His backside wriggled as he flung old bedding over his shoulder. Balls of moss showered around him, and he was grumbling to himself: “Mousefur was right.” A wad flew past Hollypaw’s ear. “There aren’t enough apprentices to do all the chores, and it’ll be ages till Rosekit and Toadkit are made ’paws!”

“I’m going to WindClan territory,” Hollypaw hissed.

Lionpaw’s tail disappeared as he whipped around. “Why?”

“We’re going to warn Onestar to keep out of our territory.”

He flexed his claws. “I wish I were going!”

Brambleclaw’s impatient mew sounded from the thorn tunnel. “Hollypaw!”

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.” Hollypaw dashed away and followed the patrol through the tunnel.

The forest was gloomy. No sunlight flickered through the trees; the sky hung dull and gray above them. The air tasted musty, of dying leaves and rotting bark, and the ground was soft and mushy beneath Hollypaw’s pads. Leaf-fall was closing in. As Brambleclaw and Sandstorm charged ahead, Hollypaw stopped to clean the mud from between her claws on the deeply ridged bark of a fallen tree.

Brackenfur halted beside her. “You’re wasting your time,” he meowed. “We’ve still got to cross the moor.”

“But it feels icky,” she complained.

“You can give them a good cleaning when we get home.” Brackenfur flicked his tail toward Brambleclaw and Sandstorm as they disappeared over the crest of the slope. “Hurry up; we don’t want to get left behind.”

Hollypaw raced after her mentor, and they caught up to the others at the edge of the forest. As they padded out from the trees, the wind flattened Hollypaw’s fur. It tasted of rain. She narrowed her eyes against the buffeting breeze. Below them the land sloped down to the border; clumps of heather dotted the hillside as woodland gave way to moorland.

“Why didn’t we go to the border inside the forest?” she asked.

“We’ll get a better view this way,” Brambleclaw told her. “We should be able to spot a WindClan patrol far inside their territory and call to it without setting paw on their land.”

As he led the way to the border, Hollypaw opened her mouth, tasting for the scent of WindClan markers. The grass beneath her paws grew coarse. She tried to detect the scent line, but a tangier smell was filling her nose. Hollypaw curled her lip. “What’s that stench?”

“Sheep.” Brackenfur plunged through a swath of heather crossing their path.

Of course. As Hollypaw struggled through the heather and emerged on the other side, she recognized the fluffy shapes on the hillside. “Why are there so many?” They swarmed across the moor like clouds across a dusty green sky.

“Must have been a good season for them,” Brackenfur guessed.

Brambleclaw halted. “Here’s the border.”

Hollypaw sniffed at the heather and detected the stale scent of WindClan.

Sandstorm’s ears pricked. “Dogs!”