Flowers bloomed on all sides of Rootpaw and the songbirds sang in a lively chorus as newleaf greeted the forest with all of its strength. Warm sunshine basked the trees in a bright orange glow and the ground was scattered with scarlet tulips. The whistling breeze raced against Rootpaw as the black-and-white tom followed the petals that were dancing in the wind.

I must catch that petal! Rootpaw thought with determination as the bright pink leaflet was brought further and further away from him by the rough wind. Something about it is important, I can just tell. I've never seen any flower like it before, I can't just let it disappear. Rootpaw felt his claws tear the ground as he put on as much speed as he could. He saw the waves of the crystal clear lake lapping at the shore, but that didn't slow him down. I must get the petal.

But Rootpaw had clearly not realized how fast, how stronger, how sharper he'd grown in the last few moons of training. Before he knew it, he wasn't slowing down, and his paws were taking him straight towards the lakeshore. Rootpaw gasped and tried to slow down, but it was too late. His paws were already on the slippery, rocky shore, and when he tried to step back, he tripped on one of the pebbles and found himself collapsing on all fours. A rough wave swept against his body from the lake and dragged him underwater.

Rootpaw flailed as he sank deep into the waves. There was pressure on his chest as he tried to force himself to the surface, but every time he tried to swim up, there seemed to be another wave bringing him down again. I'm not strong enough! he thought with a flash of panic as he, once again, tried to bring himself towards the surface. The freezing water sank deep into his bones and dragged his pelt back deeper towards the bed of the lake.

Is this where it ends? Rootpaw asked himself. His chest was slowly beginning to fill with water, and it was hard for him to breathe. There was a burning, tearing sensation in his airway. Panic bubbled in Rootpaw's heart and he wanted to cry out for some cat to help, but when he opened his mouth, it was just filled with more water, silencing him. I'm going to die here. It's over for me. I didn't even get to be a warrior.

Rootpaw's struggle became a desperate battle for survival as he fought against the relentless current of the water. Each movement he made was a fight against the current that tugged at him mercilessly, like invisible claws determined to drag him under. His heart pounded in his chest and water rushed into his ears, muffling the world around him, while his frantic gasps for air were met with cold lake water. Panic clouded his chest and mind, making it difficult to think rationally.

His paws, once sure-footed and graceful, thrashed in a sea of uncertainty. The weight of his sodden fur pulled him down. He kicked out his hind legs in a futile attempt to bring him upwards, but his vision was a swirling blend of murky water and blurred flashes of light. Time seemed to succumb as he grappled with the currents.

Rootpaw's consciousness slowly began to ebb as he stopped fighting to stay afloat. Every time he tried to climb back to the surface, the waves just brought him back down again. It seemed it was his destiny to die here today. He shut his eyes and ceased his flailing, allowing the water to pull him deeper and deeper until he was sure he was joining StarClan.

Sharp teeth pierced his scruff, knocking Rootpaw back to reality. He opened his eyes, and although the water stung at his cornea, he tried to search for the predator who had their jaws embedded in him. Am I really going to be eaten before I joined StarClan? He forced himself to use the remaining strength he had to turn his head over, and his eyes widened with shock as he saw Brookfeather sinking her teeth into his scruff. The she-cat's green eyes blazed with determination as she paddled with her paws, still holding Rootpaw in her teeth as she pulled the both of them to the surface. Her long, strong legs moved easily in the water, and her muscles were taut as she dove further away from the lakebed.

Rootpaw was greeted with fresh air as the two cats emerged to the surface. He took in all the gulps of air he could possibly get, coughing up as much water as he could. Brookfeather's voice was a low hiss in his ear.

"We've still got to get to the shore, so don't die on me yet!" the brown-and-white tabby snarled. "Work with me, unless you want us both to drown!" Brookfeather's pelt was soaked to the bone, but it didn't deter her from continuing to swim. Her long fur spilled into the waves as she propelled her legs further. Despite being completely deprived of energy—exhausted from his fight with the water—he tried to move his paws to help Brookfeather, to bring them to the surface. He could make out the outline of brown oak trees in the distance, alongside a canopy of green. But his eyes would not stay open long as sleepiness threatened to shut them.

The shore became closer and closer, and Brookfeather's grip in Rootpaw's scruff tightened until he was sure she was drawing blood. He didn't know if it was because she was angry or if she didn't want to let go of him. Rootpaw blinked away the stinging water in his eyes until Brookfeather hauled both of them to the shore. She pushed him out on the rocky pebbles first, and Rootpaw scrambled to find his footing. Before the water could drag him like it had done before, he scrambled away from the pebbles and onto the sandy shore, coughing out water. With all his strength drained, he collapsed on his paws, shivering violently.

"Hey!" Brookfeather's voice was sharp as she nudged Rootpaw in his side. "Are you seriously going to die on me, after I nearly drowned myself trying to rescue you?" She pinned Rootpaw down and started to massage his chest. Rootpaw had no idea what she was doing, but when he started to cough up water, he realized that she was trying to help him—again. He vomited the remaining lake water and took a deep breath to compose himself.

He met Brookfeather's green gaze. She saved my life, he thought, the realization dawning on him after the panic cleared in his mind. If it weren't for her, I'd be dead. I'd have just let myself drown. "Brookfeather…" Rootpaw gasped.

"It speaks." Brookfeather's tail twitched in irritation. "Were you trying to drown yourself? I've never seen a cat run into water before! Do you want to join RiverClan?"

Rootpaw shook off her criticisms as if they were leaves falling on his pelt. Even though her words were sharp and barbed, he could detect the concern hidden in the thorns and the worry shadowed in her forest-green eyes.

"You saved my life," Rootpaw murmured. He straightened his soaked shoulders and trembled as water dripped from his pelt. Even the warm newleaf sun wasn't strong enough to melt the chill. "Thank you, Brookfeather. I won't forget this."

"I shouldn't have to if you had common sense," Brookfeather snapped. The brown-and-white tabby looked up at the rise above them, and Rootpaw spotted Dovepaw's light silver pelt. The she-cat had been recently apprenticed with her brother, Bearpaw, to Brookfeather and Foxstorm, recently after Nettlesnow's kits, Winterkit and Frostkit, had been born. "Dovepaw was the one who saw you. Thank her, not me."

"I'm thanking the both of you," Rootpaw said as Dovepaw climbed down the rise and bounded over to Rootpaw. The silver-gray she-cat began to lick Rootpaw's pelt with warm, gentle strokes, and Rootpaw leaned back, letting out a content sigh.

"Other way," Brookfeather ordered Dovepaw. "We need to warm him up before we bring him to Ashenhawk, or he'll just freeze to death before we get there."

Dovepaw nodded and licked Rootpaw's fur roughly, in the opposite direction as if she were warming a newborn kit. To Rootpaw's surprise, it started to help. Warmth was flowing back into his fur and he no longer felt as if he was a cat made from ice. He blinked gratefully at Dovepaw.

"Do you think you can walk?" Brookfeather asked Rootpaw.

"I think so," Rootpaw meowed, getting to all fours and testing his weight on each separate paw. He winced, feeling his head spin. But I have to get back to camp. And Vinestep is going to be so mad at me!

Dovepaw flashed a sympathetic glance at him, as if she could read his mind. Brookfeather's voice was sharp and curt as she snapped orders at Dovepaw, on what trail to take and how fast to walk. Rootpaw found himself leaning against Dovepaw's silver pelt and was grateful that the she-cat was moving at his pace.

"Mouse-brain," Dovepaw murmured to Rootpaw, her blue eyes flaring. "Brookfeather was right. Were you trying to drown?" Even though she was clearly trying to sound as accusatory as her mentor was, her voice was trembling with fear, and the anger in her eyes died to be replaced by distress.

"I was following a petal," Rootpaw murmured to her. "I didn't want to die."

Dovepaw licked Rootpaw's cheek fiercely. "Don't scare us like that again!" she scolded him fiercely, her fur bristling. Rootpaw rested his head against Dovepaw as the she-cat followed Brookfeather's lead, walking with him towards the trees that surrounded the stone hollow. Brookfeather looked over her shoulder at the two apprentices.

"Careful bringing him in the tunnel, Dovepaw," Brookfeather told her apprentice.

Dovepaw nodded. "Rootpaw, just follow me," she said.

"Maybe I should take him," Brookfeather mewed with worry.

"No, I can do it," Dovepaw said.

Brookfeather frowned but didn't argue with her apprentice. She shrugged her shoulders and exited the camp. Rootpaw's paws were trembling with exhaustion and all he wanted to do was close his eyes. Dovepaw drew her tail across his shoulders and led him through the forest until they reached the tunnel. She squeezed through the bramble tunnel, flicking with her tail for Rootpaw to follow it. Still soaked to the core, Rootpaw shivered as Dovepaw led him towards Ashenhawk's den. Brookfeather was already inside, talking to the silver tabby medicine cat.

Ashenhawk looked up when Rootpaw walked in. Her dark golden eyes were shadowed with worry. "Brookfeather told me you went for a swim," she said to Rootpaw.

"Something like that," Rootpaw mumbled. Ashenhawk pointed to an empty nest with her black-striped tail, and Rootpaw limped over to the mossy nest, curling up in a ball. Dovepaw walked over to him and continued to lick his fur, just like she had when Brookfeather hauled him out of the water.

"I was able to massage his chest and get the rest of the water out of him," Brookfeather told Ashenhawk, a frown on her narrow face. "Was that all right?"

"It was perfect." Ashenhawk touched Brookfeather's shoulder gently. "He'll be fine. I'm taking care of him now. You can go back to your duties."

Brookfeather nodded and glanced over at Dovepaw. "Come on, Dovepaw!" she called out to her apprentice. "We have some hunting to do."

Dovepaw cast an apologetic glance at Rootpaw. Rootpaw mewled in protest when she stopped licking his pelt. Just when I was getting warm, he thought, gazing at her. Her blue eyes were soft with sympathy as she stroked her tail down Rootpaw's black-and-white spine.

"Sorry, Rootpaw," Dovepaw mewed, touching Rootpaw's nose with her own bright pink one. "I'll come see you tonight, all right?"

Rootpaw's ears twitched. "A sky maiden has fallen upon me," he remarked softly. "Thank you, Dovepaw." He lifted his head and gazed at Brookfeather. "And you too, Brookfeather."

Brookfeather grunted, and for the first time, Rootpaw could see that the tips of her ears were red. Was she embarrassed? The brown-and-white tabby warrior flicked her tail towards Dovepaw, and Dovepaw scampered after her as the two cats left the medicine den. When they were gone, Rootpaw inhaled the scent of the medicine den. Multiple different fragrances from various berries and leaves tickled his nose and he tried to name them in his mind. But he had no idea.

Ashenhawk walked over to Rootpaw and draped some more moss over him. "You're very lucky, you know," the medicine cat mewed. "You could've drowned."

Rootpaw nodded blearily. "I know."

"Brookfeather saved your life." Ashenhawk walked over to her herb store and started to pull out a few berries. Rootpaw wanted to lift his head and watch, but he had no more strength to move anything in his body. He rested his head on his paws, exhausted.

"And I will be forever thankful for that," Rootpaw said to the medicine cat. He paused, collecting what he wanted to say, and then spoke. "Ashenhawk, do you remember when I was just a kit and Yarrowstem brought me in here to tell you about my dream?"

Ashenhawk stiffened. "Yes."

"I've been an apprentice for three moons now," Rootpaw meowed, "and I'm stronger and faster, but I'm not doing anything special. I nearly drowned in the lake and I'm chasing butterflies over borders when Pearpaw helps other cats catch pheasants and gains the attention of senior warriors by performing battle moves perfectly on the first try. What am I doing?" He arched his claws into the moss and let out a sigh.

The dark striped medicine cat looked over her shoulder, a bright blue berry in her paws. She narrowed her dazzling eyes. "Are you comparing yourself to your brother, or are you really worried about the prophecy?" she asked.

"Both," Rootpaw admitted. "I'm afraid that I won't fill the destiny Firestar wants me to."

"We don't know what it is yet." Ashenhawk dropped the berry in front of Rootpaw. "You're still young. Like you said, you've only been training for three moons—that isn't nearly enough to think you know what your destiny is yet!" There was a beat, and then Ashenhawk spoke again. "I'll be honest with you, Rootpaw, I've been asking Vinestep about your training."

Rootpaw angled his ears, surprised.

Ashenhawk went on. "He says you're unlike any of the apprentices he's ever trained."

Is that bad? Rootpaw's fur pricked uneasily.

"I don't think he meant it as an insult," Ashenhawk said, seeming to notice how uncomfortable Rootpaw was. "He knows that you're gentle and compassionate, and that you take approaches that Pearpaw doesn't. Pearpaw sees nothing but battle. You see beyond that. You see a world full of peace and kindness. Pearpaw doesn't."

"But Pearpaw isn't a bad cat!" Rootpaw exclaimed, horrified at the anxiety that flashed in Ashenhawk's deep amber eyes when she spoke about Pearpaw. "You know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Ashenhawk said, but her words were feeble at most. "I'm not saying that he's a bad cat. I'm saying that you two are different, and you comparing yourself to him is like comparing a mouse to a bird."

"I'm the mouse, aren't I," Rootpaw muttered.

"Stop that." Ashenhawk flicked Rootpaw's ears with her tail. Rootpaw bent his head down as he chewed the berry that was waiting for him. The taste wasn't as horrible as Rootpaw thought it would be, and so he did not wince as it traveled down his throat. He sighed, realizing that his heart had never truly stopped racing with fear ever since he had plunged into the water. I'm alive. I should be thanking StarClan for that. And maybe I'm not destined to die. I'm destined to live.

The entrance to the cave rustled, and Rootpaw looked over. Dovepaw was padding in, holding a bream in her mouth. She dropped it at Rootpaw's paws. "I thought you'd like this," she mewed. "I caught it just for you."

Rootpaw purred. "When did you learn to fish?"

"My mother taught me." Dovepaw settled next to Rootpaw. "I tried to teach Bearpaw too, but he's terrible at it, so I've just been teaching him how to fold feather-flowers."

Rootpaw smiled thinly at Dovepaw. "You'll have to teach me to fish one day. Or fold feather-flowers."

"I will," Dovepaw promised.

Rootpaw rested his muzzle on his nest. A sense of calm ebbed over him as he took in what Ashenhawk had said. I can't compare myself to Pearpaw. We're different cats, and that's it. But I'll always have Pearpaw's back, no matter what. And I hope he has mine. He let out a mewl of surprise as Dovepaw readjusted the blanket of moss she had draped over him.

"Go to sleep, now," Dovepaw murmured to him. "I'll be here with you when you wake him."

Rootpaw nodded and shut his eyes, slowing his breath until his heart stopped racing and he could clear his mind. As the memories of the day ebbed away into a silent blackness, he let sleep overtake him and envelop him into a soft caress. Things will fall into place, I'm sure.