Эрин Хантер - The Silent Thaw

Fidgetflake dropped the moss and patted the comfrey around Dewspring’s paw. “I’m going out to gather herbs soon,” he told Rootpaw. “Want to help me?”

“Okay.” Rootpaw blinked at him eagerly. It would give him time to talk to the medicine cat alone.

Dewspring settled onto his belly and laid his injured paw gently on the ground. “You might as well make yourself useful,” he meowed.

Rootpaw looked hopefully at Fidgetflake. “Should we go now?” If they left at once, the apparition might not know where he went.

Fidgetflake purred. “If you like.” He nodded to Frecklewish. “I’m going to gather horsetail. Is there anything else we need?”

“See if the marigold is sprouting,” she told him. “We’re running a little low.”

Outside camp Rootpaw led the way uphill, slipping between boulders and only pausing when he reached the top. He gazed across the rolling hills, relieved to be free for a while from Bramblestar’s ghost. Stretches of snow still lay in shadows between the hills, but around them green fields unfurled beneath a bright blue sky, and trees flung up their branches in an emerald haze.

Fidgetflake stopped beside him and pointed his nose toward the valley below. A stream sparkled at the bottom. “There’s horsetail down there,” he told Rootpaw, heading downhill.

Rootpaw followed, relishing the breeze in his pelt. It was chilly, despite the sunshine, and he could see his breath. Prey-scent touched his nose, and he wished he were hunting with Dewspring instead of gathering herbs. But this was his chance to find out if Bramblestar’s ghost was unusual. He knew it was different for medicine cats because they saw StarClan cats, not ghosts who hadn’t found their way to StarClan like the ones Tree saw. But Bramblestar was nearly a StarClan cat; perhaps he already was a StarClan cat and just didn’t know it. Whatever—Fidgetflake must have some useful advice.

He caught up to Fidgetflake as the black-and-white tom nosed his way into a patch of horsetail and began to reach up and snap the tips with his teeth. Rootpaw copied him, wincing as bitter sap bathed his tongue. He spat it out. “What’s it like, talking to dead cats?” he asked, trying to sound casual. He had no intention of telling Fidgetflake about seeing Bramblestar’s ghost. But the medicine cat might know the answers to Bramblestar’s questions. Was it possible to be dead and alive at the same time?

“Why do you ask?” Fidgetflake glanced at him as he snapped a fresh stem. He dropped it on the ground. “’Paws aren’t usually interested in dead cats.”

“I was just wondering.” Rootpaw shrugged. “Do you see dead cats out here in the forest, like Tree does?”

“We only see StarClan cats,” Fidgetflake explained. “They appear to us in visions. Tree sees cats who are left behind in the forest.” He paused, tipping his head. “At least I think he does.”

“So spirits wandering in the forest are never StarClan cats?” Rootpaw pressed. Couldn’t Bramblestar get to StarClan? Was he stuck?

“StarClan cats usually stay in their own hunting grounds,” Fidgetflake told him. “There’s no reason to come back to the forest. They can share with us at the Moonpool.”

So why had Bramblestar come back? Rootpaw’s tail twitched uneasily. “If one did come back to the forest, would you speak to it?”

“Of course.” Fidgetflake had stopped picking horsetail. He was staring at Rootpaw curiously.

Rootpaw reached up for another stem. He quickly snapped off the tip with his teeth and laid it with the others, avoiding Fidgetflake’s eye.

“You’re not thinking of becoming a medicine cat, are you?” Fidgetflake blinked at him.

“No,” Rootpaw told him quickly. “I was just talking about ghosts at the Gathering,” he lied. “Some of the other apprentices were interested. One said they’d seen the ghost of a Clan cat.”

Fidgetflake pricked his ears. “When?”

“I don’t know.” Rootpaw’s heart quickened. He didn’t want Fidgetflake asking too many questions. “Ages ago. He said . . . he said he saw the ghost of a cat who was still alive.”

Fidgetflake looked disappointed. “It sounds like he was making it up. A living cat can’t have a ghost.”

Rootpaw’s heart sank. “So it’s impossible, right?”

“Totally.”

Rootpaw frowned. He wasn’t ready to give up entirely. There was another question that had been nagging him since Bramblestar’s ghost had appeared. Why had the apparition chosen him and not a cat from his own Clan? “Do you ever speak to StarClan cats who aren’t from SkyClan?”

“We do now that we live beside the lake,” Fidgetflake told him. “We had our own StarClan beside the gorge. But now we see all our ancestors, and once a cat is in StarClan, they talk to any cat they like.”

“So it’s okay for dead cats to speak to cats from other Clans.”

“Of course.”

Rootpaw felt a glimmer of relief. At least something about this was normal.

Fidgetflake went on. “It doesn’t matter which Clan a warrior comes from,” he mewed. “Or if they come from StarClan at all. If a dead cat has a message to pass on, we must listen to it and do our best to honor their wishes.”

Am I supposed to honor Bramblestar’s wishes? Rootpaw shifted uneasily. He wasn’t even sure what they were.

The horsetail shivered a few tail-lengths away. Rootpaw jerked his muzzle around to see what was moving there.

“Hey!” Tree pushed through the stems toward them. His paws were wet and water dripped from his belly. “I was seeing if it’s possible to catch fish in the stream.”

“Any luck?” Fidgetflake asked.

“No.” Tree stopped as he reached them. “Fish are too slippery. I can’t hold on to one even with my claws out. RiverClan must have burrs on their paws. I can’t see how else they can catch them.” He blinked at Rootpaw. “Where’s Dewspring?”

“He’s sprained a paw.”

“No training today?” Tree’s gaze rounded.

“No,” Rootpaw told him. “I’m helping Frecklewish gather herbs instead.”

“I thought your assessment was coming up.” Tree looked worried.

“It is, but I’ll be okay,” Rootpaw reassured him.

“Come with me,” Tree mewed cheerily. “I can teach you some of my hunting skills.”

Rootpaw hesitated. His father’s skills would be strange. “I’m not sure Dewspring wants me learning new skills somewhere else.”

“Nonsense.” Tree swished his tail. “You can’t have too many skills.” He glanced at the pile of horsetail stems Rootpaw had gathered. “If you can learn how to gather herbs, you can learn a few of my hunting tricks.”

Rootpaw’s tail drooped.

“Can I take him away?” Tree asked Fidgetflake.

“Of course.” Fidgetflake dipped his head to Rootpaw. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem.” Rootpaw followed his father as Tree led the way across the meadow to an alder grove. Perhaps it was better to leave the medicine cat in peace. If he asked any more questions, Fidgetflake might start to get suspicious.

Tree padded among the pale trunks and stopped. “Have I shown you how to be a bush?”

“‘Be a bush’?” Rootpaw stared at his father. He loved him very much, but did he have to be weird about everything?

“If you’re a bush, prey doesn’t know you’re there,” Tree told him.

“But I’m a cat.” Rootpaw blinked at him, confused.

“You can pretend to be a bush.” Tree crouched and rolled, one way, then the other, until his fur was flecked with leaf litter. He got to his paws. “The first thing you have to do is smell like a bush.” He nodded toward the patch he’d rolled in. “Try it.”