The Silent Thaw

Rootpaw pulled a mouse from the middle of the pile and chose a shrew for himself. Grabbing the tails between his jaws, he headed back toward Needlepaw. He stiffened as he saw the air shimmer beside her. Was that the outline of a cat? Please, don’t let it be the ghost! He could make out a tabby pelt and wide, round eyes. Rootpaw’s heart dropped like a stone as, silently, Bramblestar flickered into view. The fern wall behind the ThunderClan leader showed through his pale form. He was barely more than a shadow, and he was staring at Rootpaw, his eyes glittering with desperation. I must be imagining it. Rootpaw forced himself forward. He can’t be there. He dropped the prey beside Needlepaw, avoiding Bramblestar’s gaze. “Is this mouse big enough?” He stared at his sister as she looked up. Could she see Bramblestar’s ghost standing beside her?

She blinked at him, then looked at the mouse approvingly. “It looks perfect.” She shifted to make room beside her, and he sat down stiffly and pawed the shrew closer. She can’t see it. His chest tightened as he felt Bramblestar’s gaze burn his pelt. He glanced around the camp. Leafstar was chatting to Hawkwing. Plumwillow washed her face while Nettlesplash and Macgyver chose prey from the pile. No cat was looking at the transparent, scentless figure beside Rootpaw. No cat can see him. Panic flashed beneath his fur. Only me!

Chapter 2

Bristlefrost fluffed out her fur against the morning chill, relieved that the sun had risen high enough to flood the camp with tepid sunshine. Greenleaf still seemed a long way off, but after the hard leaf-bare, even the smallest trace of warmth was welcome.

“Help me pull this strand clear.” Thriftear’s mew made her turn. Her sister was tugging hard at a shriveled length of honeysuckle dangling from the wall of the elders’ den.

Bristlefrost hurried to help her and grabbed the stem with her claws. Pulling together, she and Thriftear drew it out.

Graystripe peered out through the gap they’d left. “What are you trying to do?” He ducked outside. “There’ll be a draft tonight, and you know how the cold makes Cloudtail’s bones ache.”

“Don’t worry.” Stemleaf padded from behind the den, where he’d been checking for more shriveled stalks. “I’ll bring bracken back from my patrol today and fix the holes before sundown.”

“I’ll help too.” Spotfur hurried to his side. She’d been helping Stemleaf behind the den, and honeysuckle sprigs stuck in her pelt. “Stemleaf would never want an elder to be cold.” She looked proudly at Stemleaf, as though it had been his idea to fix up the elders’ den in the first place.

Stemleaf puffed out his chest happily.

Irritated, Bristlefrost forced her fur flat. She should be glad that her denmates had been eager to help. And she had to get used to Stemleaf and Spotfur being so close. Her crush on the white-and-orange tom had been mouse-brained. It was obvious now that he’d only ever seen her as a friend. So he liked Spotfur—so what? There were plenty more mice in the forest. Thriftear caught her eye and pulled a goofy face, mimicking Spotfur’s wide-eyed admiration for Stemleaf. Her sister knew how she felt about the tom. Bristlefrost swallowed back a purr.

Spotfur blinked at her anxiously. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No!” Bristlefrost felt instantly guilty. It wasn’t Spotfur’s fault Stemleaf liked her. “I’m really glad you want to help fix up the elders’ den.”

Spotfur sat back on her haunches looking pleased. “We have to do something while we’re waiting for Squirrelflight to assign patrols. If we just sat around, we’d get cold.” She glanced around the camp, where her Clanmates were shifting their paws to keep warm, their breath billowing in the morning air.

Flamepaw and Finchpaw were nosing at the camp wall, sniffing for signs of prey, while Lilyheart and Cinderheart murmured quietly to each other. Flipclaw was playing moss-ball with Dewnose and Snaptooth nearby, lunging between his denmates to grab the tuft of moss they’d been chasing at the edge of the clearing. Bumblestripe and Lionblaze sheltered beneath the Highledge, while Rosepetal eyed the meager pawful of stale prey lying on the fresh-kill pile.

“When are we going out to train?” Across the clearing, Baypaw looked eagerly at Mousewhisker. “You promised to teach me about ShadowClan battle moves today.”

The young tom’s mentor glanced toward the Highledge. “We’ll leave when I know Squirrelflight doesn’t have other plans for us.”