Dark River

Chapter 4

“I’m still really tired,” Jaypaw complained.

Leafpool was leading him down to the lake. “But sunhigh’s the best time to collect mallow, when the leaves are dry.”

Jaypaw yawned. His paws were still sore and he felt as if he’d hardly closed his eyes before Leafpool nudged him awake. At least the day was warm. There was no chance of newleaf being driven back by the long claws of leaf-bare now.

The sunshine striking through the new foliage was hot enough to make his pelt itch as they padded through the trees. Birds called to one another, and far off he could hear the shrieks and splashes of Twolegs playing in the water.

Jaypaw shivered, remembering his fall into the lake when Crowfeather had rescued him. He wasn’t going to get his paws wet again if he could help it.

Water babbled nearby. He had only been this way once before. A brook ran down out of the forest and into the lake.

Like the stream that led up to the Moonpool, it carried the scent of the mountains. Leafpool led him along the edge, weaving around the trees that lined its path. The grass felt soft and cool on his pads and he was sorry when Leafpool veered off the grassy bank and down onto the pebbly shore.

“The lake’s higher than I’d hoped,” she meowed, stopping.

“We won’t be able to collect all the herbs I wanted, but I can see a clump over there.” She darted away toward a sweet scent, and Jaypaw began to pad after her.

Suddenly, in the forest behind him, leaves fluttered and paw steps beat quick and light on the forest floor.

A squirrel!

Tiny paws skittered along the bank of the stream behind him and scrabbled up a tree, rustling its leaves. Then splashing. A hunting patrol was plunging toward him, down the shallow stream.

“Did you hear where it went?” Birchfall’s excited mew sounded from the trees.

Jaypaw flicked his nose toward where the squirrel was leaping along a low branch.

“I’ll get it!” Pebbles rattled and water splashed as Mousepaw scooted from the stream and up the tree trunk. Jaypaw ducked and blinked as shards of bark sprayed him, gouged out by Mousepaw’s eager claws. The branch overhead creaked, and Jaypaw heard a surprised squeal.

But it wasn’t the squirrel. It was Mousepaw.

The apprentice tumbled off the branch and crashed onto the pebbles beside Jaypaw.

“Fox dung!” Mousepaw scrambled to his paws, embarrassment flashing from his ruffled pelt.

“Catch it?” Jaypaw inquired.

Leaves rustled above them as the squirrel made its getaway.

“Nice try!” Spiderleg called from the stream.

“Next time, I’ll get it!” Mousepaw called back to his mentor.

The scent of the stream had confused Jaypaw, but as the ThunderClan patrol clambered out, shaking water from their paws, he recognized their distinctive smells. Ashfur and Lionpaw were with Birchfall, Spiderleg, and Mousepaw.

Lionpaw bounded down onto the shore. “Hi, Jaypaw.”

“Good morning for hunting,” Jaypaw replied, flicking his brother’s pelt with his tail.

“Mmm.”

Jaypaw stiffened, curious. Lionpaw was distracted, his mind not entirely on the hunt.

“What are you doing down there, Jaypaw?” Birchfall called from the bank.

“I’m helping Leafpool collect herbs,” Jaypaw told him, nodding toward Leafpool, who was farther down the shore scuffling among the mallow stems.

“What’s she doing?” Lionpaw asked.

“Digging up mallow,” Jaypaw told him. “Can you see any more of it about?”

“There’s a clump of it by an old stick over there.” Lionpaw nudged his brother in the right direction. “Look out though, there are lots of twigs and lumps of wood washed up on the shore. Don’t trip.”

“Come on,” Ashfur called impatiently. “Let’s get back to the hunt!”

“Can you manage?” Lionpaw wound around Jaypaw.

“Of course!”

“Okay. See you later.” Lionpaw bounded away, making the pebbles clatter.

Jaypaw listened to the patrol disappear back into the trees, envying his brother a little. In this weather, hunting would be way more fun than gathering leaves. He turned with a sigh toward the patch of mallow Lionpaw had spotted. He could smell it now, its sweet rose scent warmed by the sun. Carefully, he picked his way over the shore, avoiding the rubbish left washed up by the floodwater. He stretched out his nose, touching a mallow leaf and sniffing deeply.

His front paw bumped into something hard. Was this the stick Lionpaw had mentioned? He leaned down to sniff it and felt it smooth on his nose. The bark had been stripped away, the wood beneath it bone-dry. It could not have been in the water long, or it still would be sodden despite the newleaf sunshine. Jaypaw ran his paw over it. The exposed wood felt sleek beneath his pad.

He could feel something odd, too: scars scratched across the branch, too neat and regular to be natural. Some of them were crossed by other lines, like two paths going in different directions.

“What’s that?” Leafpool’s voice close behind him made him jump. He had been so absorbed that he hadn’t heard her approach.

“A stick.” With an effort, he rolled it from beneath the mallow plant where it had lodged. “Look at the lines.”

She sniffed it. “No scent,” she commented. “From by the lake, I expect.”

“But the lines feel strange,” Jaypaw prompted. “They’re too even.”

“You’re right,” Leafpool agreed. “I wonder what made them? A fox, maybe a badger?”

“They’re too fine to be badger or fox marks.”

“Perhaps it’s some Twoleg thing,” Leafpool suggested. She flicked her tail. “Come on. I’ll dig up some roots from this plant to add to the others I’ve collected.”

Jaypaw could smell the fishy stench of lake mud on her paws.

“You start stripping off some leaves,” Leafpool went on. “If we’re lucky, they’ll dry before the next rain.”

Why wasn’t she more interested in the stick? They had never come across anything like this before. Reluctantly, Jaypaw slid his paws from the branch. His pads felt warm where they had been touching it. He stripped a pawful of leaves from the mallow plant while Leafpool dug around a root and plucked it from the waterlogged earth with her teeth.

“Let’s get this stuff back to camp,” she meowed. “I left the other roots over there.” She bounded away and Jaypaw picked the leaves up with his teeth and began to head up the beach.

He paused. What about the stick? He couldn’t leave it lying where it was. It might get washed away. He dropped the mallow leaves, turned back, and began to roll the stick up away from the waterline with his paws.

“We can’t carry that home as well,” Leafpool meowed, returning to his side. The roots she was holding in her teeth muffled her mew.

“But we can leave it somewhere safe.” I want to come back and look at it again.

“Okay, but hurry. I want to lay the leaves out while the sun’s still warm.”

Jaypaw tugged at the stick, rolling it over the pebbles and heaving it past the lumps of wood and rubbish that cluttered the shore. At last, panting, he felt grass brush his pelt. He had reached the bank that edged the stream. He felt around until he found a gap behind a twisted root and shoved the stick into it, hoping it would hold fast if the water rose more. A spark of anxiety flickered in his chest at the thought of losing the stick to the lake.

“Come on.” Leafpool sounded impatient.

Jaypaw darted back to pick up the leaves he had dropped and followed her into the trees. His paws felt heavy and unease fluttered in his chest. Leaving the stick felt wrong. He wanted to understand why.

I’ll be back, he promised.