Into the Wild (11 page)

“I'll get some now!” Firepaw offered. He was glad of a chance to get away from the grumpy cat for a while. And it was certainly no hardship to go and see Spottedleaf again.

He walked toward the fern tunnel. Cats crossed the clearing around him, carrying sticks and twigs in their teeth. While he had been grooming Yellowfang, the camp had grown active. It had been like this every day since Bluestar had announced WindClan's disappearance. The queens were weaving twigs and leaves into a dense green wall around the sides of the nursery, making sure that the narrow entrance was the only way in and out of the bramble patch. Other cats were working at the edges of the camp, filling in any spaces in the thick undergrowth.

Even the elders were busy, scraping out a hole in the ground.
Warriors filed steadily past, piling pieces of fresh-kill beside them, ready to be stored inside the newly dug hole. There was an air of quiet concentration, a determination to make the Clan as secure and well supplied as possible.

If ShadowClan made a move on their territory, ThunderClan would shelter inside the camp. They would not let themselves be driven from their hunting grounds as easily as WindClan had been.

Darkstripe, Longtail, Willowpelt, and Dustpaw were waiting silently at the camp entrance. Their eyes were fixed on the opening to the gorse tunnel. A patrol was just returning, dusty and paw-sore. As soon as the warriors entered the camp, Darkstripe and his companions approached and exchanged words with them. Then they slipped quickly out of the camp. ThunderClan's borders were not being left unguarded for a moment.

Firepaw headed down the fern tunnel that led to Spottedleaf's den. As he entered the clearing, he could see Spottedleaf was preparing some sweet-smelling herbs.

“Can I have some mouse bile for Yellowfang's ticks?” Firepaw mewed.

“In a moment,” replied Spottedleaf, pawing two piles of herbs together and mixing the fragrant heap with one delicately extended claw.

“Busy?” Firepaw asked, settling down on a warm patch of earth.

“I want to be prepared for any casualties,” Spottedleaf murmured, glancing up at him with her clear amber eyes. Firepaw
met her gaze for a moment, then looked away, an uncomfortable feeling prickling his fur. Spottedleaf turned her attention back to the herbs.

Firepaw waited, happy to sit quietly and watch her at work.

“Right,” she mewed at last. “What was it you wanted? Mouse bile?”

“Yes, please.” Firepaw stood up and stretched each back leg in turn. The sun had warmed his fur and made him feel sleepy.

Spottedleaf bounded into her den and brought something out. She held it gingerly in her mouth. It was a small wad of moss dangling on the end of a thin strip of bark. She passed it to Firepaw. He tasted her warm, sweet breath as he took the bark strip between his teeth.

“The moss is soaked in bile,” Spottedleaf explained. “Don't get any in your mouth, or you'll have a foul taste for days. Press it onto the ticks and then wash your paws—in a stream, not with your tongue!”

Firepaw nodded and trotted back to Yellowfang, feeling suddenly cheerful and tingling with energy.

“Hold still!” he mewed to the old she-cat. Carefully he used his forepaws to press the moss onto each tick.

“You may as well clear away my dirt now your paws are already foul!” she meowed when he had finished. “I'm going to take a nap.” She yawned, revealing her blackened and broken teeth. The warmth of the day was making her sleepy, too. “Then you can go and do whatever it is you apprentices do,” she murmured.

When Firepaw had cleared away Yellowfang's dirt, he left her dozing and made his way to the gorse tunnel. He was keen to get to the stream and rinse his paws.

“Firepaw!” a voice called from the side of the clearing.

Firepaw turned. It was Halftail.

“Where are you off to?” meowed the old cat curiously. “You ought to be helping with the preparations.”

“I've just been putting mouse bile on Yellowfang's ticks,” replied Firepaw.

Amusement flickered through Halftail's whiskers. “So now you're off to the nearest stream! Well, don't come back without fresh-kill. We need as much as we can find.”

“Yes, Halftail,” Firepaw replied.

He made his way out of the camp and up the side of the ravine. He trotted down to the stream where he and Graypaw had hunted on the day he had found Yellowfang. Without hesitating he jumped down into the cold, clear water. It came up to his haunches, and wet his belly fur. The shock made him gasp, and he shivered.

A rustle in the bushes above him made him look up, although the familiar scent that reached his nose told him there was nothing to be alarmed about.

“What are you doing in there?” Graypaw and Ravenpaw were standing looking at him as if he were mad.

“Mouse bile.” Firepaw grimaced. “Don't ask! Where are Lionheart and Tigerclaw?”

“They've gone to join the next patrol,” answered Graypaw. “They ordered us to spend the rest of the afternoon hunting.”

“Halftail told me the same thing,” Firepaw mewed, flinching as a chilly current of water rushed around his paws. “Everyone's busy back at camp. You'd think we were about to be attacked at any moment.” He climbed up onto the bank, dripping.

“Who says we won't be?” mewed Ravenpaw, his eyes flicking from side to side as if he expected an enemy patrol to leap out of the bushes at any time.

Firepaw looked at the heap of fresh-kill that was piled beside the two apprentices. “Looks like you've done all right today,” he mewed.

“Yeah,” mewed Graypaw proudly. “And we've still got the rest of the afternoon to hunt. Do you want to join us?”

“You bet!” Firepaw purred. He gave himself a final shake, then bounded into the undergrowth after his friends.

Firepaw could tell that the cats back at camp were impressed with the amount of prey the three apprentices had managed to catch during their afternoon hunt. They were welcomed back with high tails and friendly nuzzles. It took them four journeys to carry their bumper catch to the storage hole the elders had dug.

Lionheart and Tigerclaw had just returned with their patrol as Firepaw, Graypaw, and Ravenpaw carried their last load into the camp.

“Well done, you three,” meowed Lionheart. “I hear you've been busy. The store is almost full. You might as well add that last lot to the pile of fresh-kill for tonight. And take some of it
back to your den with you. You deserve a feast!”

The three apprentices flicked their tails with delight.

“I hope you've not been neglecting Yellowfang with all this hunting, Firepaw,” Tigerclaw growled warningly.

Firepaw shook his head impatiently, eager to get away. He was starving. He had obeyed the warrior code this time and not eaten a morsel while he was hunting for the Clan. Nor had Graypaw or Ravenpaw.

They trotted away and dropped the last of their catch on the fresh-kill that already lay at the center of the clearing. Then each of them took a piece and carried it back to their tree stump. The den was empty.

“Where are Dustpaw and Sandpaw?” asked Ravenpaw.

“They must still be out on patrol,” Firepaw guessed.

“Good,” meowed Graypaw. “Peace and quiet.”

They ate their fill and lay back to wash. The cool evening air was welcome after the heat of the day.

“Hey! Guess what!” mewed Graypaw suddenly. “Ravenpaw managed to squeeze a compliment out of old Tigerclaw this morning!”

“Really?” Firepaw gasped. “What on earth did you do to please Tigerclaw—fly?”

“Well,” Ravenpaw began shyly, looking at his paws, “I caught a crow.”

“How'd you manage that?” Firepaw mewed, impressed.

“It was an old one,” Ravenpaw admitted modestly.

“But it was huge,” added Graypaw. “Even Tigerclaw couldn't find fault with that! He's been in such a bad mood
since Bluestar took you on as her apprentice.” He licked his paw thoughtfully for a moment. “Hang on, make that since Lionheart was made deputy.”

“He's just worried about ShadowClan, and the extra patrols,” mewed Ravenpaw, hastily. “You should try not to annoy him.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud yowl from the other side of the clearing.

“Oh, no.” Firepaw groaned, getting to his paws. “I forgot to take Yellowfang her share!”

“You wait here,” mewed Graypaw, leaping up. “I'll take her something.”

“No, I'd better go,” Firepaw protested. “This is my punishment, not yours.”

“No one will notice,” argued Graypaw. “They're all busy eating. You know me: quiet as a mouse, quick as a fish. Wait here.”

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.

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 details. “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.