by Erin Hunter
Outside the rain was as heavy as ever, but after the crowded tunnel Bramblestar didn’t mind the cold water seeping through his pelt. He took deep breaths of the damp air as he and Cloudtail headed through the dripping trees.
“The Great Battle seems so long ago,” Cloudtail meowed after they had trotted in silence for a while. “And at the same time, it feels as if it was less than a moon away.” He sighed deeply. “I miss Firestar.”
Is he telling me I’m no good as leader? Bramblestar wondered for a moment, guilt clawing at him. Then he remembered that Cloudtail was Firestar’s kin.
“I miss him too,” he murmured.
“Oh, you’re doing a great job!” Cloudtail assured him, suddenly cheerful. “Just trust your instincts, and trust Firestar to have made the right choice!”
The older warrior’s praise warmed Bramblestar, and he felt more optimistic as they came into sight of the floodwater. But he was puzzled as he padded along the water’s edge looking for the marker sticks.
“Have they all fallen over?” he muttered. “I’m sure I put one just here!”
“Hey, Bramblestar!” Cloudtail called.
Turning, Bramblestar saw that the white warrior was standing a couple of fox-lengths up the slope, a marker stick poking out of the ground beside him. Another stick stood a few tail-lengths away, and another: a whole line of them stretching along the slope well above the edge of the flood.
Relief surged through Bramblestar, making him dizzy. “The water’s going down!”
“Brilliant!” Cloudtail’s blue eyes gleamed. “We will get our home back; you can be sure of that.”
CHAPTER 24
“What?” Mousewhisker was the first cat to leap to his paws when Bramblestar and Cloudtail returned to the tunnel to announce that the water was going down. “I’ve got to see this!”
He charged out of the tunnel, almost knocking Bramblestar and Cloudtail off their paws. Rosepetal, Thornclaw, Birchfall, and several other cats streamed after him and disappeared into the trees.
Lionblaze rose and tried to limp after them, but Jayfeather blocked him before he could leave the tunnel. “Stay here, flea-brain!” he hissed.
Lionblaze raised a paw as if he was going to swipe his brother across his ears, but he stopped himself at the last moment and went back to his nest with an angry twitch of his tail. Cinderheart gave his ears a lick as he flopped down into the moss, but Lionblaze didn’t respond to her. The gray she-cat’s blue eyes were filled with worry and frustration.
“Speak to Cinderheart.” Sandstorm appeared at Bramblestar’s side and spoke quietly. “Tell her that all warriors get hurt, and it’s tough learning how to heal.”
Bramblestar sighed. I’m no good at talking to cats about their feelings. But he recognized the wisdom in Sandstorm’s words, and he called Cinderheart over to him with a wave of his tail.
“I know you’re having a tough time. . . .” he began awkwardly.
“I’m so afraid!” The words burst out of Cinderheart. “Lionblaze just won’t accept that he’s not invincible anymore. He’ll end up getting himself killed!”
“No, he won’t.” Bramblestar tried his best to reassure her. “He’s not stupid. He’ll adjust in time.” He tried to understand how Lionblaze must be feeling, after living so long without fearing injury. “He’ll have to find a different kind of courage, that’s all,” he went on. “One that takes account of his limitations. He can’t fight alone now; he must stay with his Clanmates. That might feel like failure to him, even though it’s not.”
Cinderheart nodded. “I know I shouldn’t nag him about being reckless,” she mewed. “I need to try to understand what it must feel like, to be in danger of getting hurt when it’s never happened before. You’re right: He must feel like he is letting us all down because he can’t fight like he used to. Thanks, Bramblestar.” Looking much happier, she went back to Lionblaze and curled up beside him in silent sympathy.
“There was good sense in what you told her,” Sandstorm murmured, appearing at Bramblestar’s side once more.
Bramblestar hadn’t realized that the ginger she-cat was listening. “You gave me good advice,” he responded.
Sandstorm dipped her head. “You’re welcome.”
Glancing around the camp, Bramblestar realized that Millie was looking anxious, and for once it didn’t seem to be about Briarlight. Her gaze was flickering up and down the tunnel, and when the cats began to return from checking the water level, she got up and went to join them at the entrance.
“Has any cat seen Frankie?” she asked.
Birchfall shook his head. “He didn’t come with us.”
“Isn’t he with the kittypets?” Poppyfrost meowed.
But Jessy and Minty were curled up in their own nests, drowsily sharing tongues, and there was no sign of Frankie. Millie wove her way through the other cats toward them, and Bramblestar, sensing a problem, padded over as well.
“Have you seen Frankie?” Millie called to them.
“No,” Jessy replied. “Not since we got back from our patrol.”
“Any cat seen Frankie?” Bramblestar yowled, raising his voice so all his Clanmates could hear him.
There was no response except for shaken heads and murmurs of confusion.
Minty sprang to her paws, all her fur fluffed up and her tail brushed out. “Oh, no!” she wailed. “He’s been eaten by a fox!”
“No, I’m sure—” Bramblestar began, although he had a horrible suspicion that something equally bad might have happened to the kittypet, and he could sense that tension was rising among the rest of the Clan. Then he broke off as he spotted movement at the tunnel entrance and Frankie staggered in, soaked through and exhausted.
“Frankie!” Minty screeched. “You’re not dead!”
“Where have you been?” Millie demanded, stumbling over other cats as she hurried toward him.
Frankie glanced around, bewildered to see all his Clanmates’ gazes fixed on him. “What’s all the fuss about?” he panted. “I just went hunting on my own. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch anything.”
“I thought you’d been eaten!” Minty mewed with a shudder.
“I’m fine.”
Frankie headed toward the other kittypets, but Bramblestar intercepted him before he reached them. “Listen,” he mewed, “don’t go off on your own like that. It’s not safe.”
“I can look after myself!” Frankie snapped.
And hedgehogs fly, Bramblestar thought. But Frankie seemed tense and upset, so all he said was, “Go get some food and rest.”
After he had watched Frankie head back out to the fresh-kill pile, Bramblestar realized that Squirrelflight had appeared at his side. “You know,” she mewed gently, “you mustn’t let the kittypets take up so much of your attention. They are just visitors, after all. And now that the floods are going down, they’ll be able to return to their Twoleg dens soon.”
Bramblestar glanced across at the kittypets. Frankie was gulping down a thrush, while Jessy was teaching Minty how to pounce directly from a crouch. He felt a pang of loss run through him from ears to tail-tip at the idea of saying good-bye. “I’ve kind of gotten used to having them around,” he admitted.
“We have enough mouths to feed,” Squirrelflight pointed out.
“They’re learning to hunt!” Bramblestar protested.
Squirrelflight’s gaze rested on him for a long moment. “You don’t know that they want to stay here. Let them decide where they want to be,” she meowed at last.
When Bramblestar woke the next morning, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Faint rays of sunlight were angling in through the tunnel entrance, and the air felt soft, laden with green scents. His pads tingling with optimism, he headed outside, enjoying the hint of newleaf warmth on his fur.
Squirrelflight was already in the open, arranging the patrols, with several of their Clanmates around her. “Cloudtail has gone to check the ShadowClan border,” she reported to Bramblestar.
&nbs
p; “Then I’ll take a patrol over to WindClan,” Bramblestar decided. “I want to find out what they’re up to now that the water has started to go down.”
“I’ll come.” Berrynose thrust his way through the other cats. “Jayfeather says I’m fit for warrior duties again.”
“Great,” Bramblestar meowed. Glancing around, he spotted Whitewing with Dewpaw. “I’ll take you two as well. And you, Thornclaw, and . . . yes, Brightheart.” I’d better have a good number of cats, just in case WindClan causes any trouble.
But when Bramblestar and his patrol reached the WindClan border, there was no trace of WindClan scent on ThunderClan territory. Padding up to the edge of the stream, Bramblestar saw that the current was wider and deeper than before, but had retreated within its banks again. We really are getting back to normal.
Bramblestar led his cats as far as the top border without meeting any WindClan cats, but on their way back they spotted Crowfeather with his apprentice, Featherpaw, as well as Furzepelt and Gorsetail making their way upstream on the opposite side. Bramblestar halted and waited for them.
“Greetings, Crowfeather,” Bramblestar mewed as the WindClan patrol reached them. “How’s the prey running in WindClan?”
“No better for you asking,” Crowfeather retorted. “And before you start accusing us, no, we haven’t crossed over to your side of the stream.”
“I know that,” Bramblestar told him, not mentioning the log they had unjammed. WindClan isn’t saying a word about it, either.
“And we’re not going to cross.” Furzepelt’s gray-and-white fur was bristling. “So keep your filthy ThunderClan paws off our side.”
“You and your kittypet friends,” Crowfeather added.
“Oh, yes.” Gorsetail’s voice was full of scorn. “We’ve seen the latest additions to your hunting patrols. Very effective—not!”
“But ThunderClan never seems to mind who they let into their Clan,” Furzepelt meowed. “Maybe you’re missing Firestar so much that you’re looking for a kittypet replacement.”
A growl of anger woke deep in Berrynose’s chest. Thornclaw and Brightheart were both bristling, while Dewpaw raced to the very edge of the stream and glared furiously at the WindClan patrol.
Bramblestar raised his tail in warning. “Careful,” he murmured. “We don’t want trouble with them, and it’s none of their business who we let into the Clan.”
“You mean we have to let them say what they like?” Thornclaw demanded.
“I mean we need to pick our battles.” Bramblestar made himself sound calm, although inwardly he was ruffled to learn how much WindClan knew about the kittypets. He’d deliberately kept them out of border patrols for that very reason. “There’s no WindClan scent all along this side of the stream, so our border is safe.”
“They’d better not think of invading.” Berrynose sounded troubled rather than aggressive. “Those kittypets could be a weak link.”
“It won’t come to that,” Bramblestar told him. “At least, Whitewing, it won’t if you can sort out your apprentice.”
Dewpaw was still standing on the bank, flexing his claws and hissing at the WindClan patrol. “Come over here and insult Firestar’s memory!” he yowled.
Whitewing padded over and patted Dewpaw with her tail. “That’s enough. It’s time to go back to camp.”
“But they—” Dewpaw began to protest.
“I said, enough. Do you want them to see me dragging you away by the scruff?”
Dewpaw shot one last glare at the WindClan cats and retreated, his fur still bristling. “They’d better not come over here,” he muttered.
Bramblestar made a polite farewell to Crowfeather and his cats, guessing that would irritate them far more than hurling abuse. Then he led his patrol away, conscious of unfriendly stares following them until undergrowth cut off the view.
As soon as Bramblestar and his patrol returned to camp, Brackenfur came bounding up. “Now we’ve lost Frankie and Minty!” he complained. “They were supposed to be with me on the late-morning hunting patrol.”
“Never mind.” Bramblestar tried to sound soothing, though his pads prickled with apprehension at the news. Glancing around to see which cats were available, he added, “Take Cherryfall instead, and Poppyfrost and Lilypaw.”
“Can I come too?” Jessy asked, turning from where she was hanging one of the Twoleg pelts on a nearby bush. “Daisy asked me to hang these pelts out in the sun, but this is the last one.”
“Sure.” Brackenfur invited her over with a friendly wave of his tail. “You can show me these hunting skills Bramblestar keeps telling me about.”
As soon as the patrol had left, Bramblestar sniffed around the clearing and finally picked up faint traces of Frankie and Minty leading out of the clearing side by side. They’ve been gone some time, he thought, judging by the faintness of the scent.
The trail led Bramblestar toward the ridge, up to the outcrop of rocks where once there had been another tunnel entrance. The one that collapsed behind Hollyleaf, all those moons ago. Bramblestar shivered at the memory, still missing the cat he had once believed to be his daughter. As the rocks loomed into full view, he spotted a small black-and-white she-cat basking in a patch of sunlight, fast asleep. He bounded up and stood over her. “Minty!”
Minty’s eyes flew open and she jumped to her paws. “Oh!” she squeaked. “It’s you!”
“What are you doing here?” Bramblestar meowed.
Minty gave her chest fur a few embarrassed licks. “Frankie suggested coming out here to lie in the sun,” she explained. “He said we’d be back in plenty of time for the patrol.” She blinked in confusion. “Did I oversleep? Where’s Frankie? Did you wake him already?”
“Frankie’s not here.” Bramblestar’s tail-tip began to twitch. StarClan preserve me from clawing this silly cat’s ears off! He felt disappointed that the kittypets had been so irresponsible, when he had thought they were beginning to fit into the life of the Clan. “I don’t have time to round up missing kittypets,” he snapped. “Come on, back to the tunnel!”
Minty’s eyes widened. “Aren’t you going to look for Frankie?”
“No.” Bramblestar was too fed up with the kittypets to waste one more heartbeat on them. “He’ll come back when he’s hungry, no doubt.”
Back in the camp, Spiderleg, Ivypool, and Whitewing were teaching their apprentices a new fighting move where they rolled over on their backs and battered their opponents with their hind paws.
“Can I join in?” Minty asked, trotting over to them.
Spiderleg turned to her with a cold stare. “No. This isn’t for cats who go wandering off and miss their patrols.”
Minty turned away, her head and tail drooping. Bramblestar thought that Spiderleg had been a bit harsh; it was encouraging to see Minty actually wanting to learn to fight. He was pleased a moment later when Brightheart padded up to the crestfallen kittypet and rested her tail on Minty’s shoulder.
“I’m going into the forest to look for herbs,” she meowed. “Do you want to come with me?”
Minty brightened up. “Sure!”
Bramblestar watched them go, then decided that he’d had enough of worrying about pesky kittypets for one day. I’ll see if I can catch up with the hunting patrol.
The trail led up to the ridge and across the top border into the woods beyond. Bramblestar relished the experience of being alone, listening to the scurrying of small creatures in the undergrowth and the twittering of birds overhead. The air was full of the scent of fresh growth after the long leaf-bare.
As Bramblestar inhaled the signs of returning life, he detected a faint bitter scent among the newleaf richness. Badger? he wondered, his neck fur beginning to fluff up. Bramblestar tried to tell himself that he had been spooked by Minty’s fussing, but he knew that he had to check. Following the traces deeper into the undergrowth, he realized that his first instinct had been right. At least two badgers had passed that way. He found flattened bracken and holes filled with
badger droppings that confirmed his first suspicions.
His pelt bristling, Bramblestar backed away, taking careful note of the spot so that he could warn the patrols to keep watch. As soon as he retraced his steps to the hunting patrol’s scent trail, he heard sounds up ahead as if some cat was brushing swiftly through undergrowth. A mouse appeared out of the shelter of a clump of ferns and scuttled across the open ground. A heartbeat later the ferns waved wildly as Lilypaw burst out of them and hurled herself at the mouse.
Bramblestar waited for her to make the kill, then stepped forward as Lilypaw straightened up with her catch in her mouth. “Good job!” he meowed. “Your hunting skills are coming along well.”
Lilypaw jumped at the sound of his voice and turned toward him. Her eyes glowed with pleasure. “Thanks, Bramblestar,” she mumbled around the mouse.
She may be small, but she’s brave and she works hard, Bramblestar thought as he followed Lilypaw to join the rest of the hunting party. A pang of sorrow stabbed through him, sharp as a thorn, when he remembered how much she had lost. I must remember to take Brackenfur aside and tell him how well his daughter is doing.
That night in his nest, Bramblestar couldn’t sleep. There was a hard knot in his belly; he blamed the tough blackbird he had eaten earlier. However often he changed his position, he felt as if a sharp piece of twig was poking into him.
“For StarClan’s sake,” Squirrelflight hissed, coming to sit beside him, “stop fidgeting about. You’re keeping every cat awake! Except for Frankie,” she added. “He came back late, so exhausted he just flopped into his nest.”
“Sorry,” Bramblestar muttered. “I’m worried about Frankie,” he went on.
He was slightly surprised when Squirrelflight agreed. “So am I. Why don’t we follow him the next time he wanders off by himself?”
Bramblestar’s whiskers quivered. “Do you think he’s plotting with another Clan?”
Squirrelflight let out a snort of disbelief. “No. He’s a kittypet. But he’s our responsibility at the moment, so we need to find out where he’s going.” She poked her paw into his nest and yanked out a single long thorn. “There, you should stop wriggling now. Sleep well.”