Fading Echoes

Lionblaze’s own power was far simpler. He could fight in battles, unscathed, fearless and stronger than any opponent. Did that seem strange and frightening to his Clanmates? He knew Hollyleaf had always felt uncomfortable about his readiness to fight, as though she didn’t quite believe he wouldn’t get hurt.

But then, she had no power of her own. She was never one of the Three.

And he had been hurt once. Tigerstar had drawn blood in their last dream encounter. Lionblaze glanced behind him, the fur lifting on his shoulders. Was the dark warrior watching him now? Ferns swished beside him and he swung around, uncurling his claws.

“Sorreltail!” He couldn’t hide the relief in his voice. “Are you looking for Cinderheart?”

Sorreltail shook her head. “I’m joining Graystripe’s hunting patrol. Jayfeather just told me that my shoulder’s healed.” The tortoiseshell warrior had wrenched it a few days earlier when her paw had caught in a rabbit hole. “Is Cinderheart with you?” She followed Lionblaze’s gaze up to watch her daughter beckoning Ivypaw farther out along a branch. Cinderheart was balancing skillfully as the branch swayed beneath her paws.

Pride glowed in Sorreltail’s eyes. “I never thought I’d see the day when she’d be strong enough to climb trees like a squirrel.” She sighed gently and watched a moment longer before pulling her gaze away. “Leafpool healed her so well. She was a wonderful medicine cat.”

There was an edge to her mew. Did she blame Lionblaze for Leafpool’s decision to leave the medicine den and become a warrior? His pelt itched. It wasn’t his fault Leafpool had thrown everything away by breaking the warrior code! She was the one who’d had kits with a cat from another Clan and then lied about them!

He held his tongue as Sorreltail headed away; then, remembering Sedgewhisker, he called hopefully, “Where are you hunting?”

“By the WindClan border.”

Good. If the WindClan cats were really in trouble, the hunting patrol would notice; Graystripe could decide whether to help them or not.

As Sorreltail disappeared through a dripping wall of fern, Lionblaze scraped dirt over his catch and padded to the bottom of the oak. “How are you doing?” he called to his Clanmates.

“They’re doing very well.” Cinderheart landed lightly beside him, Ivypaw and Dovepaw dropping down after her. “I think we can try something harder.”

Ivypaw pricked her ears.

“Let’s teach them to cross from one tree to another,” Cinderheart suggested.

“Like squirrels!” Ivypaw squeaked.

“Yes, like squirrels.”

Lionblaze’s tail drooped. He wasn’t a natural climber. “We could teach them battle moves instead,” he suggested hopefully. “There are plenty they don’t know yet.”

“Firestar wants us to practice tree hopping,” Cinderheart reminded him.

We’re cats, not birds! Lionblaze always felt big and clumsy in trees. He’d rather be on the ground, fighting. Why sit up in the branches like a bunch of owls, watching the enemy, rather than tackling them head-on like warriors?

“Come on. Let’s start in this maple.” Cinderheart flashed him a determined glance. She knew he didn’t like tree climbing. “In the old territory, Longtail swears he once crossed from the Great Sycamore to camp without touching the forest floor.”

“How far was that?” Dovepaw sounded impressed.

“About the same as from here to the hollow,” Cinderheart meowed.

Lionblaze snorted. How do you know? Cinderheart had been born by the lake, like him. She had never seen the old territory!

“I bet I could do that,” Ivypaw boasted. She swarmed up the trunk of the maple, eyes half closed against the rain dripping down through the branches. Cinderheart followed, Dovepaw on her tail.

Lionblaze stared up, wishing that the rain would stop. It was going to be hard enough without slippery bark. Sighing, he heaved himself up the trunk, digging his claws deep into the bark to stop himself from sliding down.

Cinderheart was waiting on the lowest branch, while Ivypaw and Dovepaw were already halfway to the end.

“We won’t even have to jump this one,” Dovepaw reported over her shoulder. The branch wove into the lowest branches of a neighboring willow.

“Perhaps we should take a different route,” Lionblaze called to her. The willow had slender branches. “That might not take our weight.”

“Your weight, you mean!” There was a sharpness in Dovepaw’s reply. She was still angry with him for not helping Sedgewhisker. Lionblaze let it pass, though irritation pricked his pads.

Cinderheart nodded toward the willow. “It’s an old tree.” Dovepaw and Ivypaw had already crossed into its branches. “It’ll be strong enough.”

She was right. Lionblaze padded through its boughs easily, relieved to find them wide and sturdy. “Slow down!” he called. Dovepaw and Ivypaw were rushing on ahead, as though each wanted to be first to make it back to camp without touching the forest floor.