Lost Stars

“Er . . . catmint?” Shadowpaw guessed wildly.

“Yes, I said we’ll have to go into the Twolegplace to get some,” his mentor told him. He hesitated, and then went on. “Shadowpaw, it isn’t like you to be daydreaming. Is something wrong?”

“Wrong—no!” Shadowpaw didn’t dare confess his fears. In the past, Puddleshine had been supportive, but he couldn’t forget how silent and tense his mentor had seemed after the half-moon meeting. What if Puddleshine agreed with him, and sent him back to the apprentices’ den to train to be a warrior? “Everything’s fine.”

Puddleshine let out a disbelieving snort, but his voice was kind as he mewed, “You can tell me. That’s what I’m here for.”

Shadowpaw flicked an ear, thinking quickly. “I was thinking about the meeting, when our StarClan ancestors didn’t come to speak to us the way they were supposed to,” Shadowpaw admitted, stopping short of telling Puddleshine his worst fears. “Does that mean they aren’t watching over us anymore?”

Puddleshine shook his head. “No, of course not. StarClan is always with us. It must be the Moonpool—I’ve never seen it iced over before, so it must be affecting our connection with our ancestors. Once it warms up again, things should get better.”

Shadowpaw looked at his paws. He hoped the problem would be that simple. He was reassured to learn that Puddleshine thought so.

Outside in the camp he could hear the cheerful voices of his littermates, Pouncestep and Lightleap; they had obviously just returned from a border patrol.

“I’m starving! I thought we’d never get to the end,” Pouncestep announced.

“Me too!” Lightleap agreed. “But we made a good job of those scent markers. SkyClan won’t dare set paw over our borders.”

Shadowpaw sighed. His sisters sounded much more confident as warriors than he felt as a medicine-cat apprentice.

“We’ve done all we can here,” Puddleshine continued. “I’m going on a foraging expedition to see if I can find some catmint. Why don’t you take a break? Talk to your friends, get yourself a piece of fresh-kill.”

“What about Grassheart?” Shadowpaw asked, glancing toward the sick she-cat.

“Grassheart will be fine for a while,” Puddleshine assured him. “Off you go, and have a mouse ready for me when I get back.” He raced off and disappeared down the bramble tunnel that formed the entrance to the camp.

Shadowpaw followed him as far as the pool at the bottom of the hollow, where he paused to lap at the water. Ice was forming on its edges, too, and Shadowpaw wondered how long it would take to completely freeze, like the Moonpool. Then he spotted his mother, Dovewing, weaving twigs into the branches of the den she shared with Tigerstar.

“Hi,” he mewed, bounding over to join her. “Can I help?”

“If you like,” Dovewing replied, pushing a few twigs toward him. “We need every defense we can get against this icy wind.”

“When will this leaf-bare pass?” Shadowpaw asked his mother as he fitted the flexible twigs into place. “It seems to have gone on forever.”

“You’ve lived through a leaf-bare before,” Dovewing told him. “Don’t you remember?”

Shadowpaw shook his head. “Not really. I can remember some of the journey from the big Twolegplace, with Spiresight and the other cats, but nothing about the weather.”

“It was pretty cold, but not as bad as this,” Dovewing meowed. “But this leaf-bare won’t last forever, I promise. Even the worst leaf-bares end. Then we’ll have newleaf, when the snow disappears and the trees begin to bud again. And then, before we know it, it will be greenleaf, when the air is warm.”

“And after that leaf-fall, and then leaf-bare again,” Shadowpaw murmured. He understood the seasons, though they hadn’t been as pronounced in the Twolegplace. Now he wondered what would have happened if Tigerheart and Dovewing hadn’t regretted their decision to leave the Clans and decided to take their family back. We’d be safe and warm inside the big den. How many more times will I have to go through this?

Glancing around the camp, he saw that the early patrols had returned, and that most of the Clan was in the clearing, gathered around the fresh-kill pile or gossiping outside their dens. They all looked thin and bedraggled; every cat was hungry, he knew, and would be until the weather grew warmer again.

Still thinking about the journey from the big Twolegplace where he had been born, Shadowpaw noticed that two of the cats from there, Cinnamontail and Blazefire, were nowhere to be seen.

I don’t think I’ve seen them since yesterday, he realized.

He turned to ask Dovewing if she knew where they had gone, but before he could speak, he was distracted by a bout of furious hissing.