bushes near the top. From here he could see the scrub and grass twitching below. The guardian cats were hiding there. In the center, where the foliage opened onto a clear stretch of grass, Spire padded around distractedly. He gazed into the air and batted invisible prey. Tigerheart hoped he was pretending.
When he saw the gleam in Spire’s eyes, he realized that the skinny tom knew exactly what he was doing. With a flick of his tail, Spire lifted his head and let out a mournful yowl.
Tigerheart’s pelt prickled. That would get the foxes’ attention, surely?
A growl sounded from the top corner of the patch, where the stone leg of the soaring Thunderpath reached into the earth. Tigerheart jerked his muzzle toward the sound and saw a red pelt streak through the scrub. It darted toward Spire, lips drawn back in a threatening sneer. Spire blinked at it, then shot away beneath a low-spreading juniper. As the fox raced after him, Fierce exploded from her hiding place. With a hiss, she swiped her claws along the fox’s flank.
It turned, snarling at her, its gaze turning quickly from surprise to fury. Slinking low to the ground, it advanced on her. Tigerheart forced his paws to stay still. He wanted to rush in to help, but he had to trust that the guardian cats would stick to their plan. Relief sparked in his belly as Cinnamon and Ant leaped from their hiding place and flanked the fox. Pipsqueak leaped out behind it. The fox was surrounded. It spun, its long body curving as it took in the sight of four cats. Alarm sparked in its gaze. It showed its sharp teeth and dropped its head. Tigerheart’s breath caught in his throat. A cornered fox was more dangerous than a full set of badgers. Wildness shone in its eye, and it lunged for Fierce, its jaws snapping at her paws as she leaped clear. Cinnamon and Ant leaped at its flanks, tearing at its pelt with outstretched claws. Pipsqueak caught hold of its tail and bit in hard.
Yelping with pain, the fox thrashed desperately as the guardian cats clung on. Fierce hissed at it and raked her claws across its muzzle.
Tigerheart still held his breath. The vixen must be close. Foxes rarely left each other’s side once they’d mated. He saw red fur near the Thunderpath leg. That must be where the den was. “She’s coming!” With a yowl, he charged forward, blocking the vixen’s path to its mate. As it crashed from the undergrowth, he faced it. Anger bristled through its pelt as it saw him. Instantly it tried to snatch at his ear, its jaws snapping shut a whisker away as he ducked clear. With relief, he saw Rascal and Mittens dart from their hiding places. Dotty leaped from hers, aiming for the second fox’s tail as they’d planned. As she sank her teeth into the thick brush, Rascal and Mittens copied Cinnamon and Ant’s tactic and leaped for the vixen’s flanks. Tigerheart faced its muzzle, triumph surging in his chest. It staggered under the weight of the others. He swiped his claws across its nose. Confusion and panic lit its eyes. Its mate had been dragged to the ground. Fierce, Ant, Cinnamon, and Pipsqueak clawed at it with such speed and ferocity, it could only flail its paws and snap. With a yelp, the vixen called to its mate. The dog fox scrabbled free of its attackers. Shrieking in terror, both fled through the scrub, their shredded tails bobbing behind them as they disappeared from the herb patch.
Fierce met Tigerheart’s gaze, her fur bushed with excitement. “We did it!”
Cinnamon, Ant, and Pipsqueak wove around each other happily while Rascal, Mittens, and Dotty congratulated one another.
“You moved so fast!” Dotty told Mittens.
“You got such a good grip on its tail, it didn’t know what to do!” Rascal praised her.
Tigerheart shook out his fur, a purr rippling through him as he let his eyes rove over all the guardian cats. None of them had been hurt, and the foxes had fled. They had won!
He glanced toward the wide stone leg where the foxes had been nesting. “Let’s block up their den in case they find the courage to come back.”
His paws ached by the time he slumped down beside Dovewing in the cavern. Late-afternoon sunshine filled the Twoleg space with rosy light. He’d spent the afternoon with the others, hauling rocks and earth to the foxes’ den and filling it so thoroughly that no fox would ever have the patience to unearth it.
Rascal and Mittens had left the patrol early to hunt, and they slid through the entrance now, mice dangling from their jaws. They jumped from the ledge and crossed the space, where the guardian cats had gathered to celebrate their victory. Dropping their catch in the middle, they nodded to Fierce, who was washing mud from her paws.
“We met Boots and Bracken while we were hunting,” Mittens told her. “They’re bringing more prey. There will be food for every cat.”
Fierce nodded to the tabby tom, her eyes shining. “Thank you.”
Mittens picked up two mice by their tails and carried them toward Tigerheart and Dovewing. He dropped them at their paws. “Thanks for your help today.”
“Thanks for yours.” Tigerheart pointed his muzzle toward a huge pile of herbs at the side of the cavern. “Spire and Peanut gathered a lot of leaves.”
Spire was lying next to Blaze nearby, his gaze clear and happy. “Once I’ve sorted and dried them, we’ll have enough herbs for a moon.”
Blaze snuggled closer to the skinny tom. “Will you teach me which herb is which?”
“Of course.” Spire lapped the kit’s head.
Pipsqueak and Dotty stretched happily in the sunshine pooling on the floor.
“I didn’t think we could actually do it,” Pipsqueak admitted.
Tigerheart blinked at him. “When cats work together, they can do anything.”
As he spoke, Boots and Bracken jumped down from the entrance. They were carrying prey as they’d promised and dropped it beside the rest.
Tigerheart rubbed his cheek against Dovewing’s as he watched the guardian cats settle beside one another to eat. “I’m glad we came here,” he murmured.
“Really?” She blinked at him, her eyes round.
“We’ve helped these cats. And everyone seems happy.” After the unease and mistrust that had permeated ShadowClan for so long, the simple worries and joys of the guardian cats seemed a relief.
Dovewing’s gaze softened. “So . . . are you starting to feel like you belong here?”
Tigerheart felt his spine stiffen. That wasn’t what he’d meant. “I guess,” he told her. “For now.”
Dovewing said nothing. She just leaned against him, and Tigerheart felt the contented purr as her ribs swelled to nudge his. “I’m so happy you like it here . . . ,” she murmured.
Tigerheart’s belly churned. Fighting beside the guardian cats had felt good, but he’d still assumed that, eventually, they’d return to the lake . . . even though, lately, his Clanmates seemed more interested in fighting one another than their enemies. After all, he and Dovewing were warriors. Surely they would raise their kits to be, too?
Life here might be simpler, he thought, but, without kin—without a Clan—will our kits be anything but strays?