Tigerheart’s Shadow

“I can’t.” Helplessness swamped Tigerheart. He wanted to blurt out the truth—that Dovewing was expecting kits. He wanted the truth to fix everything. He wanted Ivypool to forgive Dovewing and reassure her that raising her kits in the Clans would be great. But he knew the truth might make things worse. And telling the truth should be Dovewing’s choice, not his.

“Ivypool.” He gazed at her desperately. “Just talk to her. Please.”

“I will.” Ivypool whirled away with a snarl. “Once she’s stopped seeing you.” Her silver tail lashing, she pushed her way through the bracken and disappeared into darkness.

Tigerheart watched her go, his chest tightening with panic. Ivypool had been his last, desperate hope at persuading Dovewing, and now that hope had died. Dovewing only had him. I don’t want to do this without you, Tigerheart. I need you. He pictured her wide, stricken gaze, and his heart ached.

He curled his claws into the earth. Rowanstar was ShadowClan’s leader; he was responsible for the Clan. It’s not my duty to hold the Clan together. Tigerheart headed for the border.

I’ve carried that burden for too long. He pictured Scorchfur’s snarling face as he attacked Tawnypelt. He remembered the treachery of the apprentices who’d brought the rogues into the Clan. Let them hold themselves together. Bitterness rose in his throat. Or tear themselves apart. Determination pulsed through him as he padded through the deepening night. My responsibility is to Dovewing and my kits.

I love you, Dovewing, and I won’t let you down.

Chapter 4

Tigerheart could taste rain on the wind. Thick clouds darkened the sky above the pines, casting the forest into gloom. Not good traveling weather. His chest tightened as he thought about meeting Dovewing. Sunhigh had passed long ago. He must leave soon. She’d be waiting.

He reached up and tucked a stray tendril into the bramble wall of the ShadowClan nursery. Rowanstar had given orders that all the dens be repaired and strengthened. Rain was coming, and he wanted the Clan to be warm and dry in their nests. Grassheart and Strikestone were working on the warriors’ den. Flowerpaw, Snakepaw, and Whorlpaw poked wads of moss into the holes in side of their own den, while Tawnypelt and Snowbird wove extra brambles into the walls of the elders’ den.

Tigerheart’s throat tightened. Could he really leave? This was the only life he’d known. Sadness jabbed at his heart. He might never see these cats again. He’d be leaving the forest to live in a Twolegplace! His pelt prickled nervously.

Around him, his Clanmates were working together, following Rowanstar’s orders without question. He pushed his doubts away. Dovewing needs me more than they do.

Rowanstar was padding around the camp, inspecting the work. He nodded approvingly as he passed Whorlpaw, slowing to point out a gap near the bottom of the wall that still needed filling. Whorlpaw dipped his head to the ShadowClan leader and quickly reached for another wad of moss to plug it. Tigerheart’s chest ached with hope. The Clan would be fine without him.

“Tigerheart!” Rowanstar was crossing the clearing.

Tigerheart tensed. What did Rowanstar want? He glanced at the darkening treetops. He’d been hoping to slip away soon. Keeping his fur smooth, he tugged two strands of bramble closer together before dropping onto all four paws to face his father. “Yes?”

“Take out a hunting party.” Rowanstar had stopped beside the fresh-kill pile. A thrush and a vole were all that was left from the morning’s catch.

Tigerheart relaxed. Perfect. I can slip away easily while I’m in the forest.

“Take Grassheart, Snowbird, Juniperclaw, and Scorchfur.” Rowanstar’s green gaze scanned the camp.

Tigerheart followed it. Where were Juniperclaw and Scorchfur? Hadn’t they been helping Grassheart and Strikestone fix up the warriors’ den? Perhaps they were outside camp, fetching bracken to weave into the den walls. “I’ll find them,” he told Rowanstar. He beckoned Grassheart and Snowbird with his tail as he headed for the camp entrance.

He ducked outside and stopped a few tail-lengths from the camp. Opening his mouth, he let the musky scents of leaf-fall bathe his tongue. He could taste the fresh scent of his missing Clanmates, but in the misty air it was hard to tell which way they’d headed.

Grassheart stopped beside him.

“Can you tell which way Scorchfur and Juniperclaw went?” he asked her.

“Don’t worry,” she mewed quickly. “We can hunt without them.”