MIDNIGHT. Erin Hunter

the Gathering.

      Tallstar flicked his tail at Leopardstar, inviting her to speak, but she drew back, leaving the next place to him. The WindClan leader hesitated for a moment, and Leafpaw saw that his eyes were clouded with worry.

      “Blackstar spoke truly of the heat of greenleaf,” he began. “It is many days since the forest saw rain, and the moorland streams on WindClan’s territory have been scorched away completely this last quarter moon. We have no water at all.”

      “But the river borders your territory,” a cat called out from the shadows beneath the Great Rock; craning her neck to see, Leafpaw recognised Russetfur, the ShadowClan deputy.

      “The river runs through a deep, sheer-sided gorge for the whole length of our border,” Tallstar replied. “It’s too dangerous to go down there. Warriors have tried, and One whisker fell, though thank StarClan he was not hurt. Our kits and elders cannot manage the climb. They are suffering badly, and I fear that some of the younger kits might die.”

      “Can’t your kits and elders chew grass for the moisture?” another cat suggested.

      Tallstar shook his head. “The grass is parched. I tell you, there is no water anywhere on our territory.” Turning with clear reluctance to the RiverClan leader, he meowed, “Leopardstar, in the name of StarClan I must ask that you let us come into your territory to drink from the river there.”

      Leopardstar came to stand beside the WindClan leader, her dappled golden fur rippling in the moonlight. “The water in the river is low,” she warned. “We have not escaped the effects of this drought in my Clan.”

      “But there is far more than you need,” Tallstar responded, desperation creeping into his tone.

      Leopardstar nodded. “That is true.” Coming to the very edge of the rock, she looked down into the clearing and asked, “What do my warriors think? Mistyfoot?”

      The RiverClan deputy rose to her paws, but before she could speak one of her Clan mates cried out, “We can’t trust them! Let WindClan set one paw over our border, and they’ll be taking our prey as well as our water.”

      Leafpaw could see the speaker, a smoky black tom, sitting a few foxlengths away, but she did not recognise him.

      “That’s Blackclaw,” Feathertail murmured into her ear. “He’s loyal to the Clan, but . . .” She trailed off, obviously unwilling to say anything bad about her Clan mate.

      Mistyfoot turned and fixed Blackclaw with a clear blue stare. “You forget the times when RiverClan has needed help from other Clans,” she meowed. “If they had not helped us then, we would not be here today.” To Leopardstar she added, “I say we should allow this. We have water to spare.”

      The clearing fell silent as the cats waited for Leopardstar to make her decision. “Very well, Tallstar,” she meowed at last. “Your Clan may enter our territory to drink from the river just below the Twoleg bridge. But you will come no further, and you do not have leave to take prey.”

      Tallstar bowed his head, and Leafpaw heard the relief in his voice as he replied, “Leopardstar, RiverClan has our thanks, from the oldest elder to the youngest kit. You have saved our Clan.”

      “The drought will not last forever, and you will have water in your territory soon. We will discuss this again at the next Gathering,” Leopardstar meowed.

      “I’m sure they will,” Greystripe muttered darkly. “If I know Leopardstar, she’ll make WindClan pay for that water somehow.”

      “Let us hope that StarClan have sent rain by then,” Tallstar meowed, stepping back to let Leopardstar address the Gathering.

      Leafpaw’s interest quickened as she wondered if they were about to hear what had been troubling Mistyfoot earlier, but at first the RiverClan leader’s news was unremarkable: a litter of kits had been born, and Twolegs had left rubbish by the river, attracting rats that had been killed by Blackclaw and Stormfur. Greystripe looked ready to burst with pride when his son was praised, while Stormfur scuffed the ground with his paws, his ears flat with embarrassment.

      At last Leopardstar meowed, “Some of you have met our apprentices Hawkpaw and Mothpaw. They are now warriors, and will be known as Hawkfrost and Mothwing.”

      The cats around Leafpaw craned their necks to see the warriors the RiverClan leader had named; Leafpaw turned to look too, but she could not distinguish them among the throng. The traditional welcoming murmur for all new warriors broke out at the announcement, but to Leafpaw’s surprise it was mingled with a few disconcerting growls, which she realised were coming from RiverClan cats.

      Leopardstar glared down from the rock and stilled the noise with a flick of her tail. “Do I hear protests?” she spat out angrily. “Very well, I will tell you everything, to stop rumours flying once and for all.

      “Six moons ago, at the beginning of newleaf, a rogue cat came to RiverClan, with her two surviving kits. Her name was Sasha, and the birth of her kits had weakened her so much that she needed help with hunting and caring for them. For a time she thought of joining the Clan, and we would have welcomed her as a warrior, but in the end she decided the warrior code was not the way of life for her. She left us, but her kits chose to stay.”

      A flood of protest surged up from the cats around the rock. One voice rose clear above the yowling. “Rogue cats? Taken into a Clan? Has RiverClan gone mad?”

      Greystripe shot a questioning glance at Mistyfoot, who shrugged.

      “They are good warriors,” she murmured defensively.

      Leopardstar made no attempt to quiet the clamour, only staring stonily down until it died away. “They are strong young cats and they have learned their warrior skills well,” she meowed when she could make herself heard. “They have sworn to defend their Clan at the cost of their lives, just as all of you have sworn.” With a glance at Blackstar, she added, “Were not some of ShadowClan’s warriors rogues once?” Before he could reply, her gaze swivelled to Firestar. “And if a kittypet can become Clan leader, why should rogues not be welcome as warriors?”

      “She has a point there,” Greystripe admitted.

      Firestar dipped his head toward Leopardstar. “True,” he mewed. “I will be glad to see these cats fulfil their promise as loyal members of their Clan.”

      Leopardstar nodded in reply; his words had clearly appeased her.

      “Is that what was worrying you, Mistyfoot?” Greystripe asked. “It’s no big deal, if they’ve settled down well.”

      “I know.” Mistyfoot sighed. “And I know I’m the last cat to criticise any warrior for being born outside the Clan, but . . .”

      “You do know that Mistyfoot’s mother was your old leader, Bluestar?” Feathertail whispered to Leafpaw.

      Leafpaw nodded.

      “But Leopardstar hasn’t told you everything,” Mistyfoot went on. The blue-grey warrior broke off as Leopardstar began to speak again.

      “Mothwing has chosen a special place within our Clan,” she explained. “Mudfur, our medicine cat, is growing old, and the time has come for him to take an apprentice.”

      This time her voice was drowned completely by the howls of protest. The three other leaders on top of the Great Rock drew together for an anxious conference. Tallstar was clearly unwilling to speak out after Leopardstar had agreed to give him access to the river, and in the end it was Blackstar who replied. “I’m ready to admit that a rogue can learn enough of our code to become a warrior,” he rasped. “But a medicine cat? What do rogues know of StarClan? Will StarClan even accept her?”

      “That’s what’s bothering me,” Mistyfoot muttered to Greystripe.

      Leafpaw felt a tingle spread through her fur. She remembered her own conviction, back when she had been little more than a kit, that it was right for her to heal and comfort her Clan mates, and to interpret the signs of