“It won’t sink, you know,” Firestar informed him. “Wood doesn’t. Will it matter if it does?”

Jaypaw took a deep breath. “Yes,” he mewed. “It matters very much…to me.” He fought to keep calm as Firestar’s curious gaze warmed his pelt.

“Okay,” Firestar meowed, after what seemed like moons. “I’ll get it.”

The ThunderClan leader’s claws scratched the tree roots as he leaned out and fished in the water. Jaypaw could hear splashing and Firestar’s grunt as he grasped something in his jaws.

He’s got it!

The stick scraped against the muddy bank as Firestar heaved it out and dropped it onto dry land.

“Thank you!” Jaypaw sighed, pressing his paw to the wet wood.

“Do you want me to carry it back to camp for you?” Firestar puffed.

“No!” The word blurted out before Jaypaw could think. This was his secret. The fur along his spine rippled at the thought of Leafpool asking questions, of his Clanmates staring at his stick, seeing what he could not see, touching what was his.

“Well, it’s safe now,” Firestar meowed. He leaned closer to the stick. “It’s got some unusual scratches on it. Did you put them there?”

“No,” Jaypaw answered honestly, his pelt burning. He curled his claws, hoping Firestar wouldn’t ask any more questions.

“Come on,” Firestar meowed. “Let’s head back.”

Thank you, StarClan! Jaypaw rolled the stick to the nearest stubby bush and pushed it close to the trunk, wedging one end under a gnarled root. He didn’t think the water would ever rise this high, but even if it did, the stick shouldn’t float away again. Good-bye, he whispered before turning and following his Clan leader up the grassy slope that led to the forest.

As they entered the trees, Jaypaw tried to pick up Firestar’s thoughts. He wanted to know what the ThunderClan leader truly felt about him, knowing the prophecy. But, like Leafpool’s mind when she was on her guard, Firestar’s thoughts were clouded and impossible to read.

“How’s Cinderpaw?” Firestar asked. There was worry in his voice. Jaypaw remembered his vision: Firestar had been the one to tell Cinderpelt she’d never be a warrior. He felt a rush of pity for his leader. Cinderpaw’s latest injury must have scratched old wounds.

“She’ll be okay, won’t she?” Firestar pressed.

Jaypaw answered cautiously. “She’s in a lot of pain. It’s hard to tell how bad the injury is.” He didn’t want to contradict anything Leafpool might have said to Firestar.

“That name must bring bad luck,” Firestar murmured, half to himself. Jaypaw had to fight the urge to tell him that Cinderpaw didn’t just share Cinderpelt’s name, but her spirit.

They walked in silence to the hollow, and, as they entered the camp, Leafpool trotted up, breathless. “Are you okay?” she asked Jaypaw.