Bramblestar led his cats as far as the top border without meeting any WindClan cats, but on their way back they spotted Crowfeather with his apprentice, Featherpaw, as well as Furzepelt and Gorsetail making their way upstream on the opposite side. Bramblestar halted and waited for them.

"Greetings, Crowfeather," Bramblestar mewed as the WindClan patrol reached them. "How's the prey running in WindClan?"

"No better for you asking," Crowfeather retorted. "And before you start accusing us, no, we haven't crossed over to your side of the stream."

"I know that," Bramblestar told him, not mentioning the log they had unjammed. WindClan isn't saying a word about it, either.

"And we're not going to cross." Furzepelt's gray-and-white fur was bristling. "So keep your filthy ThunderClan paws off our side."

"You and your kittypet friends," Crowfeather added.

"Oh, yes." Gorsetail's voice was full of scorn. "We've seen the latest additions to your hunting patrols. Very effective-not!"

"But ThunderClan never seems to mind who they let into their Clan," Furzepelt meowed. "Maybe you're missing Firestar so much that you're looking for a kittypet replacement."

A growl of anger woke deep in Berrynose's chest. Thornclaw and Brightheart were both bristling, while Dewpaw raced to the very edge of the stream and glared furiously at the WindClan patrol.

Bramblestar raised his tail in warning. "Careful," he murmured. "We don't want trouble with them, and it's none of their business who we let into the Clan."

"You mean we have to let them say what they like?" Thornclaw demanded.

"I mean we need to pick our battles." Bramblestar made himself sound calm, although inwardly he was ruffled to learn how much WindClan knew about the kittypets. He'd deliberately kept them out of border patrols for that very reason. "There's no WindClan scent all along this side of the stream, so our border is safe."

"They'd better not think of invading." Berrynose sounded troubled rather than aggressive. "Those kittypets could be a weak link."

"It won't come to that," Bramblestar told him. "At least, Whitewing, it won't if you can sort out your apprentice."

Dewpaw was still standing on the bank, flexing his claws and hissing at the WindClan patrol. "Come over here and insult Firestar's memory!" he yowled.

Whitewing padded over and patted Dewpaw with her tail. "That's enough. It's time to go back to camp."

"But they-" Dewpaw began to protest.

"I said, enough. Do you want them to see me dragging you away by the scruff?"

Dewpaw shot one last glare at the WindClan cats and retreated, his fur still bristling. "They'd better not come over here," he muttered.

Bramblestar made a polite farewell to Crowfeather and his cats, guessing that would irritate them far more than hurling abuse. Then he led his patrol away, conscious of unfriendly stares following them until undergrowth cut off the view.

As soon as Bramblestar and his patrol returned to camp, Brackenfur came bounding up. "Now we've lost Frankie and Minty!" he complained. "They were supposed to be with me on the late-morning hunting patrol."

"Never mind." Bramblestar tried to sound soothing, though his pads p.r.i.c.kled with apprehension at the news. Glancing around to see which cats were available, he added, "Take Cherryfall instead, and Poppyfrost and Lilypaw."

"Can I come too?" Jessy asked, turning from where she was hanging one of the Twoleg pelts on a nearby bush. "Daisy asked me to hang these pelts out in the sun, but this is the last one."

"Sure." Brackenfur invited her over with a friendly wave of his tail. "You can show me these hunting skills Bramblestar keeps telling me about."

As soon as the patrol had left, Bramblestar sniffed around the clearing and finally picked up faint traces of Frankie and Minty leading out of the clearing side by side. They've been gone some time, he thought, judging by the faintness of the scent.

The trail led Bramblestar toward the ridge, up to the outcrop of rocks where once there had been another tunnel entrance. The one that collapsed behind Hollyleaf, all those moons ago. Bramblestar shivered at the memory, still missing the cat he had once believed to be his daughter. As the rocks loomed into full view, he spotted a small black-and-white she-cat basking in a patch of sunlight, fast asleep. He bounded up and stood over her. "Minty!"

Minty's eyes flew open and she jumped to her paws. "Oh!" she squeaked. "It's you!"

"What are you doing here?" Bramblestar meowed.

Minty gave her chest fur a few embarra.s.sed licks. "Frankie suggested coming out here to lie in the sun," she explained. "He said we'd be back in plenty of time for the patrol." She blinked in confusion. "Did I oversleep? Where's Frankie? Did you wake him already?"

"Frankie's not here." Bramblestar's tail-tip began to twitch. StarClan preserve me from clawing this silly cat's ears off! He felt disappointed that the kittypets had been so irresponsible, when he had thought they were beginning to fit into the life of the Clan. "I don't have time to round up missing kittypets," he snapped. "Come on, back to the tunnel!"

Minty's eyes widened. "Aren't you going to look for Frankie?"

"No." Bramblestar was too fed up with the kittypets to waste one more heartbeat on them. "He'll come back when he's hungry, no doubt."

Back in the camp, Spiderleg, Ivypool, and Whitewing were teaching their apprentices a new fighting move where they rolled over on their backs and battered their opponents with their hind paws.

"Can I join in?" Minty asked, trotting over to them.

Spiderleg turned to her with a cold stare. "No. This isn't for cats who go wandering off and miss their patrols."

Minty turned away, her head and tail drooping. Bramblestar thought that Spiderleg had been a bit harsh; it was encouraging to see Minty actually wanting to learn to fight. He was pleased a moment later when Brightheart padded up to the crestfallen kittypet and rested her tail on Minty's shoulder.

"I'm going into the forest to look for herbs," she meowed. "Do you want to come with me?"

Minty brightened up. "Sure!"

Bramblestar watched them go, then decided that he'd had enough of worrying about pesky kittypets for one day. I'll see if I can catch up with the hunting patrol.

The trail led up to the ridge and across the top border into the woods beyond. Bramblestar relished the experience of being alone, listening to the scurrying of small creatures in the undergrowth and the twittering of birds overhead. The air was full of the scent of fresh growth after the long leaf-bare.

As Bramblestar inhaled the signs of returning life, he detected a faint bitter scent among the newleaf richness. Badger? he wondered, his neck fur beginning to fluff up. Bramblestar tried to tell himself that he had been spooked by Minty's fussing, but he knew that he had to check. Following the traces deeper into the undergrowth, he realized that his first instinct had been right. At least two badgers had pa.s.sed that way. He found flattened bracken and holes filled with badger droppings that confirmed his first suspicions.

His pelt bristling, Bramblestar backed away, taking careful note of the spot so that he could warn the patrols to keep watch. As soon as he retraced his steps to the hunting patrol's scent trail, he heard sounds up ahead as if some cat was brushing swiftly through undergrowth. A mouse appeared out of the shelter of a clump of ferns and scuttled across the open ground. A heartbeat later the ferns waved wildly as Lilypaw burst out of them and hurled herself at the mouse.

Bramblestar waited for her to make the kill, then stepped forward as Lilypaw straightened up with her catch in her mouth. "Good job!" he meowed. "Your hunting skills are coming along well."

Lilypaw jumped at the sound of his voice and turned toward him. Her eyes glowed with pleasure. "Thanks, Bramblestar," she mumbled around the mouse.

She may be small, but she's brave and she works hard, Bramblestar thought as he followed Lilypaw to join the rest of the hunting party. A pang of sorrow stabbed through him, sharp as a thorn, when he remembered how much she had lost. I must remember to take Brackenfur aside and tell him how well his daughter is doing.

That night in his nest, Bramblestar couldn't sleep. There was a hard knot in his belly; he blamed the tough blackbird he had eaten earlier. However often he changed his position, he felt as if a sharp piece of twig was poking into him.

"For StarClan's sake," Squirrelflight hissed, coming to sit beside him, "stop fidgeting about. You're keeping every cat awake! Except for Frankie," she added. "He came back late, so exhausted he just flopped into his nest."

"Sorry," Bramblestar muttered. "I'm worried about Frankie," he went on.

He was slightly surprised when Squirrelflight agreed. "So am I. Why don't we follow him the next time he wanders off by himself?"

Bramblestar's whiskers quivered. "Do you think he's plotting with another Clan?"

Squirrelflight let out a snort of disbelief. "No. He's a kittypet. But he's our responsibility at the moment, so we need to find out where he's going." She poked her paw into his nest and yanked out a single long thorn. "There, you should stop wriggling now. Sleep well."

CHAPTER 25.

"Seeing that the water's going down," Bramblestar meowed, "we need to think about repairing the dens in the hollow."

A couple of days had pa.s.sed without any more rain. Now a pale sun was shining and the clouds were thinning out, drifting across the sky like white mist. Bramblestar felt his energy rise at the thought of returning to their home.

Dustpelt and Brackenfur were discussing the practicalities with him just outside the entrance to the tunnel, along with Cherryfall and Molewhisker. The life of the Clan went on busily around them. The apprentices were dragging bedding outside to let it dry off in the sun, with Daisy supervising them.

"Stop it, Amberpaw!" Bramblestar heard her scold the young she-cat. "You won't make that moss fit to sleep on by throwing it at Dewpaw."

Farther across the clearing, Millie was helping Briarlight with her exercises. The warmer weather was helping her, Bramblestar noticed; she wasn't coughing nearly as much. In fact, most of the sick cats are getting better.

Dustpelt twitched his whiskers thoughtfully before replying to Bramblestar. "It'll be a long job," he murmured. "Before we can repair anything, we'll have to get rid of all the mess."

"But we'll be home; that's the most important thing," Brackenfur added.

"I suggest we split up the tasks," Dustpelt went on. Bramblestar saw that his eyes were brighter as he considered the problem. He looked more like the cat he had been before he lost Ferncloud. "Some cats to clear up, some to fetch brambles and moss from the forest, some to start the actual rebuilding . . ."

"And still keep up with hunting and border patrols," Bramblestar pointed out.

"Yeah, we need to keep an eye on ShadowClan," Cherryfall put in, working her claws eagerly in the ground.

"Let's hope that ShadowClan has enough to do repairing their own camp, to have time to come bothering us," Bramblestar responded. "And that goes for the other Clans, too."

"Then we should start by organizing work patrols," Brackenfur suggested. "As soon as the water level sinks low enough to let us back in."

"That would be a task for Squirrelflight," Bramblestar mewed. He glanced around for his deputy, who had been sorting out hunting patrols at the far side of the clearing. Now the patrols were leaving, and Squirrelflight was already heading toward him.

"Bramblestar," she began as soon as she was within earshot, "remember what we were talking about the other night? Well, Frankie is at it again. I was about to put him in a patrol when I saw him sneaking off."

Bramblestar rose to his paws with a frustrated lash of his tail. "I hoped he'd given that up. He was in a hunting patrol with me yesterday, and he made a couple of really good catches. Which way did he go?" he asked Squirrelflight.

His deputy angled her ears in the direction of the ridge. "Up there."

"Sorry," Bramblestar meowed to Dustpelt and the others. "I have to deal with this. Discuss the hollow among yourselves, and let me know what you decide when I get back."

Padding across the clearing, Bramblestar easily picked out Frankie's trail from the mingled scents of the other cats. To his surprise, it led straight up to the ridge, then across the border and into the woods above ShadowClan territory. Before long, he spotted Frankie, trotting along swiftly and purposefully.

Bramblestar quickened his pace to catch up. He was almost close enough to call out: Hey, what do you think you're doing? Then he saw Frankie freeze and hurl himself into the shelter of a clump of bracken. Quickly Bramblestar leaped up into the nearest tree, hiding himself among the tiny, unfurling leaves, and peered downward. A heartbeat later he spotted a ShadowClan patrol padding past, focused and alert as if they were looking for prey. Rowanstar himself was in the lead.

Thank StarClan they didn't spot us! Bramblestar thought as the patrol vanished and their scent died away.

Frankie emerged from the bracken and set off again, swift as a fox, into the dark pine forest in the direction of the Twolegplace. Is he going to visit Victor and those other kittypets? Bramblestar wondered, deciding not to call out to Frankie until he knew what was going on.

But Frankie veered away from the Twolegplace and headed toward the border between ShadowClan and RiverClan. Suddenly Bramblestar realized that he was going back to his own nest. Does he want to leave us? Bramblestar felt a stab of disappointment that Frankie would just go without even saying good-bye. But if this is where he disappeared to before, he has already been and come back twice. What is he playing at?

Bramblestar tracked Frankie in silence as his paw steps turned toward the lake. The stream leading down into it was much shallower now, not the turbulent current they had risked their lives to swim such a short time before. Frankie waded across it without hesitating, even though in the middle of the stream the water came up to his head and shoulders. Bramblestar waited for him to get a little farther ahead before following.

Even though the water had gone down, Bramblestar could see the evidence of the terrible flood everywhere he looked. Vast swathes of mud covered the ground, clinging to his paws as he picked his way through it. The ground was littered with broken Twoleg things and branches swept along in the surge. Sometimes there was no way around it, so that Bramblestar and Frankie had to clamber over the heaps of flotsam, getting even wetter and muddier. As they drew closer to the Twoleg dens, Bramblestar saw that some of the Twolegs had returned. They waded in and out of the flooded dens, pushing water out with long branches that were bushy at the end, and yowling at one another in angry voices. Bramblestar's fur began to bristle as he drew closer to them, but soon he realized that they were too busy to notice a couple of cats.

By now Bramblestar was close enough to Frankie to have called to him easily, but he kept silent, in the grip of curiosity, and ducked out of sight whenever Frankie paused to look around. I want to know exactly what this kittypet is up to. Soon Frankie reached the flooded Thunderpath that led away from the lake. The water came up no farther than his belly fur now, and he waded along, venturing into each Twoleg den but staying out of sight of the Twolegs.

What is he doing? Is he trying to steal food because hunting prey is too hard? Or looking for his Twolegs?

When Frankie emerged from the next Twoleg den, he paused, looking around with his head raised. "Benny! Benny!" he called.

Bramblestar stared at the kittypet in dismay. He's looking for his brother! Why didn't I think of that? He kept close as the gray tabby cat went on, searching under bushes, in abandoned Twoleg dens and monsters, underneath the bigger chunks of debris that littered the ground. His frantic, uncoordinated movements and his wide-stretched eyes gave away his growing despair.

At last Frankie jumped up onto a fence. "Benny, where are you?" he yowled.

Bramblestar couldn't let him suffer on his own anymore. "Frankie!" he meowed, jumping up onto the fence beside him.

Frankie whirled to face him, so startled that he almost lost his balance. "I-I'm sorry. . . ." he stammered when he had regained his footing.

Bramblestar silenced him with a wave of his tail. "You have nothing to be sorry for. We should have known you'd come looking for Benny. We all know how it feels to lose kin. It's part of Clan life."

Frankie lowered his head. "Then it's a part of Clan life I can't accept."

"I didn't say we accepted it, either," Bramblestar mewed. "Come on, I'll help you look."

He leaped down from the fence and headed farther along the flooded Thunderpath, trying to remember which of the Twoleg nests Frankie had been trapped in when Jessy found him. "Show me your den," he told Frankie. "Maybe we can work out which way Benny would have gone. That is where you saw him last, right?"

Frankie nodded, beckoning with his tail. "This way."

He waded across the Thunderpath and up the slope on the far side. At the top, Bramblestar spotted the den set into the bank where he had first seen Jessy trying to get through the window to release Frankie. Following the kittypet, he bounded down the slope until they reached the fence that surrounded the den.

"Benny and I were here when the flood came," Frankie explained, jumping over the fence and landing on a stretch of soggy gra.s.s. "The water came up from the lake like a huge wave. It knocked us off our paws and washed us that way." He angled his ears toward the opposite fence. "I hit the fence and dug my claws in. I thought I was going to drown." He shuddered and his eyes clouded.

"What happened next?" Bramblestar prompted him.

"I spotted that the bas.e.m.e.nt window was open. I managed to get inside. I thought Benny was right behind me . . . but he must have been swept away." His voice shook on the last few words.

Bramblestar touched Frankie's shoulder with his nose, then padded across the garden to inspect the fence at the opposite side. Water had washed away all traces of scent, but after a few moments he found a narrow gap at the bottom with a tuft of black-and-white fur caught on a splinter.

"Hey, Frankie!" he called. "Benny is black and white, right? Could this be his?"

Frankie ran over and stared at the sc.r.a.p of fur. "Yes, that's Benny's," he meowed.

"Looks like he went this way, then."