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!”

Leaves sprayed Jaypaw as Mousewhisker answered. Jaypaw stifled a frustrated hiss and collected the dropped leaves in his mouth. Then he followed Mousewhisker onto the bank, where Graystripe and Sorreltail were waiting. From the smell of it they’d caught mice. Jaypaw’s belly grumbled, and he wished he’d eaten when he’d had the chance.

“Let’s get these back to camp,” Sorreltail meowed. “It sounds like someone’s hungry.” She turned and darted up the grassy hillside, back toward the forest.

As they topped the ridge and began to head home, Jaypaw halted.