They padded nose-to-tail through the thorn tunnel. The sun was climbing the sky, warming the forest, and birds chattered in the trees. Hollypaw loved how the woods had lost the neat crispness of early greenleaf and had grown unkempt and disheveled, the undergrowth spilling over paths and trees sending willowy shoots out from among their roots. It seemed that the forest was fuller and lusher than ever.

She slowed as they climbed the slope toward the lake, so that Cinderpaw could match her step for step despite her limp.

“Have you seen how Honeyfern keeps following Berrynose with that drippy look on her face?” Cinderpaw mewed.

“Oh, yes!” Hollypaw agreed. “Anyone would think he was StarClan’s gift to the Clan!”

“Can’t she see what a bossy know-it-all he is?”

“I think she likes him almost as much as he likes himself.”

“Then it must be love!” Cinderpaw’s whiskers twitched. “That reminds me! Have you noticed how Birchfall has started sharing tongues with Whitewing?”

“The nursery could start getting crowded,” Hollypaw purred.

“I don’t know if there’ll be room once Millie has her kits,” Cinderpaw mewed. “Leafpool says there’re going to be at least three.”

“Has Millie chosen names yet?” Hollypaw wondered if Cinderpaw had heard any gossip while she’d been confined to Leafpool’s den.

“Leafpool says a kit needs to be seen before it can be named.”

“Then I must have been a prickly kit,” Hollypaw joked. It was good to talk about nothing in particular. It was like things used to be, before the prophecy. For the first time since returning from the mountains, she felt like an ordinary apprentice again.

But she wasn’t. A stab of envy jabbed her belly. Cinderpaw could chat like this forever, with no worries about being more powerful than her Clanmates. Her only ambition was to become a warrior and do the best she could for her Clan.

I have so much more to aim for. Hollypaw frowned. And I don’t even know for sure what that could be.

CHAPTER 11

A warm breeze circled the hollow, drawing the night scents of the forest into the camp. The moon was high; Jaypaw could feel its light wash his pelt. He shifted his paws, stiff from waiting.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” he whispered to Leafpool through the brambles covering the entrance of the medicine cats’ den. She’d sent him outside when his pacing had knocked the poppy seeds flying across the floor. She was gathering them up now.

“I could help you clean up,” he offered.

“No, thanks,” Leafpool called back. “You just keep your ears pricked for any noise from the nursery.”