Dark River полностью

“It’s going to be a great day for hunting. I think I’ll take Hazelpaw out again once we’ve checked the borders.”

Birds twittered noisily at the top of the ravine. Lionpaw stifled a yawn and stretched.

“Are you ready, Honeypaw?” Sandstorm asked. Her apprentice was stumbling from the den, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

Honeypaw nodded.

“Come on, then.” Sandstorm padded out of the camp.

Back out in the forest, Lionpaw gazed longingly at every patch of moss, wishing he could lie down and rest. He trotted after the patrol, trying not to trail too far behind as they followed the ShadowClan border, renewing the scent markers.

“All clear here,” Dustpelt meowed at last.

Great, now we can go home!

Sandstorm sniffed the air. “Let’s check the WindClan border.”

Lionpaw’s heart sank.

The patrol turned and headed back through the forest.

Lionpaw felt his eyes glazing with tiredness. Suddenly, a movement caught his eye. Far off through the trees, something was stirring.

Tigerstar! He scanned the forest, but it was only a fern flickering in the light breeze. Why had they come that morning?

Tigerstar had said they’d been watching him. They must know I’ve been meeting Heatherpaw. His paws tingled. Did they think he was doing something wrong? But they had warned him about Spiderleg. Perhaps they only wanted to help him. But why?

The patrol neared WindClan’s territory. A small gully marked the border, a stream trickling at the bottom between tangled ferns and brambles. Beyond it, the forest stretched farther before opening onto the moorland. Dustpelt stopped to mark a tree. Honeypaw clambered down into the gully for a drink, disappearing beneath thick brambles.

Hazelpaw stiffened. “Look!” she mewed, staring over the border.

Breezepaw and Harepaw were pelting toward the stream.

Ahead of them raced a squirrel, its tail bobbing. The WindClan apprentices weaved skillfully through the thick undergrowth; it was strange to see them hunting in woodland.

Dustpelt padded to Sandstorm’s side. “Why are they hunting here?”

“It is their territory,” Sandstorm pointed out

“But WindClan don’t eat squirrels!” Honeypaw had scrabbled up from the stream, alerted by Hazelpaw’s warning.

Dustpelt narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I thought they only hunted rabbits.”

Two more WindClan pelts appeared. Tornear and Whitetail were watching their apprentices from the edge of the moor.

“A hunting party so near to our border?” Dustpelt’s mew was sharp with suspicion.

“They’re still heading for us,” Hazelpaw warned.

Breezepaw and Harepaw pelted after the squirrel; their eyes were fixed on their quarry.

“They’re not slowing down,” Dustpelt warned.

“They won’t cross the border on purpose,” Sandstorm reassured him.

“But they might do it accidentally,” Dustpelt replied. “The stream’s hardly visible here.” He dropped into a crouch and crept to the edge of the gully, ducking behind the brambles that covered it.

Breezepaw’s and Harepaw’s pads thumped the ground as they hurtled nearer. They still weren’t slowing.

“Stop!” Dustpelt reared up and yowled across the stream at the WindClan apprentices.

Breezepaw and Harepaw skidded to a halt, their eyes wide with alarm. The squirrel leaped the gully and disappeared up a tall birch.

“What in StarClan’s name are you doing?” Tornear’s angry mew rang through the trees. The WindClan warrior broke into a run, racing down to the border with Whitetail on his heels.

“How dare you frighten our apprentices?” Tornear halted at the edge of the gully and glared at Dustpelt.

“They were about to cross the border!” Dustpelt arched his back aggressively.

“How do you know?” hissed Breezepaw.

“You weren’t even slowing down!” Dustpelt accused him.

“I’d have caught the squirrel in one more stride!”

Lionpaw curled his lip. “You were nowhere near it!”

Breezepaw bristled. “Was too!”

“Everyone knows WindClan can only catch rabbits!”

Lionpaw spat back. “ThunderClan are the best squirrel hunters.”

“Not anymore!” Harepaw squared his shoulders beside his denmate. “Every WindClan apprentice has special training in the woods so we don’t have to rely on rabbits anymore.”

Sandstorm’s eyes grew round. “Really? Why?”

Tornear turned his glittering gaze on her. “It’s none of your business!”

“Is it so you can invade our territory?” Dustpelt paced the borderline, lashing his tail.

Whitetail stepped forward, her ruffled fur smoothing.

“We have woodland in our territory,” she meowed evenly. “It makes sense to use it. And we don’t want to be dependent on one sort of prey anymore. The elders still speak of the hunger WindClan suffered when Twolegs started poisoning the rabbits before the Great Journey.”

That made sense. Lionpaw let his claws curve back into their sheaths. But it still felt odd to think of WindClan hunting ThunderClan prey.

Harepaw was nodding. “And there are sheep on the moorland now, with Twolegs and their dogs—”