Эрин Хантер - Lost Stars

“I’m sorry, Alderheart,” she mewed at last. “I can’t allow this.”

For a moment Bristlefrost thought that Alderheart would protest. Then he lowered his head, saying nothing. Squirrelflight gazed at him for a moment more before padding off to the warriors’ den.

“Squirrelflight, you should eat something,” Ivypool called after her, but Squirrelflight didn’t look back.

An awkward silence fell over the camp, as if no cat had any idea what to say. One or two of the warriors began to drift away toward their den, only to halt as Jayfeather spoke.

“I have an idea,” he told Alderheart. “If we could get some borage, we might be able to rouse Bramblestar.”

Hope and confusion warred in Alderheart’s eyes. “Why borage?” he asked. “We use it to reduce fever. That’s hardly necessary right now.”

“It might sound odd,” Jayfeather agreed, “but Shadowpaw was right about one thing. The longer Bramblestar stays in our den, the more chance there is of his temperature dropping so quickly that he might never recover. But if we gave him something to make him colder . . . Would that spur him on to get better, the way Shadowpaw suggested? The way the deathberries seemed to trick Puddleshine into getting better.” When Alderheart didn’t reply, he added, “It’s got to be worth trying, right?”

Alderheart gave his pelt a shake, as if he was rousing himself from deep concentration. “It might be,” he agreed. “But all our herb stocks are low, and we’re completely out of borage. I don’t know where we’ll find any more with snow covering the ground.”

“There’s one place we might get some,” Jayfeather told him. “You know that spit of ground that juts out into the lake? I know borage grows right at the far end, but we usually can’t get at it because there’s such a tangle of brambles and gorse bushes in the way. In normal times it’s not worth the effort, when we can get plenty of borage elsewhere. But now that the lake is frozen . . .”

“We might be able to reach it!” Alderheart exclaimed, his eyes flaring with hope at last.

Bristlefrost leaped to her paws. “I’ll lead a patrol to go and collect some!” she offered, excitement making her paws tingle. “Who’s coming with me?”

“I will,” Spotfur responded instantly.

For a moment annoyance overwhelmed Bristlefrost’s excitement. You would, she thought sourly. Showing off in front of Stemleaf.

Then Bristlefrost realized that she was wrong. Spotfur was a loyal Clan cat, stepping up when her Clan and her leader needed her. Even though Bristlefrost was still upset about Stemleaf, she was impressed by Spotfur’s courage.

“Thank you,” she meowed, dipping her head toward the spotted tabby she-cat.

Poppyfrost, Stemleaf, Cherryfall, and Flywhisker all stepped forward to volunteer, and Bristlefrost found herself at the head of a patrol.

My first time leading a patrol for my Clan!

“All right,” she meowed, filled with a new sense of purpose. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 19

With her patrol following in her paw steps, Bristlefrost broke out of the trees and stood at the top of the bank leading down to the lake. The spit of land where the borage grew curved out into the lake like a cat’s tail. Bristlefrost could see the dark tangle of thorns that barred the way from the shore. At the far end, many fox-lengths away, the ground became clearer; Bristlefrost could make out a few frozen stalks sticking up out of the snow.

That must be the borage.

Cherryfall padded up beside her. “We don’t know whether the lake is frozen solid,” she pointed out. “If we walk out too far, we could fall through the ice. Remember what happened to that SkyClan apprentice.”

As if I’m likely to forget it!

The memory returned to Bristlefrost in vivid focus, bringing a mixture of emotions with it. She had been terrified for Rootpaw, and so proud that her rescue of him had impressed Stemleaf. She struggled with another ache of regret at the knowledge that her courage hadn’t mattered at all. Stemleaf had already set his heart on another cat as his mate. Bristlefrost couldn’t resist a quick glance at Spotfur, wondering what it was about her that Stemleaf preferred.

Icy wind blew into Bristlefrost’s face, carrying with it even more memories: the waves of cold wafting off the ice as she stood there reaching out to Rootpaw, and the exposed lake water welling up around her forelegs.

I saved the stupid furball, but I was more frightened than I’ve ever been in my life. And now I’m thinking about stepping out onto the ice again? On purpose?

“Bramblestar is very sick,” Poppyfrost responded to Cherryfall’s warning. “I know it’s a risk, but it’s worth it, to save him.”

Spotfur murmured agreement. “We have to take the risk, or why are we here? But we have to be careful, too. We should go slowly, and circle around to find other routes if the ice seems thin.”

Who’s in charge of this patrol, you or me? Bristlefrost thought, then forced herself to be more generous toward the spotted tabby she-cat.

“Good idea,” she meowed. “Follow me, but not too close, to spread our weight out.”

Bristlefrost led the way out onto the ice, hugging the side of the spit of land, where the ice was thickest. Her patrol was stretched out behind her, keeping well separated as she had ordered.

At first they made good progress. Though Bristlefrost cringed as the ice made her pads ache, then grow numb, it felt solid under her paws. But before long the gorse and brambles grew thicker, overhanging the lake so that the cats had to move farther away from the shore. Bristlefrost could feel the ice bouncing gently under her weight. After a few more paw steps, she thought she heard an ominous creaking; she raised her tail to signal the others to halt.

“Maybe we should go back,” Flywhisker called out to her. “We could try around the other side. It might be safer there.”

Bristlefrost twitched her tail-tip back and forth in frustration. Because of the way the spit of land curved around, she could see the clearer area with the stalks of borage just a few tail-lengths ahead. Only a narrow stretch of ice separated the patrol from the life-giving herb.

What if that stalk of borage could save Bramblestar? Surely it would be worth the risk then!

“We’re so close,” she meowed. “Maybe if one cat went alone, very fast, so their paws hardly touched the ice . . .”

“No!” Spotfur protested. “It’s too dangerous. If one cat fell in, how would the others even get them out?”

“You’re right, we should turn back.” Poppyfrost shuddered. “I remember when Flametail fell through the ice. No cat should have to go through that.”

Bristlefrost remembered hearing that story from the elders when she was a kit. Flametail had been a ShadowClan medicine-cat apprentice and had drowned in the lake when the ice gave way during another hard leaf-bare. She shivered at the thought of something so terrible happening again.

But the ice must be thicker now. . . . Every cat says there’s never been a leaf-bare as bad as this.

Bristlefrost gazed across the ice at the borage stems. They were so close, and yet they might as well have been countless fox-lengths away.

Without giving herself time to think, she leaped forward, sprinting across the ice so fast that her paws only skimmed the surface. She held her breath, determined to keep her nerve, and a few heartbeats later she sprang off the ice and across a scatter of rocks to where the borage grew.