The Fourth Apprentice

and Brackenfur padding over to touch his nose to her ear. “Great catch,” he murmured.

Better not listen anymore, Dovepaw thought, shutting out Sorreltail’s loving purr and listening instead to a couple of starlings having a noisy quarrel in the branches of the dead tree. Letting her senses range farther over the territory, she picked up a yowl of pain from the dawn patrol on the WindClan border, and then Berrynose’s voice: “I trod on a thistle!”

Dovepaw let out a little mrrow of amusement as she pictured the cream-colored warrior hopping indignantly on three paws while he tried to pull out the prickles with his teeth. If she knew Berrynose, he’d blame the thistle.

“Great StarClan!” Dustpelt sounded angry and frustrated. “Will you sit still and let some cat help you? Rosepetal, sort him out, please, or we’ll be here all day.”

“Just another day in ThunderClan,” Dovepaw whispered to herself.

And what about your dream? A voice seemed to speak in her mind.

“What about it?” Dovepaw muttered, firmly pushing the memories away again.

Slipping back into the den, she gave Ivypaw a sharp prod in the side. “Wake up, lazybones! Let’s find Cinderheart and Lionblaze and see if they’ll take us hunting.”

Pride tingled through Dovepaw from ears to tail-tip as she carried her prey-a mouse and a blackbird-over to the fresh-kill pile and dropped it in front of the warriors who were gathered close by.

“Well done,” Graystripe meowed, glancing up from the vole he was sharing with his mate, Millie. “At that rate, you’ll be one of the best hunters in the Clan.”

“And she’s been an apprentice for less than a moon,” Lionblaze added, padding up to deposit his own prey on the pile. “She seems to know what the prey is going to do even before the prey does.”

Whitewing, who was sharing tongues with Birchfall nearby, let out a purr of approval. “Good. I’m glad to hear you’re working hard.”

Dovepaw started to feel embarrassed. “I’m not that good,” she protested as she dropped her catch. She didn’t like being praised too much in front of Ivypaw, who had managed to kill only a single shrew. “I’ve just got a great mentor.”

Then she went hot all over in case any cat thought she was criticizing Cinderheart. The gray she-cat didn’t seem to have noticed anything wrong as she and Ivypaw set their own prey down, though Ivypaw cast an envious glance at her sister.

“Don’t be upset,” Dovepaw whispered. “It was just bad luck that you missed that squirrel.”

Ivypaw gave an angry shrug. “Bad luck doesn’t fill bellies.”

“You can each take a piece of prey,” Cinderheart meowed to the two apprentices. “You’ve worked hard this morning.”

“Thanks!” Dovepaw chose a vole from the pile, and after hesitating Ivypaw took her own shrew. Dovepaw could sense that however hungry she was, her sister didn’t want to take more than she’d managed to contribute.

Dovepaw’s belly was yowling too, but as she crouched down to eat she forced herself not to gulp the vole down in a couple of ravenous bites. The sun had risen over the tops of the trees, its rays beating down mercilessly, and there would be no more hunting until it set.

“I don’t know how much longer this drought can go on,” Millie sighed, finishing her share of the vole and swiping her tongue over her whiskers. “How many more days without rain?”

“Only StarClan knows,” Graystripe responded, touching his tail to his mate’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“Then StarClan should do something about it!” Spiderleg looked up from where he sat on the other side of the fresh-kill pile with Hazeltail and Mousewhisker. “Do they expect us to survive without water?”

“There’s hardly any left in the lake,” Hazeltail added sorrowfully. “And the stream has dried up completely between us and ShadowClan.”

“So where has all the water gone?” Mousewhisker asked with an irritable flick of his ears.

Dovepaw paused, puzzled, before taking another bite of her vole. “Don’t you know why the stream has dried up?” she asked. “Isn’t it because of the brown animals who are blocking it?”

Spiderleg stared at her. “What brown animals?”

Dovepaw swallowed her mouthful. “The ones who are dragging tree trunks and branches into the stream.”

Glancing around, she realized that every cat beside the fresh-kill pile was staring at her. The vole she had just eaten suddenly weighed heavily in her belly. Why are they looking so confused?

The silence seemed to stretch on for a season. Eventually Lionblaze spoke in a quiet voice. “Dovepaw, what exactly are you meowing about?”

“The-the big brown animals,” she stammered. “They’re making a barrier in the stream, like our thorn barrier across the camp entrance. It’s stopping the water from flowing. There are Twolegs watching them.”

“Twolegs!” Mousewhisker gave a snort of amusement. “Are they sprouting wings and flying as well?”

“Don’t be silly!” Dovepaw snapped. “They’re watching the animals and pointing…something, some Twoleg stuff at them. Maybe the animals are blocking the river because the Twolegs told them to.”

“And maybe hedgehogs fly,” Spiderleg mewed with a sigh. “Lionblaze, you really ought to tell your apprentice not to make this stuff up. It’s not funny, not when we’re all suffering.”

“That’s right,” Whitewing added. The approval in her eyes had changed to annoyance and embarrassment. “Dovepaw, what’s come over you? This is a nice game to play with your sister, but it’s not the sort of thing you should talk about in front of all your Clanmates.”

Dovepaw sprang to her paws, the remains of her vole forgotten in her surge of anger. “It’s not a game! And I’m not making it up! You have to know I’m not.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort,” Spiderleg retorted. “Twolegs and big brown animals? It sounds like a tale for kits.”

“Can’t you hear them?” Dovepaw asked. All the other cats were looking at her uneasily, and she found it hard to meet their gaze.

“Don’t be too hard on her.” Graystripe flicked his tail at Spiderleg. “We all played games when we were apprentices.”

“Maybe she’s confused,” Millie added kindly. “It could be the heat. Did you have a dream?” she asked Dovepaw.

“I didn’t dream it, and it’s not a game!” Dovepaw’s anger was giving way to distress, her forepaws working in the earth of the camp floor. Why are they all pretending they don’t know about the stream?

“Come on.” Hazeltail got up and stretched. “Let’s find a shady place to sleep. Maybe we can all dream about big brown animals.” She padded off toward the edge of the clearing, followed by Spiderleg and Mousewhisker. Birchfall skirted the fresh-kill pile and halted in front of Dovepaw. His eyes were serious.

“If you’re making things up for fun, then stop it and say you’re sorry,” he meowed. “If you’re feeling ill, then go ask Jayfeather for some herbs. But stop bothering warriors who have better things to do than listen to nursery tales.”

“It’s not a nursery tale!” Dovepaw wanted to wail like a lost kit. Even my own father is joining in!

Birchfall exchanged a glance with Lionblaze, then padded away with Whitewing. Graystripe and Millie headed for the warriors’ den. Cinderheart rose to her paws. “Get some rest now, Ivypaw. When it’s cooler, I’ll take you for some battle training.”

“Thanks,” Ivypaw mewed, watching her mentor as she followed the other warriors. She gave Dovepaw a hard shove. “Stop showing off.”

Dovepaw stared at her, incredulous. “But, Ivypaw, you-”

“You’re only doing it to get attention,” Ivypaw hissed. Before Dovepaw could respond, she bounded away and vanished into the apprentices’ den.

Dovepaw stayed crouched beside the fresh-kill pile, her head down, feeling utterly crushed. Every cat in the