The Silent Thaw

“Not bad.” Dewspring eyed Rootpaw sharply. Rootpaw tensed. Was his mentor going to tell Hawkwing that he’d been late for training? “He’s a good hunter, and his battle skills are coming along well.”

Relief washed over Rootpaw’s pelt.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Hawkwing nodded. “I’m taking a patrol to the ThunderClan border. The scent markers are a little stale toward the lake.”

“That’s a long trek,” Dewspring observed.

“Yes,” Hawkwing agreed. “But we need to make sure ShadowClan and ThunderClan respect that piece of territory. It’s our only access to the shore.”

As the warriors spoke, Rootpaw’s thoughts quickened. ThunderClan would know if Bramblestar was dead. A ThunderClan patrol might share the news. Then he’d know if there was a chance he’d really seen Bramblestar’s ghost. I have to help mark the border. He glanced at Dewspring. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to the lakeshore,” he mewed. Dewspring blinked at him, surprised, as Rootpaw went on. “Perhaps we could join the patrol and you could show me where the scent markers go again. I’ve forgotten.”

Hawkwing pricked his ears. “Well, then, you’d better come along.” He glanced at Dewspring. “Unless you had other plans.”

Dewspring’s tail twitched. “We were going to practice stalking.” He gazed curiously at Rootpaw. “But we can do that tomorrow.”

“So we can go?” Rootpaw looked at his mentor eagerly.

“Sure.”

Rootpaw dropped his gaze, worried that Dewspring might see his relief and wonder about his real interest in the ThunderClan border.

His paws ached by the time they reached the strip of land between ShadowClan and ThunderClan that led down to the lake. Dewspring had used the trek to teach him more about the forest. He’d pointed out prey trails and signs that birds were beginning to build nests in time for newleaf. Rootpaw had tried hard to listen, but his thoughts had been on Bramblestar’s ghost. The farther away he traveled from the sunny glade where he thought he’d see the apparition, the more certain he felt that he’d seen something. Perhaps StarClan had sent him a vision of the ThunderClan leader. But why send it to him? They hadn’t shared with the Clans in moons. He felt sure that if they had a message, they’d share it with a medicine cat.

“Do you see that tree?” Dewspring’s mew jerked him from his thoughts. His mentor had paused to point his muzzle toward a spreading ash, pale between the oaks.

Rootpaw stopped and followed Dewspring’s gaze as Hawkwing, Nettlesplash, and Plumwillow continued along the narrow stretch of forest beside ThunderClan’s land. “I see it,” he mewed.

“Birds like to nest about halfway up.” He nodded toward the branches. “There are nooks between the branches, and the trunk will give a lot of shelter once the leaves appear. And there are plenty of bugs to feed their young.” Dewspring padded to the foot of the ash and pressed his forepaws against the trunk. “The bark is hard, but not too hard.” He curled his claws into the wood. “It’s easy to climb.”

Rootpaw nodded, fixing his gaze on his mentor while his ears strained to hear sounds from the ThunderClan territory beyond. Were any patrols near the border? He struggled to keep his attention on Dewspring, relieved when the gray tom turned and followed his Clanmates. Rootpaw hesitated, peering across the scent line. He tasted the air. Was a ThunderClan patrol near?

“Stop dawdling!” Dewspring had stopped and was staring at him. He whisked his tail impatiently. “I thought you wanted to see where the scent markers should go.”

Plumwillow was already leaving her scent on a patch of withered bracken while Nettlesplash rubbed his jaw along a jutting twig.

Dewspring nodded to a bramble spilling between two oaks. “Mark that tree,” he told Rootpaw.

Rootpaw hurried to the brambles and left his scent, then quickly padded farther along the border where he could get a better view onto ThunderClan’s land. There was no sign of a patrol. Frustration burned beneath his pelt. Perhaps ThunderClan was already sitting vigil for its leader.

He narrowed his eyes and peered deeper into the forest, willing a ThunderClan patrol to appear. Just one look would be enough to tell him if something was wrong. Please let him be alive. Rootpaw’s pelt prickled uncomfortably. Let the ghost be my imagination.

“Mark that patch, too.” Plumwillow flicked her tail toward some bracken crowding along the border.

Rootpaw glanced past it, deeper into ThunderClan’s forest. Was that a cat moving between the trees? He peered harder. It was! He glimpsed a pelt, and another, slipping through the undergrowth. A patrol! But it was heading away. Rootpaw’s pads tingled with urgency. He had to get their attention before they disappeared. He lifted his muzzle. “Which bush did you want me to mark?” His mew rang among the trees, and he knew it would carry far into ThunderClan territory.

“Hush!” Dewspring glared at him. “You’ll scare the prey.”