Into the Wild

  Firepaw sat down again, unable to hide his relief. He watched his friend trot away from the tree stump to the pile of fresh-kill.

  As if he were carrying out orders, Graypaw confidently picked out two of the juiciest-looking mice. Quickly, he began to pad across the clearing toward Yellowfang.

  “Stop, Graypaw!” A loud growl rumbled from the entrance to the warriors’ den. Tigerclaw strode out and marched over to Graypaw. “Where are you taking those mice?” he demanded.

  With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Firepaw watched, helpless, from the tree stump. Beside him, Ravenpaw froze midchew and crouched over his meal with his eyes wider than ever.

  “Umm . . .” Graypaw dropped the mice and shuffled his paws uncomfortably.

  “Not helping young Firepaw by feeding that greedy traitor over there, are you?”

  Firepaw watched Graypaw study his paws for a moment. Finally he replied, “I, er, I was just feeling hungry. I was going to take them off and eat them by myself. If I let that pair get a look in”—he glanced at Firepaw and Ravenpaw—“they’ll leave me with nothing but bones and fur.”

  “Oh, really?” mewed Tigerclaw. “Well, if you’re so hungry, you might as well eat them here and now!”

  “But—” Graypaw began, looking up at the senior warrior in alarm.

  “Now!” growled Tigerclaw.

  Graypaw bent his head quickly and began to eat the mice. He demolished the first one in a couple of bites and swallowed it quickly. The second mouse took longer for him to eat. Firepaw thought he’d never manage to swallow it, and his own stomach clenched in sympathy, but eventually Graypaw gave a final, difficult gulp and the last bit of mouse disappeared.

  “Better now?” asked Tigerclaw, his voice smooth with mock sympathy.

  “Much,” replied Graypaw, stifling a burp.

  “Good.” Tigerclaw stalked off again, back to his den.

  Graypaw slunk uncomfortably back to Firepaw and Ravenpaw.

  “Thanks, Graypaw,” Firepaw mewed gratefully, nudging his friend’s soft fur. “That was quick thinking.”

  The noise of Yellowfang’s yowl rose into the air once more. Firepaw sighed and got to his paws. He would make sure he took her enough to see her through the night. He wanted to turn in early. His stomach was full and his paws were tired.

  “Are you okay, Graypaw?” he asked as he turned to leave.

  “Mrr-ow-ow,” moaned Graypaw. He was hunched into a low crouch, squinting with pain. “I’ve eaten too much!”

  “Go and see Spottedleaf,” Firepaw suggested. “I’m sure she’ll find something to help.”

  “I hope so,” mewed Graypaw, tottering slowly away.

  Firepaw wanted to watch him go, until another angry yowl from Yellowfang sent him sprinting across the clearing.

  CHAPTER 10

  By the following morning, a thin drizzle soaked the treetops and dripped down into the camp.

  Firepaw woke up feeling damp. It had been an uncomfortable night. He stood up and shook himself vigorously, fluffing out his fur. Then he left the apprentices’ den and trotted across the clearing to Yellowfang’s nest.

  Yellowfang was just stirring. She lifted her head and squinted at Firepaw as he approached. “My bones ache this morning. Has it been raining all night?”

  “Since just after moonhigh,” Firepaw replied. He reached out and prodded her mossy nest cautiously. “Your bedding is soaking wet. Why don’t you move nearer to the nursery? It’s more sheltered there.”

  “What? And be kept awake all night by those mewling kits! I’d rather get wet!” Yellowfang growled.

  Firepaw watched her circle stiffly on her mossy bed. “Then at least let me fetch you some dry bedding,” he offered, keen to drop the subject of kits if it upset the old she-cat so much.

  “Thank you, Firepaw,” replied Yellowfang quietly, settling down again.

  Firepaw felt stunned. He wondered if Yellowfang was feeling all right. It was the first time she had thanked him for anything, and the first time she had not called him kittypet.

  “Well, don’t just stand there like a startled squirrel; go and fetch some moss!” she snapped.

  Firepaw’s whiskers twitched with amusement. This was more like the Yellowfang he was used to. He nodded and sprinted off.

  He almost crashed into Speckletail in the middle of the clearing. This was the queen who had watched Yellowfang’s angry outburst at the tabby kit the day before.

  “Sorry, Speckletail,” Firepaw mewed. “Are you on your way to see Yellowfang?”

  “What would I want with that unnatural creature?” replied Speckletail crossly. “Actually it’s you I was looking for. Bluestar wants to see you.”

  Firepaw hurried toward the Highrock and Bluestar’s den.

  Bluestar was sitting outside, her head bobbing rhythmically as she licked the gray fur below her throat. She paused when she noticed Firepaw. “How is Yellowfang today?” she meowed.

  “Her bedding is wet, so I was going to fetch her more,” Firepaw replied.

  “I’ll ask one of the queens to see to that.” Bluestar gave her chest another lick, and then eyed Firepaw carefully. “Is she fit enough to hunt for herself yet?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Firepaw meowed, “but she can walk well enough now.”

  “I see,” meowed Bluestar. She looked thoughtful for a moment. “It is time for you to return to your training, Firepaw. But you’ll need to work hard to make up for time you have lost.”

  “Great! I mean, thank you, Bluestar!” Firepaw stammered.

  “You will go out with Tigerclaw, Graypaw, and Ravenpaw this morning,” Bluestar continued. “I’ve asked Tigerclaw to assess the warrior skills of all our apprentices. Don’t worry about Yellowfang; I’ll make sure someone sees to her while you are gone.”

  Firepaw nodded.

  “Now, join your companions,” Bluestar ordered. “I expect they’re waiting for you.”

  “Thank you, Bluestar,” Firepaw mewed. He turned with a flick of his tail and darted toward his den.

  Bluestar was right; Graypaw and Ravenpaw were both waiting for him by their favorite tree stump. Graypaw looked stiff and uncomfortable, his long fur clumped by the dampness of the air. Ravenpaw was pacing around the tree stump, lost in thought, the white tip of his tail twitching.

  “So, you’re joining us today!” Graypaw called as Firepaw approached. “Some day, huh?” He shook himself roughly to get rid of the clinging wetness.

  “Yes. Bluestar told me that Tigerclaw is going to assess us today. Are Sandpaw and Dustpaw coming too?”

  “Whitestorm and Darkstripe took them out on warrior patrol. I suppose Tigerclaw is going to look at them later,” Graypaw answered.

  “Come on! We should get going,” urged Ravenpaw. He had stopped pacing and now hovered beside them anxiously.

  “Fine by me,” mewed Graypaw. “Hopefully some exercise will warm me up a bit!”

  The three cats trotted through the gorse track and out of the camp. They hurried to the sandy hollow. Tigerclaw had not arrived, so they hung around in the shelter of a pine tree, their fur fluffed up against the chill.

  “Are you worried about the assessment?” Firepaw asked Ravenpaw, as the young cat padded backward and forward with quick, nervous pawsteps. “There’s no need to be. You’re Tigerclaw’s apprentice, after all. When he reports back to Bluestar, he’s going to want to tell her how good you are.”

  “You can never tell with Tigerclaw,” mewed Ravenpaw, still pacing.

  “For goodness’ sake, sit down,” Graypaw grumbled. “At this rate you’ll be worn out before we begin!”

  By the time Tigerclaw arrived, the sky had changed. The clouds looked less like thick gray fur, and more like the soft white balls of down that queens used to line the nests of their newborns. Blue skies couldn’t be far behind, but the breeze that brought the softer clouds carried a fresh chill.

  Tigerclaw greeted them briskly and launched straight into the exercise detai
ls. “Lionheart and I have spent the last few weeks trying to teach you how to hunt decently,” he meowed. “Today you’ll have a chance to show me how much you have learned. Each of you will take a different route and hunt as much prey as possible. And whatever you catch will be added to the supplies in the camp.”

  The three apprentices looked at one another, nervous and excited. Firepaw felt his heart begin to beat faster at the prospect of a challenge.

  “Ravenpaw, you will follow the trail beyond the Great Sycamore as far as the Snakerocks. That should be easy enough for your pitiful skills. You, Graypaw,” Tigerclaw continued, “will take the route along the stream, as far as the Thunderpath.”

  “Great,” mewed Graypaw. “Wet paws for me!” Tigerclaw’s stare silenced him.

  “And finally you, Firepaw. What a shame your great mentor couldn’t be here today to witness your performance for herself. You shall take the route through the Tallpines, past the Treecut place, to the woods beyond.”

  Firepaw nodded, frantically tracing the route in his head.

  “And remember,” Tigerclaw finished, fixing them all with his pale-eyed stare, “I will be watching all of you.”

  Ravenpaw was the first to sprint away toward the Snakerocks. Tigerclaw took a different track into the woods, leaving Graypaw and Firepaw alone in the hollow, trying to guess who Tigerclaw would follow first.

  “I don’t know why he thinks Snakerocks is an easy route!” mewed Graypaw. “The place is crawling with adders. Birds and mice stay away from there because there are so many snakes!”

  “Ravenpaw’ll have to spend his whole time trying not to get bitten,” Firepaw agreed.

  “Oh, he’ll be okay,” mewed Graypaw. “Not even an adder would be fast enough to catch Ravenpaw at the moment, he’s so jumpy. I’d better get going. See you back here later on. Good luck!”

  Graypaw raced off toward the stream. Firepaw paused to sniff the air, then bounded up the side of the hollow and began to head for the Tallpines.

  It felt strange to be going in this direction, toward the Twoleg place he had been raised in. Cautiously Firepaw crossed the narrow path into the pine forest. He looked through the straight rows of trees, across the flat forest floor, alert for the sight and scent of prey.

  A movement caught his eye. It was a mouse, scrabbling through the pine needles. Remembering his first lesson, Firepaw dropped into the stalking position, keeping his weight in his haunches, his paws light on the ground. The technique worked perfectly. The mouse didn’t detect Firepaw until his final leap. He caught it with one paw and killed it swiftly. Then he buried it, so that he could pick it up on his return journey.

  Firepaw traveled a little farther into the Tallpines. The ground here was deeply rutted by the tracks of the huge Twoleg monster that tore down the trees. Firepaw took a deep breath, his mouth open. The monster’s acid breath had not touched the air here for a while.

  Firepaw followed the deep tracks, jumping across the ruts. They were half-filled with rain, which made him feel thirsty. He was tempted to stop and take a few mouthfuls, but he hesitated. One lap of that muddy trench water and he’d taste the monster’s foul-smelling tracks for days.

  He decided to wait. Perhaps there would be a rainwater puddle beyond the Tallpines. He hurried onward through the trees and crossed the Twoleg path on the far boundary.

  He was back amid the thick undergrowth of oak woods. He moved onward until he found a puddle and lapped up a few mouthfuls of the fresh water. Firepaw’s fur began to prickle with some extra awareness. He recognized sounds and scents familiar from his old watching place on the fence post, and knew instantly where he was. These were the woods that bordered the Twolegplace. He must be very close to his old home now.

  Ahead Firepaw could smell Twolegs and hear their voices, loud and raucous like crows. It was a group of young Twolegs, playing in the woods. Firepaw crouched and peered ahead through the ferns. The sounds were distant enough to be safe. He changed direction, skirting the noises, making sure he was not seen.

  Firepaw stayed alert and watchful, but not just for Twolegs—Tigerclaw might be somewhere nearby. He thought he heard a twig snap in the bushes behind him. He sniffed the air, but smelled nothing new. Was he being watched now? he wondered.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Firepaw sensed movement. At first he thought it was Tigerclaw’s dark brown fur, but then he saw a flash of white. He stopped, crouched, and inhaled deeply. The smell was unfamiliar; it was a cat, but not a ThunderClan cat. Firepaw felt his fur bristle with the instincts of a Clan warrior. He would have to chase the intruder out of ThunderClan territory!

  Firepaw watched the creature moving through the undergrowth. He could see its outline clearly as it skittered between the ferns. Firepaw waited for it to wander nearer. He crouched lower, his tail waving back and forth in slow rhythm. As the black-and-white cat neared, Firepaw rocked his haunches from side to side as he prepared to spring. One more heartbeat; then he leaped.

  The black-and-white cat jumped into the air, terrified, and raced away through the trees. Firepaw gave chase.

  It’s a kittypet! he thought as he raced through the undergrowth, smelling its fear-scent. In my territory! He was closing in rapidly on the fleeing animal. It had slowed its headlong rush, preparing to scramble up the wide, mossy trunk of a fallen tree. With the blood roaring in his ears, Firepaw leaped onto its back in a single bound.

  Firepaw could feel the cat struggling beneath him as he gripped on with all his claws. It let out a desperate and terrified yowl.

  Firepaw released his grip and backed away. The black-and-white cat cringed at the foot of the fallen tree, trembling, and looked up at him. Firepaw lifted his nose, feeling a ripple of disgust at the intruder’s easy surrender. This soft, plump house cat, with its round eyes and narrow face, looked very different from the lean, broad-headed cats Firepaw lived with now. And yet something about this cat seemed familiar.

  Firepaw stared harder. He sniffed, drawing in the other cat’s scent. I don’t recognize the smell, he thought, searching his memory.

  Then it came to him.

  “Smudge!” he meowed out loud.

  “H-ho-how d-d-do you know my n-name?” stammered Smudge, still crouching.

  “It’s me!” Firepaw meowed.

  The house cat looked confused.

  “We were kittens together. I lived in the garden next to you!” Firepaw insisted.

  “Rusty?” mewled Smudge in disbelief. “Is that you? Did you find the wildcats again? Or are you living with new housefolk? You must be, if you’re still alive!”

  “I’m called Firepaw now,” Firepaw meowed. He relaxed his shoulders and let his fur fall flat into a sleek orange pelt.

  Smudge relaxed too. His ears pricked up. “Firepaw?” he echoed, amused. “Well, Firepaw, it looks like your new housefolk don’t feed you enough! You certainly weren’t this scrawny last time we met!”

  “I don’t need Twolegs to feed me,” Firepaw replied. “I’ve got a whole forest of food to eat.”

  “Twolegs?”

  “Housefolk. That’s what the Clans call them.”

  Smudge looked bewildered for a second; then his expression changed to one of complete astonishment. “You mean you’re really living with the wildcats?”

  “Yes!” Firepaw paused. “You know, you smell . . . different. Unfamiliar.”

  “Unfamiliar?” Smudge echoed. He sniffed. “I suppose you’re used to the smell of those wildcats now.”

  Firepaw shook his head, as if to clear his mind. “But we were kittens together. I should know your smell like I’d know the smell of my birth mother.” Then Firepaw remembered. Smudge had passed six moons. No wonder he looked so soft and fat, and smelled so strange. “You’ve been to the Cutter!” He gasped. “I mean, the vet!”

  Smudge shrugged his plump black shoulders. “So?” he mewed.

  Firepaw was speechless. So Bluestar was right.

  “Come on, then! What’s it like, living wild???
? Smudge demanded. “Is it as good as you thought it’d be?”

  Firepaw thought for a moment: about last night, sleeping in a damp den. He thought about mouse bile and clearing away Yellowfang’s dirt, and trying to please both Lionheart and Tigerclaw at once during training. He remembered the teasing he suffered about his kittypet blood. Then he remembered the thrill of his first catch, of charging through the forest in pursuit of a squirrel, and of warm evenings beneath the stars sharing tongues with his friends.

  “I know who I am now,” he meowed simply.

  Smudge tipped his head to one side and stared at Firepaw, clearly confused. “I should be getting home,” he mewed. “Mealtime soon.”

  “Go carefully, Smudge.” Firepaw leaned forward and gave his old friend an affectionate lick between the ears. Smudge nuzzled him in return. “And stay alert. There may be another cat in the area who is not as fond of kittypets—I mean, house cats—as I am.”

  Smudge’s ears flicked nervously at these words. He looked around cautiously and leaped up onto the trunk of the fallen tree. “Good-bye, Rusty,” he mewed. “I’ll tell everyone at home that you’re okay!”

  “’Bye, Smudge,” meowed Firepaw. “Enjoy your meal!”

  He watched the white tip of Smudge’s tail disappear over the edge of the tree. In the distance he could hear the rattle of dried food being shaken, and a Twoleg voice calling.

  Firepaw turned, his tail high, and started back toward his own home, sniffing the air as he went. I’ll find a finch or two here, he decided. Then I’ll catch something else on the way back through the pines. He felt bursting with energy after meeting Smudge and realizing just how lucky he was to live in the Clan.

  He looked up at the branches above him and began to stalk silently across the forest floor, every sense alert. Now he just needed to impress Bluestar and Tigerclaw, and the day would be perfect.

  CHAPTER 11

  Firepaw returned with a chaffinch gripped firmly between his teeth. He dropped it in front of Tigerclaw, who stood waiting in the hollow.