Into the Wild

  “Well, we’ll ask them tonight when we see them at the Clan Gathering,” mewed Sandpaw.

  “Are you going?” Firepaw blurted out, impressed in spite of the apprentices’ hostility.

  “Of course,” replied Dustpaw loftily. “It’s a great honor, you know. But don’t worry; we’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”

  Graypaw ignored Dustpaw’s gloating and started eating his fresh-kill. Firepaw was hungry too, and crouched down to eat. He couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy that Dustpaw and Sandpaw were actually going to meet the other Clans tonight.

  A loud call from Bluestar made Firepaw look up. He watched several of the Clan warriors and elders gather in the clearing. It was time for the Clan party to leave for the Gathering. Dustpaw and Sandpaw leaped to their feet and trotted off to join the other cats.

  “’Bye, you two,” called Sandpaw over her shoulder. “Have a nice, quiet evening!”

  The assembled cats stalked out of the camp entrance in single file, with Bluestar at the head. Her fur glowed like silver in the moonlight, and she looked calm and confident as she led her Clan to the brief truce between old enemies.

  “Have you ever been to a Gathering?” Firepaw asked Graypaw wistfully.

  “Not yet,” replied Graypaw, crunching loudly on a mouse bone. “But it won’t be long now; just you wait. All the apprentices get to go sometime.”

  The two apprentices ate the rest of their meal in silence. When they had finished, Graypaw wandered over to Firepaw and began to groom his head. Together they washed, sharing tongues as Firepaw had seen the other cats do when he first arrived. Then, tired after the long trek, they pushed their way into their den. They settled down in their nests and quickly fell asleep.

  The following morning, Graypaw and Firepaw arrived early at the sandy hollow. They had crept out before Sandpaw and Dustpaw woke. Firepaw had been eager to hear about the Gathering, but Graypaw had dragged him away. “You’ll hear all about it later, if I know those two,” he had mewed.

  It promised to be another warm day. And this time Ravenpaw came to join them. Thanks to Spottedleaf, his wound was healing well.

  Graypaw played around, scooping leaves into the air and leaping after them. Firepaw watched, his tail twitching with amusement. Ravenpaw sat quietly at one side of the hollow, looking tense and unhappy.

  “Cheer up, Ravenpaw!” called Graypaw. “I know you don’t like training, but you’re not usually this miserable!”

  The scents of Lionheart and Tigerclaw warned the apprentices of their approach, and Ravenpaw mewed hastily, “I suppose I’m just worried about my shoulder getting hurt again.”

  At that moment, Tigerclaw emerged from the bushes, closely followed by Lionheart.

  “Warriors should suffer their pain silently,” growled Tigerclaw. He looked Ravenpaw straight in the eye. “You need to learn to hold your tongue.”

  Ravenpaw flinched and dropped his eyes to the ground.

  “Tigerclaw’s a bit grumpy today,” Graypaw whispered into Firepaw’s ear.

  Lionheart glanced at his apprentice sternly and announced, “Today we are going to practice stalking. Now, there is a big difference between creeping up on a rabbit and creeping up on a mouse. Can any of you tell me why?”

  Firepaw had no idea, and Ravenpaw seemed to have taken Tigerclaw’s comment to heart and was holding his tongue.

  “Come on!” snorted Tigerclaw impatiently.

  It was Graypaw who answered: “Because a rabbit will smell you before he sees you, but a mouse will feel your pawsteps through the ground before he even smells you.”

  “Exactly, Graypaw! So what must you bear in mind when hunting mice?”

  “Step lightly?” Firepaw suggested.

  Lionheart looked approvingly at him. “Quite right, Firepaw. You must take all your weight into your haunches, so that your paws make no impact on the forest floor. Let’s try it!”

  Firepaw watched as Graypaw and Ravenpaw immediately dropped into a stalking crouch.

  “Nicely done, Graypaw!” meowed Lionheart as the two apprentices began to move forward stealthily.

  “Keep your rear down, Ravenpaw, you look like a duck!” spat Tigerclaw. “Now you try it, Firepaw.”

  Firepaw crouched down and began to creep across the forest floor. He felt himself fall instinctively into the right position, and as he stepped forward, as silently and lightly as he could, he felt a glow of pride that his muscles responded so smoothly.

  “Well, it’s obvious you’ve known nothing but softness!” growled Tigerclaw. “You stalk like a lumbering kittypet! Do you think dinner is going to come and lie down in your food dish and wait to be eaten?”

  Firepaw sat up quickly as Tigerclaw spoke, a little taken aback by his harsh words. He listened carefully to the warrior, determined to get everything right.

  “His pace and forward movement will come later, but his crouch is perfectly balanced,” Lionheart pointed out mildly.

  “Which is better than Ravenpaw, I suppose,” complained Tigerclaw. He cast a scornful look at the black cat. “Even after two moons of training, you’re still putting all your weight on your left side.”

  Ravenpaw looked even more dejected, and Firepaw couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “His injury is bothering him, that’s all!”

  Tigerclaw whipped his head around and glared at Firepaw. “Injuries are a fact of life. He should be able to adapt. Even you, Firepaw, have learned something this morning. If Ravenpaw picked up things as quickly as you, he’d be a credit to me instead of an embarrassment. Imagine being shown up by a kittypet!” he spat angrily at his apprentice.

  Firepaw felt his fur prickle with discomfort. He couldn’t meet Ravenpaw’s eyes, so he looked down at his paws.

  “Well, I’m more lopsided than a one-legged badger,” mewed Graypaw, breaking off from his careful stalking to stagger comically across the clearing. “I think I’ll have to settle for hunting stupid mice. They won’t stand a chance. I’ll just wander up to them and sit on them till they surrender.”

  “Concentrate, young Graypaw. This is no time for your jokes!” meowed Lionheart sternly. “Perhaps you might focus your mind better if you try out your stalking for real.”

  All three apprentices looked up brightly.

  “I want each one of you to try catching real prey,” meowed Lionheart. “Ravenpaw, you look beside the Owltree. Graypaw, there might be something in that big bramble patch over there. And you, Firepaw, follow the rabbit track over that rise; you’ll find the dry bed of a winter stream. You may find something there.”

  The three apprentices bounded away, even Ravenpaw finding some extra energy for this challenge.

  With the blood pounding in his ears, Firepaw crept slowly up over the rise. Sure enough, a streambed cut through the trees ahead of him. In leaf-fall, he guessed it would carry the rainwater away from the forest and into the great river that cut through RiverClan territory. Now it was dry.

  Firepaw crept quietly down the bank and crouched on its sandy floor. Every sense felt on fire with tension. Silently he scanned the empty stream for signs of life. He watched for any tiny movement, his mouth open so he could pick up the smallest scent, his ears twisted forward.

  Then he smelled mouse. He recognized the odor instantly, remembering his first taste the night before. Wild energy surged through him, but he remained motionless, trying desperately to pinpoint the prey.

  He strained his ears forward until he picked up the rapid pulsing of a tiny mouse heart. Then a flash of brown caught his eye. The creature was scrambling through the long grass that draped the edges of the stream. Firepaw shifted closer, remembering to keep his weight on his haunches until he was within striking distance. Then he pushed back hard on his hindpaws and sprang, kicking up sand as he rose.

  The mouse raced away. But Firepaw was quicker. He scooped it into the air with one paw, threw it onto the sandy streambed, and lunged on top of it. He killed it quickly with one sharp bite.

&n
bsp; Firepaw carefully lifted the warm body between his teeth and returned with his tail held high to the hollow where Tigerclaw and Lionheart waited. He had made his first kill. He was a true ThunderClan apprentice now.

  CHAPTER 6

  Early-morning sunlight streamed down onto the forest floor as Firepaw roamed in search of prey. Two moons had passed since he had begun his training. He felt at ease in this environment now. His senses had been awoken and educated in the ways of the woods.

  Firepaw paused to sniff the earth and the cold blind things that moved within it. He caught the scent of a Twoleg that had wandered the forest recently. Now that greenleaf was fully here, leaves were thick on the branches and tiny creatures were busy beneath the carpet of leaf-mold.

  Firepaw made a lean, strong shape as he moved silently through the trees, all his senses alert for the scent trail that would end in a swift kill. Today he had been set his first solo task. He was determined to do well, even if his task was only to bring back fresh-kill for the Clan.

  He headed for the stream that he had crossed on that first trek through the ThunderClan hunting grounds. It gurgled and spattered as it ran downhill over the smooth, round pebbles. Firepaw paused briefly to lap at the cold, clear water, then lifted his head and tested the air again for any scent of prey.

  The stench of a fox lay heavy in the air here. The smell was stale, so the fox must have drunk here earlier in the day. Firepaw recognized the odor; he had smelled it on his first visit to the forest. Since then, Lionheart had taught him it was fox-scent, but, apart from the glimpse of the fox’s brush he had caught on that first outing, Firepaw had still never seen one properly.

  He struggled to screen out the fox-stench and concentrate on prey-scent. Suddenly his whiskers prickled as he homed in on the warm blood-beat of prey—a water vole busy about its nest.

  A moment later he saw the vole. The fat brown body was darting back and forth along the bank as it gathered grass stalks. Firepaw’s mouth watered in anticipation. His last meal had been many hours ago, but he dared not hunt for himself until the Clan had been fed. He remembered the words repeated by Lionheart and Tigerclaw time and time again: “The Clan must be fed first.”

  Dropping into a crouch, Firepaw began to stalk the little creature. His orange belly fur brushed against the damp grass. He crept closer, his eyes never leaving his prey. Almost there. Another moment and he would be near enough to spring. . . .

  Suddenly there was a loud rustle in the ferns behind him. The water vole’s ears twitched and it disappeared down a hole in the bank.

  Firepaw felt the hackles rising along his spine. Whatever had ruined his first good chance of catching prey would have to pay.

  He sniffed the air. He could tell it was a cat, but he realized with a jolt that he couldn’t identify which Clan it belonged to—the stale stench of fox still confused his smell-sense.

  A growl rose in his throat as he began doubling back in a wide circle. He pricked up his ears and opened his eyes wide, seeking out any movement. He heard the undergrowth rustle again. It was louder now, off to one side. Firepaw edged closer. He could see the ferns moving, but the fronds still hid the enemy from view. A twig snapped with a sharp cracking noise. From the noise it’s making, it must be big, Firepaw thought, preparing himself for a fierce battle.

  He leaped for the trunk of an ash and climbed swiftly and silently up to an overhanging branch. Below him the invisible warrior came closer, and closer still. Firepaw held his breath, judging his moment as the ferns were pushed aside and a large grayish shape emerged.

  “Gr-aaar!” The battle cry rumbled in Firepaw’s throat. Claws unsheathed, he launched himself at the enemy and landed squarely on a set of furry, muscular shoulders. He dug in hard, gripping with thorn-sharp claws, ready to deal out a powerful warning bite.

  “Wa-ah! What’sat?” The body below him shot straight up in the air, carrying him with it.

  “Uh! Graypaw?” Firepaw recognized the astonished voice and caught his friend’s familiar smell, but he was too fired up to loosen his grip.

  “Ambush! Murr-oww!” spat Graypaw, not realizing that the cat gripping onto his back was Firepaw. He rolled over and over in an attempt to dislodge his attacker.

  “Uufff-ff!” Firepaw rolled with him, squashed and flattened beneath the heavy body. “It’s me—Firepaw!” he yowled as he struggled to pull free and sheath his claws. Rolling away, he sprang to his feet and gave himself a shake, which rippled all the way along his body to the end of his tail. “Graypaw! It’s me,” he repeated. “I thought you were an enemy warrior!”

  Graypaw rose to his feet. He winced and shook himself. “It felt like it!” he grumbled, twisting his head around to lick his sore shoulders. “You’ve raked me to shreds!”

  “Sorry,” Firepaw mumbled. “But what was I supposed to think, with you creeping up on me like that?”

  “Creeping up!” Graypaw’s eyes were round with indignation. “That was my best stealth crouch.”

  “Stealth! You still stalk like a lopsided badger!” Firepaw teased. He flattened his ears playfully.

  Graypaw gave a hiss of delight. “I’ll show you lopsided!”

  The two cats leaped at each other and began rolling over and over in a play-fight. Graypaw swiped at Firepaw with a hefty paw and the young apprentice’s head buzzed with stars.

  “Uufff-ff!” Firepaw shook his head to clear it and then launched a counterattack.

  He managed to get in a couple of paw strikes before Graypaw overpowered him and held him down. Firepaw let his body go limp.

  “You give up too easily!” mewed Graypaw, loosening his grip. As he did so, Firepaw sprang to his feet, firing Graypaw off his back and into the undergrowth.

  Firepaw leaped after him and pinned him to the ground. “‘Surprise is the warrior’s greatest weapon,’” he crowed, quoting one of Lionheart’s favorite phrases. He jumped nimbly off Graypaw and began to squirm around in the leaf litter, enjoying his easy victory and the warmth of the earth against his back.

  Graypaw seemed unbothered by his second defeat of the morning. It was too fine a day for bad temper. “So how’re you getting on with your task?” he asked.

  Firepaw sat up. “I was doing just fine till you came along! I was about to catch a vole when your noisy trampling frightened it off.”

  “Oh, sorry,” mewed Graypaw.

  Firepaw looked at his crestfallen friend. “That’s okay. You didn’t know,” he purred. “Anyway,” he continued, “shouldn’t you be heading to meet the patrol on the WindClan border? I thought you had to give them a message from Bluestar.”

  “Yeah, but there’s plenty of time. I was going to do a little hunting first. I’m starving!”

  “Me too. But I’ve got to hunt for the Clan before I can hunt for myself.”

  “I bet Dustpaw and Sandpaw used to swallow a shrew or two when they were on hunting duty,” snorted Graypaw.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they did, but this is my first solo assignment. . . . ”

  “And you want to do it right; I know.” Graypaw sighed.

  “What is the message from Bluestar, anyway?” Firepaw asked, changing the subject.

  “She wants the patrol to wait at the Great Sycamore until she joins them at sunhigh. Seems that some ShadowClan cats have been prowling around. Bluestar wants to check things out.”

  “You’d best get going then,” Firepaw reminded him.

  “The WindClan hunting grounds aren’t too far from here. There’s plenty of time,” answered Graypaw confidently. “And I suppose I should help out after losing you that vole.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Firepaw mewed. “I’ll find another. It’s such a warm day, there should be quite a few out and about.”

  “True. But you still have to catch them.” Graypaw nibbled at a front claw, stripping off a piece of the outer sheath thoughtfully. “You know, that could take you until way past sunhigh, maybe even until sunset.”

  Firepaw nodded without ent
husiasm as his belly gave a rumble. He would probably have to make three or four hunting trips before he had caught enough prey. Silverpelt would be in the sky before he got a chance to eat.

  Graypaw stroked his whiskers. “Come on; I’ll help you get started. I owe you that, at least. We should be able to catch a couple of voles before I have to get going.”

  Firepaw followed Graypaw upstream, glad of the company and the help. The fox-stench was still in the air, but suddenly it smelled stronger.

  Firepaw paused. “Can you smell that?” he asked.

  Graypaw stopped and sniffed the air too. “Fox. Yeah, I smelled it earlier.”

  “Doesn’t it smell fresher to you now, though?” Firepaw asked.

  Graypaw sniffed again, opening his mouth slightly. “You’re right,” he murmured, lowering his voice. He swiveled his head to look across the stream at the bushes in the woods beyond. “Look!” he whispered.

  Firepaw looked. He saw something red and thick-haired moving among the bushes. It stepped into a clearing in the undergrowth and Firepaw saw a low body, glinting red in the dappled sunlight. Its tail was heavily furred and it had a long, narrow snout.

  “So that’s a fox?” Firepaw whispered. “What an ugly muzzle!”

  “You can say that again!” agreed Graypaw.

  “I was following one of those when we first . . . met,” whispered Firepaw.

  “More likely it was following you, you idiot!” hissed Graypaw. “Never trust a fox. Looks like a dog, behaves like a cat. We must warn the queens that one has strayed into our territory. Foxes are as bad as badgers when it comes to killing young kits. I’m just glad you didn’t catch up with the one you saw last time. He’d have made mousemeat out of a tiny scrap like you.” Firepaw looked a little put out, and Graypaw added, “You’d stand a better chance these days, though. Anyway, Bluestar will probably send a warrior patrol to scare it off. Put the queens’ minds at rest.”

  The fox had not noticed them, so the two apprentices continued along the stream.