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“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 shall 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.
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 repeate
d. “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.”
