Warriors: High Tides

Chapter 22

Gorsewhisker watched as the clouds drew themselves over the twilight sky. It had been a full two weeks since he'd left the other cats in the Twolegplace. A warrior has no place among kittypets and rogues, he assured himself.

He glanced down at the small Camp he'd made for himself. Bobby had brought a few new cats in; cats who were desperately in need of food, shelter and rest.

"If you nurse them back to health," Bobby had explained, "They'll be in debt to you, and they'll stay to help out." He'd been grinning widely. He knew what he was talking about.

Gorsewhisker sighed as Harekit played with two other young kits. He'd given all the newcomers Warrior names; as was StarClan's desire. These two new friends were Patchkit and Cherrykit.

He let out a sigh and stood up. Bobby looked over at him and purred; the loner hadn't been given a name yet.

Then something hit Gorsewhisker; he had no Deputy. A real Clan had a deputy, and he currently had none. He didn't really trust anyone but himself to lead his Clan, but if he had to choose...

His eyes turned to Bobby. The young brown cat was about two years younger than himself and, if he must, Bobby was trustworthy enough.

"All cats old enough to eat their own prey join under the Highbranch for a Clan meeting!" He yowled as he clambered up the tree and stood tall on a lowhanging branch, making himself the center of attention.

As his Warriors gathered around him, he swished his tail. "I understand that one of our residents doesn't have a proper Warrior Name yet." He meowed. "Bobby, please step forward."

The brown tabby stood and strode confidently over to him, grinning in bewilderment. Most of the cats in the Clan didn't understand the Clans' ways at all - it was his duty to mentor all of the adults before the kits could mature into 6 moons old.

As he gazed down on Bobby, he tried to think up a name. He's a brown tabby, he thought, going through a list of brown things local to the woodland he owned now. He squinted hard. Briar- sounds good... Yes, Briar- fits him. Prefixes were next on his mind, twitching his whiskers in constant thought. Well, he's very confident and sure of himself... he mused. -heart works well...

"StarClan; you know every cat by name. I want you to strip this cat of their calling, for it is no longer fitting for them."

Bobby huffed but said nothing.

"From now on, this cat will be called Briarheart among your ranks. Welcome him under this title." He said, gazing at the shy stars under the purple veil of twilight. He smiled as his new Clanmates called out Briarheart's name eagerly, wide smiles on their faces.

"Now, I have a second announcement to make." He meowed. "Briarheart has stood by me since I arrived in this forest. He has helped feed my kit, and brought cats to my Clan." He smiled down at the other tom. "Clan Law states that a Deputy must be chosen for a Clan to truly prosper. For this reason, I will choose Briarheart as my Deputy. He will help me in my decision making, and succeed me when I pass on to StarClan's ranks."

Briarheart gazed up at him in shock, then grinned. "I'd be honored to be your Deputy," He purred in excitement.

Gorsewhisker grinned genuinely for the first time in moons. "Good," He said with a nod.

***

"Gorsewhisker?" A soft voice peeped.

The sandy brown tomcat flicked an ear and opened his eye, whiskers twitching ferverently. "Yes?"

"There's someone that wants to see you. They say they know you..."

Gorsewhisker moaned and stood up, stretching his limbs. It's so early, he thought, even though sunrise had long passed.

When he walked out of his tree-root den, he blinked in shock when he found himself looking at Waspwhisker. The golden queen was notably skinnier, her pelt shinier than before.

"Waspwhisker," He meowed nervously. She's probably going to remember me leaving them unannounced, he thought worriedly.

"Gorsewhisker." She meowed, watching him standoffishly. "I heard from some loners that you were founding a Camp."

"Yes." He growled, bristling. "I posted scentmarks. Why did you cross them?"

"I wanted to tell you that the other three Clans have arranged a meeting as the first Gathering of the New Clans." She meowed. "Bring three of your most adventurous cats when the Full Moon rises."

Gorsewhisker felt conflicting emotions. They must be gearing to bring half of the Old Clans to us, he thought. But how can I trust them?

"Fine," He growled. "Where is it?"

"There's a fence on the edge of your territory. Follow it, and it'll bring you to a small grove of trees. That is where the Gathering will be held. We'll scentmark it for you - there's two groves, and it would be dreadful if you went to the wrong one."

Gorsewhisker wrinkled his nose grumpily. I'm not that stupid, he thought stubbornly. "Very well. And the other three Clans will be there as well?"

She nodded slightly. "Yes."

"And what are these Clans called? And who are their leaders?"

"AlleyClan, lead by Ivystream; FenceClan, lead by Rookheart; and FieldClan, lead by Bramblefoot."

Bramblefoot? He thought with hatred. That cooty old Medicine Cat? Ugh...

"Very well," He said, unable to hide the snarl in his voice as he glowered.

"And what is your Clan called?" She asked, visibly backing toward the entrance; her visit was clearly nigh done.

Gorsewhisker was at a loss for words. He hadn't even thought of a name for his Clan; He didn't think he'd ever have to be in contact with the other three. He glanced around and considered what he was fond of, and what was important to him. He ran through the ideas, flicking his ears. The plants and trees he'd seen, the birds, the landmarks: everything was free game.

His eyes settled on a soft, purple flower. A bunch of them stood proud in the chopped up wind, their leaves shuddering.

Harekit jumped upon the flowers, sending their petals skittering into the air.

Thrifts... Thriftflower...!

"ThriftClan."