“Mouse dung!” He fought to free himself, but the bramble seemed to twist around his legs as if it meant to ensnare him.

“Stand still!” Hollypaw was racing back to help. Jaypaw froze, swallowing his frustration, and allowed Lionpaw to drag the tendrils from around his paws while Hollypaw gently guided him away from the prickly bush.

“Dumb brambles!” Jaypaw lifted his chin and padded forward, more unsure than ever of the terrain but trying desperately not to show it.

Wordlessly, Hollypaw and Lionpaw fell into step on either side of him. With the lightest touch of her whiskers Hollypaw guided him around a clump of nettles and, when a fallen tree blocked their path, Lionpaw warned him with a flick of his tail to stop and wait while he led the way up and over the trunk.

As Jaypaw scrabbled over the crumbling bark he couldn’t help wondering: Is the prophecy really meant for a cat who can’t see?

CHAPTER 3

Lionpaw twitched in his sleep. He was dreaming.

Standing on a craggy peak, he felt the mountain breeze tug at his fur. Above, a starless sky stretched black as a raven’s wing to the distant horizon. In front of him ridge upon ridge lay like ripples on a wind-ruffled lake. Though no moon shone, the mountaintops glowed like moonstone. All this is mine! Exhilarated, Lionpaw bounded forward, his powerful hind paws sending stones cracking into the shadowy valleys below. He cleared the gorge in one easy jump, landing on the ridge beyond. His claws scraped the rock, holding his paws firm. He leaped again, light as air, the breath hardly stirring in his chest. His tail seemed to brush the pelt-soft sky and, with the blood rushing in his ears, he lifted his chin and yowled, his voice echoing like thunder around the empty mountains. I have the power of the stars in my paws!

“Lionpaw!” Ashfur’s call jolted Lionpaw awake. “Hunting patrol!”

Lionpaw blinked open his eyes. Sunshine pierced the branches of the den, yellow sunbeams spearing straight downward. The other nests were empty. It’s sunhigh already! Lionpaw clambered groggily to his paws. And then he remembered: They hadn’t reached camp until well past moonhigh. Surely Ashfur wouldn’t be angry with him for sleeping late today?

Arching his back in a trembling stretch, he yawned. His paws still ached from the long trek from the mountains, and he licked gingerly at a forepaw to check whether the grazing had begun to heal. No taste of blood. The scabs were hard. The soft forest floor would be no problem.