Bramblestar’s Storm

“Isn’t this great?” she cried, bouncing up to him. “At last I can see your home!” Then she paused, tipping her head on one side. “Are you worried about how much damage has been done?” she asked more gently. “You don’t seem as excited as the others.”

Bramblestar shook his head. “No, I know we can repair our dens. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

Together they followed the rest of the cats down to the hollow. The lower slopes, where the water had just retreated, were still wet and slippery. Bramblestar watched Amberpaw lose her footing and roll down, tail and paws waving, until she managed to stop herself by grabbing a tuft of long grass. She sprang up again, slicked with mud but not at all bothered by the fall, and pelted on after her littermates.

Bramblestar padded into the hollow and looked around. The thorn barrier at the entrance had been almost completely swept away; that would need restoring before they could feel safe. He was relieved to see that he could identify all the dens, though some of the branches and all of the moss and leaves that plugged holes in the roofs and walls had vanished. The nursery roof was sagging and washed-up branches blocked the entrance to the medicine cats’ den.

Walking farther into the camp, Bramblestar had to pick his way among debris and a few surviving puddles. Scraps of bark, twigs, and leaves littered the ground, and there were even a few dead fish.

“Look, a fresh-kill pile already!” Berrynose joked as he padded past.

Poppyfrost wrinkled her nose and winced. “Not all that fresh,” she muttered.

Brackenfur was moving from den to den, followed by Cherryfall and Mousewhisker as he inspected the damage. “We’ll need a lot of brambles to patch that up,” he warned, waving his tail at the roof of the warriors’ den, which had a jagged hole in the middle. “Dustpelt, do you think—” he mewed, then broke off, flinching. “Sorry, I forgot,” he mumbled. “I’m not sure I can do this without him.”

Whitewing rested her tail across Brackenfur’s shoulders. “You worked with Dustpelt for many seasons,” she meowed encouragingly. “You know just what he would have done. And we’ll all help rebuild our home. You’re not alone.”

Bramblestar watched the golden-brown tabby brace himself and examine the warriors’ den more closely. “We’ll need to find the longest bramble tendrils we can, to weave between the branches,” he told Cherryfall and Molewhisker. “Ivy is good, too. And then plenty of moss to plug the gaps. But first we have to clear out all the mud and mess.”

“How do we do that?” Mousewhisker asked, ducking under the branches of the fallen tree to peer at the clots of sludge that covered the floor of the den.

“Hmm…” Brackenfur narrowed his eyes. “There are plenty of dead leaves and ferns lying around. They should help to sop up the worst of the mud.”

“Brackenfur!” Daisy’s voice called from across the camp.

Bramblestar turned to see that the cream-furred cat had emerged from the nursery with a disgusted expression on her face. Cinderheart followed her a few paces behind.

“Brackenfur, the nursery is a disgrace!” Daisy announced. “Cinderheart’s not having her kits in there.”

“It’s not that bad—” Cinderheart began to protest.

“It’s worse than the tunnel!” Daisy hissed. Turning to Brackenfur, she added, “You have to do something right now, so it’s ready for when the kits arrive.”

“Okay, okay,” Brackenfur soothed her. “I’ve only got four paws, you know. But I’ll make sure the nursery’s ready; don’t worry. I’ll come over with you now, and see what needs to be done.”

Satisfied, Daisy turned to head back to the nursery, and was nearly knocked off her paws by all four apprentices, who were giving Frankie, Jessy, and Minty a tour of the camp.

“This is where we sleep,” Dewpaw announced, waving his tail at the wreck of the apprentices’ den. “You can go in if you like.”

Minty peered over the waterlogged ferns that edged the den and drew back with a twitch of her whiskers. “Er… very nice,” she murmured. “But I won’t go in just yet, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, I know it looks awful now,” Amberpaw responded cheerfully. “But when it’s dried out, and the floor covered with moss and bracken, it’s so cozy and comfortable!”

“Except when you stick your tail in my ear,” Snowpaw muttered, giving her a prod.

Lilypaw slipped between the two younger apprentices. “That’s enough,” she mewed. “Come on, we have to show the kittypets the medicine den.”

“Yes!” Amberpaw yowled. “Come on, it’s this way!”

The apprentices streamed across the clearing, paws slipping in the thick mud that covered the floor. “Oh, yuck, I’ve got it all over my pelt!” Snowpaw squealed.

The kittypets followed, their expressions torn between amusement and confusion.

“That’s where the fresh-kill pile used to be!” Amberpaw explained, pointing with her tail.

“No, it’s not, mouse-brain!” Dewpaw swatted her over the head with one paw. “It was over there!”