River Clan 17

“Who were the attackers?” mewed Meadowkit, pawing the ground in confusion.

“I’m sorry, Meadowkit, I don’t know.” Fuzzypelt replied.

“If I ever find them,” she thought rashly, “I will revenge Beestripe and Sharpclaw.”

She shivered in the freezing wind. Leafbare was upon River Clan. The river was freezing over daily now. Rosepaw and Leaffrost had begun to store herbs. The warriors caught as much food as they could to freeze. Fuzzypelt felt something coming, more feirce than any other leafbare before. Something that held danger, and sadness. She shook of the dry feeling and bounced over to talk to Brackentail. Brackentail, who had been so dull before Fuzzypelt had returned, was now commanding everyone with glittering eyes and a lively spirit. Truely, the fresh air brightneded the warrior’s senses. Fuzzypelt’s thoughts again turned to Meadowkit’s question. Who did attack Beestipe? Beestripe had not mentioned who the attackers were. Fuzzypelt, determined to be able to answer this question, spun around and padded over to Brackential.

“I’m going hunting!” Fuzzypelt announced.

Brackentail looked up with understanding eyes, “Of course, Fuzzypelt! After so many hours being in your den you must need to stretch yourself!”

Fuzzypelt snorted and stalked out of the camp. She remembered what Beestripe had said about the attackers. They lived by the swamp. As Fuzzypelt neared the swamp, she remembered what the elder’s had said about it. Stinking, full of flies, and a place that thrived with sinking sand. She wrinkled her nose as she tiptoed closer. The smell was intoxicating. Almost unbearable. Suddenly she was there, in the swamp. She didn’t see it coming. Scrambling frantically, she chided herself for not being careful. The slimy stuff encased her as she yowled for help. The last thing she remembered was clawing for the grassy banks.

“What do we do, Stone?” a timid voice whispered.

“Isn’t it obvious?” a frowning voice answered, and Fuzzypelt felt a paw gently touched her.

She rolled away and tried to stand up, growling.

“Sit down! It won’t do you any good to be moving about when we fished you out of the swamp.” a dark grey cat with white spots scolded. “Flower, talk some sense into her!”

“It’s ok,” the other cat, an orange cat, mewed softly. “Stone, get the herbs.”

Fuzzypelt groaned. She struggled to stay awake, watching the graceful movements of the stranger cats. Who were these cats, and what were they doing in River Clan territory?

Fuzzypelt fell down and slept yet again.

“Is is her. Beestripe’s kit.” Stone mewed.

“How can you tell?” Flower mewed curiously.

Stone rolled Fuzzypelt over. Flower gasped. The mark was there. This cat had been to the Cave of Stars.