The Silent Thaw полностью

“The Clans are on edge,” Leafstar went on. “Who knows what will happen next? We’ve had no word from StarClan. Bramblestar is spreading panic and fear, throwing around accusations about codebreakers. If he’s trying to use StarClan’s silence to make ThunderClan more powerful, we need to be on the alert. SkyClan needs strong, reliable warriors. There’s no time for your antics. You need to try harder. You owe it to your Clan, to your mentor, and to yourself.”

He met her gaze, longing to explain that he could be a good warrior if only a certain dead cat would leave him in peace. Did Bramblestar’s ghost realize how much trouble it was causing? It should be here now, watching this. “I’m sorry,” Rootpaw mumbled.

“‘Sorry’ catches no prey.” Leafstar whisked her tail angrily. “I want to see some changes.” She stalked away, her pelt ruffling along her spine.

Rootpaw looked apologetically at Dewspring. His mentor was staring at him with undisguised exasperation. “I’m really sorry,” Rootpaw mumbled again.

Dewspring flattened his ears. “Don’t waste your breath,” he growled. “Just try harder.” He followed Leafstar back to her den and stopped beside her. They talked softly, leaning close, and Rootpaw could tell they were discussing him, his paw pads tingling with a mix of guilt and embarrassment. He wasn’t sure what he was more afraid of—failing his warrior assessment, or his leader and mentor finding out why he was doing so badly at his training.

Was there any way that he would be able to get rid of the ghost? He’d consulted Fidgetflake; he’d tried to get Tree to see it. Nothing had helped. He glanced at his father, who’d plucked a skinny mouse from the fresh-kill pile and was carrying it toward the shady patch beside the dogwood where he liked to eat alone. I have to tell him. He needed to share his secret before it got him into more trouble. Tree was the only cat in SkyClan who might understand what it was like to be plagued by a dead cat. And Tree was his father. He had to believe him, didn’t he?

His paws felt heavy as he padded across the grass. His father looked up as he neared, his eyes rounding. “Hey, Rootpaw. Is everything okay?” He tipped his head to one side. “I saw Leafstar was talking to you. She looked kind of angry. Did you forget a battle move? Or catch the wrong sort of mouse?”

“No.” Rootpaw’s pelt ruffled with irritation. He knew his father hadn’t wanted to be a warrior himself, but could he not take his own son’s ambition seriously?

Tree pushed the mouse toward him. “Sit down and have a bite,” he mewed gently. “You can tell me why you look like a sparrow that’s lost its chick.”

Rootpaw glanced over his shoulder. Leafstar and Dewspring were still talking. Leafstar’s gaze flitted toward him. He shifted his paws self-consciously. “Can we talk about it outside?” he asked Tree.

Tree eyed his mouse, then met Rootpaw’s gaze. “I guess this can wait.” He got to his paws, his eyes glittering suddenly with worry. “It sounds important,” he mewed. “Should I ask Violetshine to join us?”

“Violetshine won’t be able to help with this.” Rootpaw headed for the entrance.

Tree padded beside him, his fur fluffed. Rootpaw glanced at his father. Is he pleased I’m asking him for help? He slid after Tree through the ferns at the entrance to the camp and climbed up the steep slope between the boulders, pausing as he reached the top.

Ahead of him, hills rolled toward the mountains. He took a deep breath of crisp, clean air and faced his father. “I keep seeing a ghost,” he blurted. He waited for his father’s eyes to light up. He’ll be proud that I’m like him. His pelt ruffled irritably.

Tree eyed him thoughtfully without speaking.

“I thought you’d understand,” Rootpaw pressed. Why wasn’t Tree saying anything? Doesn’t he believe me? His chest tightened. “Except it’s not a ghost. It’s Bramblestar’s ghost. But it can’t be, because Bramblestar is alive. Am I imagining it? Is it normal? It’s driving me crazy.” His heart quickened as Tree frowned. “Perhaps I am crazy. I’m the only one who can see him. And he’s started talking to me. Asking me to help him. How can I help a dead cat? I’m not even—”

“Slow down.” Tree moved closer, his gaze fixed on Rootpaw’s.

“But you think I’m crazy, right? I can tell by the way you’re looking at me.” Panic began to spiral in Rootpaw’s belly. The ground seemed to sway beneath his paws. If Tree thought he was crazy, perhaps he was crazy.

“You’re not crazy,” Tree mewed firmly. “I don’t know how you’re seeing the ghost of a living cat. But I believe you, and we’re going to sort this out.”