Rootpaw’s thoughts spiraled as his paws thrummed over the earth. Bramblestar can’t be a ghost. He’s not dead! He’d lost a life to fever. But he was a Clan leader; he had come back. He was alive. Then why had Rootpaw been able to see the forest through Bramblestar’s shimmering pelt? Why hadn’t he smelled ThunderClan scent? Why had his paws made no sound on the hard earth?
Something sinewy snagged Rootpaw’s leg. It jerked from under him and he rolled, snatching it free as he thumped onto his side. The shock of his fall jolted him from his panic. Lying still for a moment, Rootpaw let his breath steady before scrambling to his paws. Pain flashed through the paw the root had caught. He glanced back the way he’d run. Something moved in the distance. Bramblestar? He stiffened, his belly tightening, then relaxed as he realized it was just bracken trembling in the breeze. He lifted his snagged paw, moving it gingerly. The pain softened and faded and he put his weight on it, relieved to find that it was okay.
He looked again for Bramblestar. The forest was deserted. He shook out his pelt. Did I imagine it? He’d been so sure he’d seen the ghostly ThunderClan leader. His breath caught in his throat. Perhaps Bramblestar had died again. Rootpaw shivered. Perhaps the fever that had killed him once had returned and killed him again. But why would I see his ghost? Dread crawled Rootpaw’s belly. Am I like Tree? His father had always been able to see dead cats. Was it possible Rootpaw had inherited the skill?
Rootpaw shuddered. He didn’t want to be strange like Tree. It was bad enough being Tree’s son and having his Clanmates treat him like the kit of a five-legged squirrel. He just wanted to be like his denmates—a normal warrior, with normal warrior kin. He lifted his chin, irritated. He would go back to the clearing. If it had been the real Bramblestar, he might still be there. He could explain why he’d come. And if it turned out Rootpaw had imagined seeing the ThunderClan leader, he’d see that there was nothing to be scared of. The wind might have made the shadows shiver so they seemed like a tabby pelt.
Squaring his shoulders, Rootpaw marched back to the clearing. As he neared the tiny glade, he fluffed his fur against the cold, puffing out his chest as he padded down the slope and stopped in the middle. He looked around, pricking his ears, but saw no sign of Bramblestar, neither the warrior nor the ghost. There was no scent lingering in the air. Shadows rippled over the ground. Rootpaw shook his head. He had not seen Bramblestar’s ghost. He’d imagined the whole thing.
He glanced at the sky, realizing that the sun had lifted high above the trees. His heart quickened. He was late. Dewspring would be expecting him for training. Rootpaw broke into a run and hared between the trees, heading back to camp.
“I’m glad you decided to turn up.” Dewspring was waiting for him outside the fern entrance. He flicked his tail irritably as Rootpaw scrambled down the slope toward him.
“Sorry!” Rootpaw puffed.
“We’re supposed to be stalking prey.” Dewspring stared at him.
“We still can,” Rootpaw mewed apologetically.
Dewspring huffed. “A warrior arrives on time.”
“I got distracted.” Rootpaw glanced at his paws. It was a lame excuse, but how could he tell his mentor that he thought he’d seen a ghost of a cat who wasn’t even dead? Besides, he didn’t want Dewspring to think he was as strange as Tree.
Dewspring whisked his tail. “Don’t let it happen again,” he mewed. “You’ve still got a lot to learn. If you want to become a warrior before greenleaf, we don’t have time to waste.”
As Rootpaw dipped his head, the frost-browned ferns rustled and Hawkwing pushed his way out of camp. Plumwillow and Nettlesplash followed at his heels.
“Hi, Dewspring.” The SkyClan deputy paused beside the gray tom. He glanced at Rootpaw. “How’s your apprentice doing?”
“Not bad.” Dewspring eyed Rootpaw sharply. Rootpaw tensed. Was his mentor going to tell Hawkwing that he’d been late for training? “He’s a good hunter, and his battle skills are coming along well.”
Relief washed over Rootpaw’s pelt.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Hawkwing nodded. “I’m taking a patrol to the ThunderClan border. The scent markers are a little stale toward the lake.”
“That’s a long trek,” Dewspring observed.
“Yes,” Hawkwing agreed. “But we need to make sure ShadowClan and ThunderClan respect that piece of territory. It’s our only access to the shore.”
As the warriors spoke, Rootpaw’s thoughts quickened. ThunderClan would know if Bramblestar was dead. A ThunderClan patrol might share the news. Then he’d know if there was a chance he’d really seen Bramblestar’s ghost. I have to help mark the border. He glanced at Dewspring. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to the lakeshore,” he mewed. Dewspring blinked at him, surprised, as Rootpaw went on. “Perhaps we could join the patrol and you could show me where the scent markers go again. I’ve forgotten.”
Hawkwing pricked his ears. “Well, then, you’d better come along.” He glanced at Dewspring. “Unless you had other plans.”
Dewspring’s tail twitched. “We were going to practice stalking.” He gazed curiously at Rootpaw. “But we can do that tomorrow.”
“So we can go?” Rootpaw looked at his mentor eagerly.
“Sure.”
Rootpaw dropped his gaze, worried that Dewspring might see his relief and wonder about his real interest in the ThunderClan border.
His paws ached by the time they reached the strip of land between ShadowClan and ThunderClan that led down to the lake. Dewspring had used the trek to teach him more about the forest. He’d pointed out prey trails and signs that birds were beginning to build nests in time for newleaf. Rootpaw had tried hard to listen, but his thoughts had been on Bramblestar’s ghost. The farther away he traveled from the sunny glade where he thought he’d see the apparition, the more certain he felt that he’d seen something. Perhaps StarClan had sent him a vision of the ThunderClan leader. But why send it to him? They hadn’t shared with the Clans in moons. He felt sure that if they had a message, they’d share it with a medicine cat.
“Do you see that tree?” Dewspring’s mew jerked him from his thoughts. His mentor had paused to point his muzzle toward a spreading ash, pale between the oaks.
Rootpaw stopped and followed Dewspring’s gaze as Hawkwing, Nettlesplash, and Plumwillow continued along the narrow stretch of forest beside ThunderClan’s land. “I see it,” he mewed.
“Birds like to nest about halfway up.” He nodded toward the branches. “There are nooks between the branches, and the trunk will give a lot of shelter once the leaves appear. And there are plenty of bugs to feed their young.” Dewspring padded to the foot of the ash and pressed his forepaws against the trunk. “The bark is hard, but not too hard.” He curled his claws into the wood. “It’s easy to climb.”
Rootpaw nodded, fixing his gaze on his mentor while his ears strained to hear sounds from the ThunderClan territory beyond. Were any patrols near the border? He struggled to keep his attention on Dewspring, relieved when the gray tom turned and followed his Clanmates. Rootpaw hesitated, peering across the scent line. He tasted the air. Was a ThunderClan patrol near?
“Stop dawdling!” Dewspring had stopped and was staring at him. He whisked his tail impatiently. “I thought you wanted to see where the scent markers should go.”
Plumwillow was already leaving her scent on a patch of withered bracken while Nettlesplash rubbed his jaw along a jutting twig.