Lost Stars

Chapter 12

From her ears to the tips of her claws, Bristlepaw felt hot with embarrassment as she stood watching Rootpaw and the other SkyClan cats leave the camp.

Why does Rootpaw keep showing off to me? she asked herself. And why did he bring me prey? She was worried that he thought she couldn’t catch fresh-kill for herself. Did every cat know that hunting had been giving her trouble? Maybe news of her assessment had spread to all the Clans, so now she was known as a failed warrior who needed help all the time.

With a growl of annoyance and frustration she grabbed the vole and carried it over to the elders’ den.

She found Cloudtail and Brightheart drowsily curled up together, while Graystripe and Brackenfur were talking quietly, side by side in their mossy nests. All four cats looked up as Bristlepaw approached and dropped the vole in front of them.

“Is that for us?” Brackenfur asked. “Wow, great catch, Bristlepaw.”

“It is, but I didn’t catch it.” Bristlepaw couldn’t bear to tell the elders where the vole had really come from, but she didn’t want to lie about it.

“Thanks for bringing it, anyway,” Graystripe mewed, stretching out his neck to give the vole a good, deep sniff.

“You’re welcome,” Bristlepaw responded as she began backing out of the den. The sooner the wretched thing is eaten and I can forget about it, the better. “Enjoy.”

Leaving the elders to share the vole, Bristlepaw headed back into the camp, looking around for Rosepetal. She couldn’t see her mentor, but before she had gone many paw steps, Stemleaf bounded up to her and fell into step beside her.

Bristlepaw felt her heart start to thump, and every hair on her pelt grew warm at Stemleaf’s closeness. She remembered seeing him in the crowd of cats around the SkyClan patrol. I wonder what he thought about that?

“I see you have an admirer,” Stemleaf meowed. “How long has Rootpaw been padding after you?”

Bristlepaw halted, staring at Stemleaf in shock. “Rootpaw isn’t padding after me!” she choked out.

Stemleaf’s gaze was teasing but still kind. “Come on—how many cats go out of their way to do nice things for a cat from another Clan?”

Oh, no! Bristlepaw thought, still staring at Stemleaf. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Rootpaw does like me like that!

“So what if he is, then,” she responded, trying to make her voice calm and detached. “He’s just a mouse-brained apprentice.”

“Well, he can’t be that mouse-brained,” Stemleaf purred. “No cat could be, when he’s chosen a great cat like you.”

Bristlepaw blinked, hardly able to believe what Stemleaf had just said. “Oh . . . uh . . . thanks,” she stammered.

Stemleaf just gave her a friendly nod and bounded off toward the fresh-kill pile, where Spotfur and Cinderheart were sharing prey.

Looking after him, Bristlepaw felt as if her paws were floating several tail-lengths above the camp floor. That’s the nicest thing Stemleaf has ever said to me! He must feel for me what I feel for him!

All her embarrassment over Rootpaw’s visit was swept away and forgotten. Instead she felt grateful to the young cat. He had made Stemleaf realize his feelings for her! Once again she pictured a time when she and Stemleaf would be mates, hunting and fighting side by side for their Clan. Only one thing stood in the way now of that dream coming true:

I have to pass my assessment.

When Bristlepaw emerged from her den the next morning, dawn light had barely begun to seep into the sky, and a few stars still glimmered overhead. Thriftpaw and Flippaw remained curled up in their bedding, their whiskers quivering in time with their snores, but Bristlepaw felt her whole body surge with energy.

This is the day!

Outside the warriors’ den, Squirrelflight was arranging the dawn patrols. Bristlepaw arched her back in a long stretch as she watched Twigbranch lead out one group and Molewhisker a second; she noticed with satisfaction that Rosepetal wasn’t among them.

After the patrols left, Bristlepaw hurried over to the warriors’ den and slid through the outer branches. Rosepetal was buried deep in her nest of bracken, only the curve of her cream-colored back visible among the reddish-brown fronds. For a moment Bristlepaw felt nervous about waking her, especially as she wasn’t supposed to be in the warriors’ den at all, but her determination urged her on. She picked her way over to her mentor, careful not to wake the sleeping Thornclaw as she skirted his nest.

Rosepetal let out a grunt as Bristlepaw prodded her with one paw. “Wha—? Is it badgers?” she muttered.

“No, Rosepetal, it’s me,” Bristlepaw replied. “Can I do my assessment today?”

Immediately Rosepetal was awake, sitting up and shaking scraps of moss from her pelt. “Are you sure?” she asked. “No cat is judging you for what happened last time, and conditions aren’t any better.”

“I’m sure,” Bristlepaw responded confidently. “I’m ready. I can do it.” And then I can be with Stemleaf.

Rosepetal hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Very well. I’ll go tell Bramblestar.”

Bristlepaw padded back to her own den to wait while her mentor spoke to the Clan leader. Her littermates were just emerging, yawning and shivering in the cold air.

“I’m going to do my assessment again,” Bristlepaw announced, beginning to give herself a quick grooming.

Her brother and sister brightened up immediately. “Wow!” Flippaw exclaimed. “Good luck.”

“Yeah,” Thriftpaw added. “I’m sure you’ll do great this time.”

“Thanks,” Bristlepaw responded. Some cats would be jealous, but Flippaw and Thriftpaw are so supportive!

Before Rosepetal returned, Bristlepaw realized that news of her assessment was spreading through the camp. Her parents, Ivypool and Fernsong, padded over to wish her good luck, along with Squirrelflight and Bramblestar himself.

Bristlepaw thanked them all as she padded out of camp with her mentor, but inwardly she had begun to feel nervous, as if her early confidence were leaking out through her pads. She imagined how dreadful it would be if she failed for a second time and every cat knew it. Maybe Stemleaf would believe that it was StarClan’s will for her never to become a warrior.

Oh, that would be terrible. . . . He would never be my mate then.

Once out in the forest, Rosepetal turned to her. “Off you go,” she mewed, then stepped away with a nod and disappeared around a bramble thicket. Bristlepaw knew, however, that she would be somewhere close by, watching.

The dawn light was strengthening, though clouds covered the sky and no sun could shine through. For a few moments, Bristlepaw stood still, gazing around at the frozen forest and thinking hard. I’ll stay well away from the WindClan border this time, she told herself. She was determined not to return to camp without catching something, especially the day after a cat from another Clan had embarrassed her by bringing her prey.

Bristlepaw remembered an area of thick undergrowth in a shallow valley not far from where Rosepetal had left her. There was plenty of shelter there where prey might be lurking. Her ears pricked alertly, her eyes scanning every paw step of the forest, she padded off in that direction.

Around her the forest was white and quiet, the only sound her paws breaking through the hard crust of the snow, and now and then the creaking of a laden branch. Her breath billowed out in a foggy cloud. The air she breathed in felt like claws in her chest, and it held not the slightest hint of prey.

Finally Bristlepaw stood at the edge of the valley, which lay in front of her like an upturned leaf. The bottom was covered with bushes and ferns; here and there the deep green of holly or the brown of bracken poked up above the white covering of snow. And, for the first time, Bristlepaw picked up a tiny trace of mouse.

Yes!

Setting her paws down carefully, remembering that a mouse would feel the vibrations of her steps before it heard or saw her, Bristlepaw slid down into the valley and between the outer branches of the bushes. Only a dim light filtered in from above, and dead leaves covered the earth.

Keeping her tail well tucked in, Bristlepaw flattened herself to the ground and crept forward. The scent of mouse was stronger now, and before she had gone very far, she spotted it nibbling at something among the roots of a gorse bush.

With every paw step Bristlepaw prepared for the mouse to sense her and run, but it had its back to her, intent on the seed or whatever it was eating. The low branches stopped Bristlepaw from rising into the right position for a pounce; instead, when she was close enough, she flung herself forward, feeling the gorse thorns rake along her back, and trapped the mouse between her forepaws. It let out a thin, terrified squeal that broke off as Bristlepaw bit down on its neck.

Huge relief flooded through Bristlepaw as she looked down at her prey. “Thank you, StarClan,” she mewed fervently, even though part of her wondered whether she should be thanking StarClan when they were absent. The mouse was a scrawny thing, but at least she wouldn’t be going back to camp empty-pawed. I’ve got to catch more than this, though, she thought. What if Rosepetal doesn’t think one mouse is enough?

However, when Bristlepaw emerged from the bushes, and set the mouse down so she could taste the air for more prey, Rosepetal appeared from behind a nearby tree.

“Well done—you passed,” her mentor meowed. “We can go back to camp now.”

Bristlepaw hardly knew how to respond. She wanted to let out a triumphant yowl to celebrate passing her assessment, but at the same time she would have liked a more impressive catch to carry back with her. She had always imagined returning to camp loaded down with prey.

“I might find more if I go on hunting a bit longer,” she suggested.

Rosepetal flicked Bristlepaw’s shoulder with her tail-tip. “You’ve proved yourself a good hunter,” she mewed kindly. “If you can catch prey in these conditions, you must be one of the strongest, most skillful young cats in the Clan. I’ll be really pleased to recommend that Bramblestar make you a warrior.”

She set out toward the camp; Bristlepaw had no choice but to pick up her mouse and follow. She was looking forward to her warrior ceremony—and the talk with Stemleaf that was sure to follow—but in the midst of her happiness and relief she still had the niggling sense that the mouse wasn’t much of a catch, and that she could have done better.

I hope Rosepetal didn’t say I passed just because she felt sorry for me.

As Bristlepaw pushed her way through the thorn tunnel into the ThunderClan camp, she was aware of every cat turning to look at her, their ears pricked with interest. Then she heard her brother, Flippaw, let out a yowl.

“Yes! She caught a mouse!”

At once Bristlepaw’s Clanmates began to gather around her. “Congratulations!” Ivypool purred, while Fernsong pressed his muzzle into her shoulder, his eyes warm with pride.

Bristlepaw felt almost overwhelmed, especially when Stemleaf padded up to her and dipped his head to give her mouse an approving sniff.

“Good job!” he meowed.

“It’s not much of a catch,” Bristlepaw protested.

“But just remember how little prey there is out there,” Stemleaf pointed out. “One scrawny mouse now is worth the same as a fat squirrel in greenleaf.”

Rosepetal had said much the same, but somehow Bristlepaw was much happier to hear it from Stemleaf. “Thank you,” she purred.

Meanwhile Rosepetal had fetched Bramblestar from his den; Bristlepaw saw the Clan leader stop a few tail-lengths away from her while the rest of the cats formed a ragged circle around him.

My warrior ceremony is now? Bristlepaw wondered, frantically beginning to groom herself.

The Clan leader threw back his head and let out a commanding yowl. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highledge for a Clan meeting!”

The four elders emerged from their den and padded up to sit together at one side of the circle. Alderheart brushed past the bramble screen of the medicine cats’ den, followed a heartbeat later by Jayfeather. Sorrelstripe and Sparkpelt sat at the entrance to the nursery with Daisy, while the two litters of kits rolled and play wrestled around their mothers’ paws.

When all the cats were assembled, Bramblestar beckoned Bristlepaw with his tail. She padded up to him with Rosepetal at her side. She could feel the gaze of every cat on her, and held her head high, though it was hard to ignore the nest of mice that seemed to be chasing one another inside her belly.

“Cats of ThunderClan,” Bramblestar began, “one of the most important tasks a Clan leader can perform is the making of a new warrior. And that is the task in front of me today. Rosepetal, has your apprentice, Bristlepaw, learned the skills of a warrior, and does she understand the meaning of the warrior code?”

Rosepetal dipped her head to her Clan leader. “She has, and she does,” she replied. “I am proud to bring her before you.”

“Then I, Bramblestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice,” the Clan leader continued, glancing up at the sky with an unsettled expression. “She . . . has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend her to you as a warrior in her turn.

“Bristlepaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Bristlepaw let her voice ring out clearly across the camp. “I do.”

“Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior name.” Bramblestar paused. “Bristlepaw, from this moment on you will be known as Bristlefrost. I know that StarClan will honor your skill and your determination, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

Bramblestar stooped to rest his muzzle on Bristlefrost’s head, and she gave his shoulder a respectful lick, then took a step backward. As if at a signal, all the Clan burst out in yowls and caterwauls of acclamation.

“Bristlefrost! Bristlefrost!”

Warmth spread through Bristlefrost from ears to tail-tip. Her meager catch was forgotten in her pride and happiness. She was purring too hard to speak as her parents came up to congratulate her again, while her littermates bounced around her.

“You’re awesome, Bristlefrost!” Thriftpaw meowed. “But it’s our turn next, don’t forget!”

“Yes, you’ll both be warriors really soon now,” Bristlefrost assured them.

More cats pressed up to give her their congratulations, and Bristlefrost thanked them, but her paws were tingling with impatience for the chance to talk to Stemleaf. Finally, as her Clanmates began to move away, she spotted him standing to one side.

“Bristlefrost is a great name,” he told her as she padded up to him. “I’m so glad you passed this time.”

“Thank you.” Bristlefrost took a deep breath, and strove to stop herself from shaking. It’s now or never! “Stemleaf,” she went on, “I really—really—like you. I’ve always felt that we might be mates someday. And now that I’m a warrior, maybe this is the time for us to start thinking of each other in a new way?”

Stemleaf stared at her, and Bristlefrost saw to her horror that dismay, and not love, was filling his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mewed. “I had no idea you felt like this, Bristlefrost. I like you a lot, but I always thought of you as a friend—a really good friend, almost like another littermate. I’ve never felt . . . that way about you.”

Bristlefrost felt as stunned as if a rock had fallen from the camp wall and hit her on the head. But she wasn’t ready to give up yet. “But now that you know how I feel . . . do you think that in time, Stemleaf, you might feel the same way?”

Stemleaf shook his head. His eyes were full of distress, but that wasn’t much comfort to Bristlefrost. “I don’t think so. Actually, I . . . I like another cat.” His gaze traveled across the camp to where Spotfur was playing with Sparkpelt’s and Sorrelstripe’s kits outside the nursery. “I’m so sorry, Bristlefrost.”

“Oh . . . o-of course,” Bristlefrost muttered, stumbling over her words. Any awkwardness she’d felt in the past was nothing compared to the horrible embarrassment that flooded through her now. “Don’t worry about it. Just forget the whole thing.”

Head down, she fled across the camp, and Stemleaf didn’t follow. A few cats paused to congratulate her as she passed, but Bristlefrost didn’t want to listen. Instead she plunged into the warriors’ den and burrowed into the nearest nest, hiding her head under her paws and tail. This should have been such a proud moment, but now she was full of grief and humiliation. She felt as if a fox were tearing out her belly, and all she wanted was to be left alone.

“Bristlefrost?” She recognized her father’s voice. “Bristlefrost, what’s the matter?”

Bristlefrost didn’t respond to Fernsong. He won’t understand. No cat will understand.

I’ll never be happy again.