Lost Stars

“I—I was glad to do it,” he stammered in reply to the Clan leader, dipping his head respectfully. Inwardly his heart was pounding so hard he thought every cat must be able to hear it.

Is there something wrong with Bramblestar? Rootpaw asked himself. Or is there something wrong with me?

While Dewspring said a formal good-bye to Bramblestar, Rootpaw turned to Bristlepaw. “It was good to see you again,” he mewed, scuffling his forepaws awkwardly on the ground. “Maybe we’ll meet again at the next Gathering.”

“Maybe,” Bristlepaw responded; she sounded distant, and she didn’t say another word while she stood watching Rootpaw and his Clanmates make their final good-byes and leave.

The ThunderClan cats allowed the SkyClan patrol to travel back to their own territory without an escort. Rootpaw trailed miserably behind Dewspring and Sunnypelt. Even though he had done what he had set out to do, somehow it had all felt wrong.

“Well, that was a waste of time and prey,” Sunnypelt commented, echoing Rootpaw’s own thoughts.

Rootpaw also couldn’t forget the weird shadow that had seemed to enfold Bramblestar. He still wasn’t sure that he hadn’t been seeing things. Bramblestar’s one of the most honorable cats in the forest. There can’t be anything the matter with him . . . right?

“Hey, did either of you notice anything weird about Bramblestar?” he asked his Clanmates.

Sunnypelt just shook her head. Dewspring glanced back over his shoulder and asked, “What do you mean, ‘weird’?”

“I don’t know . . . like a . . . shadow.”

Dewspring huffed out a breath. “Nope. No idea what you’re meowing about.”

So that’s that, Rootpaw thought. Maybe it is me.

Then he realized that his father, Tree, knew a lot about weird stuff. Maybe he would listen to Rootpaw and advise him about what he had seen. I’ll ask him about it as soon as we’re back in camp!

But as they approached the SkyClan camp entrance, Rootpaw caught the sound of muttering coming from beneath the low-sweeping branches of a pine tree. Dewspring and Sunnypelt heard it too.

Creeping nearer to check it out, Rootpaw and his Clanmates spotted Tree, stretched out comfortably on the thick layer of needles underneath the pine. He seemed to be holding a lively conversation with himself. Rootpaw guessed that he was talking to some dead cat—Tree could see, and converse with, dead cats who weren’t in StarClan. But even though he understood, he had to admit that Tree looked and sounded pretty peculiar.

Dewspring and Sunnypelt exchanged a glance; Sunnypelt’s whiskers riffled with amusement as the two warriors turned away without commenting and padded on.

Rootpaw’s tail drooped. There’s no way I’m going to tell him what I thought I saw now! He believed his father’s power was real, but he had no interest in sharing it. I just want to be a good warrior . . . a good, normal warrior.

Rootpaw picked up his pace to catch up with his mentor. “Can we learn some more battle moves tomorrow?” he asked.

“Of course,” Dewspring purred. “It’s good that you’re so eager.”

His praise made up a little for Rootpaw’s disappointment. I’m going to concentrate on my training, he thought. I’m going to be a normal warrior, and StarClan help any cat who says I’m not!

Chapter 12

From her ears to the tips of her claws, Bristlepaw felt hot with embarrassment as she stood watching Rootpaw and the other SkyClan cats leave the camp.

Why does Rootpaw keep showing off to me? she asked herself. And why did he bring me prey? She was worried that he thought she couldn’t catch fresh-kill for herself. Did every cat know that hunting had been giving her trouble? Maybe news of her assessment had spread to all the Clans, so now she was known as a failed warrior who needed help all the time.

With a growl of annoyance and frustration she grabbed the vole and carried it over to the elders’ den.

She found Cloudtail and Brightheart drowsily curled up together, while Graystripe and Brackenfur were talking quietly, side by side in their mossy nests. All four cats looked up as Bristlepaw approached and dropped the vole in front of them.

“Is that for us?” Brackenfur asked. “Wow, great catch, Bristlepaw.”

“It is, but I didn’t catch it.” Bristlepaw couldn’t bear to tell the elders where the vole had really come from, but she didn’t want to lie about it.

“Thanks for bringing it, anyway,” Graystripe mewed, stretching out his neck to give the vole a good, deep sniff.