Eclipse

They caught up to Graystripe and Mousewhisker at the top of the rise. The trees ended here as the forest turned to grassland, sloping down to the lake.

Mousewhisker was panting.

“He almost got his squirrel,” Graystripe meowed proudly.

“But it scooted up that tree.”

Leaves rustled overhead.

“If that dumb blackbird hadn’t called the alarm,” Mousewhisker grumbled.

“You’ll get the next one,” Graystripe told him encouragingly.

Sorreltail kneaded the ground. “I can’t wait to hunt with my kits when they’re warriors.” Pride warmed her mew.

“Honeypaw, Poppypaw, and Cinderpaw will be having their assessment any day now.”

Jaypaw tensed. Was Cinderpaw’s leg really strong enough?

“It’ll be great having them in our den,” Mousewhisker put in. “It might stop the old warriors from hogging the best nests and stealing all the softest moss.”

Graystripe purred with amusement. “We old warriors need the soft moss for our poor ancient bones.”

“I didn’t mean you two!” Mousewhisker mewed, sounding embarrassed.

“I’m sure Thornclaw and Dustpelt will be pleased to hear that,” Sorreltail teased.

“You won’t tell them?” Mousewhisker squeaked in alarm.

“Of course not!” Sorreltail called over her shoulder as she darted down the slope. “Besides, we’re not old. And once Millie’s kits are born, Graystripe will feel younger than ever.”

Jaypaw hurried after her, enjoying the breeze ruffling his fur. It smelled of the lake.

At the shore, Graystripe paused. “Is this a good place for herbs?”

Jaypaw nodded. “I can get mallow down by the water.”

“Mousewhisker can help you,” Sorreltail volunteered her denmate.

“But what about my—”

“Your squirrel can wait,” Graystripe meowed.

“I guess so.” Mousewhisker swished his tail. “Besides, if we’re going down to the water, I might catch a fish!”

Unlikely, unless you’ve had a RiverClan mentor as well. Jaypaw picked his way down onto the shingle. It shifted satisfyingly beneath his paws.

Mousewhisker padded after him. “The lake’s as smooth as a laurel leaf.”

Jaypaw had guessed that already. He could hear the sound of lazy ripples lapping the shore.

“What does mallow look like?” Mousewhisker asked.

Jaypaw shrugged. “Never seen any.”

Mousewhisker squeaked in dismay. “Sorry!”

“Forget it.” It was just a dumb slip. “It feels soft and kind of furry. The leaves are big.” Jaypaw sniffed the air. He remembered gathering mallow here before. Sure enough, a sweet smell filled his nose. Jaypaw flicked his tail toward the water’s edge. “See that plant over there? That’s mallow.”

“Really?” Mousewhisker sounded impressed.

Jaypaw didn’t bother to reply. His paws had started to tingle. The stick must be just along the shore. “Would you go and gather some leaves?” Jaypaw asked. “There’s something farther up the shore I want to check.”

“Okay.” Mousewhisker began to hurry down to the water.

“How much do you want?”

“As much as you can carry!” Jaypaw veered away, heading along the beach. He padded to the tree line, where twisting roots spilled over onto the pebbles, and sniffed around the gnarled bark until he scented the stick. It was still where he had wedged it, beneath the root of a rowan, safe from the pull of the lake.

He dragged it out, relief flooding his paws as they felt the smoothness of the exposed wood. This was definitely the right stick. Running his pads along its length he felt the familiar scratches. He knew so much more about what they meant than when he had first found it: They marked the successes and failures of countless cats—of Fallen Leaves and his Clanmates. And yet there was so much more to know; this stick only hinted at the lives of the cats who came before him. He wondered about the Clan who had used the tunnels as the test of a warrior. And the Tribe. Were they somehow linked?

Were all Clans, Tribes, whatever, however different, somehow connected?

Mousewhisker was splashing toward him, reeking of mallow. Jaypaw, clumsy with haste, shoved the stick back behind the tree root. The shingle crunched as the warrior climbed the beach.

“What are you doing?” Mousewhisker’s mew was muffled by mallow leaves.

“Just checking something.”

Mousewhisker spat the leaves onto the shore. “A stick?”

“It’s not important,” Jaypaw lied. “It’s medicine cat stuff, nothing you’d understand.” He braced himself for a flurry of questions.

But Mousewhisker simply began scraping the mallow leaves into a pile. “Whatever you say. I’m not an apprentice anymore,” he meowed. “I’m a warrior—I hunt and fight. I’ll leave the weird medicine stuff up to you.” His mew grew muffled again as he began to gather up the leaves. “I’m just glad I don’t have to remember everything you do.”

You don’t know the half of it…

Graystripe’s mew sounded from up on the bank. “Did you catch your fish, Mousewhisker?”

“No, but I caught some mallow!”