Brightkit watched anxiously as the warriors dragged the last fragment of the charred, fallen tree out of camp. As it disappeared beyond the bramble boundary, clutched tight in Gorsewhisker's jaws, she felt as if a little piece of her heart had vanished with it. Over the past moon, she had grown used to its presence: it was a reminder of the accident and her guilt. It was a relic from the storm that whispered to her in the night, telling her Blazekit would never walk again and she was responsible. It hummed that she would never be a warrior, that it would forever haunt the camp with its coal-black dust and smoky scent that choked her in her dreams. Sometimes, she woke feeling as though she were on fire, burning up from the inside, as though she could never escape the flames that licked her paws and singed her pelt. The fire had never even struck her, yet she was constantly reminded of its existence as if she'd been burnt.

The tree's disappearance was also a relief: maybe she would no longer be haunted by its presence, and its absence would allow Blazekit to miraculously heal to be even stronger than before.

Most of all, the action told her that soon life would resume as usual. Morningpaw would leave her behind and train out in the forest with Mottleclaw. He would become a warrior and she would remain a kit despite her six moons, for she could not with good conscience abandon her littermate, even if it meant ignoring the itch in her paws to chase her future. She supposed it could wait for her, and this wait would be her penance. The other apprentices, too, would return to training. The nursery - now rebuilt to be even larger than its former self - would house both Songmist and Elmstripe as well as their kits. Elmstripe was due in the next moon or so, and Songmist's kits were three moons old now, larger and more rambunctious than Brightkit recalled, and she found she had little patience for them after spending so long in the company of older cats. Blazekit would remain in the medicine cat's den with Eagleheart as their broken bodies healed, and Brightkit assumed her mother would stay as well. She felt lost: she knew she belonged in the apprentice's den, all shaded and quiet by the mossy old stump, where discussions of techniques were held. Oh, how she wished to be a part of that world! But she did not belong in the medicine cat's den either, for she took up space that would be put to best use hosting the sick or injured. She deplored the thought of returning to the nursery, however, where squeaks and squeals would keep her up late into the night only to wake her early the next morning. She wished to ask Thunderheart where she belonged, but her father was often too busy with his duties to eat with his family, let alone answer her foolish questions. Besides, she didn't want to seem any more kit-like than she already was.

Already, things were changing far faster than she would've liked. Morningpaw, who usually ate his morning meal with her, was conversing with the other apprentices. She could hear their laughter from where she sat alone, watching. Thunderheart was on patrol, of course. It almost seemed like he avoided visiting them: could he be ashamed of his kits? No. She shook her head. Papa loves us. Why would he not? He knows Blazekit will get better. He has to. Moonlily, to her surprise, went hunting this morning. Her mother hardly ever left her brother's side. But, of course, Blazekit was to began his prescribed exercises today. He would be occupied, yet Brightkit would be left alone. Again.

She figured she might as well practice her hunting crouch. She had all the time in the world now, to master it, but had no teacher. Teaching herself wasn't quite the same, though she supposed it was better than nothing. Better to have the foundation of a technique than nothing at all. She waited for most of the Clan to leave the camp, and she tucked herself away in a secluded space in the shade. No nosy kits or prying eyes to analyze her faults would find her here. She smiled smugly. Then, she dropped low to the ground. With her thick, long pelt it was nearly impossible for her belly fur not to brush the ground ever so lightly as she stretched out long and low beneath the trees. Dappled light played across her vision, and she imagined one such flickering spot of sunshine was a twittering starling. The light danced to and fro and she followed it with only her eyes, forcing herself to keep her head still and her stance soft and sleek. She crept forward, following the drifting dapple keenly. It paused briefly, and she pounced. She landed short of the speck of sun, and just as she did it lept out of sight, a shroud of darkness falling over her and blocking out the sun. She looked up from her practice and started, stunned to see the aged face of leader gazing down at her with his steely amber eyes.

"Sparrowstar!" She squeaked in surprise, mentally reprimanding herself for sounding so kit-like before her leader. She sat up immediately, hoping to smooth her ruffled pelt and seem older and more mature than she assumed she appeared. Sparrowstar could hardly conceal the amused smile that threatened to break out onto his muzzle.

"Brightkit," he nodded. The tom was tall and intimidating despite his age, and one would never suspect he had been leader when her parents were kitted if his muzzle hadn't turned silver on the fine hairs about his mouth and the roots of his whiskers. His eyes were steady amber orbs, like the hardened sap that clung to the pines. His pelt was always impeccably neat, not a single hair out of place, and when he sat he curled his long brown tail over his paws and assumed the posture of an ancient, stately oak. He had been leader for so long that her parents could not recall the name of the cat who came before him, and he had reigned over Thunderclan since before their birth. To Brightkit, he was a deity. She could not imagine Thunderclan without Sparrowstar, nor Sparrowstar without Thunderclan. His mate had passed and so had his kits; his closest living relative was Sablefoot, a granddaughter with whom he occasionally dined. His mouth moved, and she realized she hadn't been listening. She caught the glimmer in his eye, and knew that he had noticed as well.

"I'm sorry," she mewed abashedly, glancing down at her paws.

"I asked, how is your practice?" Sparrowstar said with the slightest laugh. Brightkit perked up immediately.

"I've been trying to teach myself the proper hunting crouch!" She said, suddenly enthusiastic. "I think I'm getting better."

"It must be difficult now that your companion must return to his life just as you must yours." Her leader meowed, flicking his ears toward where Morningpaw stood happily beside Mottleclaw as they prepared to go out on patrol. His eyes never left her face, though she looked longingly at the pair.

"I can teach myself." She assured him, though in her voice she detected a glimmer of doubt poorly concealed. Sparrowstar smiled again, and it was gentle - almost knowing.

"You've reached the age of six moons," he mused, "yet you are not apprenticed. I know the Clan has been otherwise occupied as of late, but surely this could not have slipped your mind." Brightkit shrugged, trying not to seem too bitter.

"There are more important things to attend to, I suppose." She replied evenly. Her leader looked her in the eye, and she felt seen for the first time all day.

"An apprentice ceremony is a thing of utmost importance," Sparrowstar said, "I recognize that. Apprentices are the future of the Clan, and as such we can waste no time shaping this future and grooming them to take over for us when our time has passed. I'm no stranger to these things, Brightkit. I can make you an apprentice today if you wish it."

Brightkit held her breath. It was almost too good to believe. Her, an apprentice? Today?

"I couldn't." She sighed, casting a sidelong glance toward the medicine cat's den. "Blazekit...I told him I'd wait for him." Sparrowstar's eyes narrowed.

"You needn't hold yourself back from achieving what comes rightfully to every kit at six moons. Your brother will heal in his own time You must carry on in yours." The brown tom chided. Brightkit wanted to scream: but it's my fault he's broken! She wanted to cry, she wanted to run through the forest, she wanted to learn, to train, to catch her first mouse and bring it home to show her parents. But she couldn't picture doing any of those things without a fiery orange tabby by her side.

"I can't." She mewed quietly, bright blue eyes welling with tears she refused to unleash. "I'm sorry." Sparrowstar sighed.

"Very well. Continue on with your practice, Brightkit," He said as he stood, turning to walk away, "you wouldn't want to fall behind." Her heart fell as he left her, and she watched her noble leader disappear back inside his lichen-covered den with a single swish.

Did I really just turn down my one opportunity to be apprenticed on time? She wailed inwardly. Am I doomed to fall behind? To be an apprentice when I should be a warrior? Or to never be apprenticed at all? She had. And she knew it was right, for she would only be more miserable if Blazekit was stuck in the medicine cat's den. She knew how terrible it was to be alone, to feel left behind. She crouched down again, hoping to drown her doubting thoughts in practice. However, before she could ensconce herself in the dapples of light and slow, steady steps, she was interrupted yet again.

"So you're determined to wait, hm?" Wolfstep's warmly curious voice echoed above her. She peered up at him, cocking her head without easing out of her stance.

"Yes." She replies. "Until Blazekit is better."

"You may be waiting an awfully long time." The silver-blue tom mused.

"And I will wait." Brightkit retorted, refocusing on her prey, that flickering sunlight just out of reach. She stalked slowly, lifting each paw with careful attention to detail.

"At that rate, your prey will be dead of old age by the time you reach it." Wolfstep chuckled. She glared at him.

"Well what do you suggest then?" She asked snappishly. She had always liked the young warrior, but if he was just going to stand about and mock her, she would have none of it.

"First off, you're spread too far out." He meowed easily, "Tuck your paws in a little closer to you. You get more power for your pounce, and the less you reach, the less likely it is you'll lose your balance."

"So you're going to help me then?" Brightkit huffed.

"You're six moons old. Surely you're in need of a mentor, even without your new name?" He teased, and she allowed herself a small smile. Maybe she wasn't so alone, after all.