Lost Stars

Hawkwing closed his yellow eyes in a long blink, then opened them again. “It’s not usual for Clans to share prey,” he replied. “And as we’re a new Clan here beside the lake, I think we have to be careful about overstepping boundaries.”

Leafstar nodded. “That’s true. But ThunderClan was helpful to one of our own, and I don’t want to seem ungrateful.”

“He has a point,” Hawkwing meowed.

Rootpaw dug his claws hard into the ground as Leafstar still hesitated. Finally the Clan leader dipped her head. “I’ll allow this, Rootpaw,” she told him. “But—”

“Great!” Rootpaw exclaimed, with a little bounce of excitement. “Thank you!” Then he realized that he had interrupted his Clan leader. “Sorry,” he muttered, hanging his head.

“But,” Leafstar repeated, “as you said, the prey must be caught on your own time, and you must get permission from your mentor.”

“And only one small piece of prey,” Hawkwing added. “If you catch another massive crow, it’s for us, not ThunderClan!”

“I understand,” Rootpaw mewed, nodding eagerly.

“Besides that,” Leafstar continued, “make sure that our fresh-kill pile is reasonably full before you take anything to ThunderClan.”

“Yes—yes, I will.” Every hair on Rootpaw’s pelt was quivering with impatience to get moving, but Hawkwing held him back with one raised paw.

“Remember, all Clan cats are proud,” he warned Rootpaw. “If you want to bring prey to Bristlepaw, you must make clear that it’s to say thank you, that you’re paying a debt.”

Rootpaw nodded gratefully. “I will,” he promised. “And thank you—both of you!”

“Off you go, then,” Leafstar meowed.

Rootpaw didn’t need telling twice. The words were hardly out of the Clan leader’s mouth before he raced across the camp, looking for Dewspring to ask permission.

Sunhigh was long past by the time Rootpaw headed toward the ThunderClan border. A small vole was dangling from his mouth. Its enticing scent and taste flooded his jaws, and with every paw step it became harder to resist. It was all Rootpaw could do not to stop and devour the vole himself.

I’m sure Bristlepaw will be pleased that I’m being so thoughtful, he told himself.

Dewspring and Sunnypelt padded along beside Rootpaw. Though his mentor had given him permission, he had insisted on coming with him, and had asked the young ginger she-cat to come too. Rootpaw had protested, but Dewspring had refused to listen.

“You must be totally mouse-brained if you think I’m going to let an apprentice visit a rival Clan’s territory on his own,” he had meowed.

Now Rootpaw just hoped that he’d still get to have a private chat with Bristlepaw. There were things he wanted to say to her, but not in front of his mentor.

“I think this is weird,” Sunnypelt remarked as they drew closer to the ThunderClan border. “Prey is so scarce right now, and here we are giving it away to another Clan.”

Dewspring shrugged. “Leafstar approved it, and it’s good to see an apprentice thinking about something other than his own belly.”

But I am thinking about my own belly, Rootpaw thought ruefully. And if we don’t get to ThunderClan soon, I won’t be able to stop myself devouring this prey!

The pungent scent of the ThunderClan border markers cut through the scent of vole in Rootpaw’s jaws, warning him that they were approaching the boundary between the two Clans.

“We’ll stop here,” Dewspring meowed. “A ThunderClan patrol should come along soon.”

Rootpaw dropped his prey and sat down beside it in the shelter of a clump of bracken. Looking out into ThunderClan territory, he could see how heavily the snow had fallen outside the protection of the valley, covering the ground and weighing down the branches of the trees. He hadn’t been sitting for long before his paws and his hindquarters were freezing cold; he rose again and began to pace up and down in a futile effort to get warm.

To his relief, it wasn’t long before he heard rustling on the ThunderClan side of the border, and three ThunderClan warriors appeared from a copse of elder bushes. Rootpaw didn’t recognize any of them from his first Gathering a few nights before.

The cat in the lead, a cream-colored tom with a stumpy tail, stalked up to the border and stood nose to nose with Dewspring. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Greetings to you, too, Berrynose,” Dewspring responded. “We’ve come to—”

He broke off as a tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat bounded up to Berrynose’s side and thrust out her muzzle toward Rootpaw’s vole. “Look!” she exclaimed, her whiskers quivering with outrage. “Prey! Have you been hunting on ThunderClan territory?”

Dewspring rolled his eyes. “Poppyfrost, have you got bees in your brain?” he asked. “Or do you think we’re mouse-brained? Given everything that’s happened lately, with so many cats hungry and desperate, do you really believe any warrior would be bold enough to start a quarrel over prey?”