Lost Stars

“Is it true?” Thriftpaw asked, skidding to a halt in front of Bristlepaw. “You’re really going to take your warrior assessment today?”

Bristlepaw’s pelt tingled with a claw-scratch of guilt. Both her littermates were gazing at her in awe, but Bristlepaw had to admit that what was happening to her wasn’t entirely fair. All three of them had been made apprentices on the same day, and she had assumed they would all take their assessments together, too.

“Yes, it’s true,” she mewed. “Rosepetal was so impressed with how I rescued that SkyClan apprentice that she persuaded Bramblestar to let her assess me. I’m waiting for her now.”

“That’s great!” Flippaw exclaimed. “I can’t wait for your warrior ceremony. I wonder what name Bramblestar will give you.”

“Hang on—I haven’t passed yet,” Bristlepaw pointed out.

“But you will,” Thriftpaw assured her. “You’re a great hunter, so why wouldn’t you?”

Bristlepaw blinked at her littermates, grateful for their confidence in her. All the same, she wished that they wouldn’t go on about it with such loud meows that the whole camp could hear them. They’re starting to make me nervous.

“I wish we could take our assessments today, too,” Thriftpaw grumbled, turning her head away to lick her shoulder.

Hoping to comfort her sister, Bristlepaw began, “It won’t be long before—” but she was interrupted by the sound of her name being called from across the camp. Turning, she saw her mother, Ivypool, standing just outside the warriors’ den. Rosepetal was a pace behind her.

“Come on, Bristlepaw,” Ivypool meowed. “It’s time.”

Excitement surged up inside Bristlepaw, and she bounded across the camp with a last glance at her littermates. It’ll be okay, she thought. I’ll comfort them later . . . when I’m a warrior.

Icy wind probed deep into Bristlepaw’s fur as she crouched among the roots of an oak tree, her ears pricked to pick up the slightest sound of prey. She couldn’t move around to stop herself from shivering, because she knew that she had to keep still and not warn her quarry that a cat was nearby. All she could hear was the creak of branches above her head, and the whisper of wind over dead leaves.

There was no sign of Rosepetal, but Bristlepaw knew that her mentor would be somewhere behind her, watching and assessing every paw step, every twitch of her whiskers.

What happens if there isn’t any prey? Bristlepaw wondered. How can I pass my assessment if I don’t catch anything? She stifled a growl of frustration. Well, I have to find something, that’s all. A good warrior should be able to find prey even in the toughest leaf-bare . . . right?

As these thoughts passed through her mind, Bristlepaw’s excitement drained away, as quickly as rain on dry ground in greenleaf. She began to wish that she weren’t having her assessment early; everything would have been much easier in newleaf. She would have been sure to succeed then. Ever since she became an apprentice she had imagined herself returning to camp with so much prey she could barely carry it.

But that’s not going to happen now.

Then it occurred to her that maybe the quantity of prey she caught wasn’t necessarily the only thing that mattered. Her mentor must give her credit for showing initiative. If the prey wouldn’t come to her, she would have to go and look for it. Besides, I’m sick of crouching under this tree. If I stay here much longer, I’ll turn into an ice cat!

As silently as she could, her paws gliding over the ground, Bristlepaw slithered forward, her gaze darting this way and that. Opening her jaws to taste the air, she almost gagged on the cold claw that rushed into her throat. There was no prey-scent, not even a single mouse, only fat flakes of snow that began drifting down through the leafless branches.

Bristlepaw carried on searching, squeezing under low-growing branches where she thought prey might be hiding, or pausing beside banks where the snow might be covering their dens. She even clambered into a tree to check a gap in the trunk, in case a squirrel or an owl was hiding inside. But there was nothing.

All the while the icy wind was buffeting her, and her paws were so cold she couldn’t feel them anymore. Finally, when she was ready to give up, a fresh gust of wind brought her the scent of vole.