The Silent Thaw

Bramblestar eyed the dark warrior accusingly. “If a cat chooses to break the warrior code again, they must be prepared to face the consequences.”

“But—” As Thornclaw began to object, a groan sounded at the entrance. Bristlefrost jerked her muzzle toward the noise, heart lurching as she smelled blood. A moment later Sparkpelt staggered into camp. Blood showed on her pelt. Tufts of fur were missing. Every stumbling paw step seemed to take more strength than she had.

Squirrelflight raced forward, reaching her as she dropped to the ground.

Jayfeather rushed to Sparkpelt’s side. “Alderheart! Bring cobwebs,” he yowled across the clearing.

“What happened?” Squirrelflight pressed her muzzle to Sparkpelt’s ear.

“There were dogs,” Sparkpelt gasped. “At the abandoned Twoleg den. They attacked me. . . .” Jayfeather quickly sniffed along her flank.

Bristlefrost leaped to her paws. How could this have happened? She looked at Bramblestar. He must feel terrible that he’d sent Sparkpelt to the Twolegplace. But when she spotted the leader, she froze. Shock pulsed through her. The ThunderClan leader was watching Sparkpelt coldly, as though staring at a piece of prey. As Sparkpelt’s Clanmates clustered around her and began to help her to the medicine den, Bramblestar sat down and began washing his face.

Bristlefrost stared at him, a chill running through her body. She backed away, ducking behind the elders’ den, and caught her breath. What was wrong with Bramblestar? Dogs had just attacked his daughter. Didn’t he care?

She headed for the entrance. If he didn’t care, she did! She was going to find out what those dogs were doing on ThunderClan territory. If they’d made a home there, the Clan needed to know. No cat should risk being attacked by them again.

Outside camp, she broke into a run. Dusk was seeping through the forest, darkening the shadows. She raced through them, her pelt bushed, her nose twitching. She was breathless by the time she neared the abandoned Twoleg den. She slowed, tasting the air. There were dog scents here, but they were stale. There was no sound of movement as she crept around the crumbling stones and sniffed the ground. Sparkpelt’s scent was here too, but there was another scent, just as familiar. Bristlefrost padded toward it, her whiskers twitching.

The earth beside the stone walls of the den was soaked with blood. It wasn’t Sparkpelt’s blood, or a dog’s. She sniffed it. Prey blood. This spot smelled like fresh-kill. Her thoughts quickened. Some cat had made a fresh-kill pile here.

She frowned. Rogues didn’t gather their prey. They ate it as they caught it. Only Clan cats made fresh-kill piles. Had Lionblaze sheltered here on his way back to the Clan?

She sniffed the stone walls around the blood-stained earth, but smelled only dog-scent. Lionblaze couldn’t have stayed here. It would have been too dangerous.

She stiffened as a thought flashed through her mind. Had some cat gathered prey here on purpose? Had they wanted to lure dogs here? The earth seemed to shift beneath her paws, and she pictured Bramblestar washing his face while Squirrelflight helped their daughter to the medicine den. Not only had he not been concerned, but he’d seemed unsurprised that she’d returned to camp injured. Had he known about the dogs when he sent her here? She felt sick. Squirrelflight’s warning rang in her ears. Rootpaw was right. It’s not Bramblestar. Had she been wrong to dismiss it? She leaned against the wall, her paws trembling.

Had Bramblestar tried to murder his own daughter?

Chapter 15

As dusk softened the shadows of the pine forest, Shadowsight scratched delicately at the earth and leaned down to sniff a crack where new shoots were pushing open the soil. The fresh scent of marigold leaves touched his nose, and he sat up, satisfaction warming his belly. It had been more than three days since Bramblestar’s impromptu Gathering, and new plants were now growing a short walk from camp. For a moment he thought only about herbs and the ointments he’d be able to mix once newleaf coaxed the first sign of fresh growth into full leaf. But as he gazed into the shadowy woods, his doubts returned. The satisfaction he’d felt at the sprouting marigold faded, and a chill crept through his fur.