“That’s our leader, Firestar,” Dewpaw replied. “He was the best cat in the whole forest, and he gave up his last life to save us!”
Bramblestar felt a familiar stab of grief. I wonder if he’s watching us now? I hope he approves of what I have done.
“I miss Firestar, too.”
Bramblestar turned to see that Jayfeather had appeared at his side, the medicine cat’s blue eyes fixed on him so intensely that it was hard to believe he was blind. “I didn’t think you could tell what’s in my mind anymore,” Bramblestar mewed, surprised.
“No, those days are past,” Jayfeather admitted, sounding a little wistful. “But it wasn’t hard to figure out that you were thinking of Firestar. I heard Dewpaw run his paw over Firestar’s mark and say his name, and then you sighed.” He pressed himself briefly against Bramblestar’s side. “I’m sure Firestar watches over us.”
“Has he walked in your dreams yet?” Bramblestar asked.
Jayfeather shook his head. “No, but that’s a good omen in itself. I’ve had enough warnings from StarClan to last me nine lifetimes.” With a brisk nod to Bramblestar, he padded away to join Leafpool, who was sorting coltsfoot flowers and fresh-picked catmint outside their den.
“Come on, Snowpaw,” Ivypool called to her apprentice. “Time for battle training!”
“Can we go too?” Dewpaw begged, as his sister scampered over to join her mentor.
“Sure we can,” Whitewing meowed.
“And me!” Amberpaw raced across the camp and skidded to a halt beside her littermates.
“No, not you!” Spiderleg called from where he stood beside the fresh-kill pile with Cloudtail and Cherryfall. “You did the dawn patrol this morning. You need to rest.”
Amberpaw’s tail drooped. “But they’ll be learning stuff when I’m not there!” she wailed. “I’ll get behind, and then I’ll never be a warrior!”
Spiderleg padded over to her and gave her ear a friendly flick with his tail. “Of course you’ll be a warrior, mouse-brain! Once you’ve rested, I’ll show you the move they’re going to learn, I promise.”
“Okay.” Amberpaw still cast a regretful look after her littermates and their mentors as they left the hollow.
“What about us?” Lilypaw asked, exchanging a disappointed glance with Seedpaw. “Why can’t we do battle training?”
“Because we’re going hunting,” Poppyfrost replied briskly. “Come on! Bumblestripe knows the best place to find mice.”
“Great!” Seedpaw exclaimed with an excited little bounce. “Lilypaw, I bet I catch more mice than you.”
“I’m going to catch enough for the whole Clan!” her sister retorted.
“It’s not fair,” Amberpaw muttered as she watched them go. “Why don’t I get to do anything?”
“I told you,” Spiderleg responded. “You did the dawn patrol. Now you rest. But before you do,” he went on, “you can fetch some clean moss for Purdy’s den.”
Amberpaw brightened up. “Sure! And maybe he’ll tell me a story!” She darted off and thrust her way into the barrier.
“I wonder if I ever had that much energy?” Bramblestar mewed aloud as he watched the young cat disappear.
Sandstorm popped her head out of the nearby nursery. “You still do!” she told him. She emerged into the open, pushing a ball of moss in front of her. “It’s good to see the little ones being so lively. It gives me new hope for our Clan.” She paused, her gaze clouding, and Bramblestar wondered if she was thinking about her former mate, Firestar, who wasn’t here to watch this group of apprentices grow up. Then she lifted her head again. “Daisy and I are clearing out the nursery,” she announced, giving the ball of moss a prod with one paw. “There might not be any kits now, but surely some of our young she-cats will be expecting soon.”
“I hope so,” Bramblestar replied, remembering his earlier conversation with Berrynose. I really hope so. “Surely there are other cats who could help Daisy?” he went on, thinking that Sandstorm didn’t need to be struggling with bedding, covered in dust and scraps of moss.
Amusement sparked in Sandstorm’s green eyes. “Are you trying to pack me off to the elders’ den?” she teased.
“You’ve served your Clanmates long enough,” Bramblestar responded. “Why not let them take care of you now?”
Sandstorm flicked her whiskers dismissively. “I’ve plenty of life in my paws yet,” she insisted, retreating into the nursery to help Daisy wrestle with a huge clump of brittle, musty moss.
Bramblestar watched the she-cats for a moment longer before turning away. His deputy, Squirrelflight, stood near the elders’ den, sorting out the hunting patrols with Graystripe; like Sandstorm, the former deputy was one of the oldest cats in the Clan now.
“We need the hunting patrols to go out early,” Graystripe was explaining to Squirrelflight. “With the days getting hotter, it’s best to avoid sunhigh for chasing around.”
Squirrelflight nodded. “And the prey will be holed up by then, too. I’ve already sent out one patrol,” she went on, “but I’ll send out another. Brightheart would be a good cat to lead it.” She glanced around. “Hey, Brightheart!”
The ginger-and-white she-cat slid out between the branches that sheltered the warriors’ den. “Yes?”
“I want you to lead a hunting patrol,” Squirrelflight told her. “But stick to one area, and come back before it gets too hot.”
Brightheart dipped her head. “Any particular place?” she asked.
“You could try up by the ShadowClan border,” Squirrelflight suggested. “Millie spotted a nest of squirrels there yesterday.”
“Good idea,” Brightheart mewed. “Which cats should I take with me?”
“Millie, obviously, since she knows where the nest is. Apart from her, any cat you like.”
“I’m on my way.” Brightheart bounded off to call Millie from the warriors’ den. Then she rounded up Dovewing and Mousewhisker and headed out through the thorns.
The barrier was still trembling from their departure when Amberpaw reappeared with a huge bundle of moss in her jaws. As she staggered toward the elders’ den, Bramblestar noticed that the moss was dripping with water, leaving a line of dark spots on the dusty floor of the clearing.
Squirrelflight stepped out to intercept the apprentice as she drew closer to the den. “You can’t take that in there,” she told Amberpaw sharply. “That moss is too wet. It’ll soak all the other bedding and Purdy will claw your ears off for making his legs ache from the damp.”
At the mention of his name Purdy ducked out of the shelter of the hazel bush. “There’s nothin’ wrong with my legs, or my ears,” he snorted.
“How about your pelt?” Amberpaw asked, dropping the moss.
Bramblestar stifled a mrrow of amusement: Purdy’s tabby pelt looked as if he had crawled backward through the thorns, the fur clumped and sticking up as if he hadn’t groomed himself for a moon.
“Eh? Speak up!” Purdy complained. “Why are you mumblin’? Young cats these days always mumble,” he added crossly.
“I was explaining to Amberpaw that she can’t bring wet moss into your den,” Squirrelflight meowed.
“What?” Purdy prodded the bundle of moss. “You’re sure you weren’t tryin’ to bring me a drink instead?” he asked Amberpaw.
The apprentice looked crestfallen. “I was only trying to help.”
“Sure you were, young ’un.” Purdy stroked Amberpaw’s side with his tail. “Come on. You an’ I will spread the moss out here, just outside the den, an’ it’ll soon dry in the sun. An’ while it does that, I’ll tell you how I once killed a whole nest o’ rats.”
“Yes!” Amberpaw bounced in delight and began spreading out the wet moss.