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Tigerheart hunted alone until nightfall. The three mice and two shrews he added to the fresh-kill pile meant that all his Clanmates could eat. They’d find the flesh sweet and soft, but they wouldn’t taste the bitter resentment that had driven him to hunt so determinedly. He crouched now beneath a jutting knot of brambles beside the warrior den. The night was cold, and his sodden fur did little to keep out the chill. The rain pounded the clearing. Snowbird and Scorchfur were patrolling the borders. The rest of his Clanmates had long since withdrawn to their dens. Tigerheart didn’t want to go to his nest yet. He didn’t want to listen to Stonewing and Grassheart snoring. He knew he wouldn’t sleep. Worry about Dovewing would crowd his thoughts the moment he closed his eyes. It pricked at his belly now. Had she found somewhere safe and dry to shelter for the night? Perhaps she was keeping ahead of this relentless rain. He saw two shapes move outside Rowanstar’s den. “Go and talk to him.” Tawnypelt mew was muffled by the downpour. Tigerheart saw her nudge Rowanstar toward him. As his father approached, he straightened and sat up, 74
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6/27/17 3:08 PM