Dewspring nodded to a bramble spilling between two oaks. “Mark that tree,” he told Rootpaw.
Rootpaw hurried to the brambles and left his scent, then quickly padded farther along the border where he could get a better view onto ThunderClan’s land. There was no sign of a patrol. Frustration burned beneath his pelt. Perhaps ThunderClan was already sitting vigil for its leader.
He narrowed his eyes and peered deeper into the forest, willing a ThunderClan patrol to appear. Just one look would be enough to tell him if something was wrong. Please let him be alive. Rootpaw’s pelt prickled uncomfortably. Let the ghost be my imagination.
“Mark that patch, too.” Plumwillow flicked her tail toward some bracken crowding along the border.
Rootpaw glanced past it, deeper into ThunderClan’s forest. Was that a cat moving between the trees? He peered harder. It was! He glimpsed a pelt, and another, slipping through the undergrowth. A patrol! But it was heading away. Rootpaw’s pads tingled with urgency. He had to get their attention before they disappeared. He lifted his muzzle. “Which bush did you want me to mark?” His mew rang among the trees, and he knew it would carry far into ThunderClan territory.
“Hush!” Dewspring glared at him. “You’ll scare the prey.”
“But we’re not hunting,” he mewed even more loudly. He met his mentor’s gaze innocently. “I can’t scare borders away.”
Plumwillow grunted crossly. “You don’t have to tell every Clan around the lake what we’re doing!”
“Sorry.” Rootpaw dropped his mew to a whisper, his heart quickening as he saw the ThunderClan cats’ pelts turn and head toward the border. Bracken swished as they neared.
“Do you have to make so much noise?” Lionblaze slid from beneath a bramble and shook out his pelt. The ThunderClan warrior was frowning. “Even if you don’t mind frightening your own prey, you don’t have to scare ours.”
Rootpaw searched the ThunderClan tom’s gaze. Was there grief there? Or worry?
Sparkpelt and Cherryfall nosed their way out beside him and stared irritably across the border.
None of them seemed bothered by anything but Rootpaw’s yowl. Was their leader still alive? Hope welled in his chest.
Plumwillow glanced crossly at Rootpaw. “Rootpaw is a little overenthusiastic today.”
Dewspring brushed past Rootpaw. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d trained him to use his hunting voice no matter what patrol he was on.”
Amusement flashed in Sparkpelt’s eyes. “Apprentices don’t always listen.”
Rootpaw padded to the border and blinked at Lionblaze. “Sorry about being so loud,” he apologized. “It won’t happen again.”
“You’ve probably just gotten used to your new territory.” Lionblaze’s gaze softened sympathetically. “Maybe you’ve forgotten what it’s like to share borders on every side.”
“I guess.” Rootpaw held the golden warrior’s gaze. “Is Bramblestar better now?” He didn’t care if the question sounded odd. He needed to make sure that everything was okay in ThunderClan.
“Of course.” Lionblaze narrowed his eyes, clearly surprised. “He’s been better for days.”
Rootpaw felt dizzy with relief. Bramblestar was alive and well. Which meant he hadn’t seen a ghost. Everything was okay.
Dewspring hurried forward and nosed Rootpaw away from the border. “I’m sorry,” he told Lionblaze again. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Rootpaw today.”
“That’s okay.” Lionblaze looked toward the lake. “The scent of newleaf always makes young cats crazy.”
Sparkpelt followed her Clanmate’s gaze. “The ice is breaking up at the shore,” she murmured.
Plumwillow swished her tail. “We could use a little warmth.”
“And more prey,” Nettlesplash added.
There was a glint in Sparkpelt’s green eyes as she told the SkyClan patrol, “Maybe the Moonpool’s finally thawing too!”
Lionblaze purred. “That would be a relief to us all.”
As the warriors gazed dreamily into the distance, clearly imagining the return of StarClan and an end to the bitter leaf-bare that had gripped the forest, Rootpaw shook out his pelt. He wasn’t like Tree after all. Whatever he’d seen in the forest, it hadn’t been a ghost. Perhaps he’d dreamed it. Perhaps his imagination had turned a shadow into what he’d thought was a ghost. And yet, if it had only been a shadow, whose voice had he heard?
“Come on.” Dewspring’s mew jolted him back into the moment. The ThunderClan patrol was heading away, and Plumwillow and Nettlesplash were marking the border where they’d stood. “We’ll finish marking here and head back to camp. This afternoon you can train with Needlepaw. Reedclaw wants her to practice battle moves with a cat her own size.”
Rootpaw followed his mentor as he padded toward the shore. Leaves crunched beneath his paws. The breeze felt fresh in his fur and he lifted his muzzle, enjoying the scents rolling in from the lake. It would be fun to train with Needlepaw. She could be annoying, because she was faster than him and liked to rub it in, but she was his sister, after all, and she might show him a new move. It would be better than worrying about ghosts.
Needlepaw rolled into the soft grass at the edge of the clearing, her pelt ruffled with tiredness. “Bring me back a mouse.”
“Okay.” Rootpaw left his sister and padded toward the fresh-kill pile. The evening patrol was setting out while the rest of his Clanmates were still returning after their day’s duties. Leafstar watched contentedly through half-closed eyes at one end of the clearing, Hawkwing at her side. Training had gone well, and Rootpaw was pleased that he’d managed to counter Needlepaw’s battle moves with unusual speed. She’d pushed him hard while Reedclaw and Dewspring had called advice from the edge of the training clearing, but he’d matched her blow for blow and ducked and feinted with such skill that Dewspring had let them finish training early so they could take first pick from the fresh-kill pile when they got back to camp.
Rootpaw pulled a mouse from the middle of the pile and chose a shrew for himself. Grabbing the tails between his jaws, he headed back toward Needlepaw. He stiffened as he saw the air shimmer beside her. Was that the outline of a cat? Please, don’t let it be the ghost! He could make out a tabby pelt and wide, round eyes. Rootpaw’s heart dropped like a stone as, silently, Bramblestar flickered into view. The fern wall behind the ThunderClan leader showed through his pale form. He was barely more than a shadow, and he was staring at Rootpaw, his eyes glittering with desperation. I must be imagining it. Rootpaw forced himself forward. He can’t be there. He dropped the prey beside Needlepaw, avoiding Bramblestar’s gaze. “Is this mouse big enough?” He stared at his sister as she looked up. Could she see Bramblestar’s ghost standing beside her?
She blinked at him, then looked at the mouse approvingly. “It looks perfect.” She shifted to make room beside her, and he sat down stiffly and pawed the shrew closer. She can’t see it. His chest tightened as he felt Bramblestar’s gaze burn his pelt. He glanced around the camp. Leafstar was chatting to Hawkwing. Plumwillow washed her face while Nettlesplash and Macgyver chose prey from the pile. No cat was looking at the transparent, scentless figure beside Rootpaw. No cat can see him. Panic flashed beneath his fur. Only me!
Chapter 2
Bristlefrost fluffed out her fur against the morning chill, relieved that the sun had risen high enough to flood the camp with tepid sunshine. Greenleaf still seemed a long way off, but after the hard leaf-bare, even the smallest trace of warmth was welcome.