Bramblestar’s Storm

For a few heartbeats longer Bramblestar stood still, contemplating his flooded territory and realizing how much had changed—perhaps forever. I wonder if we’ll ever hunt in that part of the forest again.

Then Squirrelflight gave him a shove. “Wake up!” she meowed. “Let’s look for some sticks.”

She and Bramblestar and Lionblaze scattered up the slope, searching for long, thin sticks that would be easy to drive into the mud as markers. They brought them back to Jayfeather, who chewed one end into a point.

“This tastes disgusting,” he muttered, spitting out bark.

“I wish we could mark the level in the hollow like this,” Squirrelflight meowed as she drove the first stick into the marshy ground.

“So do I,” Bramblestar agreed. “We’ll just have to take note of where the water reaches up to on the cliffs.”

They continued to set markers along the water’s edge between the hollow and an ash tree that stood with its roots washed by floodwater.

The training clearing is under there, Bramblestar thought sadly. Then he spotted Jayfeather creeping up on Lionblaze, who was busy pushing a stick into the mud with his back turned. Bramblestar opened his jaws to warn Lionblaze, then closed them again, watching to see what would happen.

Jayfeather sneaked up until he was a tail-length away from his brother. Then he slammed his paws down into the water, throwing up an enormous splash that showered Lionblaze from ears to tail. Leaping backward, Jayfeather avoided the worst of it.

Lionblaze spun around with a hiss of fury. “Stupid furball!”

“I said I’d get you.” Jayfeather licked one paw complacently and drew it over his ear.

“You wait!” Lionblaze bared his teeth and leaped for his brother, who dashed away into the trees.

Bramblestar listened to them crashing about, and suppressed a mrrow of amusement.

“It’s good to see them having fun for once,” Squirrelflight observed, padding up to him. She gave another push to Lionblaze’s stick. “There. We’re all done.” She broke off, and Bramblestar realized that she was staring over his shoulder. Turning, he saw that Jessy was watching them from a few tail-lengths away.

“What does she want?” Squirrelflight meowed.

Bramblestar felt slightly uneasy. “I don’t know. I’ll go and ask her.” He padded up to the kittypet, wondering whether some disaster had overtaken their temporary camp. “Is everything okay?”

Jessy blinked at him, her eyes gleaming. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting,” she mewed. “Everything’s fine. This can wait until later if you’re busy.”

“No, now’s a good time,” Bramblestar told her. Glancing back at Squirrelflight, he called, “Round up those two daft furballs and go back to camp.” Then he led Jessy along the top of the flood, heading toward the ShadowClan border. “What can I do for you?” he asked.

Instead of replying, Jessy stopped and looked out over the drowned forest. “I wonder what it was like here before the floods came,” she murmured.

“It was beautiful,” Bramblestar replied at once. “There was long grass, and patches of fern and bramble where the prey could hide. In greenleaf the sun would shine through the branches and make patterns on the ground. The air would be full of scents—fresh green growth, and the warm scents of prey. And then in leaf-bare, in the frost and snow, the cold would make your pelt tingle, and you’d feel so alive!”

“You love living here, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” Bramblestar meowed, walking on. “I can remember our old home, and I still walk there in my dreams, but—but I have always believed that StarClan has led us to the right place here.”

“Are you quite sure about that?” Jessy pressed, picking up the note of doubt in his voice.

“I have to have faith that the floods will go down,” Bramblestar told her. “But come on, Jessy,” he added. “You didn’t come looking for me just to chat about the forest.”

Jessy narrowed her eyes. “No, I wanted to talk about the kittypets who are giving ShadowClan all that trouble. I think I know who they are.”

“You do?” Bramblestar felt suddenly excited. “Who?”

“There’s a gang of kittypets and a few strays who like to claim that part of the forest for themselves,” Jessy replied. “They hunt there—not that they ever catch anything,” she added with a sly sideways glance at Bramblestar.

Will she ever forget that I said that to her? “Go on,” he mewed.

“I don’t know these kittypets well,” Jessy continued. “I think one’s called Ziggy, and another one is Riga. But I know where they live and where they like to roam.”

Bramblestar felt the fur along his spine start to rise. “Are you suggesting we attack them without ShadowClan’s approval?”

Jessy shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

For a moment Bramblestar was filled with admiration for Jessy’s courage, and for how she was willing to help wild cats who were completely unknown to her.