Эрин Хантер - Lost Stars

“How do you feel?” Tree asked.

Rootpaw was padding through the forest beside his father, heading back toward SkyClan territory. The frostbitten grass felt rough beneath his pads, and the air was so cold that he could see his breath swirling out in a cloud.

“I’m fine,” Rootpaw replied; now that there was no chance of his remaining in ThunderClan, he could be honest about having regained his full strength. “Alderheart’s treatment was really good, and even though it’s leaf-bare, I felt comfortable and warm.”

“How did you end up in the lake in the first place?” Tree asked, turning his head to look down at his son.

“Don’t you know?” Rootpaw responded, surprised. “I thought Kitepaw and Turtlepaw would have told every cat how stupid I’d been.”

Tree shook his head. “They just told Leafstar that the three of you were foraging for herbs, and you fell in the water. They didn’t say how. But I thought there must be more to it than that.”

Once again, Rootpaw felt a tingle of embarrassment, recalling the events that had led up to his falling through the ice. “Kitepaw and Turtlepaw were teasing me,” he admitted to his father. “They called me weird, and said I’d never be strong enough to be a warrior. It made me so angry. . . . I ran at Kitepaw, but he dodged, and I couldn’t stop myself from falling in. I was so furious, I hadn’t realized how close I was to the lake.”

For a few heartbeats Tree said nothing, but Rootpaw couldn’t bear to look at the disappointment in his eyes. Why should I care? he asked, angry with himself for being upset. Let Tree think what he likes. It doesn’t matter to me!

“This is why you should be your own cat,” Tree meowed at last. “Like it or not, you have a different ancestry from most of the other young cats in SkyClan. The way of the warrior is not the only way, and you should be grateful for the chance to see that. There’s more to life than fighting and showing yourself off as a strong cat. It’s not always about who is the biggest and bravest.”

Rootpaw wanted to disagree, to come up with a good argument to prove to Tree that he was wrong, but he couldn’t find the words. He couldn’t trust himself not to blurt out all his frustration with his father.

If you don’t believe in the way of the Clans, why do you stay? Why have you stayed so long, for so many moons, in a place where you clearly don’t belong? Where you don’t even try to belong?

His father didn’t have any quarrels to mediate right now, and Rootpaw didn’t understand why Tree refused to get involved in the daily life of the Clan—why he had to be aloof, always separate from the other cats.

He tells me to be my own cat, but here he is, living under rules he doesn’t believe in. Which of us is being more true to himself?

A heavy sense of guilt gathered in Rootpaw’s chest.

I know it’s wrong, but sometimes I wish I had a different cat for a father.

Rootpaw woke to find himself alone in the apprentices’ den, though a faint warmth still lingered in his sister’s nest, next to his own. Alarm pierced him, cold as the leaf-bare wind, and he scrambled out through the rocks without pausing to yawn and stretch. Spotting his mentor at the other side of the camp, he bounded over to join him.

“Am I late?” he gasped, seeing the annoyed look on Dewspring’s broad gray face. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not late,” Dewspring responded, though the tip of his tail was still twitching to and fro. “We’ve missed a lot of training time while you were in ThunderClan, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to starting again now,” Rootpaw mewed with a respectful dip of his head.

Dewspring’s only reply was a grunt. He angled his ears toward the Tallrock, where Kitepaw and Turtlepaw were standing with bowed heads in front of Leafstar and Hawkwing. Rootpaw was too far away to hear what Leafstar was saying, but from her cold expression and bristling fur, he doubted that it was anything the two older apprentices wanted to hear.

“They’re being punished for their part in putting you in danger,” Dewspring explained. “Leafstar said she would wait until you returned to decide on a suitable punishment.”

“That hardly seems fair,” Rootpaw objected. “It was my fault too.”

Dewspring shrugged. “They’re older than you; they should have known better. Mind you,” he added, “I’m disappointed in you, Rootpaw. I thought you were smarter than that. You shouldn’t have gone along with them in the first place.”

“Sorry,” Rootpaw muttered.

“We’ll say no more about it,” Dewspring meowed. “Now, let’s get on with your training.”

Rootpaw had hoped that now that he was home, he would be able to forget his accident by the lake. But as he returned to camp after his battle training with Dewspring, he couldn’t be pleased with himself. He had felt sluggish; he was sure his limbs and his tail weren’t moving as smoothly as Dewspring expected.

Maybe I should have stayed longer in ThunderClan.

The thought made Rootpaw’s pads tingle with fury, that Tree had come to collect him before he was ready. Then his anger was driven out by embarrassment as he wondered if he was so keen to be near Bristlepaw that he would prefer to be injured.

That’s pretty mouse-brained!

When Rootpaw brushed through the narrow gap between two huge boulders that formed the camp entrance, the first cats he spotted were Turtlepaw and Kitepaw. They were heading right toward him. He halted, instinctively sliding out his claws.

“Hi,” he mewed, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt.

Kitepaw gave him a curt nod.

An awkward silence followed. Rootpaw wanted to get away from the older apprentices, but at the same time he felt he couldn’t just walk off without saying anything. Clearing his throat, which suddenly felt dry, he asked, “How did your punishment go? I hope it wasn’t too terrible.”

Kitepaw turned away from him with a hiss, as if he was too angry to speak. It was Turtlepaw who replied.

“My paws are so cold I can’t even feel them! Leafstar made us go to the dirtplace and claw at the soil to make sure it’s soft enough for any cat who wants to make dirt. It was disgusting!”

“I’m really sorry,” Rootpaw meowed. “I didn’t—”

“Only a foolish cat would fall into the lake like you did,” Kitepaw interrupted. “But then, you’re the son of the weirdest cat in the Clans, so it’s no surprise that you’re just that mouse-brained.” He jerked his head at Turtlepaw. “Come on. Let’s go hunt.”

Rootpaw watched as the two cats stalked off among the boulders. His pelt was hot with anger and embarrassment as he headed for the fresh-kill pile. Needlepaw was there, gulping down a thrush; she paused and looked up at Rootpaw as he approached.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing!” Rootpaw snarled, pulling a shrew out of the pile.

Needlepaw’s ears angled upward in surprise. “Who made dirt in your fresh-kill?” she asked. “Whatever, don’t take it out on me.”

“I’m sorry.” Rootpaw sagged to the ground. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, come on. . . .” Needlepaw shifted closer to her brother and rubbed her cheek against his. “You can tell me.”

Rootpaw scuffled his forepaws on the ground. “It’s just . . . ,” he began reluctantly, then went on more quickly. “I just . . . I wish cats would take me a bit more seriously, that’s all. Because our father’s not a warrior or a medicine cat, just some weirdo who talks to dead cats—”

“And the mediator for all five Clans,” Needlepaw reminded him. “That’s important.”