Following the slope of the forest, he headed down the steep bank that led to the camp entrance. On familiar ground now, he stopped a fox-length from the bottom and wriggled backward into the bracken.
A moment later Leafpool came pattering over the forest floor. Jaypaw let her pass, then scampered after her, keeping to one side so that he was never directly behind her. The trees were a good shield, and he wove between them, following his instinct as much as his whiskers. The scent of WindClan soon began to taint the air. Leafpool was heading toward the hilly moorland. But she did not cross the border; instead she veered toward the sun and kept going until the land grew steeper and the trees began to thin.
Jaypaw heard a stream and followed Leafpool’s scent trail as it turned off the soft grass and onto the jagged boulders that lined the tumbling water. He dropped back a little, shivering in the sharpening breeze. There was less vegetation here to shield him. He would have to depend on the camou-flage of his striped pelt against the stony ground. At least the sound of water disguised his stumbling steps. The rocks beneath his paws rose and fell unevenly, and he had to slow down. Fortunately Leafpool’s scent remained strong and steady.
Suddenly his paws started to recognize the path, and images from his dream flooded his mind. He was trekking through the same narrow valley he had visited in his sleep—which meant that he knew what it looked like. He pictured the rocks that lined his path, sharp as fox teeth. Ahead, he knew that a stream danced down the mountainside, sparkling in the sunlight. He was following Leafpool to its source, and, with a prickle of excitement, he realized that its source must be the Moonpool.
Stones rattled in front of him, and Jaypaw stopped. He guessed that Leafpool was climbing the steep rocks that led up to the ridge. He waited until the noise had ceased and he was sure she had disappeared over the top. Then he followed, scrabbling from rock to rock, grazing his pads on the sharp granite.
Out of breath, he stopped at the top. He shivered; the setting sun must be blocked by the surrounding rocks. He was at the brink of a hollow; Leafpool’s scent drifted up, mingled with new smells of damp stone, dusty lichen, and water, fresh and sharp with the smell of the mountains. It trickled and splashed, echoing off encircling stone.
As he padded cautiously forward, he realized there were other cats brushing against him, first one side, then the other, unbalancing him.
Stop pushing! He shoved back, stumbling when he found only air around him.
Voices whispered around the hollow.
“They have come.”
“We must hurry. The moon is rising.”
Who else is here?
Jaypaw tasted the air, but he could scent only Leafpool.
Steadying his trembling tail, he listened to figure out where she was. The enclosing rocks amplified her breath as it rippled the water beneath her muzzle. He knew from its soft rhythm that she was sleeping.
Carefully, he followed the slope down toward the pool.
The smooth stone beneath his paws was polished and dimpled, worn into a pathway over endless moons by countless pawsteps. It led him on until water lapped at his paws with a cool tongue. Then he lay down a fox-length away from where Leafpool slept and closed his eyes.
As soon as his nose touched the Moonpool, stars filled his vision. It was as though great paws had swept him up into the inky sky and freed him among countless blue-white lights.
Far below he could see the starlit slopes of the hollow curving down to the glittering Moonpool. He stared, his breath coming quicker. The hollow was no longer empty but crowded with cats. They lined every ridge, their pelts bathed in moonlight.
StarClan!
He stared harder until he could see every pelt and muzzle clearly. The cats were watching Leafpool, crouching at the water’s edge. He could see himself too, curled up asleep.
I’m watching from outside my body.
Jaypaw scanned the hollow, suddenly aware of cold stone beneath his paws. He was at the top of the ridge now, not the sky.
Leafpool stood and began to greet StarClan like old friends, padding around the slope and stopping to brush muzzles here and there. Jaypaw recognized none of them.
They had lived before he was born. Only their Clan scents were familiar. He shrank back into the shadows, where he was sure no cat could see him, and watched.
“Bluestar.” Leafpool dipped her head to a she-cat, broad-faced and round-eyed, with long, pale fur.
“You are welcome, Leafpool,” Bluestar murmured. “We thought you might come.”
Beside her sat a pale tom whose eyes shone with warmth.
“It is good to see you again,” he meowed.
“You too, Lionheart,” Leafpool replied.
Bluestar’s eyes sparkled. “You come with good news.”
“Yes, Graystripe is back,” Leafpool purred.
Murmurs of joy rippled around the cats.
“But there is a problem,” Leafpool went on. “Firestar doesn’t know who should be ThunderClan’s deputy. Graystripe and Brambleclaw were both appointed according to the warrior code.”
A deep mew echoed from across the hollow. “Both cats have an equal claim.”
Leafpool jerked her head around. Behind her, a tom with a pelt as dark as the sky flicked his long, thin tail. Jaypaw tasted the air. He was WindClan.
“If Firestar is wise,” mewed the tom, “he will choose the warrior who knows the Clan best.”
“That will be a hard choice, Tallstar,” Bluestar warned the WindClan cat. “One that no leader has ever had to make before.”
Lionheart flicked his tail. “If only we had known that Graystripe was still alive. We could have let Leafpool know.”
“He was in a place too far beyond our seeing,” Bluestar reminded him. “And ThunderClan needed a deputy.”
“Is that why you sent me the vision of thorn-sharp brambles encircling the camp?” Leafpool asked.
“We had to let Firestar know that it was time to appoint one,” Bluestar meowed.
Lionheart nodded. “When we showed you that vision, Brambleclaw was the best warrior to help Firestar protect the Clan.”
Leafpool looked up sharply. “Is he still the best?”
Bluestar and Lionheart exchanged glances but did not answer.
“Do you wish you had not sent the sign?” Leafpool pressed.
“Brambleclaw has done well,” Bluestar reassured her. “He was the right choice. Firestar would have been foolish to go on without a deputy when no cat knew if Graystripe would return.”
“But who should be deputy now?”
“There is no true answer,” Bluestar warned.
Leafpool blinked. “Then the decision is Firestar’s to make?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “But Tallstar is right when he says Firestar must choose the cat who knows the Clan best. He must use his head, not his heart, to reach his decision.”
“Should I tell him this?”
“Tell him only that he must make his own choice.”
Leafpool dipped her head. “I will share this with him,” she promised. She turned away from StarClan and padded back down to the Moonpool.
Jaypaw stared round-eyed at the cats. A well-muscled tom was murmuring something to the she-cat beside him. Jaypaw guessed from his glossy pelt he was RiverClan. A group of thin, lithe cats whispered together in the shadow of a boulder. WindClan? Jaypaw searched the slope, tasting the air, wondering which of the cats were ThunderClan. Then he froze, his paws turning to ice.
A she-cat was staring straight at him. Her fur was long and pale, and her face was broad and lined with old battle scars.