Erin Hunter - Starlight

Onewhisker still looked troubled, and Brambleclaw could understand why. It wasn’t just Mudclaw. Webfoot and Nightcloud clearly weren’t happy with the change of leader either, and there might be others. Onewhisker’s leadership wouldn’t be completely safe until he had his nine lives and his new name. And would StarClan grant them to him, when Tallstar had not followed the age-old ceremony in appointing him deputy?

“We can’t do any more now,” the WindClan cat mewed wearily. “Though dawn is already here, we must sit vigil for Tallstar.”

He led the way across the clearing and crouched beside the unmoving black-and-white shape, pushing his nose into Tallstar’s cold fur. Ashfoot and Crowfeather settled down on each side of him, as if they wanted to shelter him while he grieved for his dead leader. Their grief must be even greater, Brambleclaw knew, because they could not sit vigil for a whole night; soon the Clans would move off to their new homes. His mind whirled, and for a moment he felt as if the entire warrior code were tumbling around him, shattering under the pressure of moving to their new home.

“Onewhisker chose wisely in making Ashfoot his deputy,” Firestar remarked, jolting Brambleclaw back from his troubled thoughts.

Brambleclaw knew he was right, but it felt as if he had a prey bone stuck in his throat, and he couldn’t say anything in reply. What was there to say, when Firestar had refused to make a similar choice for ThunderClan? He swallowed hard, searching for words that would express his respect for Firestar’s friendship with Graystripe, while making it clear that he didn’t believe ThunderClan could survive without a deputy forever.

Firestar turned his green gaze on him and seemed to guess what he was thinking. “We have no proof that Graystripe is dead. And if he isn’t, then one day he’ll return to ThunderClan. How can I appoint another cat in his place?”

“RiverClan appointed Hawkfrost as deputy when Mistyfoot went missing,” Brambleclaw ventured.

Firestar’s eyes narrowed. “That was different. When Mistyfoot disappeared, no cat knew what had happened to her. It seemed impossible that she could still be alive. But now we know that Twolegs trapped the cats that went missing. If they wanted them dead, they would have killed them right away, but they didn’t. Graystripe is being held prisoner somewhere, and sooner or later he’ll escape and come back to us.” His claws scraped against the ground, leaving deep scratches in the dirt. “I won’t give up hope until I’ve seen his body with my own eyes.”

Is it me you’re trying to convince, Brambleclaw wondered bleakly, or yourself?

Without another word, Firestar turned and headed toward the cats who had gathered around Tallstar’s body.

Brambleclaw watched him with guilt and frustration churning in his belly. He wanted to be deputy—and what was so dreadful about that?

Remember Tigerstar, a small voice whispered in his ear, and every hair on Brambleclaw’s pelt pricked with horror.

I’m nothing like Tigerstar! I’m a loyal warrior. I’ve worked hard and risked my life for my Clan. No cat could say I didn’t deserve to be deputy.

He saw Squirrelflight slip silently out of the shadows and touch noses with her father. They settled down side by side just outside the circle of grieving WindClan cats, their flame-colored pelts mingling together.

A pang of envy shook Brambleclaw, sharp as a winter wind.

He had quarreled with Squirrelflight over Hawkfrost, and his sister, Tawnypelt, belonged to another Clan. He didn’t have any cat to share that uncomplicated affection that Squirrelflight had with Firestar.

How many times do I have to prove myself? he wondered desperately. Hawkfrost didn’t seem to have the same trouble in RiverClan, even though Tigerstar was his father too.

Brambleclaw felt a sudden desire to seek him out and talk to him, but with the Clans on the brink of going their separate ways, he knew that the moment was past.

Brambleclaw wanted to be deputy so much that it hurt .

Why couldn’t Firestar and Squirrelflight trust him? He shut his eyes, his claws sinking into the ground as a wave of hunger swept blackly over him, turning his blood to ice.

Leafpaw crouched not far from Tallstar’s body, watching the cats who came to keep vigil for the dead leader. Daylight spread steadily from beyond the ridge of hills, revealing a gray sky with clouds hanging low over the trees. A damp, chilly wind blew from the lake and made the branches rattle together like mouse bones.

The dead leader’s body looked grim and stark. Leafpaw shivered. It felt very strange to be sitting in vigil in the cold light of morning. Usually the ceremony was carried out at night, when the unmoving shape would be muffled by shadows as comforting as soft, black fur.

Glancing away from Tallstar’s body, Leafpaw let her thoughts wander. Anxiety gnawed at her, sharp as a fox’s fangs. Onewhisker couldn’t go all the way back to the Moonstone to receive his name and his nine lives from StarClan; he was too tired to make the long journey twice over again, and it was obvious Mudclaw would seize upon his absence to make trouble. But what would happen to the Clans if their leaders didn’t share tongues with StarClan?

The warrior code would fade away like mist in sunshine, and they would be nothing more than rogues.

“StarClan must guide us!” she mewed out loud.

Cinderpelt glanced around from where she was talking to Barkface. “Leafpaw? What’s the matter?” She padded over, looking concerned.

Leafpaw shook her head. “Sorry I disturbed you, Cinderpelt. I was just thinking about Onewhisker. What’s he going to do if he can’t go to Highstones?”

Cinderpelt stretched out her tail and touched Leafpaw gently on the head. “Don’t worry,” she reassured her. “StarClan will show us a new place to share tongues with them.”

“But when?” Leafpaw gazed into her mentor’s blue eyes.

“Onewhisker needs his name and his nine lives now.”

“Leafpaw, be patient. StarClan can’t be hurried. There’ll be an answer, you’ll see. And meanwhile,” she added more briskly, “you could be doing something useful instead of worrying. Look, Mothwing has the right idea. She’s fetching water for all the kits and elders.”

On the other side of the clearing, the RiverClan medicine cat was padding toward a group of WindClan cats, her mouth filled with dripping moss. Leafpaw realized with a guilty pang that she had done nothing except fret over things she could not help.

“Sorry, Cinderpelt,” she meowed, getting to her paws. “I’ll go and fetch some moss too.”

Cinderpelt nodded. “You’ll feel better if you’re busy.”

Leafpaw headed for the lake, but she had barely left the copse of trees when she spotted several cats bounding up the slope. Their pelts were slick with lake water, and Leafpaw recognized Hawkfrost in the lead. It was the RiverClan patrol that had gone to explore the island as soon as the first streaks of dawn appeared.

Curious, she turned back and followed them into the center of the clearing.

Hawkfrost leaped onto the tree stump and let out a yowl to summon all the cats to listen to him. Leafpaw wondered if he should have done that.

“What’s he playing at? The stump’s for the leaders, just like the Great Rock at Fourtrees.” Sorreltail echoed Leafpaw’s thoughts as she trotted over to join her friend.

“Hawkfrost isn’t even a deputy anymore.”