Эрин Хантер – STARLIGHT (страница 9)
“It looks as if we’ll be out of the marshes soon,” he meowed.
“Can’t we climb the hill, Brambleclaw?” Squirrelflight asked. “
“There’ll be prey up there, too,” Tawnypelt mewed longingly. “What do you say, Brambleclaw? We need to hunt.”
“We’re supposed to be patrolling the lake,” Brambleclaw replied.
“And the territory around it,” Crowfeather reminded him.
“I suppose we could make a few forays away from the lake,” Brambleclaw meowed thoughtfully. “We won’t learn much if we stick to the shore the whole time. Let’s start by heading up to the ridge. We’ll hunt on the way, and—”
A quiet cough interrupted him, and Brambleclaw felt his fur prickle as he met Mistyfoot’s level stare. “S-sorry, Mistyfoot,” he stammered. “I mean, if that’s OK with you.”
Amusement glimmered in the RiverClan deputy’s eyes. “Look, Brambleclaw, maybe it’s best if you lead. These cats are obviously used to taking orders from you.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Brambleclaw felt even more embarrassed. “We discussed things, mostly, when we were on our journey.”
“He means we argued,” Tawnypelt meowed dryly. “At least,
“What, us?” Squirrelflight’s eyes opened wide and her tail curled up. “Never!”
Stifling a
There was prey among the bushes further up the slope, and it did not take long for all five cats to hunt successfully and settle down to a good meal.
“Mmm . . .” Squirrelflight murmured, lying on her side and splaying out her paws in a luxurious stretch. “That was the tastiest mouse I’ve eaten in moons. Now I could do with a good, long sleep.”
“Oh, no, you don’t!” Brambleclaw prodded her with his paw. “We’ve got a long way to go, and we need to get as far around the lake as we can in daylight.”
“All right, keep your fur on.” Squirrelflight scrambled up, her green eyes teasing. “You’re such a bossy old furball. Don’t forget I’m a warrior now!” She whisked around him, flicking him with her tail.
“You don’t give me the chance to forget,” Brambleclaw retorted, though he couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice. How long had it been, he asked himself, since any of them had had the time or the strength to play?
He gathered the others together—Mistyfoot watched him give the order without saying anything, the expression in her blue eyes impossible to read—and they set off once more, taking a slanting route down to the lake. As he looked back towards the temporary camp, Brambleclaw saw that the spur of land he had spotted earlier was actually an island; three tiny, fuzzy shapes were standing on the shore looking out at it.
“There’s Leafpaw!” Squirrelflight meowed.
Brambleclaw didn’t ask how she could recognise her sister from so far away; he knew there was some sort of special connection between them, so that each of them always had a good idea where the other one was and how she was feeling. A flicker of jealousy stirred within him, but he pushed it away.
They headed down from the ridge towards a point on the lakeshore further along from the island. To Brambleclaw’s relief, the marshy places and small reed-fringed pools thinned out; instead the ground was covered with long grass that felt cool and comfortable under his pads.
“This is more like it!” muttered Crowfeather. WindClan cats were the least used to wet ground, coming from the well-drained sandy moorland above the woods where the other Clans had lived.
Sunhigh came and went as the five cats travelled along the edge of the lake. A stretch of smooth round pebbles ran down to the water, reminding Brambleclaw of the banks of the river in the forest. A little way from the shore, he spotted the spreading ripples where a fish had just risen.
“Plenty of prey for RiverClan,” he pointed out to Mistyfoot.
She nodded. “Mind you,” she meowed, “we might need to work out new ways of fishing. We’re used to standing on the bank or on stepping stones and scooping them out with our paws. What would we do if all the fish went to hide in the middle of the lake?”
There was an amused snort from Squirrelflight, but Brambleclaw silenced her with a glare. Mistyfoot hadn’t been joking—her Clan could starve next to a lake full of prey if they didn’t have the right hunting techniques. He narrowed his eyes and stared across the lake to the greenish smudge that might be the sort of trees ThunderClan had lived among before. Surely hunting mice and squirrels would be the same here as it had been in the forest?
The pebbles beneath their paws grew larger and more slippery, and they slowed down to pick their way carefully, without getting their feet trapped between the stones. The lake bulged into the land ahead of them, and Brambleclaw stopped to look at the opposite shore. Pine trees surrounded a grassy area at the edge of the water, where a wooden structure stuck out into the lake. It looked a bit like the Twoleg bridge in the old territory, but it didn’t seem to lead anywhere.
“What’s that?” Brambleclaw asked, signaling with his tail.
“Some Twoleg thing.” Crowfeather was disdainful.
“I hope that doesn’t mean Twolegs swarming all over the place,” meowed Tawnypelt.
“I don’t think so,” Mistyfoot replied. “I can’t see any Twolegs there now. Maybe they come only in greenleaf, like they used to in our old territory. Their kits like to play in the water.”
“I always thought Twolegs were mousebrained.” Crowfeather sniffed.
Squirrelflight was staring across at the bridge thing, her jaws parted to drink in any scent carried on the breeze. “I can’t smell anything but forest scents and prey,” she reported at last.
“We’re too far away to pick up all the scent trails,” Brambleclaw meowed. “We’ll check it out when we get over there. Like Mistyfoot said, there aren’t any Twolegs around now.”
He signaled for the patrol to move on again. They walked in silence, as if the Twoleg half-bridge had reminded them of their old enemies, and made them warier. Before long Brambleclaw heard another sound above the gentle lapping of waves on the shore: the gurgle of running water. The ground underpaw grew wetter, and just ahead he could see a thick line of reeds winding away from the lake.
“A stream!” Mistyfoot exclaimed, bounding forward.
The rest of the patrol picked up their pace until they joined her on the bank. Pushing through the reeds, Brambleclaw saw that the stream flowed out of the lake; it was wider than the streams they had crossed previously, too broad to jump across, with deep channels curving around pebbly shallows and small, stony islands. The water looked green and cool, shaded by reeds and the occasional tree that grew along the banks. Clumps of brown, dry bracken all around promised more lush vegetation in greenleaf.
Mistyfoot looked around, the tip of her tail twitching. “RiverClan would like a place like this.”
Brambleclaw noticed that she did not make an instant claim to this territory on behalf of her Clan, but he saw the longing in her eyes as she surveyed the stream. He agreed it would be a good place for RiverClan, but it wasn’t their decision to make. Their duty was to report back to the rest of the cats when they had explored all the land around the lake, and the leaders would decide how to divide it up.
“Hey!” Squirrelflight mewed. “I just saw a fish!”
A heartbeat later Brambleclaw spotted one, too, a silver flash that sent ripples spiralling out as it touched the surface of the water.
“Perfect!” mewed Mistyfoot. “Shall I catch some for us?”
“We know how to catch our own, you know.” Tawnypelt spoke politely, but with an edge to her voice.
Mistyfoot gave her a curious look. “Where did you learn that?”
“On our journey,” Crowfeather meowed abruptly. “Feathertail taught us.” He turned away and stalked a few paces downstream, where he sat close to the water, staring into the depths with one paw raised, ready to strike.
Brambleclaw’s heart ached for him. None of them would ever forget the brave and gentle RiverClan cat who had done so much to help Crowfeather feel at ease in the group, and in the end had given her life to save him from Sharptooth. Brambleclaw wondered whether Crowfeather’s pain would ever be healed. Sometimes he seemed as prickly and self-contained as he had been at the start of their journey, before he had learned to trust his companions, and before he had fallen in love with Feathertail.
Mistyfoot gave a sympathetic murmur; Brambleclaw saw grief in her eyes too, and remembered that she had been Feathertail’s mentor. But the RiverClan deputy didn’t attempt to go over to the WindClan warrior and comfort him. Perhaps she knew he wouldn’t welcome any cat intruding on his sad memories. Instead she crouched down where she was to wait for a fish. Tawnypelt and Squirrelflight joined her, but Brambleclaw stayed close to the reeds, all his senses alert for danger. They still didn’t know what this new territory might conceal, and four cats intent on hunting would make easy prey for a hungry fox.