STARLIGHT

“You don’t give me the chance to forget,” Brambleclaw retorted, though he couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice. How long had it been, he asked himself, since any of them had had the time or the strength to play?

He gathered the others together—Mistyfoot watched him give the order without saying anything, the expression in her blue eyes impossible to read—and they set off once more, taking a slanting route down to the lake. As he looked back towards the temporary camp, Brambleclaw saw that the spur of land he had spotted earlier was actually an island; three tiny, fuzzy shapes were standing on the shore looking out at it.

“There’s Leafpaw!” Squirrelflight meowed.

Brambleclaw didn’t ask how she could recognise her sister from so far away; he knew there was some sort of special connection between them, so that each of them always had a good idea where the other one was and how she was feeling. A flicker of jealousy stirred within him, but he pushed it away.

They headed down from the ridge towards a point on the lakeshore further along from the island. To Brambleclaw’s relief, the marshy places and small reed-fringed pools thinned out; instead the ground was covered with long grass that felt cool and comfortable under his pads.

“This is more like it!” muttered Crowfeather. WindClan cats were the least used to wet ground, coming from the well-drained sandy moorland above the woods where the other Clans had lived.

Sunhigh came and went as the five cats travelled along the edge of the lake. A stretch of smooth round pebbles ran down to the water, reminding Brambleclaw of the banks of the river in the forest. A little way from the shore, he spotted the spreading ripples where a fish had just risen.

“Plenty of prey for RiverClan,” he pointed out to Mistyfoot.

She nodded. “Mind you,” she meowed, “we might need to work out new ways of fishing. We’re used to standing on the bank or on stepping stones and scooping them out with our paws. What would we do if all the fish went to hide in the middle of the lake?”

There was an amused snort from Squirrelflight, but Brambleclaw silenced her with a glare. Mistyfoot hadn’t been joking—her Clan could starve next to a lake full of prey if they didn’t have the right hunting techniques. He narrowed his eyes and stared across the lake to the greenish smudge that might be the sort of trees ThunderClan had lived among before. Surely hunting mice and squirrels would be the same here as it had been in the forest?

The pebbles beneath their paws grew larger and more slippery, and they slowed down to pick their way carefully, without getting their feet trapped between the stones. The lake bulged into the land ahead of them, and Brambleclaw stopped to look at the opposite shore. Pine trees surrounded a grassy area at the edge of the water, where a wooden structure stuck out into the lake. It looked a bit like the Twoleg bridge in the old territory, but it didn’t seem to lead anywhere.

“What’s that?” Brambleclaw asked, signaling with his tail.

“Some Twoleg thing.” Crowfeather was disdainful.

“I hope that doesn’t mean Twolegs swarming all over the place,” meowed Tawnypelt.

“I don’t think so,” Mistyfoot replied. “I can’t see any Twolegs there now. Maybe they come only in greenleaf, like they used to in our old territory. Their kits like to play in the water.”

“I always thought Twolegs were mousebrained.” Crowfeather sniffed.

Squirrelflight was staring across at the bridge thing, her jaws parted to drink in any scent carried on the breeze. “I can’t smell anything but forest scents and prey,” she reported at last.

“We’re too far away to pick up all the scent trails,” Brambleclaw meowed. “We’ll check it out when we get over there. Like Mistyfoot said, there aren’t any Twolegs around now.”

He signaled for the patrol to move on again. They walked in silence, as if the Twoleg half-bridge had reminded them of their old enemies, and made them warier. Before long Brambleclaw heard another sound above the gentle lapping of waves on the shore: the gurgle of running water. The ground underpaw grew wetter, and just ahead he could see a thick line of reeds winding away from the lake.

“A stream!” Mistyfoot exclaimed, bounding forward.

The rest of the patrol picked up their pace until they joined her on the bank. Pushing through the reeds, Brambleclaw saw that the stream flowed out of the lake; it was wider than the streams they had crossed previously, too broad to jump across, with deep channels curving around pebbly shallows and small, stony islands. The water looked green and cool, shaded by reeds and the occasional tree that grew along the banks. Clumps of brown, dry bracken all around promised more lush vegetation in greenleaf.

Mistyfoot looked around, the tip of her tail twitching. “RiverClan would like a place like this.”

Brambleclaw noticed that she did not make an instant claim to this territory on behalf of her Clan, but he saw the longing in her eyes as she surveyed the stream. He agreed it would be a good place for RiverClan, but it wasn’t their decision to make. Their duty was to report back to the rest of the cats when they had explored all the land around the lake, and the leaders would decide how to divide it up.

“Hey!” Squirrelflight mewed. “I just saw a fish!”

A heartbeat later Brambleclaw spotted one, too, a silver flash that sent ripples spiralling out as it touched the surface of the water.

“Perfect!” mewed Mistyfoot. “Shall I catch some for us?”

“We know how to catch our own, you know.” Tawnypelt spoke politely, but with an edge to her voice.

Mistyfoot gave her a curious look. “Where did you learn that?”

“On our journey,” Crowfeather meowed abruptly. “Feathertail taught us.” He turned away and stalked a few paces downstream, where he sat close to the water, staring into the depths with one paw raised, ready to strike.

Brambleclaw’s heart ached for him. None of them would ever forget the brave and gentle RiverClan cat who had done so much to help Crowfeather feel at ease in the group, and in the end had given her life to save him from Sharptooth. Brambleclaw wondered whether Crowfeather’s pain would ever be healed. Sometimes he seemed as prickly and self-contained as he had been at the start of their journey, before he had learned to trust his companions, and before he had fallen in love with Feathertail.

Mistyfoot gave a sympathetic murmur; Brambleclaw saw grief in her eyes too, and remembered that she had been Feathertail’s mentor. But the RiverClan deputy didn’t attempt to go over to the WindClan warrior and comfort him. Perhaps she knew he wouldn’t welcome any cat intruding on his sad memories. Instead she crouched down where she was to wait for a fish. Tawnypelt and Squirrelflight joined her, but Brambleclaw stayed close to the reeds, all his senses alert for danger. They still didn’t know what this new territory might conceal, and four cats intent on hunting would make easy prey for a hungry fox.

There was no scent of predators or Twolegs, and by the time his friends had hooked several fish out of the stream there had been no sound to disturb them.

“Aren’t you hungry, Brambleclaw?” Squirrelflight asked, padding up to him and setting down the plump silver fish she carried in her jaws. “Or have you forgotten how to fish?”

“I was keeping watch,” he protested. He broke off when he spotted the gleam in her green eyes.

“Mousebrain,” she purred, patting the fish towards him with one forepaw. “I know exactly what you were doing, and I caught enough for both of us. Come and share.”

Tawnypelt shot Brambleclaw a look from narrowed eyes as he sat down beside Squirrelflight. “You seem pretty close,” she remarked quietly. “No need to ask StarClan what your future holds!”

Brambleclaw squirmed in embarrassment, uncomfortable at the thought of other cats gossiping about who he chose to spend time with. Then he relaxed. He had no reason to be secretive about his feelings for Squirrelflight, especially with his own sister. “Then that makes one less thing for StarClan to worry about,” he retorted lightly.

When the meal was over, he stood up, swiping his tongue around his jaws. “Where now?” he asked. “Back to the lake, or shall we have a look downstream?”

“I’d like to explore downstream,” meowed Mistyfoot. “We could see if there are any good places for a camp.”

Brambleclaw nodded, and the cats padded in single file along the bank of the stream, away from the lake. Brambleclaw let Mistyfoot take the lead, because she had the best idea of what she’d be looking out for to make a good RiverClan camp. As far as he could see, there were plenty of places where her Clanmates would feel at home: reed beds, clumps of bramble thickets for fresh-kill that wasn’t fish, with the gurgling of the stream always in their ears. Before very long, they came to a small trickle of water that fell down a slope thickly covered with fern and moss to join the main stream. The land between the two streams was sheltered by clumps of hazel and brambles.

“That’s perfect!” Mistyfoot’s eyes shone; she crossed the main stream, leaping from one pebbly island to the next, then paused as if she had almost forgotten that they needed to watch out for danger. She lifted her head to taste the air before vanishing into the undergrowth.

“It looks as if RiverClan are settled,” Tawnypelt commented.

“Nothing is settled,” Crowfeather reminded her sharply. “It’s for the leaders to decide how the territories are divided up.”

“Well, don’t tell me WindClan want to live by a stream, because I won’t believe you,” Squirrelflight retorted.

“Crowfeather’s right, but there’s no need to argue.” Brambleclaw tried to sound neutral, but he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy. This place was perfect for RiverClan, but it would suit ThunderClan very well, too. OK, so they had never hunted for fish back in the forest, but they could learn, and there were enough trees growing here to provide them with fur-clad prey as well. Brambleclaw wasn’t going to say anything now because it might upset Mistyfoot, but no final decisions could be made before they had seen everything. “With any luck, we’ll find somewhere right for all of us,” he meowed firmly.

Mistyfoot soon came back, her tail in the air and her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “I’ve seen enough for now,” she mewed. “We could definitely make a camp here. Let’s keep going, and see if we can find somewhere for your Clans, too.”

Trying not to feel irritated by the trace of smugness in her tone, as if she was doing them a big favour by accompanying them when RiverClan seemed to have found their perfect home, Brambleclaw led the way to join her on the other side of the main stream. They headed back towards the lake, past the place where they had stopped to fish, and emerged from the trees into an open space stretching down to the shore. Not far ahead was the Twoleg half-bridge, and now that they were closer, Brambleclaw caught a faint but familiar tang in the air.

“There’s a Thunderpath nearby!” he hissed. The hair on his shoulders lifted and his blood turned to ice as he remembered the Twoleg monsters gouging through the forest, ripping the trees out of the ground and leaving an unrecognisable landscape of mud and ruts. Would Twolegs and their monsters drive them away from this place too?

Beside him, Squirrelflight stood with her paws braced against the ground and her fur fluffed up, as if she too was watching their home being destroyed all over again.

“I haven’t heard any monsters,” Mistyfoot meowed calmly. “Let’s go and look.”