A Forest Divided by Erin Hunter Page A

that he didn’t see the bramble stem hanging across the trail. It snagged his ear and he gasped with pain.
    Clear Sky paused and turned his head. “Are you okay?”
    â€œJust a bramble.” Thunder glanced at the land rising beside them. The earth looked smoother up there. And there were no brambles. Why did Clear Sky insist on picking his way along this treacherous gully?
    â€œCan’t you go any faster?” Clear Sky called.
    â€œI’m doing my best!” Irritation flashed beneath his pelt. He’s doing this on purpose. His father clearly wanted to show how easily he moved through his terrain.
    Clear Sky quickened his pace over the root-tangled trail.
    I’m not playing your game. Thunder leaped up the steep bank of the gully and climbed the smooth slope. Shadowing Clear Sky’s route, he kept to higher ground. A swath of bracken crossed his path and he pushed his way in, relishing the tug of the scratchy stalks as they scraped his pelt.
    Clear Sky was waiting at the other side. “You’re supposed to be following me.” He stood on the slope, his blue eyes cold.
    â€œI was, but I kept stubbing my paws.”
    â€œYou’ve clearly forgotten how to move through a forest.”
    Thunder ignored his father’s condescending tone, pointedly glancing up the slope. A huge tree towered at the top, stretching high above the canopy. “Is that the oak you were talking about?”
    â€œYes.” Clear Sky swished his tail and bounded toward it.
    Thunder leaped after him. Clear Sky dug his paws in harder to keep himself in the lead. As they neared the top of the rise, red fur flashed across ahead of them.
    Clear Sky slowed to a halt, every hair on his pelt bristling.
    Thunder smelled his father’s fear-scent and stopped. Alarm shrilled through his tail. He unsheathed his claws as leaves swirled in their path. Was it a fox?
    Tiny paws skittered over the forest floor, and a red squirrel leaped from the ground and scooted up the oak trunk.
    Thunder rolled his eyes. “I thought it was a fox !”
    Clear Sky’s pelt was still bushed. “Don’t be dumb!” he snapped.
    Thunder glanced at his father out of the corner of his eye. Then why did you look so scared?
    Clear Sky snorted. “Stop looking at me and watch where you put your paws. I don’t want you stubbing them again.” Lashing his tail, he marched past the oak.
    Thunder followed, glancing up as the squirrel disappeared between the crisscrossing branches. Raindrops splashed down onto Thunder’s muzzle. He shook them off and followed Clear Sky.
    The ground beyond the oak sloped down to a glade. Thunder’s heart sank as he saw brambles crowding the bottom. He could see a clear route skirting them—a trail through wilted fern stumps. But Clear Sky charged down the slope, heading straight for the brambles. Flattening his ears, Thunder followed.
    Clear Sky hopped neatly among the damp stems.
    Thunder winced as prickles grazed his paws, until at last the brambles thinned. Through the trees he could see the rain-washed red roofs of Twoleg dens glinting in the weak sunshine. He slowed, smelling unfamiliar scents.
    Clear Sky kept moving.
    â€œWe’re not going near there, are we?” Thunder stopped beside a yew bush.
    â€œWe might find some kittypet recruits.” Clear Sky halted and turned. “Fluttering Bird wants us to spread and grow, remember?”
    â€œBut kittypets ?” Thunder remembered Tom, the kittypet father of Turtle Tail’s kits. He’d stolen them just to make Turtle Tail suffer, and she’d been killed trying to rescue them.
    â€œAre you scared of them?” Clear Sky challenged.
    â€œOf course not!” Thunder glared at him. “But they can’t hunt or fight. What good are they to us?”
    â€œWe can train them.”
    Thunder hardly heard Clear Sky’s words. Paws were scrabbling over leaves close by. He pricked his