Bramblestar led his cats as far as the top border without meeting any WindClan cats, but on their way back they spotted Crowfeather with his apprentice, Featherpaw, as well as Furzepelt and Gorsetail making their way upstream on the opposite side. Bramblestar halted and waited for them.
“Greetings, Crowfeather,” Bramblestar mewed as the WindClan patrol reached them. “How’s the prey running in WindClan?”
“No better for you asking,” Crowfeather retorted. “And before you start accusing us, no, we haven’t crossed over to your side of the stream.”
“I know that,” Bramblestar told him, not mentioning the log they had unjammed. WindClan isn’t saying a word about it, either.
“And we’re not going to cross.” Furzepelt’s gray-and-white fur was bristling. “So keep your filthy ThunderClan paws off our side.”
“You and your kittypet friends,” Crowfeather added.
“Oh, yes.” Gorsetail’s voice was full of scorn. “We’ve seen the latest additions to your hunting patrols. Very effective—not!”
“But ThunderClan never seems to mind who they let into their Clan,” Furzepelt meowed. “Maybe you’re missing Firestar so much that you’re looking for a kittypet replacement.”
A growl of anger woke deep in Berrynose’s chest. Thornclaw and Brightheart were both bristling, while Dewpaw raced to the very edge of the stream and glared furiously at the WindClan patrol.
Bramblestar raised his tail in warning. “Careful,” he murmured. “We don’t want trouble with them, and it’s none of their business who we let into the Clan.”
“You mean we have to let them say what they like?” Thornclaw demanded.
“I mean we need to pick our battles.” Bramblestar made himself sound calm, although inwardly he was ruffled to learn how much WindClan knew about the kittypets. He’d deliberately kept them out of border patrols for that very reason. “There’s no WindClan scent all along this side of the stream, so our border is safe.”
“They’d better not think of invading.” Berrynose sounded troubled rather than aggressive. “Those kittypets could be a weak link.”
“It won’t come to that,” Bramblestar told him. “At least, Whitewing, it won’t if you can sort out your apprentice.”
Dewpaw was still standing on the bank, flexing his claws and hissing at the WindClan patrol. “Come over here and insult Firestar’s memory!” he yowled.
Whitewing padded over and patted Dewpaw with her tail. “That’s enough. It’s time to go back to camp.”
“But they—” Dewpaw began to protest.
“I said, enough. Do you want them to see me dragging you away by the scruff?”
Dewpaw shot one last glare at the WindClan cats and retreated, his fur still bristling. “They’d better not come over here,” he muttered.
Bramblestar made a polite farewell to Crowfeather and his cats, guessing that would irritate them far more than hurling abuse. Then he led his patrol away, conscious of unfriendly stares following them until undergrowth cut off the view.
As soon as Bramblestar and his patrol returned to camp, Brackenfur came bounding up. “Now we’ve lost Frankie and Minty!” he complained. “They were supposed to be with me on the late-morning hunting patrol.”
“Never mind.” Bramblestar tried to sound soothing, though his pads prickled with apprehension at the news. Glancing around to see which cats were available, he added, “Take Cherryfall instead, and Poppyfrost and Lilypaw.”
“Can I come too?” Jessy asked, turning from where she was hanging one of the Twoleg pelts on a nearby bush. “Daisy asked me to hang these pelts out in the sun, but this is the last one.”
“Sure.” Brackenfur invited her over with a friendly wave of his tail. “You can show me these hunting skills Bramblestar keeps telling me about.”
As soon as the patrol had left, Bramblestar sniffed around the clearing and finally picked up faint traces of Frankie and Minty leading out of the clearing side by side. They’ve been gone some time, he thought, judging by the faintness of the scent.
The trail led Bramblestar toward the ridge, up to the outcrop of rocks where once there had been another tunnel entrance. The one that collapsed behind Hollyleaf, all those moons ago. Bramblestar shivered at the memory, still missing the cat he had once believed to be his daughter. As the rocks loomed into full view, he spotted a small black-and-white she-cat basking in a patch of sunlight, fast asleep. He bounded up and stood over her. “Minty!”
Minty’s eyes flew open and she jumped to her paws. “Oh!” she squeaked. “It’s you!”
“What are you doing here?” Bramblestar meowed.
Minty gave her chest fur a few embarrassed licks. “Frankie suggested coming out here to lie in the sun,” she explained. “He said we’d be back in plenty of time for the patrol.” She blinked in confusion. “Did I oversleep? Where’s Frankie? Did you wake him already?”
“Frankie’s not here.” Bramblestar’s tail-tip began to twitch. StarClan preserve me from clawing this silly cat’s ears off! He felt disappointed that the kittypets had been so irresponsible, when he had thought they were beginning to fit into the life of the Clan. “I don’t have time to round up missing kittypets,” he snapped. “Come on, back to the tunnel!”
Minty’s eyes widened. “Aren’t you going to look for Frankie?”
“No.” Bramblestar was too fed up with the kittypets to waste one more heartbeat on them. “He’ll come back when he’s hungry, no doubt.”
Back in the camp, Spiderleg, Ivypool, and Whitewing were teaching their apprentices a new fighting move where they rolled over on their backs and battered their opponents with their hind paws.
“Can I join in?” Minty asked, trotting over to them.
Spiderleg turned to her with a cold stare. “No. This isn’t for cats who go wandering off and miss their patrols.”
Minty turned away, her head and tail drooping. Bramblestar thought that Spiderleg had been a bit harsh; it was encouraging to see Minty actually wanting to learn to fight. He was pleased a moment later when Brightheart padded up to the crestfallen kittypet and rested her tail on Minty’s shoulder.
“I’m going into the forest to look for herbs,” she meowed. “Do you want to come with me?”
Minty brightened up. “Sure!”
Bramblestar watched them go, then decided that he’d had enough of worrying about pesky kittypets for one day. I’ll see if I can catch up with the hunting patrol.
The trail led up to the ridge and across the top border into the woods beyond. Bramblestar relished the experience of being alone, listening to the scurrying of small creatures in the undergrowth and the twittering of birds overhead. The air was full of the scent of fresh growth after the long leaf-bare.
As Bramblestar inhaled the signs of returning life, he detected a faint bitter scent among the newleaf richness. Badger? he wondered, his neck fur beginning to fluff up. Bramblestar tried to tell himself that he had been spooked by Minty’s fussing, but he knew that he had to check. Following the traces deeper into the undergrowth, he realized that his first instinct had been right. At least two badgers had passed that way. He found flattened bracken and holes filled with badger droppings that confirmed his first suspicions.
His pelt bristling, Bramblestar backed away, taking careful note of the spot so that he could warn the patrols to keep watch. As soon as he retraced his steps to the hunting patrol’s scent trail, he heard sounds up ahead as if some cat was brushing swiftly through undergrowth. A mouse appeared out of the shelter of a clump of ferns and scuttled across the open ground. A heartbeat later the ferns waved wildly as Lilypaw burst out of them and hurled herself at the mouse.