by Erin Hunter
Relief washed over Rootpaw’s pelt.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Hawkwing nodded. “I’m taking a patrol to the ThunderClan border. The scent markers are a little stale toward the lake.”
“That’s a long trek,” Dewspring observed.
“Yes,” Hawkwing agreed. “But we need to make sure ShadowClan and ThunderClan respect that piece of territory. It’s our only access to the shore.”
As the warriors spoke, Rootpaw’s thoughts quickened. ThunderClan would know if Bramblestar was dead. A ThunderClan patrol might share the news. Then he’d know if there was a chance he’d really seen Bramblestar’s ghost. I have to help mark the border. He glanced at Dewspring. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to the lakeshore,” he mewed. Dewspring blinked at him, surprised, as Rootpaw went on. “Perhaps we could join the patrol and you could show me where the scent markers go again. I’ve forgotten.”
Hawkwing pricked his ears. “Well, then, you’d better come along.” He glanced at Dewspring. “Unless you had other plans.”
Dewspring’s tail twitched. “We were going to practice stalking.” He gazed curiously at Rootpaw. “But we can do that tomorrow.”
“So we can go?” Rootpaw looked at his mentor eagerly.
“Sure.”
Rootpaw dropped his gaze, worried that Dewspring might see his relief and wonder about his real interest in the ThunderClan border.
His paws ached by the time they reached the strip of land between ShadowClan and ThunderClan that led down to the lake. Dewspring had used the trek to teach him more about the forest. He’d pointed out prey trails and signs that birds were beginning to build nests in time for newleaf. Rootpaw had tried hard to listen, but his thoughts had been on Bramblestar’s ghost. The farther away he traveled from the sunny glade where he thought he’d see the apparition, the more certain he felt that he’d seen something. Perhaps StarClan had sent him a vision of the ThunderClan leader. But why send it to him? They hadn’t shared with the Clans in moons. He felt sure that if they had a message, they’d share it with a medicine cat.
“Do you see that tree?” Dewspring’s mew jerked him from his thoughts. His mentor had paused to point his muzzle toward a spreading ash, pale between the oaks.
Rootpaw stopped and followed Dewspring’s gaze as Hawkwing, Nettlesplash, and Plumwillow continued along the narrow stretch of forest beside ThunderClan’s land. “I see it,” he mewed.
“Birds like to nest about halfway up.” He nodded toward the branches. “There are nooks between the branches, and the trunk will give a lot of shelter once the leaves appear. And there are plenty of bugs to feed their young.” Dewspring padded to the foot of the ash and pressed his forepaws against the trunk. “The bark is hard, but not too hard.” He curled his claws into the wood. “It’s easy to climb.”
Rootpaw nodded, fixing his gaze on his mentor while his ears strained to hear sounds from the ThunderClan territory beyond. Were any patrols near the border? He struggled to keep his attention on Dewspring, relieved when the gray tom turned and followed his Clanmates. Rootpaw hesitated, peering across the scent line. He tasted the air. Was a ThunderClan patrol near?
“Stop dawdling!” Dewspring had stopped and was staring at him. He whisked his tail impatiently. “I thought you wanted to see where the scent markers should go.”
Plumwillow was already leaving her scent on a patch of withered bracken while Nettlesplash rubbed his jaw along a jutting twig.
Dewspring nodded to a bramble spilling between two oaks. “Mark that tree,” he told Rootpaw.
Rootpaw hurried to the brambles and left his scent, then quickly padded farther along the border where he could get a better view onto ThunderClan’s land. There was no sign of a patrol. Frustration burned beneath his pelt. Perhaps ThunderClan was already sitting vigil for its leader.
He narrowed his eyes and peered deeper into the forest, willing a ThunderClan patrol to appear. Just one look would be enough to tell him if something was wrong. Please let him be alive. Rootpaw’s pelt prickled uncomfortably. Let the ghost be my imagination.
“Mark that patch, too.” Plumwillow flicked her tail toward some bracken crowding along the border.
Rootpaw glanced past it, deeper into ThunderClan’s forest. Was that a cat moving between the trees? He peered harder. It was! He glimpsed a pelt, and another, slipping through the undergrowth. A patrol! But it was heading away. Rootpaw’s pads tingled with urgency. He had to get their attention before they disappeared. He lifted his muzzle. “Which bush did you want me to mark?” His mew rang among the trees, and he knew it would carry far into ThunderClan territory.
“Hush!” Dewspring glared at him. “You’ll scare the prey.”
“But we’re not hunting,” he mewed even more loudly. He met his mentor’s gaze innocently. “I can’t scare borders away.”
Plumwillow grunted crossly. “You don’t have to tell every Clan around the lake what we’re doing!”
“Sorry.” Rootpaw dropped his mew to a whisper, his heart quickening as he saw the ThunderClan cats’ pelts turn and head toward the border. Bracken swished as they neared.
“Do you have to make so much noise?” Lionblaze slid from beneath a bramble and shook out his pelt. The ThunderClan warrior was frowning. “Even if you don’t mind frightening your own prey, you don’t have to scare ours.”
Rootpaw searched the ThunderClan tom’s gaze. Was there grief there? Or worry?
Sparkpelt and Cherryfall nosed their way out beside him and stared irritably across the border.
None of them seemed bothered by anything but Rootpaw’s yowl. Was their leader still alive? Hope welled in his chest.
Plumwillow glanced crossly at Rootpaw. “Rootpaw is a little overenthusiastic today.”
Dewspring brushed past Rootpaw. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d trained him to use his hunting voice no matter what patrol he was on.”
Amusement flashed in Sparkpelt’s eyes. “Apprentices don’t always listen.”
Rootpaw padded to the border and blinked at Lionblaze. “Sorry about being so loud,” he apologized. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’ve probably just gotten used to your new territory.” Lionblaze’s gaze softened sympathetically. “Maybe you’ve forgotten what it’s like to share borders on every side.”
“I guess.” Rootpaw held the golden warrior’s gaze. “Is Bramblestar better now?” He didn’t care if the question sounded odd. He needed to make sure that everything was okay in ThunderClan.
“Of course.” Lionblaze narrowed his eyes, clearly surprised. “He’s been better for days.”
Rootpaw felt dizzy with relief. Bramblestar was alive and well. Which meant he hadn’t seen a ghost. Everything was okay.
Dewspring hurried forward and nosed Rootpaw away from the border. “I’m sorry,” he told Lionblaze again. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Rootpaw today.”
“That’s okay.” Lionblaze looked toward the lake. “The scent of newleaf always makes young cats crazy.”
Sparkpelt followed her Clanmate’s gaze. “The ice is breaking up at the shore,” she murmured.
Plumwillow swished her tail. “We could use a little warmth.”
“And more prey,” Nettlesplash added.
There was a glint in Sparkpelt’s green eyes as she told the SkyClan patrol, “Maybe the Moonpool’s finally thawing too!”
Lionblaze purred. “That would be a relief to us all.”
As the warriors gazed dreamily into the distance, clearly imagining the return of StarClan and an end to the bitter leaf-bare that had gripped the forest, Rootpaw shook out his pelt. He wasn’t like Tree after all. Whatever he’d seen in the forest, it hadn’t been a ghost. Perhaps he’d dreamed it. Perhaps his imagination had turned a shadow into what he’d thought was a ghost. And yet, if it had only been a shadow, whose voice had he heard?
“Come on.” Dewspring’s mew jolted him back into the moment. The ThunderClan patrol was heading away, and Plumwillow an
d Nettlesplash were marking the border where they’d stood. “We’ll finish marking here and head back to camp. This afternoon you can train with Needlepaw. Reedclaw wants her to practice battle moves with a cat her own size.”
Rootpaw followed his mentor as he padded toward the shore. Leaves crunched beneath his paws. The breeze felt fresh in his fur and he lifted his muzzle, enjoying the scents rolling in from the lake. It would be fun to train with Needlepaw. She could be annoying, because she was faster than him and liked to rub it in, but she was his sister, after all, and she might show him a new move. It would be better than worrying about ghosts.
Needlepaw rolled into the soft grass at the edge of the clearing, her pelt ruffled with tiredness. “Bring me back a mouse.”
“Okay.” Rootpaw left his sister and padded toward the fresh-kill pile. The evening patrol was setting out while the rest of his Clanmates were still returning after their day’s duties. Leafstar watched contentedly through half-closed eyes at one end of the clearing, Hawkwing at her side. Training had gone well, and Rootpaw was pleased that he’d managed to counter Needlepaw’s battle moves with unusual speed. She’d pushed him hard while Reedclaw and Dewspring had called advice from the edge of the training clearing, but he’d matched her blow for blow and ducked and feinted with such skill that Dewspring had let them finish training early so they could take first pick from the fresh-kill pile when they got back to camp.
Rootpaw pulled a mouse from the middle of the pile and chose a shrew for himself. Grabbing the tails between his jaws, he headed back toward Needlepaw. He stiffened as he saw the air shimmer beside her. Was that the outline of a cat? Please, don’t let it be the ghost! He could make out a tabby pelt and wide, round eyes. Rootpaw’s heart dropped like a stone as, silently, Bramblestar flickered into view. The fern wall behind the ThunderClan leader showed through his pale form. He was barely more than a shadow, and he was staring at Rootpaw, his eyes glittering with desperation. I must be imagining it. Rootpaw forced himself forward. He can’t be there. He dropped the prey beside Needlepaw, avoiding Bramblestar’s gaze. “Is this mouse big enough?” He stared at his sister as she looked up. Could she see Bramblestar’s ghost standing beside her?
She blinked at him, then looked at the mouse approvingly. “It looks perfect.” She shifted to make room beside her, and he sat down stiffly and pawed the shrew closer. She can’t see it. His chest tightened as he felt Bramblestar’s gaze burn his pelt. He glanced around the camp. Leafstar was chatting to Hawkwing. Plumwillow washed her face while Nettlesplash and Macgyver chose prey from the pile. No cat was looking at the transparent, scentless figure beside Rootpaw. No cat can see him. Panic flashed beneath his fur. Only me!
Chapter 2
Bristlefrost fluffed out her fur against the morning chill, relieved that the sun had risen high enough to flood the camp with tepid sunshine. Greenleaf still seemed a long way off, but after the hard leaf-bare, even the smallest trace of warmth was welcome.
“Help me pull this strand clear.” Thriftear’s mew made her turn. Her sister was tugging hard at a shriveled length of honeysuckle dangling from the wall of the elders’ den.
Bristlefrost hurried to help her and grabbed the stem with her claws. Pulling together, she and Thriftear drew it out.
Graystripe peered out through the gap they’d left. “What are you trying to do?” He ducked outside. “There’ll be a draft tonight, and you know how the cold makes Cloudtail’s bones ache.”
“Don’t worry.” Stemleaf padded from behind the den, where he’d been checking for more shriveled stalks. “I’ll bring bracken back from my patrol today and fix the holes before sundown.”
“I’ll help too.” Spotfur hurried to his side. She’d been helping Stemleaf behind the den, and honeysuckle sprigs stuck in her pelt. “Stemleaf would never want an elder to be cold.” She looked proudly at Stemleaf, as though it had been his idea to fix up the elders’ den in the first place.
Stemleaf puffed out his chest happily.
Irritated, Bristlefrost forced her fur flat. She should be glad that her denmates had been eager to help. And she had to get used to Stemleaf and Spotfur being so close. Her crush on the white-and-orange tom had been mouse-brained. It was obvious now that he’d only ever seen her as a friend. So he liked Spotfur—so what? There were plenty more mice in the forest. Thriftear caught her eye and pulled a goofy face, mimicking Spotfur’s wide-eyed admiration for Stemleaf. Her sister knew how she felt about the tom. Bristlefrost swallowed back a purr.
Spotfur blinked at her anxiously. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No!” Bristlefrost felt instantly guilty. It wasn’t Spotfur’s fault Stemleaf liked her. “I’m really glad you want to help fix up the elders’ den.”
Spotfur sat back on her haunches looking pleased. “We have to do something while we’re waiting for Squirrelflight to assign patrols. If we just sat around, we’d get cold.” She glanced around the camp, where her Clanmates were shifting their paws to keep warm, their breath billowing in the morning air.
Flamepaw and Finchpaw were nosing at the camp wall, sniffing for signs of prey, while Lilyheart and Cinderheart murmured quietly to each other. Flipclaw was playing moss-ball with Dewnose and Snaptooth nearby, lunging between his denmates to grab the tuft of moss they’d been chasing at the edge of the clearing. Bumblestripe and Lionblaze sheltered beneath the Highledge, while Rosepetal eyed the meager pawful of stale prey lying on the fresh-kill pile.
“When are we going out to train?” Across the clearing, Baypaw looked eagerly at Mousewhisker. “You promised to teach me about ShadowClan battle moves today.”
The young tom’s mentor glanced toward the Highledge. “We’ll leave when I know Squirrelflight doesn’t have other plans for us.”
Squirrelflight had only emerged from Bramblestar’s den for a few moments before dawn to assign the first patrol of the day. Bramblestar had called her back inside before she could organize the rest of the day’s duties. Since he’d lost a life, the ThunderClan leader preferred the quiet of his den, and he seemed to need Squirrelflight’s company more than a newborn kit. I can’t imagine losing a life, Bristlefrost thought. She guessed it would take a while to get over—the first time, at least.
Brightheart padded stiffly from the elders’ den. “Is any cat going to fix those holes?” She glanced ruefully at the gaps the young warriors had made in the walls of the honeysuckle den.
“Stemleaf and Spotfur are going to fetch bracken to fill them later,” Graystripe told her.
Bristlefrost blinked eagerly at the old she-cat. “The bracken will keep you warm until fresh honeysuckle grows in.” She felt sorry for the elders. They were too old to warm themselves up with a run through the forest.
“Good.” Brightheart turned away. As she padded back inside, the camp entrance shivered. The dawn patrol had returned.
Its leader, Thornclaw, stopped at the edge of the clearing. Hollytuft, Plumstone, and Eaglewing halted beside him, their eyes widening with surprise as they saw their Clanmates still in camp. “Haven’t the hunting patrols left yet?” Thornclaw eyed Lionblaze, puzzled.
Lionblaze shrugged. “We’re waiting for Squirrelflight.”
“I was looking forward to fresh prey when we got back.” Thornclaw glanced disapprovingly at the Highledge before padding to the fresh-kill pile. “Don’t expect much excitement when you go out,” he told Lionblaze as he picked up a shriveled mouse. “The forest is quiet today.” He carried to it to a patch of frost-scorched grass at the edge of the clearing, dropped it, and sat down. “But there are plenty of signs of prey on the WindClan border.” He blinked at the golden warrior. “It won’t take long to restock the fresh-kill pile.”
Lionblaze sniffed. “It should be full by now.”
“I’m not waiting any longer.” Mousewhisker got to his paws. He beckoned Baypaw with a flick of his tail. “Come on. We can’t sit around here all morning.” As he led his apprentice out of camp, Lilyheart hurried after him.
/> Cinderheart nodded to Finchpaw and Flamepaw. “We’ll go too,” she told them. “Border patrols will have to wait.”
As they padded out of camp, movement on the Highledge caught Bristlefrost’s eye. Squirrelflight slid out of Bramblestar’s den. She stood on the ledge and glanced down into the clearing, her gaze flicking toward the entrance as Finchpaw and Flamepaw filed out. “Are they going to train?” she called distractedly.
“Yes,” Lionblaze called up to her. “I can fetch them back if you want them on patrol.”
She shook her head. “No thanks.” She scrambled down the rock tumble. “Training is the best thing they can do.” She glanced around the clearing, as though focusing her thoughts.
Bristlefrost blinked at her eagerly, her pelt pricking with excitement as Bramblestar emerged from his den and made his way down the rock tumble to join Squirrelflight. The day could start properly now. She pricked her ears, wondering which patrol she would be assigned to.
“Lionblaze.” As Squirrelflight nodded to the golden warrior, Bramblestar’s gaze flitted curiously around camp. “Take Rosepetal, Bumblestripe, and Berrynose hunting.”
Bristlefrost watched Bramblestar. Since he’d lost a life, Bramblestar seemed to find the camp intriguing, as though it had changed. Every now and then he’d wander around the edges, and yesterday his nose had twitched, as though he’d been surprised by the smell of herbs, when he’d gone into the medicine den. She wondered if losing a life made a leader forget the life before, so that everything afterward seemed strange.
“Thornclaw says there are signs of prey on the WindClan border,” Lionblaze told Squirrelflight. “Should we hunt there?”
“Yes.” Squirrelflight gazed at the trees. “But be careful not to chase prey across the scent line. Now that we’ve finally worked out the borders, we don’t want to confuse them again.” She nodded to Cherryfall. “Take Poppyfrost, Sparkpelt, and Stormcloud and refresh the border markers.”
