Following the scent and direction of the breeze, he headed for the lake. The air felt cool and damp, with a chill that hadn’t left it since the recent rains. He picked his way through the woods, following a path he knew well. Emerging from the trees, he padded down the slope toward the beach. Wind ruffled the water, which sounded surprisingly close. Perhaps the damp air carried the sound more easily. Jaypaw stepped down off the bank, his paws sinking into the shingle. He padded forward.

Splash!

His paw plunged into water, not deep, but enough to make him leap back, trembling. Since his fall into the lake as a kit, he was terrified of water. He scrambled up the bank, heart thumping. The lake must have risen from all the rain.

My stick! Alarmed, he skirted the edge of the lake, keeping to the grassy bank until he reached the line of trees edging the shore. Weaving among the trunks, he tried to guess which one held the stick in its roots. Sniffing carefully, he recognized with a burst of relief the rowan where he’d wedged it. He scrambled onto a thick root and leaned over the edge. The water was lapping the bank. He dug his hind claws into the bark, reached a forepaw down into the water, and felt for his stick.

It’s not there! He flapped his paw in the space beneath the root. With panic rising in his throat, he leaned farther out, planting his other forepaw on the muddy bank so water lapped his claws as he dangled over the edge. Reaching as far as he could, he splashed his paw in the lake, feeling desperately for the sleek piece of wood. The waves licked his muzzle, making him splutter.

Where is it? Had the lake taken it back? He might never see it again!

Something hard bumped his muzzle. Something floating on the waves. He sniffed, coughing as water shot up his nose. But he recognized his stick at once. Flailing with his paw, he tried to drag the stick closer, but it bobbed out of reach each time he tried to hook it with a claw. Why was it so smooth? Why couldn’t it have bark for him to grip? Fear and frustration stormed in his chest.

“What in the name of StarClan are you doing?” Teeth grasped his tail, and Jaypaw was jerked backward onto the top of the bank.

It was Firestar.

“I was just…” Jaypaw searched for the right words. How could he explain his need for the stick? But it might be floating out of reach while he stood here trying to tell Firestar. “I have to have that stick!” He prayed that the desperation in his mew would be enough. Hope flashed in his heart as Firestar brushed past him to peer over the edge of the bank.

“What? That smooth stick floating near the bank?”

“Yes!” Jaypaw almost wailed.