Lionpaw snorted. “I was trying to help!” Why were his littermates so snappy with him? “If you’re so desperate to clean out the nursery, then go ahead.” He stomped to the fresh-kill pile and picked a shrew from the top. Crouching to gulp it down, he heard Dustpelt.

“We haven’t had a battle like that in moons.” The brown tabby warrior was sitting beside the halfrock with Ashfur and Poppyfrost.

“It was like the old days back in the forest,” Ashfur agreed.

Poppyfrost’s eyes widened. “You’ve had battles like that before?”

“Worse,” Dustpelt meowed. “Do you remember the battle against BloodClan, Ashfur?”

Ashfur’s tail twitched. “Now, that was a battle!”

“Did the sun go out then?” Poppyfrost mewed.

Dustpelt sighed. “No.”

“I hope this was the worst battle I’ll ever see,” Poppyfrost went on. “I was fighting two warriors at a time! I know we’d covered it in training, but I never imagined I’d have to do it.”

“You fought well,” Ashfur purred.

“Not as well as Lionpaw,” Poppyfrost breathed. “Did you see him? And there’s not a scratch on him!”

Ashfur stopped purring. “He’s ready to become a warrior.”

Lionpaw glanced up from his shrew. Ashfur was staring at him.

“There’s little else I can teach him.” The pale gray warrior got to his paws. “Lionpaw, are you ready for the patrol?”

Lionpaw swallowed and sat up. “Yes.”

Ashfur signaled to Sorreltail and Whitewing, who were sharing tongues outside the warriors’ den. They leaped to their paws and followed Ashfur to the thorn tunnel. Lionpaw hurried after them.

The forest was brighter now that the leaves were beginning to fall. Sunlight streamed through the branches and pooled on the forest floor. As they padded toward the WindClan border, Lionpaw dropped back. Was he really ready to become a warrior? Since he was a kit, he had dreamed of being the greatest warrior ThunderClan had ever known. But back then it had been a dream. Now the battles were real. He remembered with a shiver the blood pulsing from Crowfeather’s neck, and Heatherpaw’s terror. He had done that, possessed by some strength he seemed unable to control. Was that what being a warrior meant? Would he ever learn to control the power he felt in his paws?

Lionpaw shivered as the woods darkened. Clouds had covered the sun. He could hear his Clanmates rustling through the undergrowth ahead, but something moved in the ferns nearer. He paused. A shape rippled between the trees beside him. A dark-striped pelt.

Tigerstar.

The warrior growled from the shadows. “I watched the battle.” Tigerstar shouldered his way through the bushes and stepped onto the path in front of Lionpaw. “You fought well. You were a credit to your ancestors.” His amber eyes gleamed.

Lionpaw looked past Tigerstar, searching for Hawkfrost.