CHAPTER 1

It was very dark. Rusty could sense something was near.

The young tomcat’s eyes opened wide as he scanned the

dense undergrowth. This place was unfamiliar, but the

strange scents drew him onward, deeper into the shadows.

His stomach growled, reminding him of his hunger. He

opened his jaws slightly to let the warm smel s of the forest

reach the scent glands on the roof of his mouth. Musty

odors of leaf mold mingled with the tempting aroma of a

smal furry creature.

Suddenly a flash of gray raced past him. Rusty stopped

stil, listening. It was hiding in the leaves less than two tail-

lengths away. Rusty knew it was a mouse—he could feel

the rapid pulsing of a tiny heart deep within his ear fur. He

swal owed, stifling his rumbling stomach. Soon his hunger

would be satisfied.

Slowly he lowered his body into position, crouching for

the attack. He was downwind of the mouse. He knew it was

not aware of him. With one final check on his prey’s

position, Rusty pushed back hard on his haunches and

sprang, kicking up leaves on the forest floor as he rose.

The mouse dived for cover, heading toward a hole in the

ground. But Rusty was already on top of it. He scooped it

into the air, hooking the helpless creature with his thorn-

sharp claws, flinging it up in a high arc onto the leaf-

covered ground. The mouse landed dazed, but alive. It tried

to run, but Rusty snatched it up again. He tossed the mouse

once more, this time a little farther away. The mouse

managed to scramble a few paces before Rusty caught up

with it.

Suddenly a noise roared nearby. Rusty looked around,

and as he did so, the mouse was able to pul away from his

claws. When Rusty turned back he saw it dart into the

darkness among the tangled roots of a tree.

Angry, Rusty gave up the hunt. He spun around, his

green eyes glaring, intent on searching out the noise that

had cost him his kil. The sound rattled on, becoming more

familiar. Rusty blinked open his eyes.

The forest had disappeared. He was inside a hot and

airless kitchen, curled in his bed. Moonlight filtered through

the window, casting shadows on the smooth, hard floor.

The noise had been the rattle of hard, dried pel ets of food

as they were tipped into his dish. Rusty had been

dreaming.

Lifting his head, he rested his chin on the side of his

bed. His col ar rubbed uncomfortably around his neck. In his

dream he had felt fresh air ruffling the soft fur where the

col ar usual y pinched. Rusty rol ed onto his back, savoring

the dream for a few more moments. He could stil smel

mouse. It was the third time since ful moon that he’d had

the dream, and every time the mouse had escaped his

grasp.

He licked his lips. From his bed he could smel the bland

odor of his food. His owners always refil ed his dish before

they went to bed. The dusty smel chased away the warm

scents of his dream. But the hunger rumbled on in his

stomach, so Rusty stretched the sleep out of his limbs and

padded across the kitchen floor to his dinner. The food felt

dry and tasteless on his tongue. Rusty reluctantly swal owed

one more mouthful. Then he turned away from the food dish

and pushed his way out through the cat flap, hoping that the

smel of the garden would bring back the feelings from his

dream.

Outside, the moon was bright. It was raining lightly. Rusty

stalked down the tidy garden, fol owing the starlit gravel

path, feeling the stones cold and sharp beneath his paws.

He made his dirt beneath a large bush with glossy green

leaves and heavy purple flowers. Their sickly sweet scent

cloyed the damp air around him, and he curled his lip to

drive the smel out of his nostrils.

Afterward, Rusty settled down on top of one of the posts

in the fence that marked the limits of his garden. It was a

favorite spot of his, as he could see right into the

neighboring gardens as wel as into the dense green forest

on the other side of the garden fence.

The rain had stopped. Behind him, the close-cropped

lawn was bathed in moonlight, but beyond his fence the

woods were ful of shadows. Rusty stretched his head

forward to take a sniff of the damp air. His skin was warm

and dry under his thick coat, but he could feel the weight of

the raindrops that sparkled on his ginger fur.

He heard his owners giving him one last cal from the

back door. If he went to them now, they would greet him

with gentle words and caresses and welcome him onto

their bed, where he would curl, purring, warm in the crook of

a bent knee.

But this time Rusty ignored his owners’ voices and

turned his gaze back to the forest. The crisp smel of the

woods had grown fresher after the rain.

Suddenly the fur on his spine prickled. Was something

moving out there? Was something watching him? Rusty

stared ahead, but it was impossible to see or smel

anything in the dark, tree-scented air. He lifted his chin

boldly, stood up, and stretched, one paw gripping each

corner of the fencepost as he straightened his legs and

arched his back. He closed his eyes and breathed in the

smel of the woods once more. It seemed to promise him

something, tempting him onward into the whispering

shadows. Tensing his muscles, he crouched for a moment.

Then he leaped lightly down into the rough grass on the

other side of the garden fence. As he landed, the bel on his

col ar rang out through the stil night air.

“Where are you off to, Rusty? ” meowed a familiar voice

behind him.

Rusty looked up. A young black-and-white cat was

balancing ungraceful y on the fence.

“Hel o, Smudge, ” Rusty replied.

“You’re not going to go into the woods, are you? ”

Smudge’s amber eyes were huge.

“Just for a look, ” Rusty promised, shifting uncomfortably.

“You wouldn’t get me in there. It’s dangerous! ” Smudge

wrinkled his black nose with distaste. “Henry said he went

into the woods once. ” The cat lifted his head and gestured

with his nose over the rows of fences toward the garden

where Henry lived.

“That fat old tabby never went into the woods! ” Rusty

scoffed. “He’s hardly been beyond his own garden since

his trip to the vet. Al he wants to do is eat and sleep. ”

“No, real y. He caught a robin there! ” Smudge insisted.

“Wel, if he did, then it was before the vet. Now he

complains about birds because they disturb his dozing. ”

“Wel, anyway, ” Smudge went on, ignoring the scorn in

Rusty’s mew, “Henry told me there are al sorts of

dangerous animals out there. Huge wildcats who eat live

rabbits for breakfast and sharpen their claws on old

bones! ”

“I’m only going for a look around, ” Rusty meowed. “I

won’t stay long. ”

“Wel, don’t say I didn’t warn you! ” purred Smudge. The

black-and-white cat turned and plunged off the fence back

down into his own garden.

Rusty sat down in the coarse grass beyond the garden

fence. He gave his shoulder a nervous lick and wondered

how much of Smudge’s gossip was true.

Suddenly the movement of a tiny creature caught his

eye. He watched it scuttle under some brambles.

Instinct made him drop into a low crouch. With one slow

paw after another he drew his body forward through the

undergrowth. Ears pricked, nostrils flared, eyes unblinking,

he moved toward the animal. He could see it clearly now,

sitting up among the barbed branches, nibbling on a large

seed held between its paws. It was a mouse.

Rusty rocked his haunches from side to side, preparing

to leap. He held his breath in case his bel rang again.

Excitement coursed through him, making his heart pound.

This was even better than his dreams! Then a sudden

noise of cracking twigs and crunching leaves made him

jump. His bel jangled treacherously, and the mouse darted

away into the thickest tangle of the bramble bush.

Rusty stood very stil and looked around. He could see

the white tip of a red bushy tail trailing through a clump of

tal ferns up ahead. He smel ed a strong, strange scent,

definitely a meat-eater, but neither cat nor dog. Distracted,

Rusty forgot about the mouse and watched the red tail

curiously. He wanted a better look.

Al of Rusty’s senses strained ahead as he prowled

forward. Then he detected another noise. It came from

behind, but sounded muted and distant. He swiveled his

ears backward to hear it better. Pawsteps? he wondered,

but he kept his eyes fixed on the strange red fur up ahead,

and continued to creep onward. It was only when the faint

rustling behind him became a loud and fast-approaching

leaf-crackle that Rusty realized he was in danger.

The creature hit him like an explosion and Rusty was

thrown sideways into a clump of nettles. Twisting and

yowling, he tried to throw off the attacker that had fastened

itself to his back. It was gripping him with incredibly sharp

claws. Rusty could feel spiked teeth pricking at his neck.

He writhed and squirmed from whisker to tail, but he

couldn’t free himself. For a second he felt helpless; then he

froze. Thinking fast, he flipped over onto his back. He knew

instinctively how dangerous it was to expose his soft bel y,

but it was his only chance.

He was lucky—the ploy seemed to work. He heard a

“hhuuffff” beneath him as the breath was knocked out of his

attacker. Thrashing fiercely, Rusty managed to wriggle free.

Without looking back he sprinted toward his home.

Behind him, a rush of pawsteps told Rusty his attacker

was giving chase. Even though the pain from his scratches

stung beneath his fur, Rusty decided he would rather turn

and fight than let himself be jumped on again.

He skidded to a stop, spun around, and faced his

pursuer.

It was another kitten, with a thick coat of shaggy gray fur,

strong legs, and a broad face. In a heartbeat, Rusty smel ed

that it was a tom, and sensed the power in the sturdy

shoulders underneath the soft coat. Then the kitten crashed

into Rusty at ful pelt. Taken by surprise by Rusty’s

turnabout, it fel back into a dazed heap.

The impact knocked the breath out of Rusty, and he

staggered. He quickly found his footing and arched his

back, puffing out his orange fur, ready to spring onto the

other kitten. But his attacker simply sat up and began to lick

a forepaw, al signs of aggression gone.

Rusty felt strangely disappointed. Every part of him was

tense, ready for battle.

“Hi there, kittypet! ” meowed the gray tom cheerily. “You

put up quite a fight for a tame kitty! ”

Rusty remained on tiptoe for a second, wondering

whether to attack anyway. Then he remembered the

strength he had felt in this kitten’s paws when he had

pinned him to the ground. He dropped onto his pads,

loosened his muscles, and let his spine unbend. “And I’l

fight you again if I have to, ” he growled.

“I’m Graypaw, by the way, ” the gray kitten went on,

ignoring Rusty’s threat. “I’m training to be a ThunderClan

warrior. ”

Rusty remained silent. He didn’t understand what this

Graywhatsit was meowing about, but he sensed the threat

had passed. He hid his confusion by leaning down to lick

his ruffled chest.

“What’s a kittypet like you doing out in the woods? Don’t

you know it’s dangerous? ” asked Graypaw.

“If you’re the most dangerous thing the woods has to

offer, then I think I can handle it, ” Rusty bluffed.

Graypaw looked up at him for a moment, narrowing his

big yel ow eyes. “Oh, I’m far from the most dangerous. If I

were even half a warrior, I’d have given an intruder like you

some real wounds to think about. ”

Rusty felt a thril of fear at these ominous words. What

did this cat mean by “intruder”?

“Anyway, ” meowed Graypaw, using his sharp teeth to

tug a clump of grass from between his claws, “I didn’t think

it was worth hurting you. You’re obviously not from one of

the other Clans. ”

“Other Clans? ” Rusty echoed, confused.

Graypaw let out an impatient hiss. “You must have heard

of the four warrior Clans that hunt around here! I belong to

ThunderClan. The other Clans are always trying to steal

prey from our territory, especial y ShadowClan. They’re so

fierce they would have ripped you to shreds, no questions

asked. ”

Graypaw paused to spit angrily and continued: “They

come to take prey that is rightful y ours. It’s the job of the

ThunderClan warriors to keep them out of our territory.

When I’ve finished my training, I’l be so dangerous, I’l have

the other Clans shaking in their flea-bitten skins. They won’t

dare come near us then! ”

Rusty narrowed his eyes. This must be one of the

wildcats Smudge had warned him about! Living rough in

the woods, hunting and fighting each other for every last

scrap of food. Yet Rusty didn’t feel scared. In fact, it was

hard not to admire this confident kitten. “So you’re not a

warrior yet? ” he asked.

“Why? Did you think I was? ” Graypaw purred proudly;

then he shook his wide, furry head. “I won’t be a real warrior

for ages. I have to go through the training first. Kits have to

be six moons old before they even begin training. Tonight

is my first night out as an apprentice. ”

“Why don’t you find yourself an owner with a nice cozy

house instead? Your life would be much easier, ” Rusty

meowed. “There are plenty of housefolk who’d take in a

kitten like you. Al you have to do is sit where they can see

you and look hungry for a couple of days—”

“And they’d feed me pel ets that look like rabbit

droppings and soft slop! ” Graypaw interrupted. “No way! I

can’t think of anything worse than being a kittypet! They’re

nothing but Twoleg toys! Eating stuff that doesn’t look like

food, making dirt in a box of gravel, sticking their noses

outside only when the Twolegs al ow them? That’s no life!

Out here it’s wild, and it’s free. We come and go as we

please. ” He finished his speech with a proud spit, then

meowed mischievously, “Until you’ve tasted a fresh-kil ed

mouse, you haven’t lived. Have you ever tasted mouse? ”

“No, ” Rusty admitted, a little defensively. “Not yet. ”

“I guess you’l never understand. ” Graypaw sighed. “You

weren’t born wild. It makes a big difference. You need to be

born with warrior blood in your veins, or the feel of the wind

in your whiskers. Kitties born into Twoleg nests could never

feel the same way. ”

Rusty remembered the way he had felt in his dream.

“That’s not true! ” he mewed indignantly.

Graypaw did not reply. He suddenly stiffened midlick,

one paw stil raised, and sniffed the air. “I smel cats from

my Clan, ” he hissed. “You should go. They won’t be

pleased to find you hunting in our territory! ”

Rusty looked around, wondering how Graypaw knew any

cat was approaching. He couldn’t smel anything different

on the leaf-scented breeze. But his fur stood on end at the

note of urgency in Graypaw’s voice.

“Quick! ” hissed Graypaw again. “Run! ”

Rusty prepared to spring into the bushes, not knowing

which way was safe to jump.

He was too late. A voice meowed behind him, firm and

menacing. “What’s going on here? ”

Rusty turned to see a large gray she-cat strol ing

majestical y out from the undergrowth. She was

magnificent. White hairs streaked her muzzle, and an ugly

scar parted the fur across her shoulders, but her smooth

gray coat shone like silver in the moonlight.

“Bluestar! ” Beside Rusty, Graypaw crouched down and

narrowed his eyes. He crouched even lower when a second

cat—a handsome, golden tabby—fol owed the gray cat into

the clearing.

“You shouldn’t be so near Twolegplace, Graypaw! ”

growled the golden tabby angrily, narrowing his green eyes.

“I know, Lionheart, I’m sorry. ” Graypaw looked down at

his paws.

Rusty copied Graypaw and crouched low to the forest

floor, his ears twitching nervously. These cats had an air of

strength he had never seen in any of his garden friends.

Maybe what Smudge had warned him about was true.

“Who is this? ” asked the she-cat.

Rusty flinched as she turned her gaze on him. Her

piercing blue eyes made him feel even more vulnerable.

“He’s no threat, ” mewed Graypaw quickly. “He’s not

another Clan warrior, just a Twoleg pet from beyond our

territories. ”

Just a Twoleg pet! The words inflamed Rusty, but he

held his tongue. The warning look in Bluestar’s stare told

him that she had observed the anger in his eyes, and he

looked away.

“This is Bluestar; she’s leader of my Clan! ” Graypaw

hissed to Rusty under his breath. “And Lionheart. He’s my

mentor, which means he’s training me to be a warrior. ”

“Thank you for the introduction, Graypaw, ” meowed

Lionheart cool y.

Bluestar was stil staring at Rusty. “You fight wel for a

Twoleg pet, ” she meowed.

Rusty and Graypaw exchanged confused glances. How

could she know?

“We have been watching you both, ” Bluestar went on, as

if she had read their thoughts. “We wondered how you

would deal with an intruder, Graypaw. You attacked him

bravely. ”

Graypaw looked pleased at Bluestar’s praise.

“Sit up now, both of you! ” Bluestar looked at Rusty. “You

too, kittypet. ” He sat up immediately and held Bluestar’s

gaze evenly as she addressed him.

“You reacted wel to the attack, kittypet. Graypaw is

stronger than you, but you used your wits to defend yourself.

And you turned to face him when he chased you. I’ve not

seen a kittypet do that before. ”

Rusty managed to nod his thanks, taken aback by such

unexpected praise. Her next words surprised him even

more.

“I have been wondering how you would perform out here,

beyond the Twolegplace. We patrol this border frequently,

so I have often seen you sitting on your boundary, staring

out into the forest. And now, at last, you have dared to place

your paws here. ” Bluestar stared at Rusty thoughtful y. “You

do seem to have a natural hunting ability. Sharp eyes. You

would have caught that mouse if you had not hesitated so

long. ”

“R-real y? ” Rusty stammered.

Lionheart spoke now. His deep meow was respectful

but insistent. “Bluestar, this is a kittypet. He should not be

hunting in ThunderClan territory. Send him home to his

Twolegs! ”

Rusty prickled at Lionheart’s dismissive words. “Send

me home? ” he mewed impatiently. Bluestar’s words had

made him glow with pride. She had noticed him; she had

been impressed by him. “But I’ve only come here to hunt for

a mouse or two. I’m sure there’s enough to go around. ”

Bluestar had turned her head to acknowledge

Lionheart’s words. Now her gaze snapped back to Rusty.

Her blue eyes were blazing with anger. “There’s never

enough to go around, ” she spat. “If you didn’t live such a

soft, overfed life, you would know that! ”

Rusty was confused by Bluestar’s sudden rage, but one

glance at the horrified look on Graypaw’s face was enough

to tel him he had spoken too freely. Lionheart stepped to

his leader’s side. Both warriors loomed over him now.

Rusty looked into Bluestar’s threatening stare and his pride

dissolved. These were not cozy fireside cats he was

dealing with—they were mean, hungry cats who were

probably going to finish what Graypaw had started.