Warriors: Beetlestar's Path

Chapter Fifteen

     Beetlestar's paws dragged, heavier than boulders as he entered WaterClan's camp. In truth, he had hoped for a quiet reception. For the Clan to leave him be so that he could crawl into his nest in the warriors den and fall into such a deep sleep that he might pass away. But as all eyes fell on him, he remembered that his nest would now be in Brookstar's den, and that he couldn't go to sleep just yet. Brookstar still needed to be put to rest, and the Clan needed reassurance and care in this dark moment. 

     The clearing was filled with such a strained silence that it hurt his ears. It was Troutpaw who first approached him, taking cautious steps as if he were approaching some stranger. "Beetle...?" He asked, trailing off as if uncertain of how to address his mentor. Beetlestar let out a breathy sigh. 

     "Beetlestar," he answered. And Troutpaw exploded forward and wrapped around Beetlestar, craning his head over the fresh leader's neck. Other cats came to greet him, buzzing with bittersweet congratulations. Badgerpelt rubbed her cheek against his and Swiftcreek bowed her head to him from Brookstar's side. Berryfrost gave his forehead a gracious lick. And Sorrelclaw approached, his expression blank, hiding his thoughts and emotions expertly. As their Clanmates began to disperse and prepare to take Brookstar to her grave, Beetlestar met Sorrelclaw's gaze and touched noses with him. 

     "It's a sad day to lose a leader, but a good one to crown one," Sorrelclaw said. "But," he began in a hushed voice, "why didn't you choose me?" 

     I was right. He wanted to be deputy. Beetlestar had no answer. At least, no polite one. Swiftcreek had almost every necessary quality for a deputy— for a leader— and Sorrelclaw was not far behind. But he was brash. Beetlestar had not forgotten the pheasant that Sorrelclaw had snatched up by TreeClan's intrusive border, only to rip it apart and spread its guts on the other side. 

     "Swiftcreek is older," Beetlestar reluctantly replied. "She has more experience. And I feel that I'll need that experience." That's a decent enough answer, right? And it's also true." 

     Sorrelclaw's eyes darted from Beetlestar to Swiftcreek, and then back, wide for a moment and then slowly blinking. "Very well." 

     "Oh, you look exhausted," Berryfrost interrupted. Beetlestar sunk into his mother's side and groaned. She wrapped a paw over his shoulder in turn. "Once the burial is over, you can get some rest." 

     "I'm surprised my paws haven't fallen off," Dustfoot muttered as she passed by. The medic, usually white-furred- had been stained brown by MarshClan's mud, and a dip in the river had hardly made a dent. Beetlestar himself was also covered in grit and sludge, though most of it had fallen away and now congregated mainly around his paws. Then again, any remaining mud wouldn't show so much on his black fur. 

     Beetlestar sucked in a deep breath. The Clan was ready, the flowers and willow branches gathered up, and Swiftcreek and Shatteredstone situated by Brookstar's corpse. They would carry her, being two of the stronger cats in the Clan. Clamshell gathered the flowers that had been picked in the leader's honor, and Flutternose and Reedtail shared the burden of the willow boughs. 

     Troutpaw nudged Beetlestar. "Kinkedtail, Piketooth, Poppywings, Yellowfoot, Littlestep, and I all agreed to stay in camp with the queens and kits. Just in case." His tail twitched and pointed towards those five other cats, who all had grouped around the nursery. "So the camp isn't unguarded. If that's okay?" 

     Troutpaw's maturity shocked him, and Beetlestar nodded. "Thank you. I'm sure Acornpelt and Brownspots will appreciate it." And both of their mates will be here. For a split second, uncertainty gripped Beetlestar. Is it wise to leave Yellowfoot here alone? If Troutpaw is here, though... Beetlestar reached to speak in Troutpaw's ear. "Keep an eye on Yellowfoot."