River, page 10
But now it wasn’t going to happen.
Maybe Bramblestar isn’t coming because he knows you’ll fail, a nagging voice in Flamepaw’s mind suggested. He knew how mouse-brained that idea was, but he couldn’t quite push it out of his mind.
I should have known, he thought bitterly. I should have known that Bramblestar wouldn’t keep his promise. None of the rest of my kin keep theirs, so why should he?
Flamepaw crouched in the long grass beside the old Thunderpath, in the shadow of the abandoned Twoleg nest. This time he wasn’t looking for something impressive. He was determined to catch anything and everything that crossed his path. It was just his bad luck that so far the prey wasn’t running well.
It’s like I’ve been here for moons, he thought. Lilyheart’s going to fail me again because there isn’t any prey.
Tasting the air carefully, Flamepaw picked up a very faint scent of thrush, along with another bird-scent that he couldn’t place. It was far away, but it was the only scent he had detected since he came out here.
Suppose this is part of the test? he asked himself. Suppose Lilyheart told me to start here so I could show initiative?
Flamepaw slid out of the long grass and padded along the old Thunderpath in the direction of the scent. Soon he spotted the thrush, fluttering from one bush to the next.
Yes!
Flattening his belly to the ground, Flamepaw crept along, moving so silently that he couldn’t even hear his own paw steps. He remembered to check the wind direction and scanned the ground for any loose twigs or dead leaves that might give him away if he stepped on them.
I hope Lilyheart is watching this.
The thrush had flown up to a low tree branch. Flamepaw’s heart hammered with anticipation as he waited for it to come down again. As the moments passed, he began to feel more and more impatient, wondering what his chances would be if he tried to jump into the tree himself.
Then a shadow swept over him. Looking up, Flamepaw realized what the other bird-scent had been.
A hawk!
Flamepaw got a good view of the barred gray wings, the hooked beak, and the talons as the hawk swooped down over his head, then gained height again. Has it seen the thrush, or is it just flying? he wondered.
Watching the hawk carefully, Flamepaw realized it must have seen the prey, otherwise it would have flown off, or found a branch to perch on.
Am I quicker than a hawk?
Flamepaw closed his eyes to think, then opened them again as a throb of panic went through him. That had been a mouse-brained thing to do, he reflected, closing his eyes when a hawk was flying around. But it wouldn’t be mouse-brained if he could snatch the thrush from under the fierce bird’s beak. He wondered if his mentor would have to pass him, if he managed to beat a hawk to the prey.
He slid out his claws, digging them deep into the ground. His whole body was curled into a knot of nervous tension. He imagined the Clan deputy herself praising him for his daring. Her green eyes would be wide with amazement at his skill. She would tell him she had never seen such a spectacular catch. She might even tell Bramblestar, and then the Clan leader would be sorry he’d missed seeing it. Letting the scene flow through his mind, Flamepaw convinced himself that he had to go through with it.
He waited until the hawk flew up higher again. Then he gathered his hindquarters under him and pushed off into a massive leap toward the branch where the thrush still perched. Lashing out with one forepaw, he knocked it off balance and pounced on it as it hit the ground.
The thrush was flapping wildly under his claws. Flamepaw picked it up in his mouth and raced back toward his original hiding place. Behind him he could hear the hawk’s wings beating angrily, but when he risked a glance over his shoulder, it didn’t seem to be following him.
Once Flamepaw felt safe, he slowed down. Instantly the thrush tried to escape his grip, fighting so hard that he was afraid he would lose a tooth. He ducked his head to the ground, opened his jaws, then slammed them shut again to kill the prey. Dropping its limp body, he sat back on his hindquarters. That went pretty well, he congratulated himself.
While he was still getting his breath back, his mentor and the Clan deputy emerged from behind the abandoned Twoleg nest.
“That took courage,” Lilyheart meowed with a nod of approval.
Flamepaw felt a purr rising in his throat at his mentor’s words, only to stifle it a heartbeat later at the sight of Squirrelflight’s critical expression.
“Courage, yes,” the Clan deputy agreed. “But Flamepaw, how reckless of you was it to put yourself in a position where you might have to fight a hawk? Even seasoned warriors wouldn’t do that lightly. What if you’d lost? Where would ThunderClan have been then?”
“But I—” Flamepaw tried to interrupt. His vision of Squirrelflight praising him faded like mist under the morning sun.
Squirrelflight swept on regardless. “If catching a piece of prey carries that much risk, you would do well to think through your options and make better decisions.”
Lilyheart was listening to the deputy with a confused look on her face. “Does that mean I shouldn’t pass him?” she asked.
“It’s your decision, Lilyheart,” Squirrelflight replied. “I’m just offering my opinion.”
Lilyheart paused, frowning, while Flamepaw felt tension thrilling through him from ears to tail-tip. At last his mentor faced Flamepaw, gazing straight into his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Flamepaw,” she mewed, “but I think you need more time, to grow into some more cautious habits.”
Flamepaw gaped at her, hardly able to believe what he had just heard. She’s failing me again? I was told to catch prey, and I caught prey—and I outsmarted a hawk! They’re going to fail me for that? Angrily he dug his claws into the ground. Maybe they just want an apprentice around to do all the horrible jobs.
Disappointment throbbing through him, Flamepaw couldn’t find anything to say. Squirrelflight was his kin, his mother’s mother, and that was supposed to be important. That was why he had the name that didn’t fit him at all, the name he was struggling to live up to, even though he didn’t want to have to live up to it.
It took all Flamepaw’s strength to stop his resentment from showing in his face as he turned away and began plodding back to camp.
Flamepaw crouched by himself near the wall of the stone hollow, in the shade of an elder bush that was rooted in a crack above his head. He stared at his paws so that he wouldn’t accidentally catch the eye of any of his Clanmates. Since word had gotten around that he had failed his assessment again, everything had been really awkward. His Clanmates seemed quite happy to avoid him, too; he could tell that no cat knew what to say to an apprentice who had failed his warrior assessment twice.
The patter of paw steps broke into his thoughts, followed by his sister Finchlight’s voice. “Do you want to come and eat?”
Flamepaw looked up at her. “I’m not hungry,” he snapped.
For a heartbeat Finchlight blinked thoughtfully, then sat beside him, so close that their pelts were brushing. “You’ll pass next time,” she mewed.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Flamepaw retorted, turning his head away. “You weren’t let down by both of our mother’s parents.”
“I’m sure Squirrelflight had her reasons,” Finchlight insisted. “She was probably doing what she thought was best for the Clan.”
Flamepaw let out a snort. “Shouldn’t kin be more important than Clan?”
“No!” Finchlight’s gazed at him in disbelief. “Nothing is more important than Clan, and ThunderClan has a long way to go before we recover from Ash—”
“How long are we all going to keep talking about Ashfur, and what happened?” Flamepaw demanded, tossing his head as if he wanted to get rid of a troublesome fly. His anger with his sister was swelling; he just wished she would go away. “How long are we going to make that the excuse for everything? I bet the other Clans aren’t obsessing over it like we are.”
Finchlight’s eyes stretched wide with shock, but her voice was calm as she responded. “ThunderClan has always been the natural leader of all the Clans,” she pointed out. “For that reason, we have to hold ourselves to a higher standard.”
“That’s mouse-brained!” Flamepaw let out a mrrow of angry laughter. “Try telling that to Tigerstar and see what he says. Or any of the other leaders. Anyway,” he added, “Squirrelflight probably hates me now because she doesn’t think my name should belong to a failure.”
Finchlight’s shocked expression intensified, and her tail-tip twitched irritably. “Do you really think that?” she asked.
Flamepaw didn’t reply. He just hunched his shoulders and stared at his paws. Stop meowing on and go away, he thought.
His sister heaved a heavy sigh and shook her head, rising to her paws. “If you’re really so immature that you believe that,” she told him, “then maybe it is the right thing that you’re still an apprentice.”
Chapter 11
Frostpaw parted her jaws in a massive yawn, then rose to arch her back in a good long stretch. The night before, RiverClan had sat vigil for their dead leader; in spite of Frostpaw’s sorrow, it had been a wonderful experience for her to stay up all night and listen to the stories about how great Mistystar had been, how much she had been loved, and events that had happened before Frostpaw was even born. At last, when Mosspelt had taken Mistystar’s body out to be buried, helped by Mothwing and Duskfur, and the new day’s essential duties had been dealt with, most cats had settled down to sleep, worn out by their grief.
Now the sun was going down over the RiverClan camp and the cats were waking again. Frostpaw could tell that they were still weighed down by the loss of their leader, but what really worried her was the tension she could sense in almost every cat in camp: tension that had gripped the Clan like claws fastening deep in their fur as they wondered what had happened to Reedwhisker.
The cats who’d been sent out to ask the rest of the Clans had come back to report that no cat had seen him. And there was no trace of him anywhere in the territory; while his scent could be picked up here and there, there was no clear trail to show where he had gone.
Where can Reedwhisker be?
Frostpaw had never experienced the change from one leader to another. Few RiverClan cats were old enough to remember their previous leader, Leopardstar, since Mistystar had been their leader for so long. She wondered anxiously what was supposed to happen. Would StarClan be angry if they had to wait for the new leader to journey to the Moonpool?
Will they even let us have a new leader if we can’t find Reedwhisker?
Gradually, cats were beginning to congregate around the fresh-kill pile, exchanging worried glances with each other. Frostpaw padded over to join them, stopping beside her mother.
“Should we have an acting leader?” Duskfur suggested, her voice shaking with nervousness. “If Reedwhisker doesn’t—”
“Reedwhisker will come back!” Podlight interrupted his mother harshly. “Why would any cat think he won’t? We don’t want to tempt fate like that, do we?”
“Of course no cat wants to tempt fate,” Owlnose responded with more caution, “and we definitely don’t want to start a panic, but if we’ve learned one thing from our recent troubles, it’s that we should be prepared to adapt when we have to.”
“Owlnose is right,” Nightsky agreed, with a flick of her ears toward the brown tabby tom. “If all the Clans are making suggestions to StarClan about how to depose a leader, then surely we should think about the decisions we’ll make if we find ourselves without a leader or a deputy.”
“Well, some cat has to take responsibility for now,” Curlfeather asserted, with a glance around her as if she was wondering which cat might be suitable.
“It seems obvious to me,” Duskfur responded. “It should be our medicine cat.”
Mallownose nodded agreement. “Yeah, medicine cats are wise.”
“But our medicine cat doesn’t exactly revere StarClan,” Shimmerpelt pointed out. “And Frostpaw is a new apprentice.”
Frostpaw felt every hair on her pelt begin to rise in sheer terror. They wouldn’t ask me to lead, would they? They can’t! But . . . what if they did? She stared at her paws, desperate not to catch any cat’s gaze. I’m too young . . . I don’t have the experience—and I don’t want to!
An image flashed into her mind of herself sitting on the Highstump, with the Clan gathered around, listening to her. I guess that would be nice, except I don’t have any idea what I would tell them. And what if we were attacked? I couldn’t lead the Clan into a fight! A shiver ran through her, right down to the tips of her claws. Suppose I had to sort out a border dispute with Tigerstar or Harestar? It would be just awful!
Frostpaw heaved a deep sigh. She knew that what she really wanted was to help other cats, not tell them what to do. I’m a medicine cat, not a leader.
Meanwhile, every cat had turned their head to look at Mothwing. So far she had said nothing, sitting with her paws tucked under her and her amber eyes flicking from one speaker to the next. “Shimmerpelt is right,” she meowed, blinking slowly. “Besides, leading a Clan is not the role of a medicine cat.”
Frostpaw felt a wave of relief. In the crowd, she spotted her littermate, Mistpaw, watching her with sympathetic eyes. Graypaw stood close by. For a moment, Frostpaw wished she could leave Mothwing’s side and go cuddle with her littermates, like they had when they were small, before Curlfeather realized she was having visions. Sometimes she wished she could join them in the warriors’ den—both to be close to them, and for the chance to watch discussions like these with no responsibility for solving the problems.
Sometimes being a medicine cat apprentice was very lonely.
“Maybe one day Frostpaw could,” Curlfeather declared, “but for now I think it’s best that one of our senior warriors take it on.”
“I wouldn’t mind doing it,” Podlight offered.
Mallownose glared at him, his shoulder fur beginning to bristle. “Why you?” he demanded. “I have just as much right—”
“Stupid furballs!” Lizardtail interrupted. “What’s the point of arguing about it, when Reedwhisker will be back soon?”
Frostpaw purred her agreement, pleased to see Reedwhisker’s former apprentice sticking up for him. But to Frostpaw’s dismay, few cats listened to Lizardtail.
“We don’t know that,” Duskfur retorted, glaring at him.
“And are we supposed to sit around on our tails, waiting until he does?” Shimmerpelt demanded. “Meanwhile, I’m happy to act as leader—”
A chorus of yowls drowned out what she was saying. Frostpaw tried to ignore the quarreling voices while she wrestled with the tension she could feel growing inside her. She knew that it wouldn’t be much longer that they could go on hoping that Reedwhisker would return, and worry wrapped around her like strands of cobweb at the thought that RiverClan would be without a leader.
She startled nervously at the touch of a nose on her ear, and looked up to see Curlfeather gazing down at her sympathetically.
“This is all too much for you, isn’t it?” her mother murmured. “Why don’t you go to your den and find something useful to do? You don’t have to listen to all this nonsense.”
Frostpaw gave her mother a grateful purr. “I’ll do that,” she responded. “There are some fresh herbs that need sorting.”
She felt her tension begin to ebb away as she bounded across the clearing, pushed her way through the bushes that surrounded it, and leaped from the bank onto the stretch of pebbles in front of the medicine cats’ den.
But as she slipped inside the den to where she and Mothwing had stored the herbs they’d collected earlier, she noticed something odd about her own nest. She had arranged her bedding just how she liked it, with a layer of moss padding the heap of bracken, but now a large dock leaf was lying across the edge.
That wasn’t there when we put the herbs away, she thought. She gave the leaf a sniff. But there were so many competing scents inside the den that it told her nothing useful.
It wasn’t just an ordinary dock leaf, though, Frostpaw realized. Parts of it had been torn away, so that it looked almost like a star. A star? Frostpaw felt a shiver run through her from ears to tail-tip. Something told her it was very important. Was it a message from StarClan, with advice she could give to her Clan? Surely it couldn’t mean that she was meant to be a ’star—a leader!I’m only an apprentice, she told herself. She was well aware how inexperienced she was, and she just didn’t feel ready to deal with all the turmoil in the Clan. I wish it were all over, and I could just have a normal apprenticeship.
Frostpaw was reluctant to show the leaf to any other cat, even Mothwing. She was too afraid that they would take it as a sign that she should be leader. But eventually she realized that it was just a leaf, and the only thing she could do was to take it and show it to her mentor and her other Clanmates.
When she returned to the clearing, the argument was still going on, but Curlfeather spotted her as she approached, and rose to her paws. “What do you have there?” she asked.
Frostpaw made her way to her mentor’s side and dropped the leaf. “I found this in my nest,” she explained. “It wasn’t there before.”
Her Clanmates’ voices died away as they crowded around to see what Frostpaw had brought.
“It looks like a star,” some cat murmured.
“Could it be . . . ?”
“Maybe it’s a sign.”
“Could this mean that StarClan is letting us know we haven’t been abandoned?” Curlfeather asked, fixing Mothwing with a pointed stare. “Could it be a sign that we’re on the right track?”
“Yes, and that StarClan wants our medicine cats to take on more responsibility,” Havenpelt agreed. “That they should collaborate with our senior warriors until we have a StarClan-approved leader.”
Mothwing clearly disapproved of Curlfeather’s and Havenpelt’s words, and of the murmurs of agreement that came from their Clanmates. “I really don’t want the responsibility,” she grumbled, “and in any case, I wouldn’t be StarClan’s first choice for leader, would I? And I’m more comfortable healing than leading.”
