Lost Stars

Rootpaw paced up and down in the ThunderClan medicine cats’ den, feeling the stiffness leave his legs and his whole body start to warm up.

“That’s right,” Alderheart encouraged him. “That’s a good way to keep your blood flowing.”

For some reason, Rootpaw felt uneasy, as if a whole nest of ants were crawling through his pelt. He couldn’t understand why. In spite of the cold, he felt comfortable, and he was sure he was almost back to his full strength. And that has to be a good thing, right?

Then Rootpaw picked up a familiar scent. Bristlepaw! A moment later the gray she-cat slipped around the bramble screen, dipping her head to Alderheart as she entered.

Instinctively, Rootpaw halted. Whenever Bristlepaw visited him in the medicine cats’ den, she would always sit close to him, and he found that comforting. He wondered if that had anything to do with his feeling uneasy about recovering so quickly from his dunking in the lake.

Surely I can’t be sad that I’ll have to leave ThunderClan soon?

During the few days that Rootpaw had been living in the ThunderClan camp, he kept remembering how Bristlepaw had rescued him from the freezing water.

She was so brave!

And every time he had seen her since, he had felt himself growing stronger and braver, as if Bristlepaw’s strength and courage had inspired him.

“How are you today?” Bristlepaw asked, padding up to him and touching her nose to his shoulder.

“Much better,” Rootpaw replied. “Thanks to you. Though with such a cold leaf-bare,” he added hastily, feeling a bit guilty, “it might be better for me to stay here for a few more days, get a bit more treatment from the medicine cats, until I know for sure that I’m well enough to go back to SkyClan.” Surely another day or two wouldn’t hurt?

“Don’t worry,” Alderheart put in, looking faintly amused. “Jayfeather and I won’t let you go until we’re sure you’re okay.”

“And when you get home,” Bristlepaw meowed, “you need to stay away from Kitepaw and Turtlepaw, and definitely don’t listen to their so-called bright ideas. They’re not your mentor—they’re not even warriors—so there’s no reason for you to take a risk trying to impress them.”

“They’re older than me, and bigger,” Rootpaw pointed out.

“They’re still nasty flea-pelts,” Bristlepaw declared. “And if you try to prove yourself to them, you’ll end up in even worse trouble. You should just focus on learning to be a good warrior.”

Rootpaw was awestruck to hear all this wisdom from another apprentice. “That’s so smart!” he breathed out.

Bristlepaw shrugged. “Not really,” she mewed. “But I know enough to tell you to keep away from cats who only want to harm you, or make fun of you.”

Rootpaw blinked at her happily, only to freeze a moment later as he heard paw steps and a loud, familiar voice coming from outside the camp. Oh, no! he thought.

Poking his head out through the bramble screen, he saw his father, Tree, heading toward the den, escorted by the young ThunderClan warrior Plumstone.

“What’s the point of all this battle practice?” Tree was asking, flicking his tail toward the center of the clearing, where a few of the warriors were going through their fighting moves. “Do you expect to have to fight in this leaf-bare? Wouldn’t hunting practice be more useful?”

Plumstone tried to get a word in, but Tree was oblivious as he went on. “If warriors weren’t always practicing their battle skills, maybe there wouldn’t be so much fighting around the lake. Think about it.”

“That’s your father, isn’t it?” Bristlepaw asked, peering out of the den beside Rootpaw.

“Yes, it is,” Rootpaw replied, rolling his eyes in an attempt to show Bristlepaw that he didn’t agree with Tree. But he was aware that he hadn’t quite managed it.

Oh, StarClan, Tree is so embarrassing when he’s like this.

Even though Tree had lived with the Clans for many moons—longer than Rootpaw had been alive—he still seemed as if he didn’t belong there. Even worse, in Rootpaw’s view, he seemed quite content not to belong.

If Tree weren’t my father, I wouldn’t care what he thought. I just don’t want any cat to think that I’ll end up like him.

“How do you feel?” Tree asked.

Rootpaw was padding through the forest beside his father, heading back toward SkyClan territory. The frostbitten grass felt rough beneath his pads, and the air was so cold that he could see his breath swirling out in a cloud.

“I’m fine,” Rootpaw replied; now that there was no chance of his remaining in ThunderClan, he could be honest about having regained his full strength. “Alderheart’s treatment was really good, and even though it’s leaf-bare, I felt comfortable and warm.”