Dawn

“What if Dustpelt is right?” Squirrelpaw hissed to Brambleclaw as they leaped over an abandoned foxhole, a yawning black mouth amid the shadows. “What he said in the den made sense—why should any cat follow the advice of a badger they’d never met?”

“But StarClan sent us to see Midnight,” Brambleclaw argued. “What Midnight told us must be true.”

Squirrelpaw guessed he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

“We just have to hope that we see the sign at Fourtrees tonight,” she said. “If StarClan has something to say to the Clan—to any of the Clans—it’s not up to us to prove it.” She trembled to think what Midnight had meant by ‘a dying warrior,’ but if the sign told them what to do next, they might still be able to save the Clans.

Their journey to Fourtrees took longer than usual, not just because of the slow pace but because they had to skirt the parts of the forest that the Twolegs had ruined, keeping low as they passed swath after swath of mud and felled trees. After a while, Squirrelpaw stopped looking at the empty, ravaged spaces.

“How can any cat think this is still our home?” she murmured.

Brambleclaw just shook his head and padded after Firestar toward the top of the slope that led down into Fourtrees.

For a moment, it felt like the start of every other Gathering Squirrelpaw had attended, and when she closed her eyes she could almost hear the murmur of cats below, sharing tongues as the four Clans met in peace under the full moon. But there was no full moon, and this was not a Gathering. Her eyes snapped open, and she peered over the crest of the rise. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, her breath caught in her throat.

Even though Cinderpelt had warned them that the Twolegs had cut down the four great oak trees, Squirrelpaw hadn’t let herself imagine what it would look like. Not in nine lifetimes could she have imagined anything as terrible as what she saw now.

The four giant oaks that had once guarded the Great Rock had completely disappeared; even their stumps had been torn from the ground. Their trunks lay in pieces, neatly sliced by giant claws. Squirrelpaw could smell the bitter sap that seeped like blood from each mutilated piece of wood.

The heart of the forest—and the roots of life for the four Clans—had been ripped out. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Squirrelpaw wondered how their warrior ancestors could bear to look down from Silverpelt at the ruined clearing.

“Webfoot told us they had destroyed Fourtrees, but I didn’t think…” Her voice trailed away as her father looked at her, sympathy in his eyes.

“Come on,” he hissed, leading them down the slope.

As she picked her way over the sliced trees, sticky sap clung to Squirrelpaw’s fur, and tree dust wafted up to sting her eyes and tickle her throat. Blinking, she scanned the clearing, then stared in disbelief. “The Great Rock is gone!”

Brambleclaw stopped dead and followed her gaze. “How could that happen?” he gasped. He bounded over to peer into the huge hole that gaped where the rock had once stood.

“I-I thought it had roots like a tree,” Squirrelpaw murmured dazedly, looking down into the hole. “I thought they reached down so far that nothing could ever move it.”

“Over here!” Firestar called from the side of the clearing.

He and Cinderpelt were standing almost belly-deep in the mud beside a vast gray stone. It looked clumsy and awkward, and the shape was unfamiliar—after a few moments, Squirrelpaw realized it was upside down—but it was definitely the Great Rock.

Brambleclaw thrashed his tail. “Twolegs did this!” he spat.

“They must have used their monsters to move it.”

In the cold, unfeeling moonlight, Squirrelpaw could see gouge marks scarring the rock where the monster’s talons had scratched it. This was worse than losing every single tree in the forest; every cat knew that trees were living things that grew old and died just like they did, but the Great Rock had been there for moons upon moons before the cats came, and should have lasted for uncountable moons more.

A harsh voice rang out across the clearing. “There will be no more Gatherings now.” Squirrelpaw recognized Blackstar’s meow, and shadowy movements on the logs around them told her what the scent of the sap had disguised—that the other cats were here already. Remembering Mousefur’s dire warnings of an ambush, she looked closely in the half-light and spotted, with a twinge of relief, Tawnypelt, Crowpaw, and Stormfur among them.

“Tawnypelt!” Brambleclaw ran over to welcome his sister.

Squirrelpaw heard a disapproving growl rumble in Firestar’s throat, and her paws pricked with frustration. How could he question their loyalty when he knew they were only working together to save the Clans?