Dawn

Cody nodded. She looked at Ferncloud, who was distraught with grief. “Birchkit is hungry and crying for food,” she murmured. “But I think he can manage solid food if I chew it up first. Ferncloud isn’t going to be able to feed him herself for a while, poor thing.”

“Brambleclaw caught a squirrel. He could have that,” Squirrelpaw suggested.

“I’ll bring it to the den,” Ashfur offered.

Cody nudged Ferncloud with her nose, and with Leafpaw’s help they managed to lead her away from her dead kit and back to the shelter of the warriors’ den.

“How did this happen?” Firestar demanded when they had gone.

“He was with me,” began Thornclaw, Shrewpaw’s mentor.

His fur stood on end, and his eyes were huge with despair.

“He was chasing a pheasant.”

“Why didn’t he see the Twoleg monster?”

“He was chasing a pheasant,” Thornclaw repeated. “It would have fed half the Clan. He forgot to be careful.”

“Didn’t you hear or smell the monster and warn him?”

Firestar’s question was filled more with sorrow than accusation.

Thornclaw miserably shook his head. “With prey so scarce, the hunting is better if we split up. I wasn’t close enough to see what was going on.”

Firestar dipped his head, understanding.

“I’ll sit with him.” Whitepaw’s young voice sounded over the beating of the rain. Shrewpaw had been her denmate since kithood, and the sorrow of losing him glistened in her green eyes. “I don’t care if we’ve been driven out of our camp.

We can still hold a vigil.”

“I’ll join you,” Thornclaw croaked. He leaned down and pressed his nose against Shrewpaw’s bloody flank.

The other cats began filing past to bid farewell to their young Clanmate. When it came to her turn, Squirrelpaw stooped low over Shrewpaw’s body, her heart aching. “You were an apprentice in ThunderClan, but you’ll be a warrior with StarClan,” she whispered.

She turned away and padded down the slope toward the shelter of the trees, her sadness feeling like part of the rain and tiredness that seemed to seep right through to her bones.

She spotted Brambleclaw sitting beneath a larch tree, watching her.

“I can’t believe Shrewpaw is dead.” She sighed.

“I know,” Brambleclaw murmured, entwining his tail with hers.

Squirrelpaw leaned closer to him. “Ferncloud is heart-broken.”

“She will find comfort in having the rest of her Clan around her.” Brambleclaw sighed.

Squirrelpaw couldn’t help feeling that he was talking about more than Ferncloud’s grief.

“After all, the Clan means more to a cat than real kin,” he went on.

“Even Tawnypelt?”

“She is with ShadowClan now. My loyalty to her comes second to ThunderClan, and she understands that.”

“And what about Hawkfrost and Mothwing? Do you feel anything for them, now that you know you share the same father?”

“Knowing we share the same father doesn’t change anything,” Brambleclaw went on. “I am nothing like Hawkfrost.”

The tip of his tail twitched anxiously. “Am I?”

“Of course not,” Squirrelpaw replied hotly. “No cat would think you are.”

“Even when they find out what we have in common?”

“ThunderClan will always think of you as a brave warrior, loyal to his Clan,” Squirrelpaw reassured him.

“Thank you.” He gave her a quick lick on the cheek before getting to his paws and moving away toward the river.

Squirrelpaw followed, keeping pace with him until he sat down and stared across the border into RiverClan territory.

Squirrelpaw followed his gaze. The river carved its way though the small glade, its surface shattered by the pouring rain. She peered closer and blinked. “Look, Brambleclaw!” she mewed in surprise. “Look at the river!”

“What about it?”

“Do you remember when Hawkfrost and Sasha waded across it earlier?”

“Yes.” Brambleclaw twitched his ear. “So?”

“Well, they waded across it,” Squirrelpaw repeated. “They didn’t swim; they waded.”

Brambleclaw looked baffled.

“Look at the stepping-stones!” Squirrelpaw jumped up and pointed with her tail. “They’re sticking right out of the water. After rain like this, in the middle of leaf-bare, they should be nearly covered.”

“You’re right.” Brambleclaw sat up.

“Surely the river shouldn’t be this shallow?”

“Well, it’s been quite dry lately,” Brambleclaw commented.

“Not that dry,” she argued. “It’s been pouring all day today, but the river’s not swollen at all. Something must be wrong.”

“Like what?”

Just then a familiar voice called from the bank opposite, “What are you two up to?”

Stormfur appeared and waded across the stream. “Are you finding it as hard as I am, being cooped up in camp after our journey?”

“Yes. Everything is harder. Shrewpaw died,” Squirrelpaw told him sadly. “Whitepaw’s sitting vigil.” Suddenly she wondered if they should be back at camp, mourning their lost Clanmate. She glanced at Brambleclaw, who seemed to understand her anxiety.

“We’ll join them soon,” he promised.

“Do you want me to catch you a fish to take back?” Stormfur offered.

“The Clan needs all the fresh-kill they can get,” Brambleclaw meowed. “But I don’t think they’d accept it.”