Back in camp, Twigpaw took fresh-kill to Graystripe and Millie, then looked in on the medicine cats. Sparkpelt had gone to join the other sick cats in the apprentices’ den; Whitewing was still curled up in her nest, though by now Plumkit was getting better and had gone back to her mother in the nursery.

“Hi, do you need me for anything?” she asked the medicine cats.

It was Alderheart who replied. “I don’t think so, right now, thanks. But I’ll call you if we do.”

Disappointed, Twigpaw retreated into the camp again. Her paws itched to be doing something, but she didn’t dare go off by herself to hunt, not after what had happened the day before.

Glancing around, she spotted Lilyheart stretched out on a rock at the side of the stone hollow, and padded over to join her. Lilyheart looked up at her, blinking affectionately.

“Hi, Twigpaw. No training today?”

“No, Sparkpelt is sick,” Twigpaw replied, not wanting to go into all the problems about training with Finpaw.

“Then you can come and talk to me.” Lilyheart gestured with her tail for Twigpaw to join her on the rock.

Twigpaw felt soothed by her welcome. When she had first come to ThunderClan as a tiny kit, Lilyheart had taken her into the nursery and cared for her as her own mother had never had a chance to. Twigpaw still felt a strong bond between them.

At least one cat is happy to see me, she thought, but a pang of grief pierced through her at the memory of when Lilyheart’s mate, Snowbush, had died in a rockslide. I wasn’t even in ThunderClan to comfort her when that happened.

“How are you today?” she asked, remembering that Lilyheart had been one of the first cats to fall ill.

“Better, but it’s a slow job,” her foster mother replied. “I just long to get out into the forest to have a good run and stretch my muscles. But when I get up, I can barely totter over to the fresh-kill pile!”

“Would you like some fresh-kill now?”

Lilyheart shook her head. “I’m fine, thanks.” Giving Twigpaw a more penetrating look, she added, “But I can see that you’re not. Something’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

Twigpaw hesitated, but her foster mother’s loving gaze encouraged her to speak. “I feel a little restless here in ThunderClan,” she confessed. “I don’t want to leave—far from it—but I’m not sure yet what my place is. I know I’m being stupid, but . . .” She paused again, needing to make sure her voice would be steady. “I guess I expected my Clanmates to be more excited to have me back.”