As the path dipped down toward the hollow and home, Lionpaw felt a pang of loneliness. It was almost as though he belonged to a Clan of his own, distanced by the prophecy from the familiar faces waiting in camp to see what they’d brought back from their hunt.

Icepaw darted ahead of him and followed Whitewing and Ashfur through the barrier of thorns that sealed the camp from the forest. Lionpaw padded after, emerging into the clearing in time to see Icepaw drop her vole onto the fresh-kill pile and turn toward her denmates.

Cinderpaw, Honeypaw, and Poppypaw were sunning themselves outside the apprentices’ den. Icepaw trotted over to them.

“Your first catch?” Honeypaw called.

Icepaw lifted her chin. “I got it first try!”

Lionpaw felt a pang of envy. He would never again feel so carefree, never again be thrilled by such a small success.

“Is Foxpaw back yet?” Icepaw asked, clearly eager to show off her catch to her brother.

“Squirrelflight took him on border patrol,” Cinderpaw informed her. “They should be back soon.”

As Lionpaw padded to the fresh-kill pile and dropped his catch, a pelt brushed his. He turned to see his sister.

“Nice catch.” Hollypaw’s mew was flat, as though she had something else on her mind. She was staring at the apprentices outside their den. Cinderpaw and Poppypaw were rolling a ball of moss to each other while Honeypaw leaped to try to catch it.

“Aren’t you going to join in?” Lionpaw mewed.

Hollypaw blinked. “I don’t feel like it.”

That wasn’t like Hollypaw. Especially if Cinderpaw was playing. “Something wrong?” Lionpaw asked.

“I’m just not in the mood.”

Lionpaw searched her green gaze. Was Hollypaw feeling isolated, too? “It feels odd, doesn’t it?” he ventured.

Hollypaw looked at him. “What?”

“Being different.”

“We’re not different on the outside.”

“You know what I mean.” Lionpaw felt a surge of impatience. He needed to talk to someone. All day he’d been clutching their secret like prey struggling to escape. Hollypaw didn’t have to make it so hard. “Knowing something as huge as we do and not being able to tell anyone.”

The fur on Hollypaw’s shoulders bristled with alarm. “You’re not thinking of telling, are you?”

“No, I—”

Hollypaw cut him off. “No cat must know! Not when we don’t know exactly what the prophecy means.” She lowered her voice, her gaze darting around the clearing. “We need to figure out what we’re meant to do with our powers.”