Chapter 1: Memories

A quiet breeze rustled the bushes, ruffling his fur and carrying a green smell of growth and new life. Branchfeather walked slowly towards camp, the snow seeping through his pads, the sunlight filtering from between the trees. The bare branches cast long shadows like fingers on the ground, which was sparkling with sunlit snow. Thin streaks of cloud arched over the quiet forest, lit with the same beams of the setting sun as the drops of melted water and icicles glittering in the trees' branches.

Branchfeather padded towards the edge of the ravine, prey clutched in his jaws. He looked at the river, sparkling in the dying sun, and their little camp below. Rockspark was leading his apprentice, Splashpaw, to the fresh-kill pile, Patchfoot was taking prey to the medicine den, the queens were sitting on the path where the snow had melted, their kits wrestling, the other warriors sharing tongues by the Rockpile, and Tinystar was sitting outside her den, looking at the fringe of ice that still bordered the river. Branchfeather felt his heart swell. This was home.

Then his eyes swept across the barren field he was standing in. covered with old snow at least a tail-length deep, it was empty of anything to see. But there were plenty of things to remember.

Nine seasons ago, he'd run across this very field to see what was on the other side. He'd learnt the way of the warrior right under that tree. He'd met Tinystar there, when she'd just been Tinypaw. He'd met Patchfoot, too, and Bouncepaw... poor Bouncepaw. This was where he'd caught his first prey, where he'd fought the greatest battle of his life, where Sparkpaw had given her attack speech and accused Sharpclaw in front of half the clan... and it was where she'd—where—she'd—fallen. She'd fallen saving Rockspark's life.

Branchfeather gritted his teeth. He didn't want to think like that. It didn't matter why she'd saved his life. She was gone now.

And she loved him...

He swallowed down a sob. He wasn't going to remember the best friend he'd ever had like that. He'd loved her, but like a sister. She'd loved Rockpaw a different way. That was fine. He loved Tinystar that same way... right? He didn't want to think in endless circles, like he did lying in his nest at night.

Would I have done the same thing for Tinystar? Would she do the same for me? Would I have done the same thing in Sparkpaw's situation? Died for Rockpaw? Would I die for any cat in my clan? What if I was in his situation? Would I have died for her rather than watch her die? Or is that just another kind of cowardice? Preferring death to facing my feelings?

And he didn't want to let his thought reach the last question.

Would Sparkpaw have died for me too?

The surface of the pool ruffled with a light wind, ripples spreading out from the edge over what was reflected in it. The cat leaning over it was small and spry, her blue-gray eyes glowing like the setting sun, her fur sparkling with the light of hundreds of stars. But she wasn't a cheery, cheeky, ball of apprentice energy anymore. She had watched seasons come and go, battles rise and fall, prophecies unravel and kits awaken for the first time.

But she'd never experienced anything more than leaf-fall and leaf-bare, never had a kit of her own, even as she was ten seasons old, never figured out her own prophecy, and never fought in any battle but the one that had taken her life.

She'd only experienced these things from the outside. An outsider.

That's what she was. She would remain an apprentice forever, while the cats she loved most would grow old and become wise, and she was stuck up here, prisoner of her own bravery, watching them live, while she was in the stars, alone.

Because she had sacrificed herself for him to live, and what had he done? Named himself after her. That wasn't worth it.

He wasn't worth it.

Sparkpaw had died in his place, and where had that gotten her?

Dead and alone.

Rockspark watched as Branchfeather loped down the hill, his head lowered. Just from the way he ran, Rockspark knew he was upset about something, had caught too much prey to carry home, and needed to ask one of the apprentices for help, and was going to visit Splashpaw in the medicine den as soon as they were done.

Well, all of that would have to wait.

"Branchfeather," he called, swallowing a lump in his throat. If I were dead, Sparkpaw would be the one calling his name or loping down next to him. "I was wondering if—"

"We were all wondering, Rockspark," Branchfeather said quietly. He seemed to not be paying the least bit of attention to a word his best friend was saying as he continued, "I need you to gather up the apprentices and ask them to go get my extra prey, its hidden under the tree up on the ravine, the kind of low hanging m-maple. You—you know the one I mean?"

"Of course I do," replied Rockspark quickly. It was best to just agree with him in these moods. But still—"Branchfeather, listen. You're son, and your apprentice, I might add, has been being a total snob, swaggering around like he's the leader, taking fresh-kill he's supposed to give the queens and eating it himself, sticking his paw in the river just to show off for the kits, and telling warriors what to do. He refuses lessons in hunting and battling, he won't clean out the queens' bedding, and he says that since his sister gets a break, so should he!"

"His sister is dying of an incurable sickness!" said Branchfeather incredulously. "He said that?!"

Rockspark nodded. That swaggering twit's going to get it now... he thought, watching Branchfeather gallop across the rocks.

The first smile in a long time spread across his face.

It wasn't much of a small mercy in life, but it was enough.

Watching Branchfeather gallop across the rocks to reprimand his kit was suddenly too much for her. Sparkpaw gritted her teeth stood up. They didn't care anymore.

She'd won that battle. They'd all be dead if it weren't for her, or the murderer Sharpclaw ruling them alongside that fox leader. In that case, her friends would be dead anyway. At least they'd be up here with me, she thought, then she pushed the thought away. That wasn't what she wanted, she didn't want her friends to die... right?

Feeling wretched, she whirled around to storm off. She wasn't watching the pool to see what happened next.

If she had, maybe it would have changed her mind.