Lost Stars

Chapter 6

Near the entrance to the stone hollow, Bristlepaw waited for her mentor to appear from the warriors’ den. She felt as if a whole colony of bees were buzzing around in her belly, and it was hard for her to stand firmly on all four paws and not start shaking with anticipation.

Rosepetal had still not appeared when Bristlepaw’s littermates, Thriftpaw and Flippaw, broke away from the group of cats around the fresh-kill pile and raced across the camp toward her.

“Is it true?” Thriftpaw asked, skidding to a halt in front of Bristlepaw. “You’re really going to take your warrior assessment today?”

Bristlepaw’s pelt tingled with a claw-scratch of guilt. Both her littermates were gazing at her in awe, but Bristlepaw had to admit that what was happening to her wasn’t entirely fair. All three of them had been made apprentices on the same day, and she had assumed they would all take their assessments together, too.

“Yes, it’s true,” she mewed. “Rosepetal was so impressed with how I rescued that SkyClan apprentice that she persuaded Bramblestar to let her assess me. I’m waiting for her now.”

“That’s great!” Flippaw exclaimed. “I can’t wait for your warrior ceremony. I wonder what name Bramblestar will give you.”

“Hang on—I haven’t passed yet,” Bristlepaw pointed out.

“But you will,” Thriftpaw assured her. “You’re a great hunter, so why wouldn’t you?”

Bristlepaw blinked at her littermates, grateful for their confidence in her. All the same, she wished that they wouldn’t go on about it with such loud meows that the whole camp could hear them. They’re starting to make me nervous.

“I wish we could take our assessments today, too,” Thriftpaw grumbled, turning her head away to lick her shoulder.

Hoping to comfort her sister, Bristlepaw began, “It won’t be long before—” but she was interrupted by the sound of her name being called from across the camp. Turning, she saw her mother, Ivypool, standing just outside the warriors’ den. Rosepetal was a pace behind her.

“Come on, Bristlepaw,” Ivypool meowed. “It’s time.”

Excitement surged up inside Bristlepaw, and she bounded across the camp with a last glance at her littermates. It’ll be okay, she thought. I’ll comfort them later . . . when I’m a warrior.

Icy wind probed deep into Bristlepaw’s fur as she crouched among the roots of an oak tree, her ears pricked to pick up the slightest sound of prey. She couldn’t move around to stop herself from shivering, because she knew that she had to keep still and not warn her quarry that a cat was nearby. All she could hear was the creak of branches above her head, and the whisper of wind over dead leaves.

There was no sign of Rosepetal, but Bristlepaw knew that her mentor would be somewhere behind her, watching and assessing every paw step, every twitch of her whiskers.

What happens if there isn’t any prey? Bristlepaw wondered. How can I pass my assessment if I don’t catch anything? She stifled a growl of frustration. Well, I have to find something, that’s all. A good warrior should be able to find prey even in the toughest leaf-bare . . . right?

As these thoughts passed through her mind, Bristlepaw’s excitement drained away, as quickly as rain on dry ground in greenleaf. She began to wish that she weren’t having her assessment early; everything would have been much easier in newleaf. She would have been sure to succeed then. Ever since she became an apprentice she had imagined herself returning to camp with so much prey she could barely carry it.

But that’s not going to happen now.

Then it occurred to her that maybe the quantity of prey she caught wasn’t necessarily the only thing that mattered. Her mentor must give her credit for showing initiative. If the prey wouldn’t come to her, she would have to go and look for it. Besides, I’m sick of crouching under this tree. If I stay here much longer, I’ll turn into an ice cat!

As silently as she could, her paws gliding over the ground, Bristlepaw slithered forward, her gaze darting this way and that. Opening her jaws to taste the air, she almost gagged on the cold claw that rushed into her throat. There was no prey-scent, not even a single mouse, only fat flakes of snow that began drifting down through the leafless branches.

Bristlepaw carried on searching, squeezing under low-growing branches where she thought prey might be hiding, or pausing beside banks where the snow might be covering their dens. She even clambered into a tree to check a gap in the trunk, in case a squirrel or an owl was hiding inside. But there was nothing.

All the while the icy wind was buffeting her, and her paws were so cold she couldn’t feel them anymore. Finally, when she was ready to give up, a fresh gust of wind brought her the scent of vole.

For a few heartbeats Bristlepaw was so relieved that she nearly forgot how cold she was. But after she had followed the scent around a bramble thicket and across a clearing, she realized that she had reached the stream that formed the WindClan border. And the scent of vole—so close now that Bristlepaw could almost taste the succulent flesh—was coming from the opposite side.

“Fox dung!” she muttered.

Bristlepaw stood on the bank of the stream, gazing across into WindClan territory. She was almost sure that the vole must be hiding under a hawthorn bush that overhung the icy surface of the water.

Her pads itching with indecision, Bristlepaw glanced swiftly around. There was no sign of Rosepetal, and no movement on the WindClan side of the border. She could pick up the mingled scents of both Clans’ border markers, but no fresh WindClan scent. With the stream frozen, she could dart across in a couple of heartbeats, catch the vole, and be back in her own territory before any cat spotted her.

But even though hunger and anxiety about her assessment were urging her on, Bristlepaw hesitated. Stealing prey from another Clan was a serious violation of the warrior code. Besides, even if she made her catch and returned undetected, she would still be leaving her scent on the WindClan side of the border. If a WindClan patrol picked it up, it would lead to conflict with ThunderClan, and no cat wanted that, especially in such a harsh leaf-bare.

At the same time, Bristlepaw wondered what it would mean for her assessment if she returned to camp empty-pawed. Will Rosepetal fail me? Will I have to do my whole apprenticeship all over again?

Bristlepaw stood on the bank of the stream for an agonizingly long time, trying to make up her mind. But eventually one thing became clear to her: She couldn’t pass her assessment by breaking the warrior code. It would be dishonorable, and an insult to Rosepetal, who hadn’t trained her to break the rules.

At last, sighing deeply, Bristlepaw turned away. As she left the border stream behind her, Rosepetal stepped out from behind a clump of bracken and stood quietly waiting for her.

Oh, StarClan! She was watching me all the time!

Moving as quickly and quietly as she could, Bristlepaw headed for her mentor and halted at Rosepetal’s side.

“Well done,” Rosepetal mewed. “Even though you were disappointed, and you’d given up on finding prey, you still were smart enough to stay quiet, in case there happened to be prey nearby. That shows great instincts—the kind of instincts ThunderClan needs in its warriors.”

As her mentor spoke, Bristlepaw began to feel more hopeful. Maybe this hasn’t been such a disaster after all!

“Besides that,” Rosepetal went on, “you didn’t give way to temptation and cross the border, even though you’re hungry, and even though this is your warrior assessment. You showed honesty and respect for the warrior code.”

Bristlepaw let out a happy purr. “Does that mean I passed?”

She watched Rosepetal as her mentor stood still, blinking thoughtfully, making Bristlepaw’s pads tingle with hope. Then, regretfully, Rosepetal shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no. You haven’t done anything wrong, Bristlepaw, but I can’t pass you this time, not without watching you hunt and actually capture prey. We’ll try again soon, when the air is warmer and the prey isn’t hiding.”

A hard lump formed in Bristlepaw’s belly, colder than the icy wind, but she managed to dip her head respectfully. “I understand,” she choked out.

Rosepetal stretched out her neck and touched her nose gently to her apprentice’s ear. “Let’s go back to camp,” she meowed, “and find you something from the fresh-kill pile.”

Bristlepaw followed her, holding her head high and struggling not to let her disappointment show. I failed for the first time in my life—and it wasn’t my fault! She wondered what she would say to her littermates, after they had been so encouraging, sure she would return to camp a warrior. She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice movement ahead of her until Stemleaf bounded up to her and flicked her shoulder with his tail.

“Hey, how’s our new warrior?” he asked.

Bristlepaw had thought it wasn’t possible to feel any worse, but at the orange-and-white tom’s friendly greeting she thought her heart was going to burst. She couldn’t find words to answer him.

“Bristlepaw didn’t pass,” Rosepetal told Stemleaf. “She did everything right, but there just wasn’t any prey to be had.”

“That’s really bad luck.” Stemleaf blinked sympathetically at Bristlepaw. “But don’t worry. It’s just this StarClan-cursed snow. You’ll pass easily once the warmer weather comes.”

Bristlepaw could hardly bear to look at Stemleaf, much less talk to him, especially when he was being so kind and encouraging. It’ll be such a long time now before we can be mates, the strongest pair in the Clan. And there must be lots of other she-cats who would like to be with him.

As soon as Bristlepaw padded through the thorn tunnel into the stone hollow, she heard Flippaw let out a welcoming squeal. Both he and Thriftpaw came barreling across the camp toward her, only to skid to a halt before they reached her. Bristlepaw guessed that her expression must have shown that something had gone wrong.

“What happened?” Thriftpaw asked, her eyes wide with concern.

Bristlepaw watched Rosepetal padding across the camp on her way to tell Bramblestar about her assessment. “I failed,” she replied, not meeting her littermates’ gaze. “There wasn’t any prey. I looked and looked.”

“It’s okay,” Flippaw murmured, pressing himself against Bristlepaw’s side. “You did your best.”

“Yeah,” Thriftpaw added. “You’re still a warrior to us—the best!”

Even though Bristlepaw was still frustrated at how things had turned out, she was grateful for her littermates’ comfort. Today was going to be such a great day, she thought, and it’s turned out to be a disaster.