Post by tiger beetle on Nov 28, 2016 21:09:08 GMT -5
book two Blue Moon
(it did occur to me later that the cats would have no concept of a blue moon, but oh well)
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
(it did occur to me later that the cats would have no concept of a blue moon, but oh well)
CHAPTER TWENTY
HOLLYKIT
“Wait, Lionkit, come back!” Hollykit wriggled out of the nursery, Jaykit close behind her. “We’re coming.” (there are a lot of parallels; in fact, too many)
Shrugging guiltily at Rushtail, whose blue eyes were narrowed in suspicion, Hollykit hurried after her brother.
Jaykit huffed. “We can’t go there, Lionkit.” The golden kit tromped into the medicine den, where he was promptly ushered back out by a very stressed-looking Barkface. Nightcloud’s kits—their denmates—were inside that den, Hollykit knew, but Nightcloud had warned them to stay away.
Dejected, Lionkit slunk back over to his littermates. “D’you think we should wait for them?”
“Why bother?” said Hollykit, swishing her tail. “They’re no fun anyway.”
Jaykit added, “I tried to talk to Shrikekit before he left, and he told me to go eat a bramble. We’re better off without them.”
Lionkit looked uneasy, but the call of adventure overcame his doubts. He marched away from the medicine den, tail held high. “Let’s go play moss ball,” he said a little too loudly. Jaykit groaned.
WindClan’s camp—“where StarClan reached down a paw to scoop away the earth,” Morningflower had said—was ringed by dense bramble and gorse. But since the thorns had not grown naturally in their protective shell, WindClan warriors had had to mold them into place and hope that the plants would eventually take hold. Prickly and painful, the barrier had proven a difficult task to complete, and Lionkit had been searching for almost a moon now for a place where the boundary had a large enough gap for a kit to climb through.
Glancing back one more time at the medicine den, Lionkit flattened his ears and slunk through the tall grass. The brambles rattled where Hollykit supposed he was already climbing through. Peering through the gap, which had been widened by his shoulders, she called softly, “Wait for Jaykit!”
“I can do it just fine,” he snapped, prompting hisses of “Shh!” from both of his siblings. He shoved his head against Hollykit’s side as he passed her, tentatively pawing at the barrier.
“Don’t get hurt,” Hollykit whispered. He kicked a hind paw in her direction and struggled through the bush, letting out a few grunts as his fur caught in it. She followed.
The grass out here was taller than in most of the camp, some of it reaching above Hollykit’s ears. She knew the warriors’ paws had beaten it down, flattening it to the ground, but she had not realized how drastically they had changed it.
Jaykit had his mouth open, tasting the air. Hollykit tried to imitate him, but she could not detect any difference, except that the smells of her Clanmates were a bit less strong.
“Bet Skykit and Breezekit would have liked it,” Lionkit muttered with a dirty look at Jaykit.
Wrinkling his nose, Jaykit stalked away in a different direction. After a brief moment of indecision, Hollykit pelted after Jaykit, knowing Lionkit would follow her.
“Hold on, you can’t just leave us,” she whispered. Jaykit shrugged and put his nose to the ground. He could not see, but he had apparently picked something up; sniffing where he had sniffed, Hollykit caught a whiff of the strange scent some of WindClan’s warriors often brought back from their patrols.
Marveling at the strange leafed plants out here, Hollykit stared up at the sky. It looked the same as it had from camp, but without the encircling gorse bushes, something about it felt bigger.
And she felt bigger, too. Is this what being an apprentice is like?
Voices from the camp were still audible, but the kits ignored them. Jaykit eventually led them to a hole in the ground.
After a pause, Lionkit said, “Exciting.”
Jaykit leaned toward the tunnel, breathing deeply. “That’s where the tunnelers go down. Can’t you feel the air?”
Hollykit joined him at the mouth of the hole. “It’s a little cooler,” she offered. Lionkit darted forward, touched a paw to the exposed earth, and hopped back.
Jaykit looked frustrated. “The air in there is—old,” he insisted. “It’s old, and it wants us.”
Lionkit gave Jaykit a sideways look. (it's begun) “Are you sure you don’t need to go in the medicine den, too?”
Jaykit lashed his tail, rattling the grass. “Maybe you just can’t smell.”
“You know I can smell. I can smell you,” Lionkit pointed out. He put his face to Jaykit’s shoulder, but the gray kit pulled away.
“Don’t touch me,” he ordered. “I don’t like you coming out of nowhere.”
“Sorry.”
Hollykit padded toward the hole, setting her paws down on the dry ground. “It feels weird.” She had expected it to be soft and maybe damp, even muddy like the camp had been at the beginning of newleaf.
Jaykit took another deep breath and brushed past her into the hole. “This tunnel goes really deep.”
Suddenly Jaykit backed up. “Someone’s coming,” he mewed.
Three cats emerged from the tunnel before the kits could get away. Tornear’s dark amber eyes flashed. “What are you doing out here?”
“We didn’t mean to,” Lionkit wailed, huddling behind Jaykit.
Ashfoot lifted Jaykit into the air, meowing, “Back to camp.” (how? you have a kit in your mouth)
Hollykit avoided Mottlenose’s jaws as she reached to pick her up, but she allowed the tabby warrior to herd her toward the camp entrance. One day she would be an apprentice, and all three of them would be able to explore their territory together. She could wait.
“Wait, Lionkit, come back!” Hollykit wriggled out of the nursery, Jaykit close behind her. “We’re coming.” (there are a lot of parallels; in fact, too many)
Shrugging guiltily at Rushtail, whose blue eyes were narrowed in suspicion, Hollykit hurried after her brother.
Jaykit huffed. “We can’t go there, Lionkit.” The golden kit tromped into the medicine den, where he was promptly ushered back out by a very stressed-looking Barkface. Nightcloud’s kits—their denmates—were inside that den, Hollykit knew, but Nightcloud had warned them to stay away.
Dejected, Lionkit slunk back over to his littermates. “D’you think we should wait for them?”
“Why bother?” said Hollykit, swishing her tail. “They’re no fun anyway.”
Jaykit added, “I tried to talk to Shrikekit before he left, and he told me to go eat a bramble. We’re better off without them.”
Lionkit looked uneasy, but the call of adventure overcame his doubts. He marched away from the medicine den, tail held high. “Let’s go play moss ball,” he said a little too loudly. Jaykit groaned.
WindClan’s camp—“where StarClan reached down a paw to scoop away the earth,” Morningflower had said—was ringed by dense bramble and gorse. But since the thorns had not grown naturally in their protective shell, WindClan warriors had had to mold them into place and hope that the plants would eventually take hold. Prickly and painful, the barrier had proven a difficult task to complete, and Lionkit had been searching for almost a moon now for a place where the boundary had a large enough gap for a kit to climb through.
Glancing back one more time at the medicine den, Lionkit flattened his ears and slunk through the tall grass. The brambles rattled where Hollykit supposed he was already climbing through. Peering through the gap, which had been widened by his shoulders, she called softly, “Wait for Jaykit!”
“I can do it just fine,” he snapped, prompting hisses of “Shh!” from both of his siblings. He shoved his head against Hollykit’s side as he passed her, tentatively pawing at the barrier.
“Don’t get hurt,” Hollykit whispered. He kicked a hind paw in her direction and struggled through the bush, letting out a few grunts as his fur caught in it. She followed.
The grass out here was taller than in most of the camp, some of it reaching above Hollykit’s ears. She knew the warriors’ paws had beaten it down, flattening it to the ground, but she had not realized how drastically they had changed it.
Jaykit had his mouth open, tasting the air. Hollykit tried to imitate him, but she could not detect any difference, except that the smells of her Clanmates were a bit less strong.
“Bet Skykit and Breezekit would have liked it,” Lionkit muttered with a dirty look at Jaykit.
Wrinkling his nose, Jaykit stalked away in a different direction. After a brief moment of indecision, Hollykit pelted after Jaykit, knowing Lionkit would follow her.
“Hold on, you can’t just leave us,” she whispered. Jaykit shrugged and put his nose to the ground. He could not see, but he had apparently picked something up; sniffing where he had sniffed, Hollykit caught a whiff of the strange scent some of WindClan’s warriors often brought back from their patrols.
Marveling at the strange leafed plants out here, Hollykit stared up at the sky. It looked the same as it had from camp, but without the encircling gorse bushes, something about it felt bigger.
And she felt bigger, too. Is this what being an apprentice is like?
Voices from the camp were still audible, but the kits ignored them. Jaykit eventually led them to a hole in the ground.
After a pause, Lionkit said, “Exciting.”
Jaykit leaned toward the tunnel, breathing deeply. “That’s where the tunnelers go down. Can’t you feel the air?”
Hollykit joined him at the mouth of the hole. “It’s a little cooler,” she offered. Lionkit darted forward, touched a paw to the exposed earth, and hopped back.
Jaykit looked frustrated. “The air in there is—old,” he insisted. “It’s old, and it wants us.”
Lionkit gave Jaykit a sideways look. (it's begun) “Are you sure you don’t need to go in the medicine den, too?”
Jaykit lashed his tail, rattling the grass. “Maybe you just can’t smell.”
“You know I can smell. I can smell you,” Lionkit pointed out. He put his face to Jaykit’s shoulder, but the gray kit pulled away.
“Don’t touch me,” he ordered. “I don’t like you coming out of nowhere.”
“Sorry.”
Hollykit padded toward the hole, setting her paws down on the dry ground. “It feels weird.” She had expected it to be soft and maybe damp, even muddy like the camp had been at the beginning of newleaf.
Jaykit took another deep breath and brushed past her into the hole. “This tunnel goes really deep.”
Suddenly Jaykit backed up. “Someone’s coming,” he mewed.
Three cats emerged from the tunnel before the kits could get away. Tornear’s dark amber eyes flashed. “What are you doing out here?”
“We didn’t mean to,” Lionkit wailed, huddling behind Jaykit.
Ashfoot lifted Jaykit into the air, meowing, “Back to camp.” (how? you have a kit in your mouth)
Hollykit avoided Mottlenose’s jaws as she reached to pick her up, but she allowed the tabby warrior to herd her toward the camp entrance. One day she would be an apprentice, and all three of them would be able to explore their territory together. She could wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HOLLYKIT
Greenleaf had come. Of course, where Hollykit lived, there was no foliage overhead, but Leafpool had spoken fondly of the trees.
Lionkit, Harekit, Heatherkit, and Jaykit sunned themselves just outside the den. “Lazy lumps,” Hollykit teased, prodding Lionkit and springing away. He just grunted, flopped his tail, and tapped a limp paw on the ground in her direction, needle claws poking from between tufts of golden fur.
Hollykit nosed Jaykit. “Not even going to complain?” Jaykit inched away.
Kestrelpaw galloped past the kits, a bundle of leaves in his jaws. He had only recently become Barkface’s apprentice. Hollykit had wondered at first how a cat so scatterbrained could be allowed charge of the Clan’s medicine supply, but he seemed to take his duties seriously, at least.
Hollykit herself had always fancied being a medicine cat. It seemed much more important for one cat to heal an entire Clan than to claw at a few enemies; Leafpool had gently encouraged her. With Kestrelpaw’s apprenticeship, however, this had become impossible.
Barkface had seemed interested in the possibility of training Hollykit in medicine during her free time, though, so Hollykit had started tagging along with Kestrelpaw when he performed his in-camp duties.
Today Kestrelpaw had brought catmint for Nightcloud’s kits. Barkface’s horizontal tail warned both younger cats to stay clear of the sick kits as he nudged the mouthwatering leaves toward the four nests in the back of the den.
Breezekit, the strongest and healthiest of Nightcloud’s kits, stared sullenly out at Hollykit. She remembered him sniffing disdainfully at her, and it took all her concentration to avoid scowling at the kit. He’s in pain, she reminded herself. I don’t have to like him, but he’s in pain.
Skykit’s gray pelt rippled as she convulsed, hacking. Barkface frantically picked out and fed her an herb Hollykit didn’t recognize.
Swiftkit, a fuzzy black she-kit, fell asleep after eating some catmint, and Shrikekit, slightly paler gray than Crowfeather, followed suit. Every time Hollykit looked at Breezekit his dull amber gaze was directed at her.
Kestrelpaw appeared to be thinking. For once. Eventually he mewed, “Hollykit, do you want to do more apprentice duties right now, so you can have a head start?”
“Yes!” She bounced to her paws excitedly. Now was her chance both to prove herself and to escape Breezekit’s accusing glare without being rude.
Kestrelpaw grinned. “Okay. So Rushtail’s been having a tick problem, and Morningflower says it’s gotten so bad even Webfoot won’t go near him. Can you put mouse bile on all his ticks for me?”
“Oh.” Ticks were not Hollykit’s first idea of medicine, but then again, Whitetail had made a big deal of the one on Antkit’s ear, so maybe they were important. “What’s mouse bile?” (how do you not know this already)
Kestrelpaw led her past several of the sweeter-smelling herbs and pointed a paw at a thick leaf that curled in on itself. Cupped in the leaf was a yellowish liquid Hollykit identified as the source of the pungent smell in the den.
“I’m not touching that,” she said defiantly.
Kestrelpaw’s blue eyes widened pleadingly. “Are you sure?”
Hollykit looked from Kestrelpaw to the foul liquid and back. “Well, okay,” she sighed. He demonstrated with a clean leaf how she should carry it and told her to dab it onto every tick in Rushtail’s pelt and search for more on Webfoot and Morningflower.
Hollykit passed Nightcloud on her way out; the black queen bumped against her, nearly knocking her down, and she fumbled the leaf. Yuck, she thought as the mouse bile spilled a bit. She carried the rest to the elders’ den, one of the many badger setts in camp; Rushtail and Morningflower sprawled in the sun just in front of the entrance. Apparently Webfoot had not wanted to give up the life of a warrior entirely; after wounds suffered in an accidental run-in with a fox, he had been forced to retire, nursing an infection in his shoulder and a set of gashes that Barkface said would never heal properly, but he had gone on a hunting patrol with Crowfeather and Whitetail— (what is this dash doing here) Heatherkit and Antkit would soon be out of the nursery and no longer required milk, so Whitetail had offered herself to hunt every few days to feed the Clan’s many kits.
Rushtail greeted Hollykit with a grimace. “You’re not Kestrelpaw.”
Hollykit placed the leaf gently between her paws. “I have mouse bile,” she announced, gagging on the taste that lingered on her tongue.
Rushtail snorted and mumbled something Hollykit didn’t make out. Morningflower glared reproachfully at the creamy brown tom. He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Get it over with, thunder.”
Hollykit was confused, but she did as Kestrelpaw had instructed, covering each of Rushtail’s ticks with the disgusting bile. Every few touches, Rushtail would cringe, exaggerating his distaste for her job.
When Hollykit was sure she had found all of his ticks she turned to Morningflower, who assured her that she had none. “Rushtail doesn’t watch where he’s sleeping.” Her pale amber eyes sparkled impishly.
“Go on,” Rushtail grunted, “get out of here.” Startled by his hostility, Hollypaw opened her mouth to protest, but he snapped his jaws at her. She scrambled away and went to rub her paw off on moss; Morningflower reprimanded Rushtail, but he slunk into the elders' sett, ignoring the pale tortoiseshell’s words.
Lionkit and Harekit had not moved; Heatherkit played a spirited game of mossball with Kestrelpaw in the nursery while Jaykit crouched nearby, ears twitching fervently as he tried to track the moss’s progress.
As Barkface’s voice called angrily for Kestrelpaw, the mottled brownish tom squashed the wad of moss onto the ground and sprinted past Hollykit.
“You smell disgusting,” Jaykit informed her, grayish nose crinkling.
“Thanks.” Hollykit wiped her paw again, this time on Heatherkit and Kestrelpaw’s squished moss wad.
“Oh no you don’t!” Heatherkit pounced on Hollykit, and the two began sparring, moss tearing beneath their feet. Only one thing occurred to Hollykit that might have deterred her from playing the game: this would make more work for Kestrelpaw, one of only three apprentices in the Clan.
But not today. He had tricked her into rubbing the vile liquid over Rushtail’s pelt so he could goof off in the nursery—he wasn’t even a kit anymore. You’re welcome, Kestrelpaw.
Greenleaf had come. Of course, where Hollykit lived, there was no foliage overhead, but Leafpool had spoken fondly of the trees.
Lionkit, Harekit, Heatherkit, and Jaykit sunned themselves just outside the den. “Lazy lumps,” Hollykit teased, prodding Lionkit and springing away. He just grunted, flopped his tail, and tapped a limp paw on the ground in her direction, needle claws poking from between tufts of golden fur.
Hollykit nosed Jaykit. “Not even going to complain?” Jaykit inched away.
Kestrelpaw galloped past the kits, a bundle of leaves in his jaws. He had only recently become Barkface’s apprentice. Hollykit had wondered at first how a cat so scatterbrained could be allowed charge of the Clan’s medicine supply, but he seemed to take his duties seriously, at least.
Hollykit herself had always fancied being a medicine cat. It seemed much more important for one cat to heal an entire Clan than to claw at a few enemies; Leafpool had gently encouraged her. With Kestrelpaw’s apprenticeship, however, this had become impossible.
Barkface had seemed interested in the possibility of training Hollykit in medicine during her free time, though, so Hollykit had started tagging along with Kestrelpaw when he performed his in-camp duties.
Today Kestrelpaw had brought catmint for Nightcloud’s kits. Barkface’s horizontal tail warned both younger cats to stay clear of the sick kits as he nudged the mouthwatering leaves toward the four nests in the back of the den.
Breezekit, the strongest and healthiest of Nightcloud’s kits, stared sullenly out at Hollykit. She remembered him sniffing disdainfully at her, and it took all her concentration to avoid scowling at the kit. He’s in pain, she reminded herself. I don’t have to like him, but he’s in pain.
Skykit’s gray pelt rippled as she convulsed, hacking. Barkface frantically picked out and fed her an herb Hollykit didn’t recognize.
Swiftkit, a fuzzy black she-kit, fell asleep after eating some catmint, and Shrikekit, slightly paler gray than Crowfeather, followed suit. Every time Hollykit looked at Breezekit his dull amber gaze was directed at her.
Kestrelpaw appeared to be thinking. For once. Eventually he mewed, “Hollykit, do you want to do more apprentice duties right now, so you can have a head start?”
“Yes!” She bounced to her paws excitedly. Now was her chance both to prove herself and to escape Breezekit’s accusing glare without being rude.
Kestrelpaw grinned. “Okay. So Rushtail’s been having a tick problem, and Morningflower says it’s gotten so bad even Webfoot won’t go near him. Can you put mouse bile on all his ticks for me?”
“Oh.” Ticks were not Hollykit’s first idea of medicine, but then again, Whitetail had made a big deal of the one on Antkit’s ear, so maybe they were important. “What’s mouse bile?” (how do you not know this already)
Kestrelpaw led her past several of the sweeter-smelling herbs and pointed a paw at a thick leaf that curled in on itself. Cupped in the leaf was a yellowish liquid Hollykit identified as the source of the pungent smell in the den.
“I’m not touching that,” she said defiantly.
Kestrelpaw’s blue eyes widened pleadingly. “Are you sure?”
Hollykit looked from Kestrelpaw to the foul liquid and back. “Well, okay,” she sighed. He demonstrated with a clean leaf how she should carry it and told her to dab it onto every tick in Rushtail’s pelt and search for more on Webfoot and Morningflower.
Hollykit passed Nightcloud on her way out; the black queen bumped against her, nearly knocking her down, and she fumbled the leaf. Yuck, she thought as the mouse bile spilled a bit. She carried the rest to the elders’ den, one of the many badger setts in camp; Rushtail and Morningflower sprawled in the sun just in front of the entrance. Apparently Webfoot had not wanted to give up the life of a warrior entirely; after wounds suffered in an accidental run-in with a fox, he had been forced to retire, nursing an infection in his shoulder and a set of gashes that Barkface said would never heal properly, but he had gone on a hunting patrol with Crowfeather and Whitetail— (what is this dash doing here) Heatherkit and Antkit would soon be out of the nursery and no longer required milk, so Whitetail had offered herself to hunt every few days to feed the Clan’s many kits.
Rushtail greeted Hollykit with a grimace. “You’re not Kestrelpaw.”
Hollykit placed the leaf gently between her paws. “I have mouse bile,” she announced, gagging on the taste that lingered on her tongue.
Rushtail snorted and mumbled something Hollykit didn’t make out. Morningflower glared reproachfully at the creamy brown tom. He rolled his eyes and muttered, “Get it over with, thunder.”
Hollykit was confused, but she did as Kestrelpaw had instructed, covering each of Rushtail’s ticks with the disgusting bile. Every few touches, Rushtail would cringe, exaggerating his distaste for her job.
When Hollykit was sure she had found all of his ticks she turned to Morningflower, who assured her that she had none. “Rushtail doesn’t watch where he’s sleeping.” Her pale amber eyes sparkled impishly.
“Go on,” Rushtail grunted, “get out of here.” Startled by his hostility, Hollypaw opened her mouth to protest, but he snapped his jaws at her. She scrambled away and went to rub her paw off on moss; Morningflower reprimanded Rushtail, but he slunk into the elders' sett, ignoring the pale tortoiseshell’s words.
Lionkit and Harekit had not moved; Heatherkit played a spirited game of mossball with Kestrelpaw in the nursery while Jaykit crouched nearby, ears twitching fervently as he tried to track the moss’s progress.
As Barkface’s voice called angrily for Kestrelpaw, the mottled brownish tom squashed the wad of moss onto the ground and sprinted past Hollykit.
“You smell disgusting,” Jaykit informed her, grayish nose crinkling.
“Thanks.” Hollykit wiped her paw again, this time on Heatherkit and Kestrelpaw’s squished moss wad.
“Oh no you don’t!” Heatherkit pounced on Hollykit, and the two began sparring, moss tearing beneath their feet. Only one thing occurred to Hollykit that might have deterred her from playing the game: this would make more work for Kestrelpaw, one of only three apprentices in the Clan.
But not today. He had tricked her into rubbing the vile liquid over Rushtail’s pelt so he could goof off in the nursery—he wasn’t even a kit anymore. You’re welcome, Kestrelpaw.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JAYKIT
Today’s sunrise had brought with it a brisk wind that tugged at Jaykit’s ears and threatened to topple him over.
“I don’t know how you’re not cold,” Lionkit whispered. Jaykit could hear Leafpool licking down the uneven fur on his brother’s head. “Don’t make my fur wet,” he whined. “It’s cold.”
Hollykit shushed him as Jaykit sniffed, “I’ve been colder.”
“I was there,” Lionkit reminded him. “That doesn’t make this not cold.” (part of my goal was to make Lionblaze more likable)
“Let all cats six moons on join before the Tallrock for a Clan meeting,” Onestar called. Jaykit wrenched away from Leafpool, who had nosed at him and begun to smooth his fur, and followed his siblings, ducking so that Hollykit couldn’t rest her tail on his shoulder.
When the cats in the camp had assembled, Onestar announced, “Several of WindClan’s kits are now old enough to become apprentices. Hollykit, Jaykit, Heatherkit, Lionkit, please step forward.”
Jaykit carefully padded around Harepaw to sit beside Heatherkit and his littermates.
“Hollykit, Lionkit, and Heatherkit are to train as moor-runners and Jaykit as a tunneler,” said Onestar. “From this day forth, until you have received your warrior names, you will be known as Hollypaw, Lionpaw, Heatherpaw, and Jaypaw.” He paused for a moment; Jaypaw felt his chest swell with pride. Onestar was thinking of the time he had been selected to mentor Whitetail; someday Jaypaw would be a warrior of her caliber. Though, he reflected, she was a moor-runner.
“Owlwhisker, you will mentor Lionpaw. Teach him to rise to his full potential.” Owlwhisker approached Lionpaw and Jaypaw thought he might have licked his head.
“Crowfeather, you will mentor Heatherpaw. Teach her to…” Onestar paused, and Jaypaw knew Crowfeather was thinking of Leafpool and of cold winds; he felt cool, smooth stone beneath his paws. “To see the value in all, as you do.” There was an underlying tone of warning to the leader’s voice that Jaypaw did not fully understand.
Once Crowfeather had joined Heatherpaw, Onestar continued. “Ashfoot, you will mentor Jaypaw. Teach him to know what he does not know.” Jaypaw bristled, then hopped to his paws in surprise as the deputy’s nose touched his.
“I’m sorry, Jaypaw,” she murmured. “I thought you would be expecting it.”
“Weaselfur, you will mentor Hollypaw. Teach her to serve her Clan before all else.”
The warrior’s paws pattered on the ground for a moment, and then the Clan began chanting their names. “Lionpaw! Heatherpaw! Jaypaw! Hollypaw! Lionpaw! Heatherpaw! Jaypaw! Hollypaw!” He listened for his parents’ voices among the throng and heard both of them ringing proudly through the wind.
“What are we doing first?” Lionpaw mewed, bouncing to his paws. He was much larger than Jaypaw, and the sound of his paws resonated through the ground. Jaypaw remembered Whitetail saying that Lionpaw would one day be too big for most of the tunnels WindClan had created, though he would surely always fit in the one Jaypaw had sniffed out.
Ashfoot’s long, sturdy tail curled over Jaypaw. “On the first day, apprentices tour the territory. It will be difficult to traverse the whole territory, but we will cover much of it.”
“We have a larger territory than the other Clans,” Weaselfur added. Jaypaw was not sure he liked Weaselfur. He thought often of battles and ferocity, never of wisdom or logic. “It’ll be second nature to you, thunder,” he added, slightly quieter.
Jaypaw wondered for what must have been the millionth time what the warrior meant by calling—who had he been speaking to this time?—thunder. Not every cat used the term, but no one would explain. Leafpool had seemed particularly upset when he had asked her. (plot hole time! Jaypaw is psychic)
Ashfoot had definitely stiffened at Weaselfur’s words, and Jaypaw thought Owlwhisker might have, too. “We will go as a patrol,” she said tersely. “We should not have any trouble, but one can never be too safe.”
Hollypaw, Heatherpaw, and Lionpaw marveled at the sights outside the camp. I thought Hollypaw said it was nothing special. Their conversation irked him; if only the cats in his dreams would teach him to fight. Mostly he had seen a spotted she-cat who smelled like leaves. She had shown him a small, circular pool of water and told him to find his heritage and follow his destiny.
“Most of what we show you up here will not apply to the tunnels,” Owlwhisker mewed briskly. “Not much down there.”
Weaselfur snorted. “He’s not missing anything.”
Jaypaw bristled, but Ashfoot spoke before he had a chance. “The tunnels are an excellent addition to our territory that allow us to travel unseen below the ground and to flush rabbits from their burrows, but there is no benefit in attempting to lead apprentices through the whole system on their first day.”
“Do you smell anything cool?” Lionpaw asked him.
Jaypaw sniffed at the ground. “I smell food, I guess.” He ignored a chuckle from Weaselfur.
After some time, Jaypaw caught the sound of running water. “This direction is the Moonpool,” Ashfoot explained from somewhere off to his right. “Across the stream is a forest. A lot of that forest is part of our territory, but it is difficult enough to bring you this far on what should be your first time more than a few tail-lengths from camp.”
His mentor led the patrol down the length of the stream to the lake. He shivered slightly at the sound of the water lapping against the shore, shaking the reeds and cattails. “Thought you weren’t cold,” Lionpaw mumbled; Jaypaw decided not to justify this with a response. Couldn’t Lionpaw feel how old the water was?
By the time the patrol returned to camp, Jaypaw had decided WindClan’s territory—with the possible exception of that mysterious forest part—was just a bunch of empty hills. Nothing of substance could be found out here. It’s all underground, he told himself. My destiny is down there.
He curled up in his mossy nest and waited. Maybe he would see the spotted cat tonight. She would be proud.
Today’s sunrise had brought with it a brisk wind that tugged at Jaykit’s ears and threatened to topple him over.
“I don’t know how you’re not cold,” Lionkit whispered. Jaykit could hear Leafpool licking down the uneven fur on his brother’s head. “Don’t make my fur wet,” he whined. “It’s cold.”
Hollykit shushed him as Jaykit sniffed, “I’ve been colder.”
“I was there,” Lionkit reminded him. “That doesn’t make this not cold.” (part of my goal was to make Lionblaze more likable)
“Let all cats six moons on join before the Tallrock for a Clan meeting,” Onestar called. Jaykit wrenched away from Leafpool, who had nosed at him and begun to smooth his fur, and followed his siblings, ducking so that Hollykit couldn’t rest her tail on his shoulder.
When the cats in the camp had assembled, Onestar announced, “Several of WindClan’s kits are now old enough to become apprentices. Hollykit, Jaykit, Heatherkit, Lionkit, please step forward.”
Jaykit carefully padded around Harepaw to sit beside Heatherkit and his littermates.
“Hollykit, Lionkit, and Heatherkit are to train as moor-runners and Jaykit as a tunneler,” said Onestar. “From this day forth, until you have received your warrior names, you will be known as Hollypaw, Lionpaw, Heatherpaw, and Jaypaw.” He paused for a moment; Jaypaw felt his chest swell with pride. Onestar was thinking of the time he had been selected to mentor Whitetail; someday Jaypaw would be a warrior of her caliber. Though, he reflected, she was a moor-runner.
“Owlwhisker, you will mentor Lionpaw. Teach him to rise to his full potential.” Owlwhisker approached Lionpaw and Jaypaw thought he might have licked his head.
“Crowfeather, you will mentor Heatherpaw. Teach her to…” Onestar paused, and Jaypaw knew Crowfeather was thinking of Leafpool and of cold winds; he felt cool, smooth stone beneath his paws. “To see the value in all, as you do.” There was an underlying tone of warning to the leader’s voice that Jaypaw did not fully understand.
Once Crowfeather had joined Heatherpaw, Onestar continued. “Ashfoot, you will mentor Jaypaw. Teach him to know what he does not know.” Jaypaw bristled, then hopped to his paws in surprise as the deputy’s nose touched his.
“I’m sorry, Jaypaw,” she murmured. “I thought you would be expecting it.”
“Weaselfur, you will mentor Hollypaw. Teach her to serve her Clan before all else.”
The warrior’s paws pattered on the ground for a moment, and then the Clan began chanting their names. “Lionpaw! Heatherpaw! Jaypaw! Hollypaw! Lionpaw! Heatherpaw! Jaypaw! Hollypaw!” He listened for his parents’ voices among the throng and heard both of them ringing proudly through the wind.
“What are we doing first?” Lionpaw mewed, bouncing to his paws. He was much larger than Jaypaw, and the sound of his paws resonated through the ground. Jaypaw remembered Whitetail saying that Lionpaw would one day be too big for most of the tunnels WindClan had created, though he would surely always fit in the one Jaypaw had sniffed out.
Ashfoot’s long, sturdy tail curled over Jaypaw. “On the first day, apprentices tour the territory. It will be difficult to traverse the whole territory, but we will cover much of it.”
“We have a larger territory than the other Clans,” Weaselfur added. Jaypaw was not sure he liked Weaselfur. He thought often of battles and ferocity, never of wisdom or logic. “It’ll be second nature to you, thunder,” he added, slightly quieter.
Jaypaw wondered for what must have been the millionth time what the warrior meant by calling—who had he been speaking to this time?—thunder. Not every cat used the term, but no one would explain. Leafpool had seemed particularly upset when he had asked her. (plot hole time! Jaypaw is psychic)
Ashfoot had definitely stiffened at Weaselfur’s words, and Jaypaw thought Owlwhisker might have, too. “We will go as a patrol,” she said tersely. “We should not have any trouble, but one can never be too safe.”
Hollypaw, Heatherpaw, and Lionpaw marveled at the sights outside the camp. I thought Hollypaw said it was nothing special. Their conversation irked him; if only the cats in his dreams would teach him to fight. Mostly he had seen a spotted she-cat who smelled like leaves. She had shown him a small, circular pool of water and told him to find his heritage and follow his destiny.
“Most of what we show you up here will not apply to the tunnels,” Owlwhisker mewed briskly. “Not much down there.”
Weaselfur snorted. “He’s not missing anything.”
Jaypaw bristled, but Ashfoot spoke before he had a chance. “The tunnels are an excellent addition to our territory that allow us to travel unseen below the ground and to flush rabbits from their burrows, but there is no benefit in attempting to lead apprentices through the whole system on their first day.”
“Do you smell anything cool?” Lionpaw asked him.
Jaypaw sniffed at the ground. “I smell food, I guess.” He ignored a chuckle from Weaselfur.
After some time, Jaypaw caught the sound of running water. “This direction is the Moonpool,” Ashfoot explained from somewhere off to his right. “Across the stream is a forest. A lot of that forest is part of our territory, but it is difficult enough to bring you this far on what should be your first time more than a few tail-lengths from camp.”
His mentor led the patrol down the length of the stream to the lake. He shivered slightly at the sound of the water lapping against the shore, shaking the reeds and cattails. “Thought you weren’t cold,” Lionpaw mumbled; Jaypaw decided not to justify this with a response. Couldn’t Lionpaw feel how old the water was?
By the time the patrol returned to camp, Jaypaw had decided WindClan’s territory—with the possible exception of that mysterious forest part—was just a bunch of empty hills. Nothing of substance could be found out here. It’s all underground, he told himself. My destiny is down there.
He curled up in his mossy nest and waited. Maybe he would see the spotted cat tonight. She would be proud.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
GRAYSTRIPE
The skinny rogue audibly released a large breath of air. They grabbed their dropped mouse and ran away, pawsteps irregular and loud enough that the trees shook over Graystripe and Millie’s heads.
He was so close he could taste it. His claws throbbed; the wind caught in his throat. Millie raced by his side. Thank you, he wanted to say again, and I love you. But now was not the time for words.
The two cats splashed through a wide, shallow brook. He was reminded irresistibly of his time in RiverClan. I’m coming back, Firestar. I’m coming back again.
Graystripe surged up the hill. I am a ThunderClan warrior.
He halted at the top, panting. “Are you ready for this?”
Millie purred and rubbed her cheek against his jaw. “Graystripe, I’ve been ready since the day we met.” He twitched his whiskers in amusement, remembering their first meeting—she had definitely not been. Millie had been a kittypet, almost as soft as Firestar’s sister Princess, and he had been a fugitive in Twolegplace, wandering the streets fearfully.
“Then let’s go.” A wide, smooth lake sparkled brightly before them. The sky was a clear, beautiful blue. Graystripe bounded down toward the rolling hills, grass waving gently, brushing against his fur softly. We’ve come a long way since cornstalks.
Millie’s eyes shone with gratitude and excitement, reflecting the sky. “I can’t wait to meet your Clan,” she whispered.
“They’ll welcome you as their own,” he promised, gazing down at her.
“I know.”
Motion alerted Graystripe to a nearby patrol—WindClan, he thought. “Which way is ThunderClan?” he called.
The cats stopped. After a few heartbeats, a mottled tortoiseshell face poked out at him. “What did you say?”
Graystripe was taken aback. “ThunderClan,” he said weakly. “I’m the ThunderClan deputy.”
Something flashed in the she-cat’s amber eyes. “I don’t—there is no such thing as ThunderClan.” She nodded curtly, then repeated, “No such thing.”
Graystripe flattened his ears. “Is this not a WindClan patrol?”
“Get out of here,” ordered a gray tom emerging beside the tabby. “We don’t take kindly to trespassers.” Did Graystripe see misgivings in his shadowy blue eyes?
“You’d better leave,” agreed a gray-and-white cat.
Millie pressed herself against Graystripe’s side. “Graystripe, I think we should go.”
He saw recognition in the gray tom’s eyes, he was sure of it. “This is WindClan,” he snarled.
“ThunderClan is dead,” the tortoiseshell snapped.
The gray tom’s shoulders sagged. “Firestar was killed by his deputy.”
Graystripe backed up farther. “Firestar knows his cats better than that.”
“He’s not lying,” the gray-and-white cat meowed. “Bramblestar killed a bunch of cats, and then they started getting all sick. Greencough, I guess. It was leafbare. So they froze to death.” (this is what I meant by history lessons)
The gray tom nodded solemnly. “Bramblestar cut them off from all medicinal resources and pitted cats against creatures far too strong. You see, this scar—” He flexed a paw, displaying a fading but definitely once-nasty scratch too big to have been made by a cat. “This scar, I received while trying to assist a pair of ThunderClan warriors in driving off a badger.” (yeah sure Crowfeather that's believable)
Millie slunk in front of Graystripe. “We have been traveling for moons. Why didn’t you do anything to stop Bramblestar?”
“We tried,” said the gray tom. “We were too late. Bramblestar waged war on ShadowClan with a force of ten starving, sick warriors. ThunderClan is no more.”
“You’re lying,” Graystripe growled.
“I’m afraid not.” The tortoiseshell sighed. “I am sure RiverClan or ShadowClan would be willing to take you in. But WindClan—we cannot afford to become involved in their affairs.”
“We’ll fight you if we find you trespassing again,” the gray-and-white tom added. “Get out of here.”
Graystripe turned to Millie as the patrol wove away through the tall grass.
“What now?” she whispered.
Graystripe closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
(I was thinking of showing more of these guys after they left, but they didn't really have an actual plot; rest assured that they have a decent-quality life, aside from this part)
The skinny rogue audibly released a large breath of air. They grabbed their dropped mouse and ran away, pawsteps irregular and loud enough that the trees shook over Graystripe and Millie’s heads.
He was so close he could taste it. His claws throbbed; the wind caught in his throat. Millie raced by his side. Thank you, he wanted to say again, and I love you. But now was not the time for words.
The two cats splashed through a wide, shallow brook. He was reminded irresistibly of his time in RiverClan. I’m coming back, Firestar. I’m coming back again.
Graystripe surged up the hill. I am a ThunderClan warrior.
He halted at the top, panting. “Are you ready for this?”
Millie purred and rubbed her cheek against his jaw. “Graystripe, I’ve been ready since the day we met.” He twitched his whiskers in amusement, remembering their first meeting—she had definitely not been. Millie had been a kittypet, almost as soft as Firestar’s sister Princess, and he had been a fugitive in Twolegplace, wandering the streets fearfully.
“Then let’s go.” A wide, smooth lake sparkled brightly before them. The sky was a clear, beautiful blue. Graystripe bounded down toward the rolling hills, grass waving gently, brushing against his fur softly. We’ve come a long way since cornstalks.
Millie’s eyes shone with gratitude and excitement, reflecting the sky. “I can’t wait to meet your Clan,” she whispered.
“They’ll welcome you as their own,” he promised, gazing down at her.
“I know.”
Motion alerted Graystripe to a nearby patrol—WindClan, he thought. “Which way is ThunderClan?” he called.
The cats stopped. After a few heartbeats, a mottled tortoiseshell face poked out at him. “What did you say?”
Graystripe was taken aback. “ThunderClan,” he said weakly. “I’m the ThunderClan deputy.”
Something flashed in the she-cat’s amber eyes. “I don’t—there is no such thing as ThunderClan.” She nodded curtly, then repeated, “No such thing.”
Graystripe flattened his ears. “Is this not a WindClan patrol?”
“Get out of here,” ordered a gray tom emerging beside the tabby. “We don’t take kindly to trespassers.” Did Graystripe see misgivings in his shadowy blue eyes?
“You’d better leave,” agreed a gray-and-white cat.
Millie pressed herself against Graystripe’s side. “Graystripe, I think we should go.”
He saw recognition in the gray tom’s eyes, he was sure of it. “This is WindClan,” he snarled.
“ThunderClan is dead,” the tortoiseshell snapped.
The gray tom’s shoulders sagged. “Firestar was killed by his deputy.”
Graystripe backed up farther. “Firestar knows his cats better than that.”
“He’s not lying,” the gray-and-white cat meowed. “Bramblestar killed a bunch of cats, and then they started getting all sick. Greencough, I guess. It was leafbare. So they froze to death.” (this is what I meant by history lessons)
The gray tom nodded solemnly. “Bramblestar cut them off from all medicinal resources and pitted cats against creatures far too strong. You see, this scar—” He flexed a paw, displaying a fading but definitely once-nasty scratch too big to have been made by a cat. “This scar, I received while trying to assist a pair of ThunderClan warriors in driving off a badger.” (yeah sure Crowfeather that's believable)
Millie slunk in front of Graystripe. “We have been traveling for moons. Why didn’t you do anything to stop Bramblestar?”
“We tried,” said the gray tom. “We were too late. Bramblestar waged war on ShadowClan with a force of ten starving, sick warriors. ThunderClan is no more.”
“You’re lying,” Graystripe growled.
“I’m afraid not.” The tortoiseshell sighed. “I am sure RiverClan or ShadowClan would be willing to take you in. But WindClan—we cannot afford to become involved in their affairs.”
“We’ll fight you if we find you trespassing again,” the gray-and-white tom added. “Get out of here.”
Graystripe turned to Millie as the patrol wove away through the tall grass.
“What now?” she whispered.
Graystripe closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
(I was thinking of showing more of these guys after they left, but they didn't really have an actual plot; rest assured that they have a decent-quality life, aside from this part)
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
HOLLYPAW
Gorsetail stood tall as the Clan chanted for Antpaw. He was still a young warrior, Hollypaw knew, and having his first apprentice so early was a big deal. Even Weaselfur had bragged, and he was older than Gorsetail. Gorsetail, for his part, certainly puffed his chest out in pride, but he had always been a far more tolerable cat. Hollypaw did wonder at first why he seemed to have a scent to him that mostly only she-cats had, but she never asked, and anyway it had never been important. (remember the rule about only straight and cis cats--Gorsetail, in the canon books, is most often listed as a tom or without a gender, but in some books he is listed as a queen with kits, so I decided he was a trans tom)
Gorsetail led Antpaw past Hollypaw. The black-eared tom grinned excitedly at her; he had always had an unbridled optimism about being a warrior. His ceremony had been delayed several days as punishment for disrupting Kestrelpaw’s training; Antpaw and Heatherpaw were littermates. (aka I forgot about him during the ceremony and didn't bother to add him back in)
Hollypaw gently shoved her head into Lionpaw’s shoulder. “He’s going to be exhausted tonight,” she observed. “I wonder if he’s going to enjoy sleeping outside of the den.”
“He’ll probably go hide in a badger sett,” Lionpaw chuckled. The elders’ den was one of several badger setts in the WindClan camp; Hollypaw had never seen a badger, but from Leafpool’s stories they sounded scary.
Weaselfur stalked past Hollypaw. “Running training,” he grunted as he passed.
“I have to train,” she told Lionpaw.
“I heard him, too, you know,” he mumbled as she sprinted after her mentor.
Weaselfur led her to the usual running spot, a vaguely slanted expanse of grass uninterrupted by gorse or bramble. Today he didn’t even bother giving instructions; he loped across the moor, Hollypaw pursuing him.
But Hollypaw’s legs were not as long or as slender as his. Eventually she was forced to stop, all four paws aching. “I can’t catch you,” she wheezed. “Can we do something else?”
Weaselfur sighed. “Of course you can’t.”
Defiance blazed through her. “Yes, I can! I will be able to, anyway, when I’m bigger.”
Weaselfur sighed roughly. “Hollypaw, the rabbits are not going to wait until you are bigger.” He spoke slowly, as if she were two moons old. “Learn right now, or you’re going to be an elder before you’re a warrior.”
Hollypaw glared at him. “Not every cat can run fast,” she insisted, hoping she was imagining the petulance in her own voice.
“Every WindClan cat can run fast. Get it moving.” He resumed walking, then running.
I really am trying, she told herself. I’m going as fast as I can—or I think I am, anyway. Maybe it was her fault; maybe she just hadn’t figured out the secret to speed. What am I doing wrong?
Weaselfur cried out, “Now get ready. I’m going to try to trip you up.”
No! I’m barely running as it is! she wanted to scream, but her teeth were clamped shut, and unclenching her jaw would take more effort than she could afford to expend.
Weaselfur’s banded ginger tail flapped in her face, and Hollypaw stumbled, crashing to the ground. “Try again,” he ordered. She didn’t like his voice. Her legs wobbled, and she couldn’t reach even the speed she had last time.
“Are you even trying?” he groaned. “Maybe you’re just not cut out for WindClan.” There was a cruel satisfaction in his yellow-green eyes.
Hollypaw huddled on the ground. “What do you mean?” she whimpered.
He sighed again. “None of your business, thunder.”
Hollypaw was fairly certain it was her business, but being called thunder turned her from asking anything more. “I can keep running,” she muttered.
“Good.”
Although Hollypaw never managed to catch Weaselfur, he actually seemed pleased at her efforts. Around sunhigh he finally stopped running and meowed, “Time to return to camp.”
Lionpaw, Jaypaw, and Harepaw clustered around a rabbit from the freshkill pile; Hollypaw headed toward them. “Heatherpaw’s patrolling,” Harepaw said by way of greeting. “Eat all you want.”
“You’ve still got some earth on your fur,” Hollypaw said to Jaypaw.
He shrugged. “Who cares? I can’t see it.”
Harepaw flicked his tail. “Think that’s something? That’s nothing.” He stood up and shook out his brown-and-white pelt, sending earth and mud flying into the air. “Gotta work around it when you’re a tunneler.” (when writing Harepaw I imagined Crowspots (real life person); I did not plan HollyxHare--it developed accidentally)
Hollypaw wrinkled her nose. “I’m glad I’m a moor-runner,” she muttered.
Harepaw’s green eyes brightened. “How’s training going?” Kestrelpaw padded over to join them, licking Jaypaw’s ear as he sat down.
“Weaselfur doesn’t like me.” Hollypaw swept her tail across the ground. “I can’t run as fast as him.”
Harepaw glanced around furtively, then leaned in, lowering his voice. “Weaselfur’s always a sour little mousebrain. Don’t let him get to you.”
Kestrelpaw moaned dramatically. “Ooh, no, RiverClan isn’t all dead! I’m going to bully all the little apprentices about it, because it’s their fault!”
“Shh,” hissed Harepaw. Tornear now stared, expressionless, at the band of apprentices, and a few other cats had shot them disapproving looks.
“Gorsetail says back when Weaselfur was an apprentice he’d come into the nursery and boss the kits around. He wanted us to do all his camp duties for him,” Harepaw said, shifting closer to Hollypaw. She gave Kestrelpaw a pointed look; he looked embarrassed. “Webfoot was always chasing after him, trying to get him to focus on Clan stuff. We didn’t think he was ever going to get an apprentice.”
Kestrelpaw piped up, “Barkface says Onestar wanted to teach him responsibility.” Jaypaw snorted as Harepaw again hissed for Kestrelpaw to lower his voice.
“It’s not going to work,” Emberpaw meowed boldly. “He isn’t going to change his personality any more than he’s gonna change his orange spots.”
Hollypaw ate her fill of the rabbit and curled up on the ground. “I think I have a border patrol tonight over near RiverClan.”
Harepaw nodded. “RiverClan cats are kinda jerks, but there shouldn’t be any trouble.”
“Do you know why the cats call me thunder?” Hollypaw asked him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jaypaw’s ears perk up.
Harepaw shook his head. “Maybe they’re calling you loud.”
“Maybe that’s it.” I’ve already thought of that.
Hollypaw flinched as Nightcloud’s voice exploded from the medicine den. “Barkface!” she howled. “You can’t allow this!”
All of the apprentices turned to listen; Hollypaw couldn’t make out Barkface’s reply, but she did hear Nightcloud begin saying, “No, no, no.”
Kestrelpaw sucked in his breath. “Uh oh.”
“Nightcloud’s kits,” Lionpaw whispered.
Crowfeather’s patrol returned to camp, and the gray warrior pelted into the medicine den at the sound of his mate’s voice. Heatherpaw quietly mewed a hello, but the apprentices did not continue chatting.
When Crowfeather returned, Barkface was with him. The medicine cat’s gaze was bleak. “I am sorry, Crowfeather,” he murmured. “It was not their time.”
Crowfeather padded away stonily.
“I will do everything in my power to save Breezekit and Shrikekit,” Barkface rasped.
Kestrelpaw especially looked frightened. “I thought they were doing okay now,” he confessed. “Swiftkit was finally not coughing.”
Stretching across the rabbit, Harepaw touched his nose to his brother’s. “It’s not your fault.”
Looking back at the medicine den, Hollypaw thought maybe the Clan could use more help. She would ask Barkface to teach her the herbs.
I’ll save you, Shrikekit, Breezekit, she thought. No cat will die at my paws.
Gorsetail stood tall as the Clan chanted for Antpaw. He was still a young warrior, Hollypaw knew, and having his first apprentice so early was a big deal. Even Weaselfur had bragged, and he was older than Gorsetail. Gorsetail, for his part, certainly puffed his chest out in pride, but he had always been a far more tolerable cat. Hollypaw did wonder at first why he seemed to have a scent to him that mostly only she-cats had, but she never asked, and anyway it had never been important. (remember the rule about only straight and cis cats--Gorsetail, in the canon books, is most often listed as a tom or without a gender, but in some books he is listed as a queen with kits, so I decided he was a trans tom)
Gorsetail led Antpaw past Hollypaw. The black-eared tom grinned excitedly at her; he had always had an unbridled optimism about being a warrior. His ceremony had been delayed several days as punishment for disrupting Kestrelpaw’s training; Antpaw and Heatherpaw were littermates. (aka I forgot about him during the ceremony and didn't bother to add him back in)
Hollypaw gently shoved her head into Lionpaw’s shoulder. “He’s going to be exhausted tonight,” she observed. “I wonder if he’s going to enjoy sleeping outside of the den.”
“He’ll probably go hide in a badger sett,” Lionpaw chuckled. The elders’ den was one of several badger setts in the WindClan camp; Hollypaw had never seen a badger, but from Leafpool’s stories they sounded scary.
Weaselfur stalked past Hollypaw. “Running training,” he grunted as he passed.
“I have to train,” she told Lionpaw.
“I heard him, too, you know,” he mumbled as she sprinted after her mentor.
Weaselfur led her to the usual running spot, a vaguely slanted expanse of grass uninterrupted by gorse or bramble. Today he didn’t even bother giving instructions; he loped across the moor, Hollypaw pursuing him.
But Hollypaw’s legs were not as long or as slender as his. Eventually she was forced to stop, all four paws aching. “I can’t catch you,” she wheezed. “Can we do something else?”
Weaselfur sighed. “Of course you can’t.”
Defiance blazed through her. “Yes, I can! I will be able to, anyway, when I’m bigger.”
Weaselfur sighed roughly. “Hollypaw, the rabbits are not going to wait until you are bigger.” He spoke slowly, as if she were two moons old. “Learn right now, or you’re going to be an elder before you’re a warrior.”
Hollypaw glared at him. “Not every cat can run fast,” she insisted, hoping she was imagining the petulance in her own voice.
“Every WindClan cat can run fast. Get it moving.” He resumed walking, then running.
I really am trying, she told herself. I’m going as fast as I can—or I think I am, anyway. Maybe it was her fault; maybe she just hadn’t figured out the secret to speed. What am I doing wrong?
Weaselfur cried out, “Now get ready. I’m going to try to trip you up.”
No! I’m barely running as it is! she wanted to scream, but her teeth were clamped shut, and unclenching her jaw would take more effort than she could afford to expend.
Weaselfur’s banded ginger tail flapped in her face, and Hollypaw stumbled, crashing to the ground. “Try again,” he ordered. She didn’t like his voice. Her legs wobbled, and she couldn’t reach even the speed she had last time.
“Are you even trying?” he groaned. “Maybe you’re just not cut out for WindClan.” There was a cruel satisfaction in his yellow-green eyes.
Hollypaw huddled on the ground. “What do you mean?” she whimpered.
He sighed again. “None of your business, thunder.”
Hollypaw was fairly certain it was her business, but being called thunder turned her from asking anything more. “I can keep running,” she muttered.
“Good.”
Although Hollypaw never managed to catch Weaselfur, he actually seemed pleased at her efforts. Around sunhigh he finally stopped running and meowed, “Time to return to camp.”
Lionpaw, Jaypaw, and Harepaw clustered around a rabbit from the freshkill pile; Hollypaw headed toward them. “Heatherpaw’s patrolling,” Harepaw said by way of greeting. “Eat all you want.”
“You’ve still got some earth on your fur,” Hollypaw said to Jaypaw.
He shrugged. “Who cares? I can’t see it.”
Harepaw flicked his tail. “Think that’s something? That’s nothing.” He stood up and shook out his brown-and-white pelt, sending earth and mud flying into the air. “Gotta work around it when you’re a tunneler.” (when writing Harepaw I imagined Crowspots (real life person); I did not plan HollyxHare--it developed accidentally)
Hollypaw wrinkled her nose. “I’m glad I’m a moor-runner,” she muttered.
Harepaw’s green eyes brightened. “How’s training going?” Kestrelpaw padded over to join them, licking Jaypaw’s ear as he sat down.
“Weaselfur doesn’t like me.” Hollypaw swept her tail across the ground. “I can’t run as fast as him.”
Harepaw glanced around furtively, then leaned in, lowering his voice. “Weaselfur’s always a sour little mousebrain. Don’t let him get to you.”
Kestrelpaw moaned dramatically. “Ooh, no, RiverClan isn’t all dead! I’m going to bully all the little apprentices about it, because it’s their fault!”
“Shh,” hissed Harepaw. Tornear now stared, expressionless, at the band of apprentices, and a few other cats had shot them disapproving looks.
“Gorsetail says back when Weaselfur was an apprentice he’d come into the nursery and boss the kits around. He wanted us to do all his camp duties for him,” Harepaw said, shifting closer to Hollypaw. She gave Kestrelpaw a pointed look; he looked embarrassed. “Webfoot was always chasing after him, trying to get him to focus on Clan stuff. We didn’t think he was ever going to get an apprentice.”
Kestrelpaw piped up, “Barkface says Onestar wanted to teach him responsibility.” Jaypaw snorted as Harepaw again hissed for Kestrelpaw to lower his voice.
“It’s not going to work,” Emberpaw meowed boldly. “He isn’t going to change his personality any more than he’s gonna change his orange spots.”
Hollypaw ate her fill of the rabbit and curled up on the ground. “I think I have a border patrol tonight over near RiverClan.”
Harepaw nodded. “RiverClan cats are kinda jerks, but there shouldn’t be any trouble.”
“Do you know why the cats call me thunder?” Hollypaw asked him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jaypaw’s ears perk up.
Harepaw shook his head. “Maybe they’re calling you loud.”
“Maybe that’s it.” I’ve already thought of that.
Hollypaw flinched as Nightcloud’s voice exploded from the medicine den. “Barkface!” she howled. “You can’t allow this!”
All of the apprentices turned to listen; Hollypaw couldn’t make out Barkface’s reply, but she did hear Nightcloud begin saying, “No, no, no.”
Kestrelpaw sucked in his breath. “Uh oh.”
“Nightcloud’s kits,” Lionpaw whispered.
Crowfeather’s patrol returned to camp, and the gray warrior pelted into the medicine den at the sound of his mate’s voice. Heatherpaw quietly mewed a hello, but the apprentices did not continue chatting.
When Crowfeather returned, Barkface was with him. The medicine cat’s gaze was bleak. “I am sorry, Crowfeather,” he murmured. “It was not their time.”
Crowfeather padded away stonily.
“I will do everything in my power to save Breezekit and Shrikekit,” Barkface rasped.
Kestrelpaw especially looked frightened. “I thought they were doing okay now,” he confessed. “Swiftkit was finally not coughing.”
Stretching across the rabbit, Harepaw touched his nose to his brother’s. “It’s not your fault.”
Looking back at the medicine den, Hollypaw thought maybe the Clan could use more help. She would ask Barkface to teach her the herbs.
I’ll save you, Shrikekit, Breezekit, she thought. No cat will die at my paws.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JAYPAW
It was almost as if Jaypaw was dreaming.
He had always felt in the tunnels that he could see. He had seen before in dreams, of course, but never under the sky. Yet down here, in the ancient air of the tunnels, he thought he could pick out movement as Ashfoot padded in front of him.
Some tunnels were cramped. Jaypaw almost felt he was too large for some of the squeezes, though of course he was small for his age and Ashfoot was a fully grown warrior.
“Do you smell any fresh rabbit?” Ashfoot asked him, breaking his reverie.
Jaypaw put his nose to the tunnel floor and inhaled deeply. “None that we can chase down?” he guessed.
“Correct. And…?”
“Harepaw and Tornear are here,” he added.
“Very good. They are waiting farther in.” Ashfoot’s pace increased slightly, and Jaypaw hurried to keep up with her.
The tunnel widened; his whiskers no longer brushed the walls. Here he felt the beating of breath strong on his whiskers, heard the pounding of three hearts not his own strong in his ears.
“We do not anticipate any battles taking place down in the tunnels,” said Tornear once he had greeted Ashfoot and Jaypaw. “If you are ever cornered by enemy warriors, try to run down here. But be sure you do not stumble.”
“I understand it sounds as if we mean to scare you,” Ashfoot meowed. “But you must always keep your wits about you. When we patrol these tunnels, we are not looking to fight. They are strong—many are stronger here than back in our old home, before the Great Journey, in fact—but it is of utmost importance to avoid collapsing them.”
Harepaw sounded excited; his breath picked up. “Tell him about Mousepebble.”
“No one wants to dwell on Mousepebble,” Tornear growled.
“Sorry.”
“So what happened to them?” asked Jaypaw.
After a pause, Ashfoot answered him. “Mousepebble was a rather forgetful warrior. He served the Clan well. But he was forgetful.” She sighed, then was quiet for a few heartbeats. “He attempted to take on a rogue inside the tunnels. It didn’t work out well for him. We found his body, along with the rogue’s. He was not crushed; he was suffocated.”
“It’s like drowning in earth,” Tornear said.
“Oh.” Jaypaw wasn’t sure what else there was to say; he had always assumed that tunnelers had it easier than moor-runners.
“But accidents like his are rare,” Ashfoot assured him. “As a tunneler, you will hunt for prey down here. We have connected the tunnels to some rabbit warrens; not all will be traversable, since rabbits can run through tighter spaces than cats, but at the very least we can help to scare them to the surface. The tunnels also contain mice. They are also a potential point of entry for enemies; do not attempt to fight in any tunnel smaller than three times your width and three times your height, but you should absolutely report anything you find.”
“We have tunnels extending into RiverClan territory, and even a few into ShadowClan.” Tornear stood up. “They provide us with escape routes—and invasion routes. But only as long as we are careful to avoid detection by the other Clans.
“Now, it may seem odd that we expect you to hunt down here: how are you expected to pounce without disturbing the tunnels?”
“A special pounce,” Harepaw interrupted. “We’re supposed to do the forward pounce.”
“Harepaw,” Tornear grunted, “you are not Jaypaw’s mentor.”
“Well, I already learned all this,” Harepaw pointed out.
“Knowing a move and having the experience necessary to execute it are two very different things.”
“This is a rare example of a safe place to train in the tunnels,” Ashfoot explained. “The ceiling here is composed of solid rock.”
“Listen closely,” instructed Tornear. He lunged forward, and Jaypaw could have sworn he saw the tom in a flash of silvery fur. Don’t be ridiculous, Jaypaw, even cats with sight can’t see down here, he chided himself.
Tornear demonstrated the move a few more times. The rush of air against his whiskers alerted him to the bulky tom’s location each time.
“Keep your haunches low,” ordered Ashfoot. “When chasing a rabbit, it is natural to want to leap, but we can’t do that down here. Stick low and keep your paws close to your chest. Your tail should be almost on the ground, and your hind legs should be squished underneath.”
The position she described was awkward and difficult for Jaypaw to replicate, but he did his best. He felt her paw on his back; she gently pressed down, changing the curve of his spine.
“This is the form you want to keep down here. A few moons from now it will be second nature.”
“And then there’s tunnel maintenance,” Tornear grunted. “But that’s another story. For now, if you find loose soil, tell a warrior.”
Jaypaw and Harepaw practiced pouncing until their mentors told them it was time to return to the surface.
“You got it quick,” Harepaw meowed, sounding impressed. “Think you’re better than I am already.”
Jaypaw shrugged. “It’s just jumping.”
“Yeah, but it’s weird forward jumping,” Harepaw insisted.
Kestrelpaw seemed happy to see them return. Jaypaw left Harepaw to talk to his brother; he was exhausted.
And there was another thing. Something he would not admit to any cat. He was—not quite afraid, but shaken. The tunnels didn’t feel unsafe, exactly, but there was something unnerving about them, something ancient. The sight he seemed to have down there shook him the most. (this is already painful and this is book 3 of 14 that get shoutouts)
It was almost as if they wanted him dead.
It was almost as if Jaypaw was dreaming.
He had always felt in the tunnels that he could see. He had seen before in dreams, of course, but never under the sky. Yet down here, in the ancient air of the tunnels, he thought he could pick out movement as Ashfoot padded in front of him.
Some tunnels were cramped. Jaypaw almost felt he was too large for some of the squeezes, though of course he was small for his age and Ashfoot was a fully grown warrior.
“Do you smell any fresh rabbit?” Ashfoot asked him, breaking his reverie.
Jaypaw put his nose to the tunnel floor and inhaled deeply. “None that we can chase down?” he guessed.
“Correct. And…?”
“Harepaw and Tornear are here,” he added.
“Very good. They are waiting farther in.” Ashfoot’s pace increased slightly, and Jaypaw hurried to keep up with her.
The tunnel widened; his whiskers no longer brushed the walls. Here he felt the beating of breath strong on his whiskers, heard the pounding of three hearts not his own strong in his ears.
“We do not anticipate any battles taking place down in the tunnels,” said Tornear once he had greeted Ashfoot and Jaypaw. “If you are ever cornered by enemy warriors, try to run down here. But be sure you do not stumble.”
“I understand it sounds as if we mean to scare you,” Ashfoot meowed. “But you must always keep your wits about you. When we patrol these tunnels, we are not looking to fight. They are strong—many are stronger here than back in our old home, before the Great Journey, in fact—but it is of utmost importance to avoid collapsing them.”
Harepaw sounded excited; his breath picked up. “Tell him about Mousepebble.”
“No one wants to dwell on Mousepebble,” Tornear growled.
“Sorry.”
“So what happened to them?” asked Jaypaw.
After a pause, Ashfoot answered him. “Mousepebble was a rather forgetful warrior. He served the Clan well. But he was forgetful.” She sighed, then was quiet for a few heartbeats. “He attempted to take on a rogue inside the tunnels. It didn’t work out well for him. We found his body, along with the rogue’s. He was not crushed; he was suffocated.”
“It’s like drowning in earth,” Tornear said.
“Oh.” Jaypaw wasn’t sure what else there was to say; he had always assumed that tunnelers had it easier than moor-runners.
“But accidents like his are rare,” Ashfoot assured him. “As a tunneler, you will hunt for prey down here. We have connected the tunnels to some rabbit warrens; not all will be traversable, since rabbits can run through tighter spaces than cats, but at the very least we can help to scare them to the surface. The tunnels also contain mice. They are also a potential point of entry for enemies; do not attempt to fight in any tunnel smaller than three times your width and three times your height, but you should absolutely report anything you find.”
“We have tunnels extending into RiverClan territory, and even a few into ShadowClan.” Tornear stood up. “They provide us with escape routes—and invasion routes. But only as long as we are careful to avoid detection by the other Clans.
“Now, it may seem odd that we expect you to hunt down here: how are you expected to pounce without disturbing the tunnels?”
“A special pounce,” Harepaw interrupted. “We’re supposed to do the forward pounce.”
“Harepaw,” Tornear grunted, “you are not Jaypaw’s mentor.”
“Well, I already learned all this,” Harepaw pointed out.
“Knowing a move and having the experience necessary to execute it are two very different things.”
“This is a rare example of a safe place to train in the tunnels,” Ashfoot explained. “The ceiling here is composed of solid rock.”
“Listen closely,” instructed Tornear. He lunged forward, and Jaypaw could have sworn he saw the tom in a flash of silvery fur. Don’t be ridiculous, Jaypaw, even cats with sight can’t see down here, he chided himself.
Tornear demonstrated the move a few more times. The rush of air against his whiskers alerted him to the bulky tom’s location each time.
“Keep your haunches low,” ordered Ashfoot. “When chasing a rabbit, it is natural to want to leap, but we can’t do that down here. Stick low and keep your paws close to your chest. Your tail should be almost on the ground, and your hind legs should be squished underneath.”
The position she described was awkward and difficult for Jaypaw to replicate, but he did his best. He felt her paw on his back; she gently pressed down, changing the curve of his spine.
“This is the form you want to keep down here. A few moons from now it will be second nature.”
“And then there’s tunnel maintenance,” Tornear grunted. “But that’s another story. For now, if you find loose soil, tell a warrior.”
Jaypaw and Harepaw practiced pouncing until their mentors told them it was time to return to the surface.
“You got it quick,” Harepaw meowed, sounding impressed. “Think you’re better than I am already.”
Jaypaw shrugged. “It’s just jumping.”
“Yeah, but it’s weird forward jumping,” Harepaw insisted.
Kestrelpaw seemed happy to see them return. Jaypaw left Harepaw to talk to his brother; he was exhausted.
And there was another thing. Something he would not admit to any cat. He was—not quite afraid, but shaken. The tunnels didn’t feel unsafe, exactly, but there was something unnerving about them, something ancient. The sight he seemed to have down there shook him the most. (this is already painful and this is book 3 of 14 that get shoutouts)
It was almost as if they wanted him dead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LIONPAW
“Close.” Owlwhisker darted around Lionpaw, avoiding his blow. “You’re swinging too slowly.”
Lionpaw pulled back and batted his paw in the air experimentally. He could move it faster than he had, he thought, but not without losing the power behind it.
“You’re going to have to learn to focus your energy into your attacks,” Owlwhisker mewed.
Lionpaw stared blankly at his mentor. Owlwhisker watched expectantly as Lionpaw struck at the ground.
“Now attack me again,” he ordered. Lionpaw obligingly swung a paw at him, but the warrior stepped aside. “Okay, okay. Stop trying to hit where I am. Hit instead at where you think I will be.”
Lionpaw thought he was a bit closer this time, but he still didn’t connect with Owlwhisker. “Maybe I should just keep hunting,” he suggested hopefully.
“Lionpaw, you would be formidable in battle if only you would pay attention,” his mentor sighed. “Try again.”
“I am trying,” Lionpaw protested. He reared onto his hind paws and flailed both forepaws at Owlwhisker. His mentor didn’t even try to dodge, and Lionpaw’s left paw came down on top of his head and dragged down his face.
“Fighting is like running,” Owlwhisker tried. “When you run, you need to feel all your energy going into the movement. You can’t expect to catch the rabbit if you’re running with your toes; you need your legs, your back, and your tail. When you fight, you can’t just flap your paws about. The motion needs to be carried through your legs.”
Lionpaw tried again, and Owlwhisker looked appeased. “That is the correct motion. Try it against me.”
Owlwhisker dodged again, but Lionpaw was sure he had been close. “Almost.” Lionpaw’s next hit brushed Owlwhisker’s flank.
“I got you!” he crowed, rising onto his hind paws and falling back onto all four.
“Pay attention, Lionpaw.”
Lionpaw snapped upright. “Yes!”
Owlwhisker’s amber gaze was slightly disparaging, and his politeness sounded strained as he meowed, “You’re making progress, but it is not enough to tap your opponent’s fur. In battle, you must connect repeatedly, and you must remain engaged in the fight until your opponent has been defeated.”
Lionpaw bared his teeth playfully. Owlwhisker ordered him to attack, and Lionpaw sprang at him.
This time Lionpaw managed to slap Owlwhisker twice. “Good job,” his mentor said, finally starting to look satisfied. “You’ll make a fine warrior if you keep improving at today’s rate.”
Lionpaw shifted his paws uncomfortably. I don’t want to fight.
Owlwhisker checked the sun. “We’re due for a patrol soon. Let’s head back to camp and meet up with the others.”
Whitetail was to lead Lionpaw, Gorsetail, and Owlwhisker on a border patrol on the RiverClan side while Antpaw performed camp duties. She returned to camp dragging a pair of rabbits shortly after Lionpaw and Owlwhisker had arrived, but before the patrol could set out, Onestar called a Clan meeting.
“Yet again we have an apprentice to name,” he announced from the Tallrock. “His ceremony is overdue, and it is not without its sorrow; he should have stood here with three others. But Breezekit has reached six moons of age, and he is ready to become Breezepaw. Whitetail, teach him the strength and loyalty he will need to serve his Clan.”
“Breezepaw! Breezepaw! Breezepaw!” chanted the cats in the camp.
Breezepaw was still sullen and cramped-looking, and Lionpaw thought he looked weaker even than the unusually small Jaypaw had on his first day of apprenticeship.
Whitetail led Breezepaw to the camp’s entrance, where Lionpaw, Owlwhisker, and Gorsetail waited. “It’s not every apprentice who gets to go on a real patrol on their first day,” the white warrior observed. Breezepaw just shrugged. He’s as grumpy as Jaypaw.
Whitetail pointed out the tallest hill near the camp. Breezepaw stared angrily at the top of the hill, narrowing his amber eyes against the sunlight, and then they were off. They passed returning Crowfeather and Mottlenose; the brown warrior dipped her head approvingly toward Breezepaw, who turned his nose from her.
“Hi, Breezepaw,” Lionpaw chirped.
“Hi,” the other apprentice said warily.
“I’m Lionpaw. Remember me?”
“Yeah.”
Lionpaw stopped walking, staring after Breezepaw. What’s his problem?
“Focus, Lionpaw,” Owlwhisker called, and Lionpaw hastened to catch up with the patrol.
“Being a moor-runner is fun. You get to hunt rabbits, and later on we get to explore the forest,” Lionpaw offered. Breezepaw glanced at him, then returned to staring at his own paws. “I’ve been learning to fight some. It’s pretty hard. But I bet you’ll be fast.”
“Lionpaw, don’t bother Breezepaw,” warned Owlwhisker.
“’S fine,” Breezepaw mumbled.
Lionpaw waved his tail. “The setting sun looks really cool from outside the camp. Just wait ’till you go on an evening patrol. The lake gets all red.”
“When we get closer to the border, we should all be quiet,” Owlwhisker said, a little more forcefully.
Lionpaw lapsed into silence, not sure what else there was to say to a cat who acted almost incapable of responding. Breezepaw certainly wasn’t a very talkative cat. Even Jaypaw usually at least complains.
The ShadowClan border was far away, and by the time they returned to camp, the sun had already set. “Guess you didn’t get to see the red lake today,” Lionpaw yawned. It was all he could think of. He let Breezepaw choose where in the camp he wanted to sleep. He didn’t notice Nightcloud’s suspicious glare.
“Close.” Owlwhisker darted around Lionpaw, avoiding his blow. “You’re swinging too slowly.”
Lionpaw pulled back and batted his paw in the air experimentally. He could move it faster than he had, he thought, but not without losing the power behind it.
“You’re going to have to learn to focus your energy into your attacks,” Owlwhisker mewed.
Lionpaw stared blankly at his mentor. Owlwhisker watched expectantly as Lionpaw struck at the ground.
“Now attack me again,” he ordered. Lionpaw obligingly swung a paw at him, but the warrior stepped aside. “Okay, okay. Stop trying to hit where I am. Hit instead at where you think I will be.”
Lionpaw thought he was a bit closer this time, but he still didn’t connect with Owlwhisker. “Maybe I should just keep hunting,” he suggested hopefully.
“Lionpaw, you would be formidable in battle if only you would pay attention,” his mentor sighed. “Try again.”
“I am trying,” Lionpaw protested. He reared onto his hind paws and flailed both forepaws at Owlwhisker. His mentor didn’t even try to dodge, and Lionpaw’s left paw came down on top of his head and dragged down his face.
“Fighting is like running,” Owlwhisker tried. “When you run, you need to feel all your energy going into the movement. You can’t expect to catch the rabbit if you’re running with your toes; you need your legs, your back, and your tail. When you fight, you can’t just flap your paws about. The motion needs to be carried through your legs.”
Lionpaw tried again, and Owlwhisker looked appeased. “That is the correct motion. Try it against me.”
Owlwhisker dodged again, but Lionpaw was sure he had been close. “Almost.” Lionpaw’s next hit brushed Owlwhisker’s flank.
“I got you!” he crowed, rising onto his hind paws and falling back onto all four.
“Pay attention, Lionpaw.”
Lionpaw snapped upright. “Yes!”
Owlwhisker’s amber gaze was slightly disparaging, and his politeness sounded strained as he meowed, “You’re making progress, but it is not enough to tap your opponent’s fur. In battle, you must connect repeatedly, and you must remain engaged in the fight until your opponent has been defeated.”
Lionpaw bared his teeth playfully. Owlwhisker ordered him to attack, and Lionpaw sprang at him.
This time Lionpaw managed to slap Owlwhisker twice. “Good job,” his mentor said, finally starting to look satisfied. “You’ll make a fine warrior if you keep improving at today’s rate.”
Lionpaw shifted his paws uncomfortably. I don’t want to fight.
Owlwhisker checked the sun. “We’re due for a patrol soon. Let’s head back to camp and meet up with the others.”
Whitetail was to lead Lionpaw, Gorsetail, and Owlwhisker on a border patrol on the RiverClan side while Antpaw performed camp duties. She returned to camp dragging a pair of rabbits shortly after Lionpaw and Owlwhisker had arrived, but before the patrol could set out, Onestar called a Clan meeting.
“Yet again we have an apprentice to name,” he announced from the Tallrock. “His ceremony is overdue, and it is not without its sorrow; he should have stood here with three others. But Breezekit has reached six moons of age, and he is ready to become Breezepaw. Whitetail, teach him the strength and loyalty he will need to serve his Clan.”
“Breezepaw! Breezepaw! Breezepaw!” chanted the cats in the camp.
Breezepaw was still sullen and cramped-looking, and Lionpaw thought he looked weaker even than the unusually small Jaypaw had on his first day of apprenticeship.
Whitetail led Breezepaw to the camp’s entrance, where Lionpaw, Owlwhisker, and Gorsetail waited. “It’s not every apprentice who gets to go on a real patrol on their first day,” the white warrior observed. Breezepaw just shrugged. He’s as grumpy as Jaypaw.
Whitetail pointed out the tallest hill near the camp. Breezepaw stared angrily at the top of the hill, narrowing his amber eyes against the sunlight, and then they were off. They passed returning Crowfeather and Mottlenose; the brown warrior dipped her head approvingly toward Breezepaw, who turned his nose from her.
“Hi, Breezepaw,” Lionpaw chirped.
“Hi,” the other apprentice said warily.
“I’m Lionpaw. Remember me?”
“Yeah.”
Lionpaw stopped walking, staring after Breezepaw. What’s his problem?
“Focus, Lionpaw,” Owlwhisker called, and Lionpaw hastened to catch up with the patrol.
“Being a moor-runner is fun. You get to hunt rabbits, and later on we get to explore the forest,” Lionpaw offered. Breezepaw glanced at him, then returned to staring at his own paws. “I’ve been learning to fight some. It’s pretty hard. But I bet you’ll be fast.”
“Lionpaw, don’t bother Breezepaw,” warned Owlwhisker.
“’S fine,” Breezepaw mumbled.
Lionpaw waved his tail. “The setting sun looks really cool from outside the camp. Just wait ’till you go on an evening patrol. The lake gets all red.”
“When we get closer to the border, we should all be quiet,” Owlwhisker said, a little more forcefully.
Lionpaw lapsed into silence, not sure what else there was to say to a cat who acted almost incapable of responding. Breezepaw certainly wasn’t a very talkative cat. Even Jaypaw usually at least complains.
The ShadowClan border was far away, and by the time they returned to camp, the sun had already set. “Guess you didn’t get to see the red lake today,” Lionpaw yawned. It was all he could think of. He let Breezepaw choose where in the camp he wanted to sleep. He didn’t notice Nightcloud’s suspicious glare.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
JAYPAW
Jaypaw headed down the long, winding tunnel once again. He had traveled this way so many times already that he hardly needed to smell the ground to find it, and once inside he could navigate the tunnel without hesitation.
The rabbit-scent closer to the warren was strong. Jaypaw picked up his pace, keeping his mouth open to drink in its scent.
There it was. He could hear it—see it? He thought he spotted a flash of movement, the hind paw of a creature he had never seen—and he sped up, charging down the tapering tunnel without disturbing its walls.
Jaypaw pounced, grabbing the rabbit’s shoulders and biting hard on its neck. It shrieked and tried to kick him, but before too long it fell limp in his jaws.
Proudly he dragged the rabbit up to the surface and back to the camp. Ashfoot gave an approving mrow as he set it on the freshkill pile, and Jaypaw was fairly certain the other murmur he heard was Crowfeather’s.
“Good catch, Jaypaw,” meowed Harepaw. “How’d you even manage that one? Tunnel hunting is hard.”
“Oh.” Jaypaw realized Harepaw had caught a scant few tunnel rabbits despite being older. “I guess it comes a little more naturally to me to not be able to see the prey.”
Harepaw’s teeth clicked together; the sharpness of the sound made Jaypaw flinch. “Sorry,” he squeaked.
Jaypaw sighed, but he knew Harepaw had not been thinking. “It’s fine.”
Breezepaw shouldered past; both Harepaw and Jaypaw hissed at him. “Well, don’t just sit by the freshkill,” the younger apprentice snapped. “I’m busy.”
“We’re not,” Jaypaw pointed out. “We can sit wherever we want.”
Breezepaw growled. “You’re not even fit to be a warrior. Leave me alone.”
Jaypaw bristled. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean, thunder?” Breezepaw sniffed disparagingly. “You’re useless. Get your head out from under your paws and do something useful, like get hit by a tree.” He stalked away, arching his back.
Whitetail padded after him, whispering an apology to the startled apprentices. “I’m sorry, Jaypaw, Harepaw. He needs to stop saying things like that, I know. He’ll learn eventually.”
“He’s a pain,” Harepaw muttered.
“Pain in the tail,” agreed Jaypaw. He always had been, even before he and his littermates had gotten sick.
“Is it weird being brothers but not brothers?” Harepaw asked.
Jaypaw shrugged. “Would you care?” He supposed there was something to say for family ties, but he had never felt any desire to speak to the angry black tom. And of course, today had not helped.
“Probably.” Harepaw yawned. “I was on the dawn patrol this morning. I swear Tornear sucked all the energy out of me. Just said my name and—whoosh. Gone.”
Ashfoot cleared her throat. “Maybe it’s time for training.”
“Well, bye,” muttered Jaypaw.
“Bye.” Harepaw yawned again and slumped down next to the freshkill pile.
From somewhere else in camp Jaypaw heard Kestrelpaw’s voice. “Wow, Jaypaw, you caught a cat.” The medicine apprentice bounded up to him and touched his nose to Jaypaw’s ear. “Fiercest hunter in all the Clans.”
Jaypaw jerked away. “I’m training,” he snapped, marching after Ashfoot.
Ashfoot mostly wanted for now to help Jaypaw learn basic defensive stances. It would be very difficult to teach him to fight, she warned, because most warriors relied mainly on their sense of sight, but she could teach him to defend a post, which would come in handy if their camp was ever attacked.
Jaypaw was not enthusiastic about her criticisms of his posture, but she seemed genuinely to be doing her best. She guided him with her paws and tail.
“You will also need to be able to defend against common attacking moves,” she added, gently demonstrating the moves that would come his way. He managed to block one that she said was a basic RiverClan offensive.
His dream that night was very strange indeed.
He was in a reddish stone canyon. He had the feeling it was far away and from long ago. The dusty floor was warm and scratchy against his pawpads, and he flexed them tentatively, reveling in the comfort the soft earth provided.
A voice caught his ear, and he crept closer. Peeping from behind a cluster of ferns he spotted a smallish dark gray cat conversing with a strikingly bright ginger tom.
The old gray cat slurred something about a prophecy, then rasped, “There will be three, kin of your kin, who hold the power of the stars in their paws.”
Jaypaw reacted much the same as the flame-colored cat. The power of the stars?
The sweet catmint scent of the calico she-cat from his previous dreams wafted over him. “Jaypaw, don’t you see?” she whispered.
He wrinkled his nose and spat, “I see right now.”
Her amber eyes shone with the air of a cat newly chosen to rule all. (that's bad) “Jaypaw, that cat is Firestar. Kin of your kin. Now wake up!”
Jaypaw headed down the long, winding tunnel once again. He had traveled this way so many times already that he hardly needed to smell the ground to find it, and once inside he could navigate the tunnel without hesitation.
The rabbit-scent closer to the warren was strong. Jaypaw picked up his pace, keeping his mouth open to drink in its scent.
There it was. He could hear it—see it? He thought he spotted a flash of movement, the hind paw of a creature he had never seen—and he sped up, charging down the tapering tunnel without disturbing its walls.
Jaypaw pounced, grabbing the rabbit’s shoulders and biting hard on its neck. It shrieked and tried to kick him, but before too long it fell limp in his jaws.
Proudly he dragged the rabbit up to the surface and back to the camp. Ashfoot gave an approving mrow as he set it on the freshkill pile, and Jaypaw was fairly certain the other murmur he heard was Crowfeather’s.
“Good catch, Jaypaw,” meowed Harepaw. “How’d you even manage that one? Tunnel hunting is hard.”
“Oh.” Jaypaw realized Harepaw had caught a scant few tunnel rabbits despite being older. “I guess it comes a little more naturally to me to not be able to see the prey.”
Harepaw’s teeth clicked together; the sharpness of the sound made Jaypaw flinch. “Sorry,” he squeaked.
Jaypaw sighed, but he knew Harepaw had not been thinking. “It’s fine.”
Breezepaw shouldered past; both Harepaw and Jaypaw hissed at him. “Well, don’t just sit by the freshkill,” the younger apprentice snapped. “I’m busy.”
“We’re not,” Jaypaw pointed out. “We can sit wherever we want.”
Breezepaw growled. “You’re not even fit to be a warrior. Leave me alone.”
Jaypaw bristled. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean, thunder?” Breezepaw sniffed disparagingly. “You’re useless. Get your head out from under your paws and do something useful, like get hit by a tree.” He stalked away, arching his back.
Whitetail padded after him, whispering an apology to the startled apprentices. “I’m sorry, Jaypaw, Harepaw. He needs to stop saying things like that, I know. He’ll learn eventually.”
“He’s a pain,” Harepaw muttered.
“Pain in the tail,” agreed Jaypaw. He always had been, even before he and his littermates had gotten sick.
“Is it weird being brothers but not brothers?” Harepaw asked.
Jaypaw shrugged. “Would you care?” He supposed there was something to say for family ties, but he had never felt any desire to speak to the angry black tom. And of course, today had not helped.
“Probably.” Harepaw yawned. “I was on the dawn patrol this morning. I swear Tornear sucked all the energy out of me. Just said my name and—whoosh. Gone.”
Ashfoot cleared her throat. “Maybe it’s time for training.”
“Well, bye,” muttered Jaypaw.
“Bye.” Harepaw yawned again and slumped down next to the freshkill pile.
From somewhere else in camp Jaypaw heard Kestrelpaw’s voice. “Wow, Jaypaw, you caught a cat.” The medicine apprentice bounded up to him and touched his nose to Jaypaw’s ear. “Fiercest hunter in all the Clans.”
Jaypaw jerked away. “I’m training,” he snapped, marching after Ashfoot.
Ashfoot mostly wanted for now to help Jaypaw learn basic defensive stances. It would be very difficult to teach him to fight, she warned, because most warriors relied mainly on their sense of sight, but she could teach him to defend a post, which would come in handy if their camp was ever attacked.
Jaypaw was not enthusiastic about her criticisms of his posture, but she seemed genuinely to be doing her best. She guided him with her paws and tail.
“You will also need to be able to defend against common attacking moves,” she added, gently demonstrating the moves that would come his way. He managed to block one that she said was a basic RiverClan offensive.
His dream that night was very strange indeed.
He was in a reddish stone canyon. He had the feeling it was far away and from long ago. The dusty floor was warm and scratchy against his pawpads, and he flexed them tentatively, reveling in the comfort the soft earth provided.
A voice caught his ear, and he crept closer. Peeping from behind a cluster of ferns he spotted a smallish dark gray cat conversing with a strikingly bright ginger tom.
The old gray cat slurred something about a prophecy, then rasped, “There will be three, kin of your kin, who hold the power of the stars in their paws.”
Jaypaw reacted much the same as the flame-colored cat. The power of the stars?
The sweet catmint scent of the calico she-cat from his previous dreams wafted over him. “Jaypaw, don’t you see?” she whispered.
He wrinkled his nose and spat, “I see right now.”
Her amber eyes shone with the air of a cat newly chosen to rule all. (that's bad) “Jaypaw, that cat is Firestar. Kin of your kin. Now wake up!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
LIONPAW
The hills closer to the RiverClan border smoothed out and sloped down toward the lake. Lionpaw’s paws ached a bit from walking, but the greenleaf air was warm on his pelt, and the thundering of horses somewhere in the distance was a strangely comforting roar.
“RiverClan scent,” Nightcloud reported, curling back her lips. “They’ve been on our territory.”
Lionpaw still disliked Nightcloud. She had gone to Whitetail the other day and demanded that Breezepaw not train with Lionpaw, Hollypaw, or Jaypaw, saying they bullied him. He had been pretty sure he and Breezepaw were friends, or at least close. Owlwhisker and Whitetail had said they could not train the apprentices apart that way, but Onestar had told Ashfoot to avoid putting Nightcloud’s son on patrols with Leafpool’s kits, just in case.
I bet Crowfeather would have let us train together, Lionpaw thought, irritated. Why did his father have to be so distant? He had looked proud enough, Lionpaw recalled; that was something, at least. But he had done no more than compliment a few pieces of prey since Leafpool’s kits’ initial ceremony.
Ashfoot pricked up her ears and climbed up the hill, body low. Jaypaw was back in camp tending to the elders. Lionpaw wished his brother were here, but then again he would probably just get snippy about the heat.
“Looks like a regular hunting patrol,” Ashfoot murmured. “We can take them.”
Peering from behind the WindClan deputy Lionpaw spotted four cats. A dark tom led the RiverClan patrol.
“Blackclaw, Voletooth, Beechfur, and an apprentice,” whispered Ashfoot. “Let’s go.” She hared down the hill toward them. The RiverClan cats heard the clattering of the grass, but they were much slower than the WindClan cats, and they stood their ground rather than fleeing.
Lionpaw threw himself at the smallish gray-and-white cat, trying to put his whole body into the motion. Her fur was startlingly soft. Concentrate! He grabbed for her neck; she was a bit thicker than he was, but he was a larger cat naturally.
She slammed him to the ground. She’s—stronger than me? Her foreleg pressed into his chest, and he realized she was trying to choke him. “Get off,” he sputtered, not sure what else there was to do.
Her other forepaw smacked his muzzle. “Silly WindClan.”
He twisted, rolling out from under her and gasping for air. She rammed into his side, and Lionpaw stumbled.
“Get out of here,” he hissed. She snorted and whacked him again. He staggered back. RiverClan cats were stronger than Ashfoot had implied. Lionpaw darted to her side and kicked. It worked—he felt his claws tangle her fur and rip at her skin, though they didn’t go very deep. He pulled his paw away as she tried to throw him down again.
“Voletooth is gonna kill that cat,” she taunted. Lionpaw snarled and headbutted her jaw. She squealed and dashed away a few paces, touching a paw to her mouth.
Part of Lionpaw wanted to apologize, but he barreled toward her anyway, crashing into her and knocking her down. He tore at her fur; it was thick and silky, difficult to penetrate, but he managed to draw blood.
The RiverClan apprentice was shrieking now. She writhed on the ground, lashing out at him with all four paws. He could feel her claws digging into his skin, ripping it apart, but he didn’t stop.
Until Ashfoot knocked him away. “We won, Lionpaw. Let her go.”
The RiverClan apprentice shakily got to her paws. Her amber eyes were huge, and she was rank with the scents of fear and blood. After a scared glance at Lionpaw she fled, small brown tabby ushering her back across the border with a glare at the WindClan patrol.
“A warrior does not kill unless it is necessary,” Owlwhisker said sternly. “You would do well not to lose yourself in battle.”
“Right,” Lionpaw panted. Now his wounds hurt and his ears rang. How much had he missed? All he remembered was the feel of her thick pelt on his toes, the dull buzz of her squeals barely registering in his consciousness, the heat of her blood in the blazing greenleaf sun.
“That was a well-fought battle,” Owlwhisker added. “You performed excellently.”
Lionpaw gasped his thanks, the pain of his cuts crashing over him. “I need Barkf—Barkface.”
“Owlwhisker, take him back to camp. Nightcloud and I will finish surveying the borders.” Ashfoot’s gray-blue eyes had lit with intrigue, but she simply watched coolly as Owlwhisker led his apprentice back toward the camp. Nightcloud appeared less than pleased, but Lionpaw didn’t have the strength left to care. The adrenaline had left him.
“I must admit, you have learned much about the fight,” Owlwhisker purred as he walked. “It’s almost going to be more important to teach you control.”
Lionpaw still didn’t like the idea of fighting. Couldn’t the Clans just stick to their own territories? He would fight a fox, he supposed, but it was very different fighting another cat. If I can be Breezepaw’s friend, I could have been that cat’s friend, too. He swallowed as the realization hit him. And if I’d been a RiverClan cat, I might have tried to kill Breezepaw instead.
Kestrelpaw’s bright blue eyes clouded as he caught sight of Lionpaw. “Uh, you need herbs,” he said.
Owlwhisker exhaled a bit louder than usual, but he just said, “I doubt any of Lionpaw’s wounds are severe; he was fighting an apprentice. He definitely needs cobwebs.”
Kestrelpaw returned shortly with cobwebs wrapped around one of his forepaws. He covered up Lionpaw’s deeper scratches with them. “They’ll heal soon.”
Lionpaw sniffed one of the cobwebs; dark red spots began to bead through it. He went to lick it, but Kestrelpaw shouted, “No! Don’t touch it.”
Lionpaw tentatively flexed his shoulder; the cobweb was itchy and uncomfortable. “What happens if I touch it?”
“Oh, it could fall off,” Kestrelpaw answered dismissively. “It won’t hurt you, but it’d be a waste of a good web.”
The medicine apprentice brightened as Jaypaw came into the camp, so Lionpaw shuffled over to the freshkill pile and picked up a chaffinch to share with the others. Lionpaw told them the details of the battle; Jaypaw glanced at Gorsetail as Beechfur’s name was mentioned. Kestrelpaw demonstrated his own rather inventive battle moves, all of which seemed to end with him flopping onto the ground.
Breezepaw turned down Lionpaw’s invitation to sit with them, and Jaypaw gave both of them a blankly judgmental stare.
“But don’t you wanna be friends?” Lionpaw pointed out.
Jaypaw sighed heavily and went back to eating, and Lionpaw thought again that if he had been an enemy apprentice he might have had to fight Jaypaw. But that will never happen. I’m a WindClan cat through and through.
The hills closer to the RiverClan border smoothed out and sloped down toward the lake. Lionpaw’s paws ached a bit from walking, but the greenleaf air was warm on his pelt, and the thundering of horses somewhere in the distance was a strangely comforting roar.
“RiverClan scent,” Nightcloud reported, curling back her lips. “They’ve been on our territory.”
Lionpaw still disliked Nightcloud. She had gone to Whitetail the other day and demanded that Breezepaw not train with Lionpaw, Hollypaw, or Jaypaw, saying they bullied him. He had been pretty sure he and Breezepaw were friends, or at least close. Owlwhisker and Whitetail had said they could not train the apprentices apart that way, but Onestar had told Ashfoot to avoid putting Nightcloud’s son on patrols with Leafpool’s kits, just in case.
I bet Crowfeather would have let us train together, Lionpaw thought, irritated. Why did his father have to be so distant? He had looked proud enough, Lionpaw recalled; that was something, at least. But he had done no more than compliment a few pieces of prey since Leafpool’s kits’ initial ceremony.
Ashfoot pricked up her ears and climbed up the hill, body low. Jaypaw was back in camp tending to the elders. Lionpaw wished his brother were here, but then again he would probably just get snippy about the heat.
“Looks like a regular hunting patrol,” Ashfoot murmured. “We can take them.”
Peering from behind the WindClan deputy Lionpaw spotted four cats. A dark tom led the RiverClan patrol.
“Blackclaw, Voletooth, Beechfur, and an apprentice,” whispered Ashfoot. “Let’s go.” She hared down the hill toward them. The RiverClan cats heard the clattering of the grass, but they were much slower than the WindClan cats, and they stood their ground rather than fleeing.
Lionpaw threw himself at the smallish gray-and-white cat, trying to put his whole body into the motion. Her fur was startlingly soft. Concentrate! He grabbed for her neck; she was a bit thicker than he was, but he was a larger cat naturally.
She slammed him to the ground. She’s—stronger than me? Her foreleg pressed into his chest, and he realized she was trying to choke him. “Get off,” he sputtered, not sure what else there was to do.
Her other forepaw smacked his muzzle. “Silly WindClan.”
He twisted, rolling out from under her and gasping for air. She rammed into his side, and Lionpaw stumbled.
“Get out of here,” he hissed. She snorted and whacked him again. He staggered back. RiverClan cats were stronger than Ashfoot had implied. Lionpaw darted to her side and kicked. It worked—he felt his claws tangle her fur and rip at her skin, though they didn’t go very deep. He pulled his paw away as she tried to throw him down again.
“Voletooth is gonna kill that cat,” she taunted. Lionpaw snarled and headbutted her jaw. She squealed and dashed away a few paces, touching a paw to her mouth.
Part of Lionpaw wanted to apologize, but he barreled toward her anyway, crashing into her and knocking her down. He tore at her fur; it was thick and silky, difficult to penetrate, but he managed to draw blood.
The RiverClan apprentice was shrieking now. She writhed on the ground, lashing out at him with all four paws. He could feel her claws digging into his skin, ripping it apart, but he didn’t stop.
Until Ashfoot knocked him away. “We won, Lionpaw. Let her go.”
The RiverClan apprentice shakily got to her paws. Her amber eyes were huge, and she was rank with the scents of fear and blood. After a scared glance at Lionpaw she fled, small brown tabby ushering her back across the border with a glare at the WindClan patrol.
“A warrior does not kill unless it is necessary,” Owlwhisker said sternly. “You would do well not to lose yourself in battle.”
“Right,” Lionpaw panted. Now his wounds hurt and his ears rang. How much had he missed? All he remembered was the feel of her thick pelt on his toes, the dull buzz of her squeals barely registering in his consciousness, the heat of her blood in the blazing greenleaf sun.
“That was a well-fought battle,” Owlwhisker added. “You performed excellently.”
Lionpaw gasped his thanks, the pain of his cuts crashing over him. “I need Barkf—Barkface.”
“Owlwhisker, take him back to camp. Nightcloud and I will finish surveying the borders.” Ashfoot’s gray-blue eyes had lit with intrigue, but she simply watched coolly as Owlwhisker led his apprentice back toward the camp. Nightcloud appeared less than pleased, but Lionpaw didn’t have the strength left to care. The adrenaline had left him.
“I must admit, you have learned much about the fight,” Owlwhisker purred as he walked. “It’s almost going to be more important to teach you control.”
Lionpaw still didn’t like the idea of fighting. Couldn’t the Clans just stick to their own territories? He would fight a fox, he supposed, but it was very different fighting another cat. If I can be Breezepaw’s friend, I could have been that cat’s friend, too. He swallowed as the realization hit him. And if I’d been a RiverClan cat, I might have tried to kill Breezepaw instead.
Kestrelpaw’s bright blue eyes clouded as he caught sight of Lionpaw. “Uh, you need herbs,” he said.
Owlwhisker exhaled a bit louder than usual, but he just said, “I doubt any of Lionpaw’s wounds are severe; he was fighting an apprentice. He definitely needs cobwebs.”
Kestrelpaw returned shortly with cobwebs wrapped around one of his forepaws. He covered up Lionpaw’s deeper scratches with them. “They’ll heal soon.”
Lionpaw sniffed one of the cobwebs; dark red spots began to bead through it. He went to lick it, but Kestrelpaw shouted, “No! Don’t touch it.”
Lionpaw tentatively flexed his shoulder; the cobweb was itchy and uncomfortable. “What happens if I touch it?”
“Oh, it could fall off,” Kestrelpaw answered dismissively. “It won’t hurt you, but it’d be a waste of a good web.”
The medicine apprentice brightened as Jaypaw came into the camp, so Lionpaw shuffled over to the freshkill pile and picked up a chaffinch to share with the others. Lionpaw told them the details of the battle; Jaypaw glanced at Gorsetail as Beechfur’s name was mentioned. Kestrelpaw demonstrated his own rather inventive battle moves, all of which seemed to end with him flopping onto the ground.
Breezepaw turned down Lionpaw’s invitation to sit with them, and Jaypaw gave both of them a blankly judgmental stare.
“But don’t you wanna be friends?” Lionpaw pointed out.
Jaypaw sighed heavily and went back to eating, and Lionpaw thought again that if he had been an enemy apprentice he might have had to fight Jaypaw. But that will never happen. I’m a WindClan cat through and through.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
HOLLYPAW
Hollypaw yawned, padding alongside her brothers on the way to the Island. This was her first Gathering; she had narrowly missed eligibility for the last one, becoming an apprentice only a few days afterward. The day’s earlier threatening dark clouds had passed, traveling away from the bright full moon. (I want to let you guys know I didn't keep track of the timeline when I wrote it and I'm not keeping track of it now)
The tree bridge onto the island had crumbling bark, once charred but now splintering away to reveal the trodden-down inner wood of the trunk. Hollypaw felt the pawprints of the cats who had come before her, imagining that they went back generations to ancient times, though she knew the Clans had traveled to the lake from somewhere else not too long before.
She tried to help Jaypaw across the log with her tail, but he bit the tip and evaded her, nearly falling off the other side but managing to stay atop it. Hollypaw scampered into the clearing. Blackstar and Leopardstar already sat in the branches of the giant oak tree, and Onestar joined them swiftly.
The RiverClan and ShadowClan leaders both shot him dirty looks that Hollypaw didn’t understand and continued a hushed conversation. Kestrelpaw called for Jaypaw to follow him to speak with the other medicine cats; Hollypaw spotted another cat their age sitting with the golden cat she knew must be Mothwing, so she followed Jaypaw and Kestrelpaw through the crowd.
The dark gray tabby apprentice greeted Kestrelpaw, then looked curiously at Hollypaw and Jaypaw. “Is that the cat you were talking about?” she mewed.
“Yeah, that’s Jaypaw.” Kestrelpaw put his tail on Jaypaw’s shoulder. “He’s cool.” He turned to the other WindClan apprentices. “This is Willowpaw.”
Willowpaw flicked her tail. “And who’s that?”
“Hollypaw.” Hollypaw dipped her head.
Mothwing was peering at Leafpool’s kits thoughtfully, but she said nothing; her amber eyes had a faraway look to them. Jaypaw seemed to have noticed this somehow; the same look reflected in his face. Hollypaw decided not to question her brother—he would probably be angry. Instead she sat down next to Willowpaw.
“I’m learning about herbs, too,” she bragged. “I’m going to be a warrior, but Barkface is teaching me about the medicine on the side.”
Willowpaw grinned. “I’m learning to be a medicine cat, but Mothwing is teaching me to fight, too.”
Hollypaw felt a bit less special now; stung, she said, “Well, I have to hunt and fight. But what is it like in RiverClan?”
“Mothwing used to be a warrior,” Willowpaw explained. “I don’t fish much, but she’s teaching me how anyway. We have lots of fish, and the Twolegs don’t bother us. The scariest thing that ever happened to me was poison.”
“You got poisoned?” Hollypaw gasped.
Willowpaw shook her head. “Not me. Mostly some kits and Beechfur. But it was pretty scary, and that’s why I wanted to be a medicine cat.”
Hollypaw thought of Breezepaw’s sickness and mewed, “Why did your Clan hunt on our land?”
“WindClan has more land than ShadowClan or us,” Willowpaw pointed out. “Hawkfrost—he’s our deputy; he just became deputy this moon—says that isn’t fair, especially since WindClan only got that land by chasing someone away. Uh, ThunderClan, I think he said?”
Mothwing’s fur fluffed out, and she hissed, “Don’t let anyone hear you.” Hollypaw was fairly certain she knew which deputy was Hawkfrost; he was much darker and scarier than the rust-colored Russetfur, and Mothwing had given him a terrified glance.
“What are you talking about?” Hollypaw whispered.
“Didn’t you know?” Willowpaw mewed, eyes wide. “There were four Clans.”
Hollypaw looked at Barkface; his green eyes were narrowed, dark with shadows. He gazed up at the moon, a stony sorrow clouding his expression, and he didn’t respond to Hollypaw’s stare.
“We shouldn’t talk about that here,” Mothwing cautioned, tail thumping the ground.
“When should we?” the ShadowClan medicine cat—was his name Littleclaw?—rasped. “If not now, we cannot call ourselves worthy of StarClan’s guidance much longer.”
“What are you talking about?” Hollypaw pleaded. Jaypaw also fixed on Mothwing, tail straight out behind him, ignoring Kestrelpaw whispering in his ear.
“Were StarClan looking out for us, it never would have happened,” murmured Mothwing bleakly. “Onestar sought to show his independence by taking down a friend, and the consequences—he ended up destroying ThunderClan; they disappeared from the forest to escape his attacks. My own half-brother killed their leader, and ThunderClan was left without guidance. With no faith left in their own cats, they scattered. I hope that they are still alive somewhere.” (there are lots of history lessons in this story)
Hollypaw stared at Mothwing, then looked at Barkface again. The WindClan medicine cat eventually meowed in a tired, heavy voice, “She speaks the truth. We did not mean for such drastic measures to be taken. WindClan has spent every day since regretting our actions.”
The ShadowClan medicine cat growled softly. “Sorry catches no prey.”
“It is not my job as medicine cat to catch prey, Littlecloud,” Barkface replied evenly; “it is my job to heal the wounds suffered by cats fiercer than I.”
“A storm may be a storm, but that does not change the frequency with which it strikes down its offenders,” Littlecloud warned. (Littlecloud that makes no sense) “Maybe you did not mean for ThunderClan to fall, but every cat in WindClan’s ranks last leafbare played a paw.”
Leopardstar began speaking before Barkface had come up with a response. Her voice was as thin as she was, and she looked strained as she wavered, “RiverClan…is fishing well. Our streams are plentiful, and our warriors are strong. Mothwing has taken Willowpaw as her apprentice, and we also have Minnowpaw and Pebblepaw in training.”
“Willowpaw! Minnowpaw! Pebblepaw!” the gathered cats chanted. Willowpaw lifted her tail proudly.
Blackstar spoke next. “ShadowClan is hunting well. Owlpaw and Ivypaw have begun their apprenticeships, and Snowbird and Ratscar have become warriors.” Again the cats chanted; Hollypaw thought she might have picked out Snowbird in the crowd, but really it could have been any white cat. (apparently Ratscar is a lot older than I thought? oh well)
Onestar announced Hollypaw, Lionpaw, Jaypaw, Breezepaw, Heatherpaw, and Antpaw’s apprenticeships. Harepaw, Emberpaw, and Kestrelpaw had been mentioned at the last Gathering, she realized. Kestrelpaw shouted their names louder than the other cats, and Hollypaw saw Jaypaw flatten his ears at the volume of his voice.
At least that answered one question. Her Clanmates used thunder as an insult because the ThunderClan cats had fallen apart. They were seen as a lesser, weaker Clan.
Onestar was the first leader to lead his Clan out of the clearing. Hollypaw said goodbye to Willowpaw, who waved her tail happily, and followed Jaypaw and Kestrelpaw onto the tree bridge. Her first Gathering had been a success.
Hollypaw yawned, padding alongside her brothers on the way to the Island. This was her first Gathering; she had narrowly missed eligibility for the last one, becoming an apprentice only a few days afterward. The day’s earlier threatening dark clouds had passed, traveling away from the bright full moon. (I want to let you guys know I didn't keep track of the timeline when I wrote it and I'm not keeping track of it now)
The tree bridge onto the island had crumbling bark, once charred but now splintering away to reveal the trodden-down inner wood of the trunk. Hollypaw felt the pawprints of the cats who had come before her, imagining that they went back generations to ancient times, though she knew the Clans had traveled to the lake from somewhere else not too long before.
She tried to help Jaypaw across the log with her tail, but he bit the tip and evaded her, nearly falling off the other side but managing to stay atop it. Hollypaw scampered into the clearing. Blackstar and Leopardstar already sat in the branches of the giant oak tree, and Onestar joined them swiftly.
The RiverClan and ShadowClan leaders both shot him dirty looks that Hollypaw didn’t understand and continued a hushed conversation. Kestrelpaw called for Jaypaw to follow him to speak with the other medicine cats; Hollypaw spotted another cat their age sitting with the golden cat she knew must be Mothwing, so she followed Jaypaw and Kestrelpaw through the crowd.
The dark gray tabby apprentice greeted Kestrelpaw, then looked curiously at Hollypaw and Jaypaw. “Is that the cat you were talking about?” she mewed.
“Yeah, that’s Jaypaw.” Kestrelpaw put his tail on Jaypaw’s shoulder. “He’s cool.” He turned to the other WindClan apprentices. “This is Willowpaw.”
Willowpaw flicked her tail. “And who’s that?”
“Hollypaw.” Hollypaw dipped her head.
Mothwing was peering at Leafpool’s kits thoughtfully, but she said nothing; her amber eyes had a faraway look to them. Jaypaw seemed to have noticed this somehow; the same look reflected in his face. Hollypaw decided not to question her brother—he would probably be angry. Instead she sat down next to Willowpaw.
“I’m learning about herbs, too,” she bragged. “I’m going to be a warrior, but Barkface is teaching me about the medicine on the side.”
Willowpaw grinned. “I’m learning to be a medicine cat, but Mothwing is teaching me to fight, too.”
Hollypaw felt a bit less special now; stung, she said, “Well, I have to hunt and fight. But what is it like in RiverClan?”
“Mothwing used to be a warrior,” Willowpaw explained. “I don’t fish much, but she’s teaching me how anyway. We have lots of fish, and the Twolegs don’t bother us. The scariest thing that ever happened to me was poison.”
“You got poisoned?” Hollypaw gasped.
Willowpaw shook her head. “Not me. Mostly some kits and Beechfur. But it was pretty scary, and that’s why I wanted to be a medicine cat.”
Hollypaw thought of Breezepaw’s sickness and mewed, “Why did your Clan hunt on our land?”
“WindClan has more land than ShadowClan or us,” Willowpaw pointed out. “Hawkfrost—he’s our deputy; he just became deputy this moon—says that isn’t fair, especially since WindClan only got that land by chasing someone away. Uh, ThunderClan, I think he said?”
Mothwing’s fur fluffed out, and she hissed, “Don’t let anyone hear you.” Hollypaw was fairly certain she knew which deputy was Hawkfrost; he was much darker and scarier than the rust-colored Russetfur, and Mothwing had given him a terrified glance.
“What are you talking about?” Hollypaw whispered.
“Didn’t you know?” Willowpaw mewed, eyes wide. “There were four Clans.”
Hollypaw looked at Barkface; his green eyes were narrowed, dark with shadows. He gazed up at the moon, a stony sorrow clouding his expression, and he didn’t respond to Hollypaw’s stare.
“We shouldn’t talk about that here,” Mothwing cautioned, tail thumping the ground.
“When should we?” the ShadowClan medicine cat—was his name Littleclaw?—rasped. “If not now, we cannot call ourselves worthy of StarClan’s guidance much longer.”
“What are you talking about?” Hollypaw pleaded. Jaypaw also fixed on Mothwing, tail straight out behind him, ignoring Kestrelpaw whispering in his ear.
“Were StarClan looking out for us, it never would have happened,” murmured Mothwing bleakly. “Onestar sought to show his independence by taking down a friend, and the consequences—he ended up destroying ThunderClan; they disappeared from the forest to escape his attacks. My own half-brother killed their leader, and ThunderClan was left without guidance. With no faith left in their own cats, they scattered. I hope that they are still alive somewhere.” (there are lots of history lessons in this story)
Hollypaw stared at Mothwing, then looked at Barkface again. The WindClan medicine cat eventually meowed in a tired, heavy voice, “She speaks the truth. We did not mean for such drastic measures to be taken. WindClan has spent every day since regretting our actions.”
The ShadowClan medicine cat growled softly. “Sorry catches no prey.”
“It is not my job as medicine cat to catch prey, Littlecloud,” Barkface replied evenly; “it is my job to heal the wounds suffered by cats fiercer than I.”
“A storm may be a storm, but that does not change the frequency with which it strikes down its offenders,” Littlecloud warned. (Littlecloud that makes no sense) “Maybe you did not mean for ThunderClan to fall, but every cat in WindClan’s ranks last leafbare played a paw.”
Leopardstar began speaking before Barkface had come up with a response. Her voice was as thin as she was, and she looked strained as she wavered, “RiverClan…is fishing well. Our streams are plentiful, and our warriors are strong. Mothwing has taken Willowpaw as her apprentice, and we also have Minnowpaw and Pebblepaw in training.”
“Willowpaw! Minnowpaw! Pebblepaw!” the gathered cats chanted. Willowpaw lifted her tail proudly.
Blackstar spoke next. “ShadowClan is hunting well. Owlpaw and Ivypaw have begun their apprenticeships, and Snowbird and Ratscar have become warriors.” Again the cats chanted; Hollypaw thought she might have picked out Snowbird in the crowd, but really it could have been any white cat. (apparently Ratscar is a lot older than I thought? oh well)
Onestar announced Hollypaw, Lionpaw, Jaypaw, Breezepaw, Heatherpaw, and Antpaw’s apprenticeships. Harepaw, Emberpaw, and Kestrelpaw had been mentioned at the last Gathering, she realized. Kestrelpaw shouted their names louder than the other cats, and Hollypaw saw Jaypaw flatten his ears at the volume of his voice.
At least that answered one question. Her Clanmates used thunder as an insult because the ThunderClan cats had fallen apart. They were seen as a lesser, weaker Clan.
Onestar was the first leader to lead his Clan out of the clearing. Hollypaw said goodbye to Willowpaw, who waved her tail happily, and followed Jaypaw and Kestrelpaw onto the tree bridge. Her first Gathering had been a success.
CHAPTER THIRTY
JAYPAW
Jaypaw fell asleep with the medicine cats’ words still weighing heavily on his mind. A fourth Clan that we killed.
He could see now—definitely asleep—but not well. Everything around him was dark; a dull, cold, gray light emanated from somewhere near his paws, but when he searched for the source he could not find one.
Dry bracken brushed his pelt and hung before his eyes; ducking away he found that the bushes around him were not the usual starry, soft-leaved shrubs but instead painfully thorny thickets. There was a shadow—how could any cat cast a shadow in such low light?
Slinking after the shadow, Jaypaw nearly cried out as thorns dug into his pelt. He pulled away, wispy tufts of gray fur sticking to the barbed brambles. Mouse dung, he thought angrily.
The other cat was no longer in sight, but putting his nose to the ground Jaypaw picked up a scent trail. It smelled like a RiverClan cat.
But there was another cat there. Before he could get close enough to see the RiverClan cat, a scrawny, slime-slicked silver tabby barred his path. The tabby had thick, bold black stripes, and his pelt dripped with what appeared to be filthy black water. “WindClan,” the tabby wheezed, revealing yellow teeth and a missing canine. His breath was rancid; Jaypaw backed away.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“You are looking for someone,” the tabby breathed. “Do you seek the past and those who would help you set it right?”
“Yes,” Jaypaw said warily. “Go away.”
The tabby laughed. Jaypaw winced. The silver-and-black tom’s voice crackled; he sounded parched, and the same disgusting blackish stuff leaked from the corner of his mouth. “I can take you to him.”
“Go away, Darkstripe,” commanded a familiar voice. The herb-scented tortoiseshell and white queen padded authoritatively toward the two cats, and Darkstripe drew back, grimacing.
“You do not belong here, Spottedleaf,” Darkstripe croaked. “This is Tigerstar’s land.”
“Tigerstar tried to kill my Clan,” Jaypaw burst. “He isn’t going to help me!”
“Come with me,” Darkstripe whispered, a hungry gleam in his dead golden eyes. “I can teach you of greatness.”
Spottedleaf stepped protectively in front of Jaypaw. “Leave him alone,” she snarled. “He is not yours.”
“Nor is he yours.” Darkstripe crouched down and stared at Jaypaw through Spottedleaf’s legs. “Jaypaw, your destiny lies with us.”
“You’re trying to kill me,” Jaypaw snapped.
The cold light in Darkstripe’s eyes faded. “So be it.”
Spottedleaf dropped into position to pounce. “Darkstripe, leave,” she snarled forcefully.
No fear-scent hit Jaypaw’s tongue, but the skinny tabby turned and zigzagged into the spiny underbrush.
“Follow me,” Spottedleaf ordered Jaypaw. She led him stiffly through the forest. The light cascading from her starry pelt only made the rest of the woods darker in comparison, and Jaypaw was unsure whether some of the shadows he saw were actually cats, lurking and watching.
After several minutes he found himself in Spottedleaf’s glittering hunting grounds. “Jaypaw, you must never return to the Place of No Stars,” she told him seriously.
“I wasn’t planning to,” he muttered.
She looked almost angry now. “Jaypaw, listen to me. You must be sure to never, ever go back. Take heed, Jaypaw. This is the world you need to remember.”
“I told you, I’m not going to,” he snapped.
Her amber gaze was hard. “It takes more than words to avoid that place. Promise me you will do everything in your power to stay out. Your paws must never touch that shadowy soil.”
Jaypaw lashed his tail. “I didn’t even mean to go there once. I was going to fight Darkstripe.”
She shook her head. “Maybe one day you will need to fight him. But that day is not today. All of the Clans would suffer a great loss if you were to go down now in that dark forest.”
“Like ThunderClan?” he said accusingly.
But Spottedleaf’s gaze was sad, not stung, by his words. “Yes. ThunderClan especially,” she murmured. “Your destiny and that of ThunderClan are entwined, Jaypaw. Sharp eyes, sharp mind, sharp wit.”
Now Jaypaw was confused. “How can I have anything to do with ThunderClan?”
She sighed. “That is something you must find for yourself.” (no Spottedleaf that's not a good way to be) She padded away, not signaling for him to follow her. Jaypaw watched her go, wishing some cat would start talking sense soon.
Jaypaw fell asleep with the medicine cats’ words still weighing heavily on his mind. A fourth Clan that we killed.
He could see now—definitely asleep—but not well. Everything around him was dark; a dull, cold, gray light emanated from somewhere near his paws, but when he searched for the source he could not find one.
Dry bracken brushed his pelt and hung before his eyes; ducking away he found that the bushes around him were not the usual starry, soft-leaved shrubs but instead painfully thorny thickets. There was a shadow—how could any cat cast a shadow in such low light?
Slinking after the shadow, Jaypaw nearly cried out as thorns dug into his pelt. He pulled away, wispy tufts of gray fur sticking to the barbed brambles. Mouse dung, he thought angrily.
The other cat was no longer in sight, but putting his nose to the ground Jaypaw picked up a scent trail. It smelled like a RiverClan cat.
But there was another cat there. Before he could get close enough to see the RiverClan cat, a scrawny, slime-slicked silver tabby barred his path. The tabby had thick, bold black stripes, and his pelt dripped with what appeared to be filthy black water. “WindClan,” the tabby wheezed, revealing yellow teeth and a missing canine. His breath was rancid; Jaypaw backed away.
“What do you want?” he growled.
“You are looking for someone,” the tabby breathed. “Do you seek the past and those who would help you set it right?”
“Yes,” Jaypaw said warily. “Go away.”
The tabby laughed. Jaypaw winced. The silver-and-black tom’s voice crackled; he sounded parched, and the same disgusting blackish stuff leaked from the corner of his mouth. “I can take you to him.”
“Go away, Darkstripe,” commanded a familiar voice. The herb-scented tortoiseshell and white queen padded authoritatively toward the two cats, and Darkstripe drew back, grimacing.
“You do not belong here, Spottedleaf,” Darkstripe croaked. “This is Tigerstar’s land.”
“Tigerstar tried to kill my Clan,” Jaypaw burst. “He isn’t going to help me!”
“Come with me,” Darkstripe whispered, a hungry gleam in his dead golden eyes. “I can teach you of greatness.”
Spottedleaf stepped protectively in front of Jaypaw. “Leave him alone,” she snarled. “He is not yours.”
“Nor is he yours.” Darkstripe crouched down and stared at Jaypaw through Spottedleaf’s legs. “Jaypaw, your destiny lies with us.”
“You’re trying to kill me,” Jaypaw snapped.
The cold light in Darkstripe’s eyes faded. “So be it.”
Spottedleaf dropped into position to pounce. “Darkstripe, leave,” she snarled forcefully.
No fear-scent hit Jaypaw’s tongue, but the skinny tabby turned and zigzagged into the spiny underbrush.
“Follow me,” Spottedleaf ordered Jaypaw. She led him stiffly through the forest. The light cascading from her starry pelt only made the rest of the woods darker in comparison, and Jaypaw was unsure whether some of the shadows he saw were actually cats, lurking and watching.
After several minutes he found himself in Spottedleaf’s glittering hunting grounds. “Jaypaw, you must never return to the Place of No Stars,” she told him seriously.
“I wasn’t planning to,” he muttered.
She looked almost angry now. “Jaypaw, listen to me. You must be sure to never, ever go back. Take heed, Jaypaw. This is the world you need to remember.”
“I told you, I’m not going to,” he snapped.
Her amber gaze was hard. “It takes more than words to avoid that place. Promise me you will do everything in your power to stay out. Your paws must never touch that shadowy soil.”
Jaypaw lashed his tail. “I didn’t even mean to go there once. I was going to fight Darkstripe.”
She shook her head. “Maybe one day you will need to fight him. But that day is not today. All of the Clans would suffer a great loss if you were to go down now in that dark forest.”
“Like ThunderClan?” he said accusingly.
But Spottedleaf’s gaze was sad, not stung, by his words. “Yes. ThunderClan especially,” she murmured. “Your destiny and that of ThunderClan are entwined, Jaypaw. Sharp eyes, sharp mind, sharp wit.”
Now Jaypaw was confused. “How can I have anything to do with ThunderClan?”
She sighed. “That is something you must find for yourself.” (no Spottedleaf that's not a good way to be) She padded away, not signaling for him to follow her. Jaypaw watched her go, wishing some cat would start talking sense soon.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
HOLLYPAW
A whole moon had passed since the last Gathering, and Hollypaw had again been chosen. Ashfoot had told Onestar she wanted Jaypaw to stay behind for his attitude, and Lionpaw had taken charge of Breezepaw, leading him off to sit with Ivypaw and Owlpaw, whom he had apparently met last time.
“No Jaypaw, huh,” Willowpaw greeted Kestrelpaw. “Hey, Hollypaw.”
Hollypaw had done her best to put the talk of ThunderClan out of her mind. Most of the warriors had been avoiding her questions or saying as Barkface had that it was an accident, but Leafpool had outright refused to carry on a conversation after Hollypaw had said the word. (come on Leafpool incite your power kits to rebellion you know you want to)
She supposed it had something to do with the cats who called her thunder, so that was one mystery solved, at least. But this time even Mothwing and Littlecloud did not want to talk about it.
“Come on, Hollypaw, you’re just making everyone sad,” Willowpaw moaned.
“I don’t think anyone is really sure,” Kestrelpaw added. Just because you weren’t alive doesn’t mean the older cats weren’t, she wanted to snap, but she decided to drop it. There was no sense in ruining her friendship with the medicine cats.
The leaders went through the usual motions of announcing ranks, though little had happened in the past moon that warranted mention. RiverClan swam well, ShadowClan hunted well, WindClan ran well…
“I have an omen to share as well,” Blackstar said after all three leaders had shared their news. “Littlecloud picked up a bird from the freshkill pile. It had been caught that day by one of our warriors. But when he went to eat it—he found its belly crawling with maggots.” He narrowed his amber eyes at Onestar. “I believe this to be a sign of a rotten cat within the Clans. So quickly things go bad.”
But Onestar just shook his head. “Clan tensions have been rising for some time, but there is no need for such hostility,” he meowed. “We are teaching the younger generation that hatred is more important than peace. We are teaching them that it is more important to repay grievances than to make up for them.”
(okay, so Onestar sucking up to the other leaders makes sense, but also I wish I had written this differently--or left it out entirely, because it doesn't add that much, just some characterization, which I could have gotten in better ways…)
Leopardstar and Blackstar both gave him untrusting looks. “What are you saying, then?” the white tom growled.
“It is time to relieve some of the pressure our complaints have brought onto us. WindClan has many apprentices, and it has come to my attention that even among our own cats, animosities have grown.”
He paused, and after waiting for a continuation, Blackstar growled, “And?”
“I have spoken to some of my senior warriors. WindClan is to host a competition in which our apprentices complete various challenges,” Onestar answered proudly. “It would be an honor to be joined by Shadow and River.”
Blackstar and Leopardstar looked at each other, obviously pondering his suggestion. Eventually Blackstar meowed, “When and where?”
“Three days from now, near the Moonpool’s stream, when the moon has waned from its fullest circle but has not yet shrunk too far. All three Clans will join under truce, and our apprentices will compete.”
“And you expect us to agree to this?” Hawkfrost exclaimed, planting his paws and rising. “RiverClan is far stronger than you believe us to be!”
Onestar narrowed his eyes. “I will not demand participation,” he mewed calmly. “I only thought it might inspire a sense of peace and cooperation among us.”
“ShadowClan will attend,” Blackstar said. “WindClan’s apprentices will see what ShadowClan is truly made of.”
“RiverClan will participate as well,” Leopardstar squeaked out. Hawkfrost looked murderous, rage burning in his icy blue eyes, but he did not speak.
Back at camp Jaypaw waited in the clearing. Lionpaw and Kestrelpaw bounded to him; Breezepaw hesitated, turned, and sulked away, unleashing a quiet, huffy string of what she assumed were obscenities. Hollypaw twitched her whiskers; the bossy furball still hadn’t learned to deal with Jaypaw’s sass or Kestrelpaw’s enthusiasm. She wasn’t sure what Lionpaw saw in him.
Heatherpaw playfully headbutted Breezepaw, who rolled onto his side with a huff and curled up to sleep. How does he stand this heat? Maybe his shorter, thinner fur made him colder.
Hollypaw headed for her usual sleeping spot; Jaypaw and Heatherpaw joined her soon. Lionpaw said he had to go to the dirtplace; she had the feeling he was making excuses and would be gone for a while. Harepaw and Kestrelpaw stretched out near Jaypaw; Hollypaw saw the warriors choosing their nests as well.
Some moss would be nice, she thought, remembering her time in the nursery.
“Hey, what’re you gonna do in the competition?” Harepaw asked.
“I don’t know what competitions there are,” she reminded him.
“Well, me neither, but I figure there’s gotta be jumping, running, and climbing.”
“Running, I guess.” She shuddered, remembering Weaselfur’s terrible running training. At least it had made her quick.
“That’s cool. I hope there’s a digging part. That’s my best skill. Or hunting—though if we do it underground Jaypaw’ll take first.”
“They won’t make us hunt underground,” Jaypaw grumbled. “ShadowClan and RiverClan don’t do that; it would kill them.”
“Guess that’s too much to hope for,” Harepaw chuckled. “No, no, I know,” he added as Heatherpaw glared reproachfully at him.
Hollypaw drifted into sleep before Lionpaw had returned.
A whole moon had passed since the last Gathering, and Hollypaw had again been chosen. Ashfoot had told Onestar she wanted Jaypaw to stay behind for his attitude, and Lionpaw had taken charge of Breezepaw, leading him off to sit with Ivypaw and Owlpaw, whom he had apparently met last time.
“No Jaypaw, huh,” Willowpaw greeted Kestrelpaw. “Hey, Hollypaw.”
Hollypaw had done her best to put the talk of ThunderClan out of her mind. Most of the warriors had been avoiding her questions or saying as Barkface had that it was an accident, but Leafpool had outright refused to carry on a conversation after Hollypaw had said the word. (come on Leafpool incite your power kits to rebellion you know you want to)
She supposed it had something to do with the cats who called her thunder, so that was one mystery solved, at least. But this time even Mothwing and Littlecloud did not want to talk about it.
“Come on, Hollypaw, you’re just making everyone sad,” Willowpaw moaned.
“I don’t think anyone is really sure,” Kestrelpaw added. Just because you weren’t alive doesn’t mean the older cats weren’t, she wanted to snap, but she decided to drop it. There was no sense in ruining her friendship with the medicine cats.
The leaders went through the usual motions of announcing ranks, though little had happened in the past moon that warranted mention. RiverClan swam well, ShadowClan hunted well, WindClan ran well…
“I have an omen to share as well,” Blackstar said after all three leaders had shared their news. “Littlecloud picked up a bird from the freshkill pile. It had been caught that day by one of our warriors. But when he went to eat it—he found its belly crawling with maggots.” He narrowed his amber eyes at Onestar. “I believe this to be a sign of a rotten cat within the Clans. So quickly things go bad.”
But Onestar just shook his head. “Clan tensions have been rising for some time, but there is no need for such hostility,” he meowed. “We are teaching the younger generation that hatred is more important than peace. We are teaching them that it is more important to repay grievances than to make up for them.”
(okay, so Onestar sucking up to the other leaders makes sense, but also I wish I had written this differently--or left it out entirely, because it doesn't add that much, just some characterization, which I could have gotten in better ways…)
Leopardstar and Blackstar both gave him untrusting looks. “What are you saying, then?” the white tom growled.
“It is time to relieve some of the pressure our complaints have brought onto us. WindClan has many apprentices, and it has come to my attention that even among our own cats, animosities have grown.”
He paused, and after waiting for a continuation, Blackstar growled, “And?”
“I have spoken to some of my senior warriors. WindClan is to host a competition in which our apprentices complete various challenges,” Onestar answered proudly. “It would be an honor to be joined by Shadow and River.”
Blackstar and Leopardstar looked at each other, obviously pondering his suggestion. Eventually Blackstar meowed, “When and where?”
“Three days from now, near the Moonpool’s stream, when the moon has waned from its fullest circle but has not yet shrunk too far. All three Clans will join under truce, and our apprentices will compete.”
“And you expect us to agree to this?” Hawkfrost exclaimed, planting his paws and rising. “RiverClan is far stronger than you believe us to be!”
Onestar narrowed his eyes. “I will not demand participation,” he mewed calmly. “I only thought it might inspire a sense of peace and cooperation among us.”
“ShadowClan will attend,” Blackstar said. “WindClan’s apprentices will see what ShadowClan is truly made of.”
“RiverClan will participate as well,” Leopardstar squeaked out. Hawkfrost looked murderous, rage burning in his icy blue eyes, but he did not speak.
Back at camp Jaypaw waited in the clearing. Lionpaw and Kestrelpaw bounded to him; Breezepaw hesitated, turned, and sulked away, unleashing a quiet, huffy string of what she assumed were obscenities. Hollypaw twitched her whiskers; the bossy furball still hadn’t learned to deal with Jaypaw’s sass or Kestrelpaw’s enthusiasm. She wasn’t sure what Lionpaw saw in him.
Heatherpaw playfully headbutted Breezepaw, who rolled onto his side with a huff and curled up to sleep. How does he stand this heat? Maybe his shorter, thinner fur made him colder.
Hollypaw headed for her usual sleeping spot; Jaypaw and Heatherpaw joined her soon. Lionpaw said he had to go to the dirtplace; she had the feeling he was making excuses and would be gone for a while. Harepaw and Kestrelpaw stretched out near Jaypaw; Hollypaw saw the warriors choosing their nests as well.
Some moss would be nice, she thought, remembering her time in the nursery.
“Hey, what’re you gonna do in the competition?” Harepaw asked.
“I don’t know what competitions there are,” she reminded him.
“Well, me neither, but I figure there’s gotta be jumping, running, and climbing.”
“Running, I guess.” She shuddered, remembering Weaselfur’s terrible running training. At least it had made her quick.
“That’s cool. I hope there’s a digging part. That’s my best skill. Or hunting—though if we do it underground Jaypaw’ll take first.”
“They won’t make us hunt underground,” Jaypaw grumbled. “ShadowClan and RiverClan don’t do that; it would kill them.”
“Guess that’s too much to hope for,” Harepaw chuckled. “No, no, I know,” he added as Heatherpaw glared reproachfully at him.
Hollypaw drifted into sleep before Lionpaw had returned.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
LIONPAW
“The first competition will be speed,” Ashfoot meowed. Lionpaw’s pelt pricked. Speed? One of Owlwhisker’s only lasting complaints was that Lionpaw simply could not run as quickly as other WindClan cats. Weaselfur had taught Hollypaw how to run until she had worn her paws to nubs, and Jaypaw had never needed to run too quickly, but Owlwhisker simply looked exasperated every time Lionpaw let a speedy rabbit slip away.
“The race will be from this bush into the lake,” said Russetfur, the aging ShadowClan deputy. “Be sure not to get turned around.”
The leaders had chosen a place near the Moonpool’s stream to hold the race, and Lionpaw thought it was probably because there was sparse underbrush, with a few trees littered here and there; it was not the thick pine forest of ShadowClan or the rolling hills of WindClan, and the ground was not as mushy as he guessed RiverClan’s must be. They would be on equal ground.
“Each Clan is encouraged to enter two apprentices per event,” Ashfoot continued. “Apprentices can volunteer, and deputies will work out who gets to participate. Everyone who wants to compete will be allowed to participate in at least one challenge.”
Hawkfrost sniffed. Lionpaw felt something within his chest twitch at the looks of the hulking dark tom. He did not like Hawkfrost’s icy eyes or his hooked claws or his thick tail or his powerful paws—
“Are you okay?” Heatherpaw mewed, wobbling on her hind paws to wave her forepaws in front of him. “You look like you’ve seen a badger.”
“I am a badger!” Lionpaw crowed, crouching to pounce. The many eyes turned on his pelt told him this was not appropriate behavior, and he sat down, nosing the fur on his shoulder flat.
Breezepaw, Heatherpaw, and Hollypaw were chosen for WindClan, Whitepaw and Snakepaw for ShadowClan, and Dapplepaw and Pebblepaw for RiverClan. As they began running, Lionpaw suddenly realized he wouldn’t be able to watch the race—the only way to see the apprentices cross the finish line would be to beat them there, and he couldn’t do that. Six warriors had been sent to watch the lakeshore for the first apprentice to splash into the water. Disappointed, he glanced at Harepaw, who was whispering something to Jaypaw.
“Go, Hollypaw, Heatherpaw, and Breezepaw,” Lionpaw called after them. Hollypaw gave him a nervous, grateful grin; Breezepaw might have flicked his tail—Lionpaw chose to believe he did. Heatherpaw, first to the starting line, had not heard, but he thought it was a good thing he had included her anyway.
“The strength competition will be next. In it, apprentices will fight with claws sheathed to pin down their opponent.”
Hawkfrost growled. “We don’t have the right number of cats for that.”
“I wonder whose fault that is,” Russetfur mused with a pointed stare at Ashfoot.
“Each Clan is allowed to provide more than two apprentices for a challenge,” Ashfoot countered, angrier than Lionpaw had seen her for a long time. She was apparently taking great effort to keep her fur flat. Russetfur’s gaze did not falter, and Ashfoot added in a hushed but furious tone, “I also seem to recall living under a Thunderpath far from home with a pair of starving kits. You cannot think this was our will, and I will not have talk of this today—there is a truce, Russetfur, and I do not expect Blackstar will want to break it, not with both other Clans present.”
Lionpaw was actually slightly impressed at Ashfoot’s threat. It wasn’t particularly well worded, but Russetfur stepped down, shaking her head but saying no more.
“If they are to fight, let them fight,” Hawkfrost snapped. “RiverClan does not have all day. There are many mouths to feed back at camp.”
Lionpaw volunteered first, Harepaw behind him. Ivypaw of ShadowClan was next, and Lionpaw tried to size her up. She looked…slippery, maybe? Or was she just very sturdy? He wasn’t sure. The other two ShadowClan apprentices, Kinkpaw and Owlpaw, stepped forward as well, and Minnowpaw and Pouncepaw of RiverClan.
“Is there any other apprentice who wishes to take part in this competition?” Ashfoot called.
“Bet you could do it,” Kestrelpaw said, tail wrapped around Jaypaw’s back. “You’re a tough fighter.”
Jaypaw sighed. “Kestrelpaw, I’m blind. I can’t fight.”
“You’re pretty strong, though. You’ve gotta admit.”
Jaypaw furrowed his brow and pushed his whiskers forward. “This isn’t my round of competition,” he muttered quietly.
“Well, I’ll do it,” Willowpaw offered.
“You’re a medicine cat,” Hawkfrost snarled. “Get back to Mothwing and do as you’re told.”
She sniffed. “Mothwing says I can do this if I want. I know some moves.”
She’s going to get crushed, Lionpaw thought, but he wasn’t too concerned: with no claws in the tournament, she was in no real danger, and she would serve only to provide someone else with an easy win.
Hawkfrost was thunderous, but Russetfur laid her tail across his chest. “Let her compete. Any apprentice who wishes to compete may do so for at least one challenge.”
Hawkfrost didn’t answer, but he didn’t order Willowpaw away again. Ashfoot called them off to a wide, flat area and said this was where they were to battle.
Lionpaw defeated Ivypaw easily; she was not particularly slippery or sturdy, though she did apparently have a lot of energy. She was still small, and though he supposed if she had been using her claws it would have hurt a lot, all she had done was beat her tiny paws against his fur a bunch.
Kinkpaw had beaten Pouncepaw; Lionpaw briefly wondered if her fur was really as dirty as it looked, thinking he would hate to have to be her sparring partner, then admonished himself for having the thought. If I had long fur like her, it’d be that messy, too. Minnowpaw—oh, no, not her—had handily defeated Owlpaw, and somehow Willowpaw had beaten Harepaw.
“What happened?” Lionpaw asked incredulously.
“She’s strong. And I think by ‘some moves’ she means ‘everything.’” Harepaw swished his tail with a sigh. “Good thing Kestrelpaw wasn’t here to see that—she kept getting away, couldn’t keep her down.”
The lakeshore warriors returned now with the results of the race; Eaglestep, Crowfeather’s brother, announced that Breezepaw had won, with Snakepaw finishing second and Heatherpaw third. Hollypaw had been slowed considerably by the introduction of underbrush to her usually empty running field; poor Whitepaw had twisted her paw in a molehill, but she looked only sheepish, not injured.
Lionpaw was set to battle Willowpaw now, and he was slightly relieved: now he would avoid either touching Kinkpaw or facing down Minnowpaw again, although if—no, when—he beat this medicine cat he would still have to battle one.
Harepaw was right, Willowpaw was hard to pin down. She had soft, sleek fur that his pawpads couldn’t grasp, and she was a well-fed cat who had clearly practiced this many times before. But eventually Lionpaw managed to trap her, and she could not escape.
“Good job,” said Harepaw after Ashfoot had congratulated him. Lionpaw chanced a glance at Hawkfrost, whose eyes appeared to be burning a hole in something somewhere off to the side.
“Thanks.”
Minnowpaw had already pinned her opponent to the ground, so it was time to continue the tournament. Lionpaw clutched and released the earth under his paws, preparing to face her again. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill you before.
Her amber eyes were uneasy, and Lionpaw knew she was thinking of their last battle, too. But she stood staring him defiantly down. He lashed his tail.
Russetfur gave the signal, and Lionpaw and Minnowpaw pounced. Without his claws she was even harder to trap than she had been before, and he silently cursed RiverClan fur.
Lionpaw struck at her with his powerful hind feet—but he—missed? Minnowpaw was using a move he had never seen before, and suddenly he was lying on the ground under her paws.
“Minnowpaw wins,” Hawkfrost growled apathetically.
“The first competition will be speed,” Ashfoot meowed. Lionpaw’s pelt pricked. Speed? One of Owlwhisker’s only lasting complaints was that Lionpaw simply could not run as quickly as other WindClan cats. Weaselfur had taught Hollypaw how to run until she had worn her paws to nubs, and Jaypaw had never needed to run too quickly, but Owlwhisker simply looked exasperated every time Lionpaw let a speedy rabbit slip away.
“The race will be from this bush into the lake,” said Russetfur, the aging ShadowClan deputy. “Be sure not to get turned around.”
The leaders had chosen a place near the Moonpool’s stream to hold the race, and Lionpaw thought it was probably because there was sparse underbrush, with a few trees littered here and there; it was not the thick pine forest of ShadowClan or the rolling hills of WindClan, and the ground was not as mushy as he guessed RiverClan’s must be. They would be on equal ground.
“Each Clan is encouraged to enter two apprentices per event,” Ashfoot continued. “Apprentices can volunteer, and deputies will work out who gets to participate. Everyone who wants to compete will be allowed to participate in at least one challenge.”
Hawkfrost sniffed. Lionpaw felt something within his chest twitch at the looks of the hulking dark tom. He did not like Hawkfrost’s icy eyes or his hooked claws or his thick tail or his powerful paws—
“Are you okay?” Heatherpaw mewed, wobbling on her hind paws to wave her forepaws in front of him. “You look like you’ve seen a badger.”
“I am a badger!” Lionpaw crowed, crouching to pounce. The many eyes turned on his pelt told him this was not appropriate behavior, and he sat down, nosing the fur on his shoulder flat.
Breezepaw, Heatherpaw, and Hollypaw were chosen for WindClan, Whitepaw and Snakepaw for ShadowClan, and Dapplepaw and Pebblepaw for RiverClan. As they began running, Lionpaw suddenly realized he wouldn’t be able to watch the race—the only way to see the apprentices cross the finish line would be to beat them there, and he couldn’t do that. Six warriors had been sent to watch the lakeshore for the first apprentice to splash into the water. Disappointed, he glanced at Harepaw, who was whispering something to Jaypaw.
“Go, Hollypaw, Heatherpaw, and Breezepaw,” Lionpaw called after them. Hollypaw gave him a nervous, grateful grin; Breezepaw might have flicked his tail—Lionpaw chose to believe he did. Heatherpaw, first to the starting line, had not heard, but he thought it was a good thing he had included her anyway.
“The strength competition will be next. In it, apprentices will fight with claws sheathed to pin down their opponent.”
Hawkfrost growled. “We don’t have the right number of cats for that.”
“I wonder whose fault that is,” Russetfur mused with a pointed stare at Ashfoot.
“Each Clan is allowed to provide more than two apprentices for a challenge,” Ashfoot countered, angrier than Lionpaw had seen her for a long time. She was apparently taking great effort to keep her fur flat. Russetfur’s gaze did not falter, and Ashfoot added in a hushed but furious tone, “I also seem to recall living under a Thunderpath far from home with a pair of starving kits. You cannot think this was our will, and I will not have talk of this today—there is a truce, Russetfur, and I do not expect Blackstar will want to break it, not with both other Clans present.”
Lionpaw was actually slightly impressed at Ashfoot’s threat. It wasn’t particularly well worded, but Russetfur stepped down, shaking her head but saying no more.
“If they are to fight, let them fight,” Hawkfrost snapped. “RiverClan does not have all day. There are many mouths to feed back at camp.”
Lionpaw volunteered first, Harepaw behind him. Ivypaw of ShadowClan was next, and Lionpaw tried to size her up. She looked…slippery, maybe? Or was she just very sturdy? He wasn’t sure. The other two ShadowClan apprentices, Kinkpaw and Owlpaw, stepped forward as well, and Minnowpaw and Pouncepaw of RiverClan.
“Is there any other apprentice who wishes to take part in this competition?” Ashfoot called.
“Bet you could do it,” Kestrelpaw said, tail wrapped around Jaypaw’s back. “You’re a tough fighter.”
Jaypaw sighed. “Kestrelpaw, I’m blind. I can’t fight.”
“You’re pretty strong, though. You’ve gotta admit.”
Jaypaw furrowed his brow and pushed his whiskers forward. “This isn’t my round of competition,” he muttered quietly.
“Well, I’ll do it,” Willowpaw offered.
“You’re a medicine cat,” Hawkfrost snarled. “Get back to Mothwing and do as you’re told.”
She sniffed. “Mothwing says I can do this if I want. I know some moves.”
She’s going to get crushed, Lionpaw thought, but he wasn’t too concerned: with no claws in the tournament, she was in no real danger, and she would serve only to provide someone else with an easy win.
Hawkfrost was thunderous, but Russetfur laid her tail across his chest. “Let her compete. Any apprentice who wishes to compete may do so for at least one challenge.”
Hawkfrost didn’t answer, but he didn’t order Willowpaw away again. Ashfoot called them off to a wide, flat area and said this was where they were to battle.
Lionpaw defeated Ivypaw easily; she was not particularly slippery or sturdy, though she did apparently have a lot of energy. She was still small, and though he supposed if she had been using her claws it would have hurt a lot, all she had done was beat her tiny paws against his fur a bunch.
Kinkpaw had beaten Pouncepaw; Lionpaw briefly wondered if her fur was really as dirty as it looked, thinking he would hate to have to be her sparring partner, then admonished himself for having the thought. If I had long fur like her, it’d be that messy, too. Minnowpaw—oh, no, not her—had handily defeated Owlpaw, and somehow Willowpaw had beaten Harepaw.
“What happened?” Lionpaw asked incredulously.
“She’s strong. And I think by ‘some moves’ she means ‘everything.’” Harepaw swished his tail with a sigh. “Good thing Kestrelpaw wasn’t here to see that—she kept getting away, couldn’t keep her down.”
The lakeshore warriors returned now with the results of the race; Eaglestep, Crowfeather’s brother, announced that Breezepaw had won, with Snakepaw finishing second and Heatherpaw third. Hollypaw had been slowed considerably by the introduction of underbrush to her usually empty running field; poor Whitepaw had twisted her paw in a molehill, but she looked only sheepish, not injured.
Lionpaw was set to battle Willowpaw now, and he was slightly relieved: now he would avoid either touching Kinkpaw or facing down Minnowpaw again, although if—no, when—he beat this medicine cat he would still have to battle one.
Harepaw was right, Willowpaw was hard to pin down. She had soft, sleek fur that his pawpads couldn’t grasp, and she was a well-fed cat who had clearly practiced this many times before. But eventually Lionpaw managed to trap her, and she could not escape.
“Good job,” said Harepaw after Ashfoot had congratulated him. Lionpaw chanced a glance at Hawkfrost, whose eyes appeared to be burning a hole in something somewhere off to the side.
“Thanks.”
Minnowpaw had already pinned her opponent to the ground, so it was time to continue the tournament. Lionpaw clutched and released the earth under his paws, preparing to face her again. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill you before.
Her amber eyes were uneasy, and Lionpaw knew she was thinking of their last battle, too. But she stood staring him defiantly down. He lashed his tail.
Russetfur gave the signal, and Lionpaw and Minnowpaw pounced. Without his claws she was even harder to trap than she had been before, and he silently cursed RiverClan fur.
Lionpaw struck at her with his powerful hind feet—but he—missed? Minnowpaw was using a move he had never seen before, and suddenly he was lying on the ground under her paws.
“Minnowpaw wins,” Hawkfrost growled apathetically.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
JAYPAW
Jaypaw and Kestrelpaw had both participated in the jumping challenge. Jaypaw had not been very enthusiastic about it, but Ashfoot had said it would be fun, and he had recognized that she thought it would build character. (okay grandma)
Jaypaw had done very well in the distance jumping part, as had Harepaw and, to his surprise, Dapplepaw of RiverClan. Pouncepaw had performed pitifully, and neither Ivypaw nor Owlpaw had made it much farther than the RiverClan cat. Whitepaw had wanted to participate, but her paw was still sore from the molehill.
Pouncepaw and Kestrelpaw had sprung highest, and Jaypaw had been almost amused at the absurdity of their continued bouncing as they tried to determine who was truly better. Pouncepaw had won when Kestrelpaw had given up and rolled onto his back, saying his true calling was with the plants and the berries.
Heatherpaw had won the climbing challenge, and Onestar had promised her a fat rabbit; Jaypaw had protested, and she had offered to share it with him.
Attention had turned to hunting now. Apprentices from each Clan would compete to catch as many pieces of prey as possible within limits set by warriors standing several fox-lengths apart from one another in a large crescent shape by the lake. This way, the leaders and deputies had reasoned, all of the types of prey each apprentice normally hunted would be present. Jaypaw thought ShadowClan probably had the advantage, although he knew there were fish in the stream, so maybe RiverClan would defeat them.
Kestrelpaw whispered something about how Jaypaw should probably compete because of that time he had added Harepaw to the pile, but Jaypaw just shrugged. “I can’t hunt—” He broke off and swiveled his ears, hoping he had not seemed too suspicious. He had been about to say that he couldn’t hunt up here, but the tunnels were a secret.
Kestrelpaw licked Jaypaw’s head. “Guess we’ll wait here and eat their catch, huh.”
Jaypaw settled down beside him. “Yeah, there’s not much else to do.” He wondered if anything was happening in the tunnels right now—nothing ever happened down there, but he had a gnawing feeling that he should be there, should be looking for someone. But who? Everyone he knew lived on the surface, and no one could be mousebrained enough to get themselves lost down there. Only Mousepebble had died recently, and that was in more of a rockfall.
Harepaw, Breezepaw, Hollypaw, and Heatherpaw all wanted to hunt. Lionpaw sounded as if he wanted to hunt, but he muttered something about being too tired. Jaypaw knew Hollypaw was angry at herself for losing the race; he saw through her eyes the bushes popping up in her path and felt through her paws the difficulty and the StarClan-forsaken slowness with which she turned mid-run.
ShadowClan sent Snakepaw, Kinkpaw, and Ivypaw. Owlpaw was too busy bouncing around Whitepaw, who said that she would rather hunt than sit around with her paw wrapped in herbs; Littlecloud told her that she was under no circumstances to risk agitating the injury. All of the RiverClan apprentices, even Willowpaw, offered to fish, and after an awkward pause the deputies okayed it. Since it was an individual competition, having more apprentices involved didn’t actually do anything for RiverClan’s total.
“It’s okay, Lionpaw, Minnowpaw is tough,” Kestrelpaw piped up.
“Shh,” Lionpaw hissed. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He padded away, and Jaypaw knew better than to call him back in this state.
“You sound almost as grumpy as Jaypaw,” Kestrelpaw told him, lying down next to Jaypaw. “Not quite. He’s a bad-tempered badger.”
Jaypaw flicked his tail. “Could be worse. At least I’ve got claws.”
“Now you’ve gotta dig us a camp,” Kestrelpaw mewed. “A whole entire camp by yourself. Don’t summon the other badgers!”
Jaypaw didn’t have anything else to say; Kestrelpaw’s boundless enthusiasm was not contagious, and Jaypaw did not have the energy to respond to everything he said.
“Wonder how they’re doing. Do you think Harepaw’s winning?” Kestrelpaw asked after a while.
Jaypaw shrugged. “I don’t know.” He let his mind stretch to Hollypaw; she was stalking prey, and training sessions swam in her mind. “Probably not too bad.” Harepaw was charging through the forest; thorns poked at his pelt, and Jaypaw cringed at the faint pain pricks. Breezepaw scampered determinedly after a squirrel, thinking of one that had escaped recently, and suddenly something was very wrong.
“Help!” Jaypaw wailed. Breezepaw had put his paw on the ground, and it had risen up around him, suffocating him.
“What’s wrong, Jaypaw?” He had felt everyone around him flinch in shock as he had screamed; Ashfoot sounded very concerned, but he was certain it was for the wrong reason.
“Breezepaw is in trouble,” he said, trying to give her a very serious look. “Breezepaw fell in a hole.”
Ashfoot hesitated. “Can you lead me there?”
Jaypaw froze. “I don’t know. I didn’t—uh.” He tried desperately to see where Breezepaw was, but the black apprentice thrashed wildly in the soft, crumbling earth. “I think he’s this way.” Jaypaw started in the direction Breezepaw might have gone, hating that he had so rarely been here. Ashfoot, Barkface, Crowfeather, Nightcloud, and Kestrelpaw followed him, as did a few unfamiliar cats from other Clans. Eventually he caught a noise of churning soil. A few heartbeats later the warriors with him heard it, too, and they passed Jaypaw up.
Jaypaw sped up, passing them again and plunging his forepaws into the hole where Breezepaw was drowning. Immediately he regretted this. Hold on, Breezepaw. He scrambled back a pace, grasping fruitlessly for Breezepaw’s paw or tail or something he could pull.
Crowfeather hauled him back. “This isn’t your job to do.” His father began scooping pawsful of earth away, and Jaypaw flattened his ears. That might have been a good idea if they had been here the moment Breezepaw had fallen in; now, it was too late for trying to dig him out one scoop at a time.
Nightcloud shoved her mate aside, shrieking about her son’s death. “I can’t lose the last one,” Jaypaw managed to make out amidst her cries. She dove into the mud, and Jaypaw heard Ashfoot say something about keeping her muzzle out of the earth unless she knew she could get it back out.
Eventually it was one of the ShadowClan warriors, Snowbird, who got a firm hold on Breezepaw’s scruff and dragged him out of the mud. Breezepaw coughed in vain, and it was Willowpaw and Mothwing who rushed to help him. Jaypaw knew Barkface was standing by, prepared to help, but it seemed the RiverClan cats had more experience in rescuing choking apprentices.
“Breezepaw will be okay,” Mothwing eventually announced, and everyone relaxed.
“Thank you,” Nightcloud breathed. Jaypaw could tell Breezepaw was not happy about her presence in front of the other cats; she embarrassed him.
Breezepaw did not thank any of the cats, though Jaypaw thought he felt with his whiskers that the younger cat’s ears twitched toward the RiverClan medicine cats. Now that the crisis was over, his dislike of Breezepaw trickled back. He listened as the apprentice unearthed his previously caught prey. Mousebrain. Can’t he pay attention to where he’s going?
“That was really amazing,” Kestrelpaw mewed in awe as they traveled back to where the hunting apprentices should have been. “How did you know what was happening?”
“I think it was a sign from StarClan,” Jaypaw lied. He had gotten used to hiding his ability to see other cats’ thoughts and memories since Leafpool’s prying in his kithood.
“Wow. Maybe that means you’ll be the leader,” Kestrelpaw suggested. “Mostly only medicine cats and leaders see StarClan things.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Jaypaw knew that as a blind tunneler he could never hope to lead a Clan, but Kestrelpaw sounded convinced enough that he entertained the thought for a moment.
Who hold the power of the stars in our paws, he remembered. He had thought at the time that if Spottedleaf was right—if this power he had was really because he was part of the old cat’s prophecy—it must be Hollypaw and Lionpaw as well, but then again, there were three Clans. Or there are now, anyway. What was it Spottedleaf had said? His destiny was entwined with ThunderClan? Maybe three of Firestar’s descendants were to become leaders of three Clans and bring ThunderClan back?
But this was too grandiose. It was impossible.
Breezepaw hissed as the results were tallied; Ivypaw had come in behind three RiverClan apprentices, Pebblepaw winning the match.
Jaypaw sighed, ignoring Kestrelpaw’s puzzled mrr. He would never become leader. WindClan would never rely on a blind cat for their survival.
But it looks like ThunderClan will, he thought grimly.
Jaypaw and Kestrelpaw had both participated in the jumping challenge. Jaypaw had not been very enthusiastic about it, but Ashfoot had said it would be fun, and he had recognized that she thought it would build character. (okay grandma)
Jaypaw had done very well in the distance jumping part, as had Harepaw and, to his surprise, Dapplepaw of RiverClan. Pouncepaw had performed pitifully, and neither Ivypaw nor Owlpaw had made it much farther than the RiverClan cat. Whitepaw had wanted to participate, but her paw was still sore from the molehill.
Pouncepaw and Kestrelpaw had sprung highest, and Jaypaw had been almost amused at the absurdity of their continued bouncing as they tried to determine who was truly better. Pouncepaw had won when Kestrelpaw had given up and rolled onto his back, saying his true calling was with the plants and the berries.
Heatherpaw had won the climbing challenge, and Onestar had promised her a fat rabbit; Jaypaw had protested, and she had offered to share it with him.
Attention had turned to hunting now. Apprentices from each Clan would compete to catch as many pieces of prey as possible within limits set by warriors standing several fox-lengths apart from one another in a large crescent shape by the lake. This way, the leaders and deputies had reasoned, all of the types of prey each apprentice normally hunted would be present. Jaypaw thought ShadowClan probably had the advantage, although he knew there were fish in the stream, so maybe RiverClan would defeat them.
Kestrelpaw whispered something about how Jaypaw should probably compete because of that time he had added Harepaw to the pile, but Jaypaw just shrugged. “I can’t hunt—” He broke off and swiveled his ears, hoping he had not seemed too suspicious. He had been about to say that he couldn’t hunt up here, but the tunnels were a secret.
Kestrelpaw licked Jaypaw’s head. “Guess we’ll wait here and eat their catch, huh.”
Jaypaw settled down beside him. “Yeah, there’s not much else to do.” He wondered if anything was happening in the tunnels right now—nothing ever happened down there, but he had a gnawing feeling that he should be there, should be looking for someone. But who? Everyone he knew lived on the surface, and no one could be mousebrained enough to get themselves lost down there. Only Mousepebble had died recently, and that was in more of a rockfall.
Harepaw, Breezepaw, Hollypaw, and Heatherpaw all wanted to hunt. Lionpaw sounded as if he wanted to hunt, but he muttered something about being too tired. Jaypaw knew Hollypaw was angry at herself for losing the race; he saw through her eyes the bushes popping up in her path and felt through her paws the difficulty and the StarClan-forsaken slowness with which she turned mid-run.
ShadowClan sent Snakepaw, Kinkpaw, and Ivypaw. Owlpaw was too busy bouncing around Whitepaw, who said that she would rather hunt than sit around with her paw wrapped in herbs; Littlecloud told her that she was under no circumstances to risk agitating the injury. All of the RiverClan apprentices, even Willowpaw, offered to fish, and after an awkward pause the deputies okayed it. Since it was an individual competition, having more apprentices involved didn’t actually do anything for RiverClan’s total.
“It’s okay, Lionpaw, Minnowpaw is tough,” Kestrelpaw piped up.
“Shh,” Lionpaw hissed. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He padded away, and Jaypaw knew better than to call him back in this state.
“You sound almost as grumpy as Jaypaw,” Kestrelpaw told him, lying down next to Jaypaw. “Not quite. He’s a bad-tempered badger.”
Jaypaw flicked his tail. “Could be worse. At least I’ve got claws.”
“Now you’ve gotta dig us a camp,” Kestrelpaw mewed. “A whole entire camp by yourself. Don’t summon the other badgers!”
Jaypaw didn’t have anything else to say; Kestrelpaw’s boundless enthusiasm was not contagious, and Jaypaw did not have the energy to respond to everything he said.
“Wonder how they’re doing. Do you think Harepaw’s winning?” Kestrelpaw asked after a while.
Jaypaw shrugged. “I don’t know.” He let his mind stretch to Hollypaw; she was stalking prey, and training sessions swam in her mind. “Probably not too bad.” Harepaw was charging through the forest; thorns poked at his pelt, and Jaypaw cringed at the faint pain pricks. Breezepaw scampered determinedly after a squirrel, thinking of one that had escaped recently, and suddenly something was very wrong.
“Help!” Jaypaw wailed. Breezepaw had put his paw on the ground, and it had risen up around him, suffocating him.
“What’s wrong, Jaypaw?” He had felt everyone around him flinch in shock as he had screamed; Ashfoot sounded very concerned, but he was certain it was for the wrong reason.
“Breezepaw is in trouble,” he said, trying to give her a very serious look. “Breezepaw fell in a hole.”
Ashfoot hesitated. “Can you lead me there?”
Jaypaw froze. “I don’t know. I didn’t—uh.” He tried desperately to see where Breezepaw was, but the black apprentice thrashed wildly in the soft, crumbling earth. “I think he’s this way.” Jaypaw started in the direction Breezepaw might have gone, hating that he had so rarely been here. Ashfoot, Barkface, Crowfeather, Nightcloud, and Kestrelpaw followed him, as did a few unfamiliar cats from other Clans. Eventually he caught a noise of churning soil. A few heartbeats later the warriors with him heard it, too, and they passed Jaypaw up.
Jaypaw sped up, passing them again and plunging his forepaws into the hole where Breezepaw was drowning. Immediately he regretted this. Hold on, Breezepaw. He scrambled back a pace, grasping fruitlessly for Breezepaw’s paw or tail or something he could pull.
Crowfeather hauled him back. “This isn’t your job to do.” His father began scooping pawsful of earth away, and Jaypaw flattened his ears. That might have been a good idea if they had been here the moment Breezepaw had fallen in; now, it was too late for trying to dig him out one scoop at a time.
Nightcloud shoved her mate aside, shrieking about her son’s death. “I can’t lose the last one,” Jaypaw managed to make out amidst her cries. She dove into the mud, and Jaypaw heard Ashfoot say something about keeping her muzzle out of the earth unless she knew she could get it back out.
Eventually it was one of the ShadowClan warriors, Snowbird, who got a firm hold on Breezepaw’s scruff and dragged him out of the mud. Breezepaw coughed in vain, and it was Willowpaw and Mothwing who rushed to help him. Jaypaw knew Barkface was standing by, prepared to help, but it seemed the RiverClan cats had more experience in rescuing choking apprentices.
“Breezepaw will be okay,” Mothwing eventually announced, and everyone relaxed.
“Thank you,” Nightcloud breathed. Jaypaw could tell Breezepaw was not happy about her presence in front of the other cats; she embarrassed him.
Breezepaw did not thank any of the cats, though Jaypaw thought he felt with his whiskers that the younger cat’s ears twitched toward the RiverClan medicine cats. Now that the crisis was over, his dislike of Breezepaw trickled back. He listened as the apprentice unearthed his previously caught prey. Mousebrain. Can’t he pay attention to where he’s going?
“That was really amazing,” Kestrelpaw mewed in awe as they traveled back to where the hunting apprentices should have been. “How did you know what was happening?”
“I think it was a sign from StarClan,” Jaypaw lied. He had gotten used to hiding his ability to see other cats’ thoughts and memories since Leafpool’s prying in his kithood.
“Wow. Maybe that means you’ll be the leader,” Kestrelpaw suggested. “Mostly only medicine cats and leaders see StarClan things.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Jaypaw knew that as a blind tunneler he could never hope to lead a Clan, but Kestrelpaw sounded convinced enough that he entertained the thought for a moment.
Who hold the power of the stars in our paws, he remembered. He had thought at the time that if Spottedleaf was right—if this power he had was really because he was part of the old cat’s prophecy—it must be Hollypaw and Lionpaw as well, but then again, there were three Clans. Or there are now, anyway. What was it Spottedleaf had said? His destiny was entwined with ThunderClan? Maybe three of Firestar’s descendants were to become leaders of three Clans and bring ThunderClan back?
But this was too grandiose. It was impossible.
Breezepaw hissed as the results were tallied; Ivypaw had come in behind three RiverClan apprentices, Pebblepaw winning the match.
Jaypaw sighed, ignoring Kestrelpaw’s puzzled mrr. He would never become leader. WindClan would never rely on a blind cat for their survival.
But it looks like ThunderClan will, he thought grimly.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
HOLLYPAW
The sun was high in the sky. Hollypaw’s pelt was warm, and the trampled grass beneath her feet was soft. But this was not a time for relaxing.
Hollypaw glared at Lionpaw, who had been on the dawn patrol and now lay sprawled on the ground. He didn’t notice her, but he did notice when Owlwhisker called sharply for him to stop dilly-dallying; her brother sprang to his paws and guiltily darted toward his mentor.
Hollypaw picked up a mouse from the freshkill pile; she was not very hungry, but she needed to eat, just in case. Prey was plentiful enough in greenleaf that it would not hurt the Clan at all.
“Hurry up,” she mewed to Breezepaw as he passed her, dragging his paws. He shot her a look of disgust and growled something she was glad she didn’t understand.
It had been several days since the competition. She had expected Weaselfur to chew her out for losing the race, but he had only rolled his eyes, which was even more insulting. Whitetail had been much more sympathetic to Breezepaw, but he still seemed extremely put out by the whole thing.
Hollypaw was at the camp entrance before Weaselfur, Whitetail, or Crowfeather. The warriors all arrived shortly; Heatherpaw and Breezepaw scampered up to join them.
The three apprentices were set to battle train together. Hollypaw had sparred with Heatherpaw plenty of times; the light brown tabby was quicker on her paws, but Hollypaw had learned how to counter this. She was less acquainted with Breezepaw’s battling style, but she assumed he was fast as well.
Why’d I have to be born in WindClan? she thought crossly, but she was not actually unhappy with her Clan. The other cats had mostly stopped calling her and her siblings “thunder,” so she had very little to truly complain about. Crowfeather was distant, but at least he seemed proud of her. Nightcloud gave her dirty looks, but she had the feeling she would not have liked Breezepaw’s mother anyway.
Their mentors headed not toward the usual battling station but into the forest. Hollypaw searched Heatherpaw’s face to see if she had expected this, but the other apprentice looked equally confused if not more.
“We thought it was best to learn how to fight with obstacles present,” Whitetail announced over her shoulder. “The forest is part of our territory, and everyone must be prepared to defend against ShadowClan invasion. Additionally, if we ever end up tangled in a fight in RiverClan’s territory, we must be aware of the trees, though it is marshier there than here.”
“Getting into a fight in the middle of RiverClan territory is an extremely bad idea,” Crowfeather added. “I’ve been through—close to their camp—enough times to tell you for sure that WindClan tactics will not work in the wetlands.”
“Fish are gross anyway,” Heatherpaw muttered.
Hollypaw snickered. “Didn’t stop you last time.” Heatherpaw had been excited to try one of the fish Pebblepaw caught at the apprentices' tournament.
“They were terrible,” Heatherpaw protested.
Breezepaw growled, “WindClan cats don’t eat fish, wetpaw.”
Heatherpaw bumped her shoulder against his. “Not more than once, at least!”
“This is the training hollow,” Whitetail mewed. Was Hollypaw imagining it, or did the white warrior sound sad?
Crowfeather demonstrated a strange move against Weaselfur, whose greenish eyes glittered with cold triumph. Crowfeather crashed down forepaws-first onto Weaselfur’s shoulder, then flipped him onto the ground and kicked with a hind paw. “That’s a tactic we don’t use much, since we’re smaller than RiverClan cats, but it could come in handy on this border.”
Breezepaw curled his lip. “I don’t see why we have to learn two sets of battle moves. WindClan’s got more apprentices than the other Clans; we’re going to have the most warriors soon.”
“Learning the correct moves will limit bloodshed,” said Whitetail. “Now watch.” Crowfeather performed the same move a second time.
“It’s a move that usually only works if you are at least as big as your opponent,” cautioned Crowfeather. Was that doubt in his blue eyes? (stop psychoanalyzing everyone Hollypaw)
Whitetail suggested having the apprentices try the motion on their mentors, since they wouldn’t be able to hurt them without claws. The mentors were to pretend the apprentices were strong enough to bowl them over so that they could carry out the full move. She warned them that it was difficult to pull off safely against a smaller cat, since so much of it relied on the attacker’s weight.
Hollypaw slammed her paws onto Weaselfur’s shoulder, and he grunted as he rolled to the ground. “Guess that one would come more naturally to you,” he muttered, giving Crowfeather a sideways look. (that's enough) “It’s in your blood, after all.”
“Stop it, Weaselfur.” Crowfeather turned his attention from Heatherpaw, scrambling to his paws as she huffed in annoyance. “You know I am a loyal WindClan warrior. Nightcloud and Breezepaw are proof of that.”
Breezepaw bristled but said nothing, performing the paw attack on Whitetail with extra conviction. Hollypaw twitched her tail as the white she-cat rolled over, apparently surprised at the impact her apprentice’s tiny paws carried.
“I know nothing of the sort,” Weaselfur mewed, turning up his nose. “As far as I’m concerned, you haven’t been a WindClan warrior since—”
“Weaselfur,” Whitetail warned. “Crowfeather is a WindClan cat, and he is here with us now. Do not incite more hostilities. WindClan must stay unified if we are to last each leafbare season.”
Breezepaw narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth at his mentor behind her back. Hollypaw tried to look disapproving, but Crowfeather noticed her face and asked, “Is everything all right, Hollypaw?”
“I’m okay,” she said, not sure if she was exactly lying. Breezepaw’s problems weren’t really her business, were they? And Weaselfur’s words scared her, but Whitetail was an older warrior whose protection carried more significance than her mentor’s hate.
Her father blinked slowly to reassure her. “That’s good.”
Breezepaw made a sound somewhere between a hiss and a snort—Hollypaw didn’t think she could recreate it if she tried. Crowfeather sighed, apparently dreading something.
Whitetail soon ordered training to begin again. Hollypaw thought she was close to mastering the paw-slam attack, and Whitetail showed them a move where the attacker scrambled a few tail-lengths up a tree stump and then pounced away from it, twisting in midair to catch the opponent off guard with all four paws.
As they walked back to camp, Hollypaw noticed her belly rumbling. There will be more mice. Padding beside her father, she thought how lucky she was to be a WindClan cat. I’ll prove myself one day. Maybe she would even get to be leader.
The sun was high in the sky. Hollypaw’s pelt was warm, and the trampled grass beneath her feet was soft. But this was not a time for relaxing.
Hollypaw glared at Lionpaw, who had been on the dawn patrol and now lay sprawled on the ground. He didn’t notice her, but he did notice when Owlwhisker called sharply for him to stop dilly-dallying; her brother sprang to his paws and guiltily darted toward his mentor.
Hollypaw picked up a mouse from the freshkill pile; she was not very hungry, but she needed to eat, just in case. Prey was plentiful enough in greenleaf that it would not hurt the Clan at all.
“Hurry up,” she mewed to Breezepaw as he passed her, dragging his paws. He shot her a look of disgust and growled something she was glad she didn’t understand.
It had been several days since the competition. She had expected Weaselfur to chew her out for losing the race, but he had only rolled his eyes, which was even more insulting. Whitetail had been much more sympathetic to Breezepaw, but he still seemed extremely put out by the whole thing.
Hollypaw was at the camp entrance before Weaselfur, Whitetail, or Crowfeather. The warriors all arrived shortly; Heatherpaw and Breezepaw scampered up to join them.
The three apprentices were set to battle train together. Hollypaw had sparred with Heatherpaw plenty of times; the light brown tabby was quicker on her paws, but Hollypaw had learned how to counter this. She was less acquainted with Breezepaw’s battling style, but she assumed he was fast as well.
Why’d I have to be born in WindClan? she thought crossly, but she was not actually unhappy with her Clan. The other cats had mostly stopped calling her and her siblings “thunder,” so she had very little to truly complain about. Crowfeather was distant, but at least he seemed proud of her. Nightcloud gave her dirty looks, but she had the feeling she would not have liked Breezepaw’s mother anyway.
Their mentors headed not toward the usual battling station but into the forest. Hollypaw searched Heatherpaw’s face to see if she had expected this, but the other apprentice looked equally confused if not more.
“We thought it was best to learn how to fight with obstacles present,” Whitetail announced over her shoulder. “The forest is part of our territory, and everyone must be prepared to defend against ShadowClan invasion. Additionally, if we ever end up tangled in a fight in RiverClan’s territory, we must be aware of the trees, though it is marshier there than here.”
“Getting into a fight in the middle of RiverClan territory is an extremely bad idea,” Crowfeather added. “I’ve been through—close to their camp—enough times to tell you for sure that WindClan tactics will not work in the wetlands.”
“Fish are gross anyway,” Heatherpaw muttered.
Hollypaw snickered. “Didn’t stop you last time.” Heatherpaw had been excited to try one of the fish Pebblepaw caught at the apprentices' tournament.
“They were terrible,” Heatherpaw protested.
Breezepaw growled, “WindClan cats don’t eat fish, wetpaw.”
Heatherpaw bumped her shoulder against his. “Not more than once, at least!”
“This is the training hollow,” Whitetail mewed. Was Hollypaw imagining it, or did the white warrior sound sad?
Crowfeather demonstrated a strange move against Weaselfur, whose greenish eyes glittered with cold triumph. Crowfeather crashed down forepaws-first onto Weaselfur’s shoulder, then flipped him onto the ground and kicked with a hind paw. “That’s a tactic we don’t use much, since we’re smaller than RiverClan cats, but it could come in handy on this border.”
Breezepaw curled his lip. “I don’t see why we have to learn two sets of battle moves. WindClan’s got more apprentices than the other Clans; we’re going to have the most warriors soon.”
“Learning the correct moves will limit bloodshed,” said Whitetail. “Now watch.” Crowfeather performed the same move a second time.
“It’s a move that usually only works if you are at least as big as your opponent,” cautioned Crowfeather. Was that doubt in his blue eyes? (stop psychoanalyzing everyone Hollypaw)
Whitetail suggested having the apprentices try the motion on their mentors, since they wouldn’t be able to hurt them without claws. The mentors were to pretend the apprentices were strong enough to bowl them over so that they could carry out the full move. She warned them that it was difficult to pull off safely against a smaller cat, since so much of it relied on the attacker’s weight.
Hollypaw slammed her paws onto Weaselfur’s shoulder, and he grunted as he rolled to the ground. “Guess that one would come more naturally to you,” he muttered, giving Crowfeather a sideways look. (that's enough) “It’s in your blood, after all.”
“Stop it, Weaselfur.” Crowfeather turned his attention from Heatherpaw, scrambling to his paws as she huffed in annoyance. “You know I am a loyal WindClan warrior. Nightcloud and Breezepaw are proof of that.”
Breezepaw bristled but said nothing, performing the paw attack on Whitetail with extra conviction. Hollypaw twitched her tail as the white she-cat rolled over, apparently surprised at the impact her apprentice’s tiny paws carried.
“I know nothing of the sort,” Weaselfur mewed, turning up his nose. “As far as I’m concerned, you haven’t been a WindClan warrior since—”
“Weaselfur,” Whitetail warned. “Crowfeather is a WindClan cat, and he is here with us now. Do not incite more hostilities. WindClan must stay unified if we are to last each leafbare season.”
Breezepaw narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth at his mentor behind her back. Hollypaw tried to look disapproving, but Crowfeather noticed her face and asked, “Is everything all right, Hollypaw?”
“I’m okay,” she said, not sure if she was exactly lying. Breezepaw’s problems weren’t really her business, were they? And Weaselfur’s words scared her, but Whitetail was an older warrior whose protection carried more significance than her mentor’s hate.
Her father blinked slowly to reassure her. “That’s good.”
Breezepaw made a sound somewhere between a hiss and a snort—Hollypaw didn’t think she could recreate it if she tried. Crowfeather sighed, apparently dreading something.
Whitetail soon ordered training to begin again. Hollypaw thought she was close to mastering the paw-slam attack, and Whitetail showed them a move where the attacker scrambled a few tail-lengths up a tree stump and then pounced away from it, twisting in midair to catch the opponent off guard with all four paws.
As they walked back to camp, Hollypaw noticed her belly rumbling. There will be more mice. Padding beside her father, she thought how lucky she was to be a WindClan cat. I’ll prove myself one day. Maybe she would even get to be leader.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
LIONPAW
Heatherpaw’s banded tail disappeared into the shadowy grass, and Lionpaw bounded after it. “Hey, wait for me.”
“Try to keep up, slowpoke!” she laughed, but he was pretty sure she did slow down a little, because he managed to catch up to her.
“Where are we going?” he puffed, trying to stay by her side.
“I found a cool tunnel in the woods.” Her heather-colored eyes sparked playfully in the low light. “You can hear water.”
Lionpaw faltered, puzzled. “Water in the tunnels?”
“Yeah. I bet I could have found it, but I didn’t want to get trapped down there. But with two of us…”
Lionpaw’s paws prickled. “You think we should explore it?”
“It’s so cool,” she breathed, stopping for a moment. “It’s close to here.” She put her nose to the ground and wove through the forest, pushing past a cluster of ferns and leading Lionpaw to a gaping dark hole in the ground.
“I don’t like it,” he mumbled. It reminded him of a mouth, or maybe the hole where an eye should be. It didn’t like him very much, and he didn’t like it either. Don’t be such a kit, he told himself; the tunnels are just hollow ground, not a creature.
“Are you scared?” Heatherpaw teased, eyes wide. “You know there’s no badgers down there.”
That was not as reassuring as it should have been. “I’m not scared,” he insisted. “I just don’t like it.”
Heatherpaw rubbed her head against his shoulder. “C’mon, I’m going to need a big strong cat to dig me out of there.”
“Don’t say that,” Lionpaw cried, alarmed. She couldn’t get crushed in the earth; he’d heard from Jaypaw what had happened to Breezepaw. The younger apprentice had refused to talk about it, but he had accepted Lionpaw’s attempts at comfort.
Heatherpaw purred, amused. “You really are scared.”
“No.” Lionpaw sat down and hunched his shoulders. Heatherpaw would look down on him now, wouldn’t she?
“We can go somewhere else if you want, I guess. Or back to camp,” she suggested unenthusiastically.
“No, we can go in the tunnels.” Lionpaw glanced uneasily at the gaping mouth in the ground again. “It sounds interesting.”
Heatherpaw brightened. “Then what are you waiting for?” She hopped down into the earth below. “Don’t fall behind.” (Heatherpaw don't be manipulative)
Lionpaw shuddered and joined her in the tunnel. The air was cooler here. He had been a short way into some of the tunnels in WindClan territory, but this entrance was larger and more ominous, and he didn’t have an experienced tunneler like Ashfoot as his guide.
Heatherpaw’s claws scraped stone and tree roots; the clicking echoed through the tunnels, and each time Lionpaw felt like a gust of cold, watery air passed through his body. He wanted to tell her to stop making the noise, but she wasn’t doing it on purpose; he would have sounded mean.
The tunnel narrowed considerably. Lionpaw didn’t have to fight his shoulders through or anything—they seemed large enough for just about any cat—but his whiskers dragged in the earthy walls.
“Okay, this is as far as I’ve been,” she said. “You can come up next to me.” Lionpaw tentatively stepped forward, and his whiskers no longer brushed the wall of the tunnel. The icy feeling he had experienced from Heatherpaw’s echoing scrapes now resonated from deeper in.
“It forks,” she told him, sounding disappointed. “I tried going down that direction once.” She didn’t even try to show him which way she meant. “The water was too loud; I think this place floods in the rain. But the other direction—I’ve never been that way.”
“Oh.” Lionpaw swallowed and followed her as she padded slowly down the tunnel. It remained wide here, but he didn’t want to risk sliding on the uneven ground. He didn’t feel any pawprints; the floor was made of smooth ridges that suggested it had been shaped by running water.
Soon enough he heard the water Heatherpaw had mentioned. It sounded like a deep, distant roar, and he didn’t like the chills it sent through his fur. “Please don’t fall in,” he whispered hoarsely.
Heatherpaw giggled. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Lionpaw suppressed a hiss of frustration. “I mean it!” He sounded angrier than he meant. “I mean, I don’t want you to drown,” he added in a softer tone.
Heatherpaw purred.
“Okay, I think we’re here,” she said after some time. Lionpaw felt mist across his muzzle, and the rushing river thundered before him.
“It is really cool,” he said aloud, partly to himself. To Heatherpaw he said, “Where d’you suppose the water all goes to?”
“The lake, I guess,” she said dismissively.
“I guess.” Lionpaw tasted the air and found only stone and dampness.
“I proclaim myself Heatherstar, leader of DarkClan,” she yowled above the noise of the water. “And you are my deputy, Lionclaw!”
“DarkClan has had a little trouble with RiverClan,” Lionpaw reported, hoping Heatherpaw understood he was talking about the tunnel water, “but I chased ’em off just fine!”
He heard Heatherpaw moving—maybe waving her tail? “But RiverClan are our allies,” she mewed mischievously. “Lionclaw, you’re not plotting against us, are you?”
“It’s true! I’ve been trying to take your place all along!” Lionpaw almost pounced at her, but he remembered where he was. “By making my own alliance with ShadowClan.”
“But Lionclaw, I thought we were mates,” Heatherpaw whined playfully. “Do our kits mean nothing to you?”
Lionpaw was startled at the flood of emotion in his own heart. “Uh, well, I wasn’t going to kill you. But—we can make our own Clan, with both of us as leaders!”
“DarkClan has always been a strange Clan,” she mused. “But we are unforgiving of traitors!”
Their game continued for a while, and Lionpaw felt himself relaxing about the surrounding darkness, the noisy roar, the swift water, and the chilly air. Even with no light, he gradually started feeling at home.
“We should probably get back to camp,” Heatherpaw said after a while. Lionpaw felt a flash of panic as he wondered how they would navigate their way out of the tunnel, but then he remembered how short a distance he had walked into the river cavern. They made it out without any difficulty.
“Let’s do that again sometime, Lionclaw,” she whispered.
He nosed her ear. “Well, Brindlekit and Firekit need us,” he said. They curled up to sleep under the silvery moonlight, and Lionpaw realized just how much he was looking forward to being alone with Heatherpaw again.
Heatherpaw’s banded tail disappeared into the shadowy grass, and Lionpaw bounded after it. “Hey, wait for me.”
“Try to keep up, slowpoke!” she laughed, but he was pretty sure she did slow down a little, because he managed to catch up to her.
“Where are we going?” he puffed, trying to stay by her side.
“I found a cool tunnel in the woods.” Her heather-colored eyes sparked playfully in the low light. “You can hear water.”
Lionpaw faltered, puzzled. “Water in the tunnels?”
“Yeah. I bet I could have found it, but I didn’t want to get trapped down there. But with two of us…”
Lionpaw’s paws prickled. “You think we should explore it?”
“It’s so cool,” she breathed, stopping for a moment. “It’s close to here.” She put her nose to the ground and wove through the forest, pushing past a cluster of ferns and leading Lionpaw to a gaping dark hole in the ground.
“I don’t like it,” he mumbled. It reminded him of a mouth, or maybe the hole where an eye should be. It didn’t like him very much, and he didn’t like it either. Don’t be such a kit, he told himself; the tunnels are just hollow ground, not a creature.
“Are you scared?” Heatherpaw teased, eyes wide. “You know there’s no badgers down there.”
That was not as reassuring as it should have been. “I’m not scared,” he insisted. “I just don’t like it.”
Heatherpaw rubbed her head against his shoulder. “C’mon, I’m going to need a big strong cat to dig me out of there.”
“Don’t say that,” Lionpaw cried, alarmed. She couldn’t get crushed in the earth; he’d heard from Jaypaw what had happened to Breezepaw. The younger apprentice had refused to talk about it, but he had accepted Lionpaw’s attempts at comfort.
Heatherpaw purred, amused. “You really are scared.”
“No.” Lionpaw sat down and hunched his shoulders. Heatherpaw would look down on him now, wouldn’t she?
“We can go somewhere else if you want, I guess. Or back to camp,” she suggested unenthusiastically.
“No, we can go in the tunnels.” Lionpaw glanced uneasily at the gaping mouth in the ground again. “It sounds interesting.”
Heatherpaw brightened. “Then what are you waiting for?” She hopped down into the earth below. “Don’t fall behind.” (Heatherpaw don't be manipulative)
Lionpaw shuddered and joined her in the tunnel. The air was cooler here. He had been a short way into some of the tunnels in WindClan territory, but this entrance was larger and more ominous, and he didn’t have an experienced tunneler like Ashfoot as his guide.
Heatherpaw’s claws scraped stone and tree roots; the clicking echoed through the tunnels, and each time Lionpaw felt like a gust of cold, watery air passed through his body. He wanted to tell her to stop making the noise, but she wasn’t doing it on purpose; he would have sounded mean.
The tunnel narrowed considerably. Lionpaw didn’t have to fight his shoulders through or anything—they seemed large enough for just about any cat—but his whiskers dragged in the earthy walls.
“Okay, this is as far as I’ve been,” she said. “You can come up next to me.” Lionpaw tentatively stepped forward, and his whiskers no longer brushed the wall of the tunnel. The icy feeling he had experienced from Heatherpaw’s echoing scrapes now resonated from deeper in.
“It forks,” she told him, sounding disappointed. “I tried going down that direction once.” She didn’t even try to show him which way she meant. “The water was too loud; I think this place floods in the rain. But the other direction—I’ve never been that way.”
“Oh.” Lionpaw swallowed and followed her as she padded slowly down the tunnel. It remained wide here, but he didn’t want to risk sliding on the uneven ground. He didn’t feel any pawprints; the floor was made of smooth ridges that suggested it had been shaped by running water.
Soon enough he heard the water Heatherpaw had mentioned. It sounded like a deep, distant roar, and he didn’t like the chills it sent through his fur. “Please don’t fall in,” he whispered hoarsely.
Heatherpaw giggled. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Lionpaw suppressed a hiss of frustration. “I mean it!” He sounded angrier than he meant. “I mean, I don’t want you to drown,” he added in a softer tone.
Heatherpaw purred.
“Okay, I think we’re here,” she said after some time. Lionpaw felt mist across his muzzle, and the rushing river thundered before him.
“It is really cool,” he said aloud, partly to himself. To Heatherpaw he said, “Where d’you suppose the water all goes to?”
“The lake, I guess,” she said dismissively.
“I guess.” Lionpaw tasted the air and found only stone and dampness.
“I proclaim myself Heatherstar, leader of DarkClan,” she yowled above the noise of the water. “And you are my deputy, Lionclaw!”
“DarkClan has had a little trouble with RiverClan,” Lionpaw reported, hoping Heatherpaw understood he was talking about the tunnel water, “but I chased ’em off just fine!”
He heard Heatherpaw moving—maybe waving her tail? “But RiverClan are our allies,” she mewed mischievously. “Lionclaw, you’re not plotting against us, are you?”
“It’s true! I’ve been trying to take your place all along!” Lionpaw almost pounced at her, but he remembered where he was. “By making my own alliance with ShadowClan.”
“But Lionclaw, I thought we were mates,” Heatherpaw whined playfully. “Do our kits mean nothing to you?”
Lionpaw was startled at the flood of emotion in his own heart. “Uh, well, I wasn’t going to kill you. But—we can make our own Clan, with both of us as leaders!”
“DarkClan has always been a strange Clan,” she mused. “But we are unforgiving of traitors!”
Their game continued for a while, and Lionpaw felt himself relaxing about the surrounding darkness, the noisy roar, the swift water, and the chilly air. Even with no light, he gradually started feeling at home.
“We should probably get back to camp,” Heatherpaw said after a while. Lionpaw felt a flash of panic as he wondered how they would navigate their way out of the tunnel, but then he remembered how short a distance he had walked into the river cavern. They made it out without any difficulty.
“Let’s do that again sometime, Lionclaw,” she whispered.
He nosed her ear. “Well, Brindlekit and Firekit need us,” he said. They curled up to sleep under the silvery moonlight, and Lionpaw realized just how much he was looking forward to being alone with Heatherpaw again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
JAYPAW
Jaypaw had been to this section of the tunnels only once before. He had marveled then at the force of the water, but Ashfoot had told him above the din that this was a dangerous place, not worth the meager chance for hunting it provided.
But Jaypaw felt like this was the place he was wanted. He thought he had caught a flash of movement far off on a ledge over the water, where the river thundered from a hole in the stone, and he wanted to investigate.
The misty froth from the water battered his whiskers, and Jaypaw reflexively backed away from the water until he felt his pelt pressed up against damp rock. Maybe this was a mistake. He had been assigned a solo hunting mission, and he knew Ashfoot was not following him. He was completely alone.
Unless the cave cat was real.
“Hello,” he croaked. He didn’t think any cat could have heard it over the noise of the river, so he tried again. “Hello?” That time wasn’t much better.
But there—it looked like—he shivered; it had looked uncomfortably similar to the cold gray light from Darkstripe’s dead eyes.
“Who’s there?” he whispered. Why did I do this alone?
Nothing had been making any sounds that he had been able to detect over the river even before he had spoken, but he still felt now as if something had stopped. Stopped moving, probably.
Then there was a scraping noise. Jaypaw inched toward the tunnel he had used to enter, but then a voice said, “Wait.”
It sounded ancient.
“Who are you?” Jaypaw whimpered. He saw a faint whitish-blue circle—no, two of them. Eyes.
The other cat made a rattling, wheezing noise. “Hello. I don’t suppose you are a ghost.”
Jaypaw’s fur now stood at its tallest point. “No.”
The strange cat wheezed again. “Oh, I know this already. Leave.” (I did a really bad job with Rock)
Jaypaw strained to see the cat, but even with his cave vision he could not pick it out from the lightless rocks; the flashes he had caught of its eyes had vanished. “What is your name?”
He was certain the cat had gone. Terrified, he scrambled to leave, but he slipped on the slick stone and slid a few taillengths across the floor. Spatters of water drenched his pelt.
But what was that? He saw something. Something that wasn’t alive. Jaypaw picked himself up and cautiously stretched forward; whatever it was had dissolved into shadow again.
He felt something smooth and worn, almost like the log from the lakeshore to the Gathering island but older. It was a stick, nearly the length of his tail, rod-straight with no branching twigs. The bark had been stripped from it long ago, and the wood underneath was soft, almost splintering beneath his toes. Countless thin clawmarks marred its surface; many of them had extra clawmarks scratched through them, but some were only single lines.
Jaypaw knew the stick must be incredibly important. It had something to do with the prophecy, he was sure—but what could an old stick matter? He was still a bit too small to carry it with ease, and he wasn’t sure if he could bring it all the way to the surface, but it was better this way.
He rolled it over to where the cavern’s floor met the walls and then darted back up the tunnel. It did not take long for him to find a scent trail over in the nearby rabbit warren, and although his mind was still on the stranger from the tunnels, he managed to catch it.
Jaypaw dropped his rabbit on the freshkill pile. “You’ve been gone a while,” Crowfeather greeted him. “Good catch, but try not to worry us so much.” Jaypaw heard Nightcloud hiss, and Crowfeather said, “I love all of my kits; they are all growing up to be strong WindClan warriors.”
Jaypaw decided to do something he had not done for a while: visit Leafpool. On his way, he passed a very distressed Hollypaw flouncing to the medicine den with her mouth full of pungent herbs. What’s her deal? Medicine cat sounds like the worst job.
Leafpool was not doing any better than she had been the last time Jaypaw had visited her, but she did not seem to be doing any worse, either. Her fur was very well groomed, as he could tell when she touched her tail to his shoulder; this was about the only thing she had to do. Jaypaw felt Rushtail’s unfriendly gaze, but Webfoot and Morningflower greeted him pleasantly enough.
“You’ve done amazingly as Ashfoot’s apprentice,” Leafpool told him, voice dripping with warmth. Gross.
But not so gross that I won’t show off. “I caught another rabbit today,” Jaypaw bragged.
Morningflower purred and thumped her tail on the ground. “I remember hunting when I was young.” He could feel her interested, probing look, but he ignored it. “WindClan had some difficulties.”
“We ended up pushed from our home,” Rushtail hissed.
“Like ThunderClan,” Jaypaw blurted before he could stop himself.
All four elders froze. “Yes,” Morningflower whispered. “Like ThunderClan.”
Leafpool sounded very much like she wanted to talk, but Webfoot cut her off. “ThunderClan was accidentally pushed from the forest by our hunting patrols. It wasn’t right, we know that now, but we were hungry, Onestar said to go in their territory, and when we were cornered, we fought. No cat expected it to go this far.” Jaypaw examined Webfoot’s thoughts and found mostly signs of him hunting in the forest and battling cats Jaypaw had never seen. (nice history lesson Webfoot)
“ThunderClan was a very strong Clan until two warriors ripped it apart,” Leafpool said quietly. Jaypaw was almost afraid of her now; she had never showed any sign of dangerous depths before, but maybe the past carried more weight for her.
“Who is Firestar?” Jaypaw demanded.
He felt shock ripple through the other cats. “How do you know that name?” Rushtail barked.
“Calm down, Rushtail. Firestar was a leader a long, long time ago,” Morningflower whispered. “He was my friend, and Ashfoot’s and Onestar’s, too. But the past is done and over with.”
Jaypaw glared at the elders. “I want to know what happened,” he insisted. But no one would tell him any more, and by the time he was called to training, he wished he had never spoken to them at all.
Jaypaw had been to this section of the tunnels only once before. He had marveled then at the force of the water, but Ashfoot had told him above the din that this was a dangerous place, not worth the meager chance for hunting it provided.
But Jaypaw felt like this was the place he was wanted. He thought he had caught a flash of movement far off on a ledge over the water, where the river thundered from a hole in the stone, and he wanted to investigate.
The misty froth from the water battered his whiskers, and Jaypaw reflexively backed away from the water until he felt his pelt pressed up against damp rock. Maybe this was a mistake. He had been assigned a solo hunting mission, and he knew Ashfoot was not following him. He was completely alone.
Unless the cave cat was real.
“Hello,” he croaked. He didn’t think any cat could have heard it over the noise of the river, so he tried again. “Hello?” That time wasn’t much better.
But there—it looked like—he shivered; it had looked uncomfortably similar to the cold gray light from Darkstripe’s dead eyes.
“Who’s there?” he whispered. Why did I do this alone?
Nothing had been making any sounds that he had been able to detect over the river even before he had spoken, but he still felt now as if something had stopped. Stopped moving, probably.
Then there was a scraping noise. Jaypaw inched toward the tunnel he had used to enter, but then a voice said, “Wait.”
It sounded ancient.
“Who are you?” Jaypaw whimpered. He saw a faint whitish-blue circle—no, two of them. Eyes.
The other cat made a rattling, wheezing noise. “Hello. I don’t suppose you are a ghost.”
Jaypaw’s fur now stood at its tallest point. “No.”
The strange cat wheezed again. “Oh, I know this already. Leave.” (I did a really bad job with Rock)
Jaypaw strained to see the cat, but even with his cave vision he could not pick it out from the lightless rocks; the flashes he had caught of its eyes had vanished. “What is your name?”
He was certain the cat had gone. Terrified, he scrambled to leave, but he slipped on the slick stone and slid a few taillengths across the floor. Spatters of water drenched his pelt.
But what was that? He saw something. Something that wasn’t alive. Jaypaw picked himself up and cautiously stretched forward; whatever it was had dissolved into shadow again.
He felt something smooth and worn, almost like the log from the lakeshore to the Gathering island but older. It was a stick, nearly the length of his tail, rod-straight with no branching twigs. The bark had been stripped from it long ago, and the wood underneath was soft, almost splintering beneath his toes. Countless thin clawmarks marred its surface; many of them had extra clawmarks scratched through them, but some were only single lines.
Jaypaw knew the stick must be incredibly important. It had something to do with the prophecy, he was sure—but what could an old stick matter? He was still a bit too small to carry it with ease, and he wasn’t sure if he could bring it all the way to the surface, but it was better this way.
He rolled it over to where the cavern’s floor met the walls and then darted back up the tunnel. It did not take long for him to find a scent trail over in the nearby rabbit warren, and although his mind was still on the stranger from the tunnels, he managed to catch it.
Jaypaw dropped his rabbit on the freshkill pile. “You’ve been gone a while,” Crowfeather greeted him. “Good catch, but try not to worry us so much.” Jaypaw heard Nightcloud hiss, and Crowfeather said, “I love all of my kits; they are all growing up to be strong WindClan warriors.”
Jaypaw decided to do something he had not done for a while: visit Leafpool. On his way, he passed a very distressed Hollypaw flouncing to the medicine den with her mouth full of pungent herbs. What’s her deal? Medicine cat sounds like the worst job.
Leafpool was not doing any better than she had been the last time Jaypaw had visited her, but she did not seem to be doing any worse, either. Her fur was very well groomed, as he could tell when she touched her tail to his shoulder; this was about the only thing she had to do. Jaypaw felt Rushtail’s unfriendly gaze, but Webfoot and Morningflower greeted him pleasantly enough.
“You’ve done amazingly as Ashfoot’s apprentice,” Leafpool told him, voice dripping with warmth. Gross.
But not so gross that I won’t show off. “I caught another rabbit today,” Jaypaw bragged.
Morningflower purred and thumped her tail on the ground. “I remember hunting when I was young.” He could feel her interested, probing look, but he ignored it. “WindClan had some difficulties.”
“We ended up pushed from our home,” Rushtail hissed.
“Like ThunderClan,” Jaypaw blurted before he could stop himself.
All four elders froze. “Yes,” Morningflower whispered. “Like ThunderClan.”
Leafpool sounded very much like she wanted to talk, but Webfoot cut her off. “ThunderClan was accidentally pushed from the forest by our hunting patrols. It wasn’t right, we know that now, but we were hungry, Onestar said to go in their territory, and when we were cornered, we fought. No cat expected it to go this far.” Jaypaw examined Webfoot’s thoughts and found mostly signs of him hunting in the forest and battling cats Jaypaw had never seen. (nice history lesson Webfoot)
“ThunderClan was a very strong Clan until two warriors ripped it apart,” Leafpool said quietly. Jaypaw was almost afraid of her now; she had never showed any sign of dangerous depths before, but maybe the past carried more weight for her.
“Who is Firestar?” Jaypaw demanded.
He felt shock ripple through the other cats. “How do you know that name?” Rushtail barked.
“Calm down, Rushtail. Firestar was a leader a long, long time ago,” Morningflower whispered. “He was my friend, and Ashfoot’s and Onestar’s, too. But the past is done and over with.”
Jaypaw glared at the elders. “I want to know what happened,” he insisted. But no one would tell him any more, and by the time he was called to training, he wished he had never spoken to them at all.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
JAYPAW
“All I’m saying is it’d be fun to fly.”
“Shut up, Kestrelpaw,” Hollypaw grunted. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“See, she’s not a bird,” Kestrelpaw said knowledgeably to Jaypaw. “Her power’d be something more like poisoning cats. But only if they bit her.”
Hollypaw groaned. “Go to sleep.”
“Lionpaw would be huge…r,” Kestrelpaw added, “and Antpaw would be really, really small.”
“You know, we really should go to sleep,” Jaypaw agreed. He didn’t so much mind Kestrelpaw’s chatter, but he was tired, and his anger at the elders had not ebbed one bit. The subject of powers was also a bit disorienting, considering he could not admit to his.
“Harepaw could jump pretty high and fast, and maybe make his own tunnels. Heatherpaw would, uh—”
Breezepaw sat up. “Kestrelpaw, if you don’t stop right now I am going to gut you.” (edgy)
“But you get to be invisible and move fast without touching the ground,” Kestrelpaw pointed out. “That’s a cool power, and I bet you could fly, too.”
“That’s what flying is, mousebrain. I have training tomorrow, and I want to sleep,” Breezepaw snarled. “It is very important that I sleep now. Maybe a medicine kit wouldn’t know.”
“I’m not a kit,” Kestrelpaw mewed quietly. “And that’s big talk for someone who can get hurt in his sleep.”
“I’m not getting hurt in my sleep, badgerbrain,” Breezepaw snarled.
“Breezepaw!” Eaglestep growled.
“They’re trying to bait me into this,” Breezepaw hissed.
Eaglestep stood up, looming over the apprentices. “All of you, go to sleep.”
Breezepaw flopped back down. Jaypaw was secretly relieved Eaglestep had butted in; he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Kestrelpaw to shut up, but this was his chance to rest.
Today had certainly been a strange day.
Jaypaw opened his eyes and knew he was dreaming. Not just because he could see, but also because he was in a place he had never been. Strange scents swirled around him, and wind as icy as the dark river where he had seen the mysterious stranger nearly sent him toppling from the smooth stone ledge.
Jaypaw headed down the slope. Parts of it were steep, and the coldness of the rock stung his paws, but his claws had a decent hold on the jagged ruts in the path.
He caught sight of a river, a bright, fresh, foamy stream flowing toward his peak from the base of a waterfall. He shivered, anticipating how the water would feel on his pelt, and knew he was supposed to leap.
The water caught him, bubbling around him, but it was not as cold as it should have been. It is a dream, he reminded himself, paddling upstream much more easily than he could have in the living world.
A strange pawstep pattern caught Jaypaw’s attention, and he looked up to see several cats. Their pelts wavered the same way Spottedleaf’s and Darkstripe’s did, but they shimmered with neither stars nor grime; rather, they were streaked with mud, but mud that looked natural and comfortable.
“Who are you?” Jaypaw growled, not sure whether he could trust them. He assumed this was some sort of StarClan place, since it was mostly pleasant, but there was no guarantee.
“My name is Ice on Highest Mountain,” the gray-and-white cat said. “My companions are Smoke over Distant Forest and Bright Moon in Dark Sky.” The cat’s eyes twinkled, apparently noticing Jaypaw’s confusion at the long names. “You can call us Ice, Smoke, and Bright.”
“My name is Jaypaw, but you can’t just call me Jay,” Jaypaw meowed. “Where am I?”
“We are members of the Tribe of Endless Hunting,” mewed Bright; they had a surprisingly low voice despite being noticeably smaller than the others.
Jaypaw stared at the three cats. “What are you talking about?”
Ice’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “We’re dead; we used to belong to the Tribe of Rushing Water.”
“What?” Jaypaw climbed out of the water, bracing himself for the frigid air, but it was only a bit cool on his fur. “I don’t know what that is. I’m from WindClan.”
“The Clans passed through here many seasons ago,” Smoke observed. “You were not among them, were you? You are young, and you do not seem to be a spirit.”
“I’m dreaming.” Jaypaw craned his neck and saw a cave behind the waterfall.
“In life, this was our home. It was not quite as pleasant as what you see, but it was a refuge for your predecessors.” Ice stood over Jaypaw, but he didn’t seem threatening. “The cave you see there—in the waking world you would see the Tribe of Rushing Water, but we have a quite different view.” He led Jaypaw up into the cave, where a surprisingly lush system of shimmering caves, moss, and water flourished.
“Greetings, Ice.”
“Greetings, Sand,” said Ice. To Jaypaw he said, “Our cave here is infinite. One day, when you join the ranks of StarClan, you will be able to visit it.”
A white cat with emerald green eyes emerged from one of the tunnels. “Jay’s Wing,” she called. “Is that you?” He could almost see through her. Almost. She was not as transparent as a couple of the other cats he could see, but her pale fur allowed him to see the shape of the rocks and ferns behind her.
Jaypaw stared at her, and Ice shook his head. “Half Moon is waiting for someone she lost many, many seasons before my time,” the gray-and-white tom said quietly. “She is one of the oldest spirits in the Tribe of Endless Hunting. She would have faded long ago but for the tales of her journey from afar.”
“Do you think Jay’s Wing will ever come?” Jaypaw’s heart beat more quickly at the sound of the name; it was so close to his that he almost believed he could be the cat Half Moon sought.
Ice sighed. “I do not know.”
“He will,” said Half Moon with certainty. She did not seem old, but Jaypaw supposed this was only because she was a spirit. “Jay’s Wing will come, and I will be here when he does.”
“All I’m saying is it’d be fun to fly.”
“Shut up, Kestrelpaw,” Hollypaw grunted. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“See, she’s not a bird,” Kestrelpaw said knowledgeably to Jaypaw. “Her power’d be something more like poisoning cats. But only if they bit her.”
Hollypaw groaned. “Go to sleep.”
“Lionpaw would be huge…r,” Kestrelpaw added, “and Antpaw would be really, really small.”
“You know, we really should go to sleep,” Jaypaw agreed. He didn’t so much mind Kestrelpaw’s chatter, but he was tired, and his anger at the elders had not ebbed one bit. The subject of powers was also a bit disorienting, considering he could not admit to his.
“Harepaw could jump pretty high and fast, and maybe make his own tunnels. Heatherpaw would, uh—”
Breezepaw sat up. “Kestrelpaw, if you don’t stop right now I am going to gut you.” (edgy)
“But you get to be invisible and move fast without touching the ground,” Kestrelpaw pointed out. “That’s a cool power, and I bet you could fly, too.”
“That’s what flying is, mousebrain. I have training tomorrow, and I want to sleep,” Breezepaw snarled. “It is very important that I sleep now. Maybe a medicine kit wouldn’t know.”
“I’m not a kit,” Kestrelpaw mewed quietly. “And that’s big talk for someone who can get hurt in his sleep.”
“I’m not getting hurt in my sleep, badgerbrain,” Breezepaw snarled.
“Breezepaw!” Eaglestep growled.
“They’re trying to bait me into this,” Breezepaw hissed.
Eaglestep stood up, looming over the apprentices. “All of you, go to sleep.”
Breezepaw flopped back down. Jaypaw was secretly relieved Eaglestep had butted in; he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Kestrelpaw to shut up, but this was his chance to rest.
Today had certainly been a strange day.
Jaypaw opened his eyes and knew he was dreaming. Not just because he could see, but also because he was in a place he had never been. Strange scents swirled around him, and wind as icy as the dark river where he had seen the mysterious stranger nearly sent him toppling from the smooth stone ledge.
Jaypaw headed down the slope. Parts of it were steep, and the coldness of the rock stung his paws, but his claws had a decent hold on the jagged ruts in the path.
He caught sight of a river, a bright, fresh, foamy stream flowing toward his peak from the base of a waterfall. He shivered, anticipating how the water would feel on his pelt, and knew he was supposed to leap.
The water caught him, bubbling around him, but it was not as cold as it should have been. It is a dream, he reminded himself, paddling upstream much more easily than he could have in the living world.
A strange pawstep pattern caught Jaypaw’s attention, and he looked up to see several cats. Their pelts wavered the same way Spottedleaf’s and Darkstripe’s did, but they shimmered with neither stars nor grime; rather, they were streaked with mud, but mud that looked natural and comfortable.
“Who are you?” Jaypaw growled, not sure whether he could trust them. He assumed this was some sort of StarClan place, since it was mostly pleasant, but there was no guarantee.
“My name is Ice on Highest Mountain,” the gray-and-white cat said. “My companions are Smoke over Distant Forest and Bright Moon in Dark Sky.” The cat’s eyes twinkled, apparently noticing Jaypaw’s confusion at the long names. “You can call us Ice, Smoke, and Bright.”
“My name is Jaypaw, but you can’t just call me Jay,” Jaypaw meowed. “Where am I?”
“We are members of the Tribe of Endless Hunting,” mewed Bright; they had a surprisingly low voice despite being noticeably smaller than the others.
Jaypaw stared at the three cats. “What are you talking about?”
Ice’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “We’re dead; we used to belong to the Tribe of Rushing Water.”
“What?” Jaypaw climbed out of the water, bracing himself for the frigid air, but it was only a bit cool on his fur. “I don’t know what that is. I’m from WindClan.”
“The Clans passed through here many seasons ago,” Smoke observed. “You were not among them, were you? You are young, and you do not seem to be a spirit.”
“I’m dreaming.” Jaypaw craned his neck and saw a cave behind the waterfall.
“In life, this was our home. It was not quite as pleasant as what you see, but it was a refuge for your predecessors.” Ice stood over Jaypaw, but he didn’t seem threatening. “The cave you see there—in the waking world you would see the Tribe of Rushing Water, but we have a quite different view.” He led Jaypaw up into the cave, where a surprisingly lush system of shimmering caves, moss, and water flourished.
“Greetings, Ice.”
“Greetings, Sand,” said Ice. To Jaypaw he said, “Our cave here is infinite. One day, when you join the ranks of StarClan, you will be able to visit it.”
A white cat with emerald green eyes emerged from one of the tunnels. “Jay’s Wing,” she called. “Is that you?” He could almost see through her. Almost. She was not as transparent as a couple of the other cats he could see, but her pale fur allowed him to see the shape of the rocks and ferns behind her.
Jaypaw stared at her, and Ice shook his head. “Half Moon is waiting for someone she lost many, many seasons before my time,” the gray-and-white tom said quietly. “She is one of the oldest spirits in the Tribe of Endless Hunting. She would have faded long ago but for the tales of her journey from afar.”
“Do you think Jay’s Wing will ever come?” Jaypaw’s heart beat more quickly at the sound of the name; it was so close to his that he almost believed he could be the cat Half Moon sought.
Ice sighed. “I do not know.”
“He will,” said Half Moon with certainty. She did not seem old, but Jaypaw supposed this was only because she was a spirit. “Jay’s Wing will come, and I will be here when he does.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
HOLLYPAW
“Pay attention, Lionpaw.” Owlwhisker’s amber eyes were once again narrowed in frustration with his apprentice.
Weaselfur said something about thunder under his breath. Hollypaw frowned. Is every cat’s head full of bees?
Jaypaw had been acting very strangely the past few days, Breezepaw was still bossy, and Lionpaw and Heatherpaw were both lethargic. Antpaw, Emberpaw, Harepaw, and Kestrelpaw were their usual selves, but with the exception of Harepaw she made no effort to interact with them.
“Lionpaw, it’s not even a difficult move,” Hollypaw complained as he stared at his mentor.
“I can do it,” Antpaw pointed out. “If I can do it, so can you. I heard you almost killed a cat once.” He sneered, and Eaglestep glared at his apprentice. Gorsetail had had to step down a while ago due to having kits—Hollypaw had thought he smelled like he could have kits, but he said he was a tom—and they had been born only a couple of days ago.
“Lionpaw was caught up in the heat of battle. It can happen to any cat. He has not done so since.” Eaglestep’s blue eyes flashed angrily. “You’ve barely mastered a move; Lionpaw has put in much more work, both to perform the moves and to hold back.”
“I’m just tired,” Lionpaw said, yawning.
Of course you are.
Owlwhisker waited for a few heartbeats, then said, “Okay. We’re going to have a battle now; Hollypaw, Antpaw, and me against Lionpaw, Eaglestep, and Weaselfur.”
“That’s not fair,” objected Weaselfur.
Hollypaw’s whiskers twitched with amusement. Really?
Owlwhisker lashed his tail. “It is entirely fair, Weaselfur. If you would like to pass mentorship of Hollypaw on to another cat, I suppose it is still possible; Mottlenose and Tawnyfur do not have their paws full.” Hollypaw was glad he hadn’t brought up Nightcloud or Onestar.
Weaselfur bared his teeth. “I’m just tired of dealing with all the thunder around here, that’s all.”
“It is time to hold a mock battle,” Owlwhisker said very loudly. “Three, two, one, go.” The tabby pounced at Weaselfur, looking fierce but with his claws still sheathed and his mouth still closed.
Hollypaw sprang at Lionpaw. He reacted with surprise, as if he hadn’t realized they were even having a battle. What’s going on with him?
Lionpaw was still more muscular than Hollypaw, but his attacks were sluggish. She managed to execute some of the moves she had learned with Breezepaw and Heatherpaw in the forest; she couldn’t throw Lionpaw to the ground, but she could shove him, and he would stagger aside.
You used to be an amazing fighter. What happened? Had Lionpaw even been sleeping? And Heatherpaw used to be a good hunter, she realized. Not bad in battle, but a great hunter, and she isn’t anymore.
“Are you not sleeping?” she asked. “Are you doing something with Heatherpaw?”
“Huh?” Lionpaw’s amber eyes widened, and Hollypaw felt a thrill of triumph.
“You are!” she mewed. “You need to stop.”
“What do you—no I’m not.” Lionpaw swatted at her, but his paw moved like it was made of mud; it was forceful but too slow to knock her aside at all.
“Lionpaw, you’ve gone back to how you were at fighting in the beginning,” she pointed out. “You’re swinging your paws at me, but half the time you’re not hitting me at all.”
He scowled at her, reminding her disconcertingly of Breezepaw. “I’m fighting fine.” He threw himself at her, and his weight was enough to push her down, but he didn’t try to put his paws on her.
She leapt back to her feet. “I’m not saying you can’t hang out with Heatherpaw. You just can’t do it when you’re supposed to be sleeping.”
Lionpaw hissed. “You collect herbs for Kestrelpaw!”
“Only when I have free time!” Hollypaw kicked at her brother’s paws, and he stumbled.
“Hollypaw,” mewed Eaglestep. His gray tail twitched. “Battle’s over.”
She scrambled away from Lionpaw, who yawned again. “If I had used my claws, I would have defeated him very quickly,” she reported to Weaselfur.
“Great.” Weaselfur shrugged, yellow-green eyes disinterested. “We’re going to camp.”
Hollypaw went to the medicine den, where Mottlenose was being treated for a nasty-looking bite on her shoulder. Whitetail and had scratches, too, and there was a strange scent on them. (Whitetail and who???)
“Fox,” Kestrelpaw explained, noticing Hollypaw smelling the air. “Whitetail found it. Breezepaw got a message here for backup, and Mottlenose was first into battle.”
Hollypaw stared at the gash in Mottlenose’s pelt. It looked painful, and blood seeped from the wound; already-fallen blood ran down the warrior’s foreleg.
The warrior’s pale green eyes cut into her like fangs. “I am a warrior,” she growled. “You will suffer wounds as well. I wish it did not have to be this way, but you must acquaint yourself with the perils of battle.”
Hollypaw nodded. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked, worried she had offended the brown she-cat.
“Do not apologize for my wound,” Mottlenose commanded her. “Apologize only for what you yourself have done. Right now, it is nothing.”
“Right.” Hollypaw had rarely spoken to Mottlenose; she seemed like a nice enough cat, but Hollypaw was certain she had never had kits of her own—she spoke like a medicine cat talking to an ancient leader, and she was kind of creepy.
Hollypaw set off to gather burnet, which Kestrelpaw said was running low. I’ll have to talk to Lionpaw again sometime. She could not let him fall behind.
But as she rounded the crest of the hill where Kestrelpaw had told her to look, she spotted an invader. Pelting down the hill, she recognized Willowpaw, who glanced up guiltily.
“Hollypaw!” the RiverClan medicine apprentice gasped, sounding relieved. “I was worried you were someone else. Uh, anyone else, really—I mean, uh, hi.”
“What?” Hollypaw stared at her. Willowpaw was both a resourceful fighter and a talented medicine cat; what could possibly bring her here?
Willowpaw shifted from paw to paw. “I came to collect comfrey, since it’s such a great place for herbs.” Defiance flashed in her dark eyes. “Don’t tell me off. I need it.”
Hollypaw blinked. “Well, okay, but what for?”
Willowpaw sighed. “Come with me.”
(I wish I'd left this part out)
“Pay attention, Lionpaw.” Owlwhisker’s amber eyes were once again narrowed in frustration with his apprentice.
Weaselfur said something about thunder under his breath. Hollypaw frowned. Is every cat’s head full of bees?
Jaypaw had been acting very strangely the past few days, Breezepaw was still bossy, and Lionpaw and Heatherpaw were both lethargic. Antpaw, Emberpaw, Harepaw, and Kestrelpaw were their usual selves, but with the exception of Harepaw she made no effort to interact with them.
“Lionpaw, it’s not even a difficult move,” Hollypaw complained as he stared at his mentor.
“I can do it,” Antpaw pointed out. “If I can do it, so can you. I heard you almost killed a cat once.” He sneered, and Eaglestep glared at his apprentice. Gorsetail had had to step down a while ago due to having kits—Hollypaw had thought he smelled like he could have kits, but he said he was a tom—and they had been born only a couple of days ago.
“Lionpaw was caught up in the heat of battle. It can happen to any cat. He has not done so since.” Eaglestep’s blue eyes flashed angrily. “You’ve barely mastered a move; Lionpaw has put in much more work, both to perform the moves and to hold back.”
“I’m just tired,” Lionpaw said, yawning.
Of course you are.
Owlwhisker waited for a few heartbeats, then said, “Okay. We’re going to have a battle now; Hollypaw, Antpaw, and me against Lionpaw, Eaglestep, and Weaselfur.”
“That’s not fair,” objected Weaselfur.
Hollypaw’s whiskers twitched with amusement. Really?
Owlwhisker lashed his tail. “It is entirely fair, Weaselfur. If you would like to pass mentorship of Hollypaw on to another cat, I suppose it is still possible; Mottlenose and Tawnyfur do not have their paws full.” Hollypaw was glad he hadn’t brought up Nightcloud or Onestar.
Weaselfur bared his teeth. “I’m just tired of dealing with all the thunder around here, that’s all.”
“It is time to hold a mock battle,” Owlwhisker said very loudly. “Three, two, one, go.” The tabby pounced at Weaselfur, looking fierce but with his claws still sheathed and his mouth still closed.
Hollypaw sprang at Lionpaw. He reacted with surprise, as if he hadn’t realized they were even having a battle. What’s going on with him?
Lionpaw was still more muscular than Hollypaw, but his attacks were sluggish. She managed to execute some of the moves she had learned with Breezepaw and Heatherpaw in the forest; she couldn’t throw Lionpaw to the ground, but she could shove him, and he would stagger aside.
You used to be an amazing fighter. What happened? Had Lionpaw even been sleeping? And Heatherpaw used to be a good hunter, she realized. Not bad in battle, but a great hunter, and she isn’t anymore.
“Are you not sleeping?” she asked. “Are you doing something with Heatherpaw?”
“Huh?” Lionpaw’s amber eyes widened, and Hollypaw felt a thrill of triumph.
“You are!” she mewed. “You need to stop.”
“What do you—no I’m not.” Lionpaw swatted at her, but his paw moved like it was made of mud; it was forceful but too slow to knock her aside at all.
“Lionpaw, you’ve gone back to how you were at fighting in the beginning,” she pointed out. “You’re swinging your paws at me, but half the time you’re not hitting me at all.”
He scowled at her, reminding her disconcertingly of Breezepaw. “I’m fighting fine.” He threw himself at her, and his weight was enough to push her down, but he didn’t try to put his paws on her.
She leapt back to her feet. “I’m not saying you can’t hang out with Heatherpaw. You just can’t do it when you’re supposed to be sleeping.”
Lionpaw hissed. “You collect herbs for Kestrelpaw!”
“Only when I have free time!” Hollypaw kicked at her brother’s paws, and he stumbled.
“Hollypaw,” mewed Eaglestep. His gray tail twitched. “Battle’s over.”
She scrambled away from Lionpaw, who yawned again. “If I had used my claws, I would have defeated him very quickly,” she reported to Weaselfur.
“Great.” Weaselfur shrugged, yellow-green eyes disinterested. “We’re going to camp.”
Hollypaw went to the medicine den, where Mottlenose was being treated for a nasty-looking bite on her shoulder. Whitetail and had scratches, too, and there was a strange scent on them. (Whitetail and who???)
“Fox,” Kestrelpaw explained, noticing Hollypaw smelling the air. “Whitetail found it. Breezepaw got a message here for backup, and Mottlenose was first into battle.”
Hollypaw stared at the gash in Mottlenose’s pelt. It looked painful, and blood seeped from the wound; already-fallen blood ran down the warrior’s foreleg.
The warrior’s pale green eyes cut into her like fangs. “I am a warrior,” she growled. “You will suffer wounds as well. I wish it did not have to be this way, but you must acquaint yourself with the perils of battle.”
Hollypaw nodded. “I’m sorry,” she squeaked, worried she had offended the brown she-cat.
“Do not apologize for my wound,” Mottlenose commanded her. “Apologize only for what you yourself have done. Right now, it is nothing.”
“Right.” Hollypaw had rarely spoken to Mottlenose; she seemed like a nice enough cat, but Hollypaw was certain she had never had kits of her own—she spoke like a medicine cat talking to an ancient leader, and she was kind of creepy.
Hollypaw set off to gather burnet, which Kestrelpaw said was running low. I’ll have to talk to Lionpaw again sometime. She could not let him fall behind.
But as she rounded the crest of the hill where Kestrelpaw had told her to look, she spotted an invader. Pelting down the hill, she recognized Willowpaw, who glanced up guiltily.
“Hollypaw!” the RiverClan medicine apprentice gasped, sounding relieved. “I was worried you were someone else. Uh, anyone else, really—I mean, uh, hi.”
“What?” Hollypaw stared at her. Willowpaw was both a resourceful fighter and a talented medicine cat; what could possibly bring her here?
Willowpaw shifted from paw to paw. “I came to collect comfrey, since it’s such a great place for herbs.” Defiance flashed in her dark eyes. “Don’t tell me off. I need it.”
Hollypaw blinked. “Well, okay, but what for?”
Willowpaw sighed. “Come with me.”
(I wish I'd left this part out)
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
HOLLYPAW
Hollypaw’s pelt itched with guilt as she crept along the lakeshore. I’m sorry, WindClan. The burnet tickled her mouth, and she knew she would have a lot to answer for when she returned.
Willowpaw suddenly sped up, leaping through the mud, and Hollypaw followed. The gray tabby led her to the fallen tree lying over the lake. “You live on the island?” she panted through her mouthful of leaves.
Willowpaw nodded. Skidding to a halt in the bushes and dropping her bundle of comfrey, she said to Mothwing, “She caught me trespassing—don’t tell anyone! She won’t get me in trouble if I show her what’s happening.”
“You aren’t allowed on our territory,” Hollypaw pointed out.
Willowpaw made a sound of frustration. “I know that, Hollypaw, but—”
“Come back here, Sneezekit!” A dark brown tabby she-cat dashed after a tiny, fluffy gray-and-white kit. “Graymist’s been looking everywhere for you; where’s Mallowkit?”
Hollypaw stared. “Everyone is here.”
“Not right now,” Willowpaw mewed grimly. (see in the real book they all see RiverClan at the Gathering; maybe I forgot about that?)
“Hawkfrost’s taken a patrol to our camp,” Mothwing growled. The hatred in her amber eyes was palpable, and Hollypaw shuddered. “Leopardstar can’t do anything to stop him.”
“Can I do anything?” Hollypaw asked.
Willowpaw glanced at Mothwing. “You could come with Blackclaw and us,” she suggested. “He wants to block up the stream.”
Hollypaw was very confused now. “Won’t that make it hard to fish?”
Willowpaw shook her head. “We won’t block the whole stream, and mostly all we’re going to end up doing is making a pond and a dam.”
“Well, okay.” Hollypaw stretched. “Are we going now?”
“Yes.” Mothwing padded into the center of the clearing. “Blackclaw, Swallowtail, we’re ready.”
A dusky brown tom and the tabby who had caught Sneezekit approached them. “Who is that?” rasped Blackclaw.
“A WindClan apprentice who wants to help.” Mothwing dipped her head. “Willowpaw ran into her, and she offered her paws.”
Blackclaw sized her up. One of his pale amber eyes was clouded with cataracts. “Well, more paws is always good,” he growled. “Let’s go.” He led them back across the log and through the wet, uncomfortable marsh. (I'm pretty sure I made Blackclaw completely OOC sorry)
“What’s that sound?” Hollypaw whimpered. Strange cries rang through the thin forest, resonating in the still leaffall air.
“You’ll see.” Willowpaw grimaced, sharp teeth gleaming.
Peering from behind a prickly yew bush, Hollypaw spotted strange creatures. “What are they?” she breathed. They were mostly hairless and bundled in colorful, smooth pelts. Two of them stampeded around the clearing, apparently delighted with the splashing water, and a third, smaller one crawled around in what she assumed must be a den. It barely fit, and its back ripped holes in the roof. Two larger creatures of the same species sat on a log nearby; one held a tiny rectangle up, pointing it at what Hollypaw realized must be its kits.
“Twolegs,” Blackclaw whispered. Hollypaw tried not to be disrespectful, but his fish-breath really was foul. “They keep comin’ into our camp and stompin’ it around.”
Hollypaw smelled the air. “They’re disgusting,” she whispered.
“Hawkfrost thinks if he gets Pouncepaw to distract the full-grown Twolegs his patrol can attack the kits and they’ll never come back,” Mothwing explained. “I don’t think it’ll work; Twolegs are all friends with other Twolegs, and they’ve hurt the Clans a lot before. Chased us all out of the forest.”
Willowpaw scampered away, and Swallowtail told Hollypaw that part of the plan was to distract Hawkfrost so that he couldn’t incite the Twolegs’ wrath.
Blackclaw led them now farther upstream. Hollypaw realized why he hadn’t simply moved the stones on his own; they were heavy, and it took a lot of effort to move just one. Blackclaw wheezed as he rolled one into the water.
It didn’t take all that long to stop up the stream; only a little bit of water trickled out now. “That should do it,” Blackclaw meowed, panting.
They headed back toward the camp; Mothwing tracked down Willowpaw and Hawkfrost’s patrol. “The Twolegs should not return to our camp,” Mothwing announced.
Hawkfrost snarled. “This was your doing!”
“Yes, it was my doing to get the Twolegs out of camp,” Mothwing agreed coldly. “Soon enough it will be leafbare, and the Twolegs only like falling down hills in leafbare. Once newleaf comes they will have forgotten the way here, and they will visit only upstream, where they cannot disturb our camp.”
Hatred smoldered in both cats’ eyes, and Hollypaw wished she were still young enough that she could reasonably hide behind a warrior. Hawkfrost’s eyes locked on her. “Who is that?”
“She helped us,” Blackclaw told the RiverClan deputy with an air of finality. “She will not continue to trespass; she was only ever here with permission.”
“Not my permission,” Hawkfrost objected.
“No,” said Mothwing. “Mine.”
Hollypaw’s pelt itched with guilt as she crept along the lakeshore. I’m sorry, WindClan. The burnet tickled her mouth, and she knew she would have a lot to answer for when she returned.
Willowpaw suddenly sped up, leaping through the mud, and Hollypaw followed. The gray tabby led her to the fallen tree lying over the lake. “You live on the island?” she panted through her mouthful of leaves.
Willowpaw nodded. Skidding to a halt in the bushes and dropping her bundle of comfrey, she said to Mothwing, “She caught me trespassing—don’t tell anyone! She won’t get me in trouble if I show her what’s happening.”
“You aren’t allowed on our territory,” Hollypaw pointed out.
Willowpaw made a sound of frustration. “I know that, Hollypaw, but—”
“Come back here, Sneezekit!” A dark brown tabby she-cat dashed after a tiny, fluffy gray-and-white kit. “Graymist’s been looking everywhere for you; where’s Mallowkit?”
Hollypaw stared. “Everyone is here.”
“Not right now,” Willowpaw mewed grimly. (see in the real book they all see RiverClan at the Gathering; maybe I forgot about that?)
“Hawkfrost’s taken a patrol to our camp,” Mothwing growled. The hatred in her amber eyes was palpable, and Hollypaw shuddered. “Leopardstar can’t do anything to stop him.”
“Can I do anything?” Hollypaw asked.
Willowpaw glanced at Mothwing. “You could come with Blackclaw and us,” she suggested. “He wants to block up the stream.”
Hollypaw was very confused now. “Won’t that make it hard to fish?”
Willowpaw shook her head. “We won’t block the whole stream, and mostly all we’re going to end up doing is making a pond and a dam.”
“Well, okay.” Hollypaw stretched. “Are we going now?”
“Yes.” Mothwing padded into the center of the clearing. “Blackclaw, Swallowtail, we’re ready.”
A dusky brown tom and the tabby who had caught Sneezekit approached them. “Who is that?” rasped Blackclaw.
“A WindClan apprentice who wants to help.” Mothwing dipped her head. “Willowpaw ran into her, and she offered her paws.”
Blackclaw sized her up. One of his pale amber eyes was clouded with cataracts. “Well, more paws is always good,” he growled. “Let’s go.” He led them back across the log and through the wet, uncomfortable marsh. (I'm pretty sure I made Blackclaw completely OOC sorry)
“What’s that sound?” Hollypaw whimpered. Strange cries rang through the thin forest, resonating in the still leaffall air.
“You’ll see.” Willowpaw grimaced, sharp teeth gleaming.
Peering from behind a prickly yew bush, Hollypaw spotted strange creatures. “What are they?” she breathed. They were mostly hairless and bundled in colorful, smooth pelts. Two of them stampeded around the clearing, apparently delighted with the splashing water, and a third, smaller one crawled around in what she assumed must be a den. It barely fit, and its back ripped holes in the roof. Two larger creatures of the same species sat on a log nearby; one held a tiny rectangle up, pointing it at what Hollypaw realized must be its kits.
“Twolegs,” Blackclaw whispered. Hollypaw tried not to be disrespectful, but his fish-breath really was foul. “They keep comin’ into our camp and stompin’ it around.”
Hollypaw smelled the air. “They’re disgusting,” she whispered.
“Hawkfrost thinks if he gets Pouncepaw to distract the full-grown Twolegs his patrol can attack the kits and they’ll never come back,” Mothwing explained. “I don’t think it’ll work; Twolegs are all friends with other Twolegs, and they’ve hurt the Clans a lot before. Chased us all out of the forest.”
Willowpaw scampered away, and Swallowtail told Hollypaw that part of the plan was to distract Hawkfrost so that he couldn’t incite the Twolegs’ wrath.
Blackclaw led them now farther upstream. Hollypaw realized why he hadn’t simply moved the stones on his own; they were heavy, and it took a lot of effort to move just one. Blackclaw wheezed as he rolled one into the water.
It didn’t take all that long to stop up the stream; only a little bit of water trickled out now. “That should do it,” Blackclaw meowed, panting.
They headed back toward the camp; Mothwing tracked down Willowpaw and Hawkfrost’s patrol. “The Twolegs should not return to our camp,” Mothwing announced.
Hawkfrost snarled. “This was your doing!”
“Yes, it was my doing to get the Twolegs out of camp,” Mothwing agreed coldly. “Soon enough it will be leafbare, and the Twolegs only like falling down hills in leafbare. Once newleaf comes they will have forgotten the way here, and they will visit only upstream, where they cannot disturb our camp.”
Hatred smoldered in both cats’ eyes, and Hollypaw wished she were still young enough that she could reasonably hide behind a warrior. Hawkfrost’s eyes locked on her. “Who is that?”
“She helped us,” Blackclaw told the RiverClan deputy with an air of finality. “She will not continue to trespass; she was only ever here with permission.”
“Not my permission,” Hawkfrost objected.
“No,” said Mothwing. “Mine.”
CHAPTER FORTY
JAYPAW
The lake lapped at the shore, and Jaypaw was glad he wasn’t a RiverClan cat. The water in his dream of the mountains had not been too bad, but that was only because he had felt like a different cat then. Dreams were a strange thing. This water was cold and unforgiving, especially after the recent rains.
Jaypaw had fallen a bit behind the patrol, but this had become routine. They knew now that he was a good enough tracker that he would never get lost just by being slow, so as long as he stayed within a range where they could see him they weren’t worried.
Jaypaw fought his way through a tangle of reeds. He could have gone around, but he didn’t feel like it. I’m stronger than a couple plants. The lake water pooled on both sides, and continuing through the ferns was probably a drier path anyway.
But he tripped. Jaypaw crashed to the ground, rattling the cattails and reeds around him, and felt something hard against his jaw.
It hadn’t hurt him, at least. His jaw was intact, and he could move it without any real pain, though it ached a bit from the impact. And yet there was something about the rock he had hit…
It wasn’t a rock. Jaypaw placed his paw on it and recognized it instantly. My stick! It carried the ancient air of the tunnels with it, and its barkless wood was scored by countless clawmarks. But what’s it doing out here?
The rushing water nearby answered his question almost instantly. The tunnels must release their water here when they overflowed; the stick must have been carried by the current and gotten tangled in the base of the reeds.
And then he was watching—he could see. He saw a ginger-and-white cat beside a river. The cave. And up on the rocky ledge he had seen was a nearly hairless cat with slightly-less-bulbous but still hauntingly familiar white-blue eyes. “Who are you?” the spotted cat meowed nervously.
“My name is Rock.” Rock’s remaining fur was ragged, moth-eaten. “Welcome, Fallen Leaves. Is it raining?” He leaned toward Fallen Leaves. “If it is, you should wait for another day.”
“No,” said Fallen Leaves. (I couldn't find Dark River to write this scene accurately)
“Strange,” Rock mewed softly. “The rain falls fast in my eyes.”
Fallen Leaves looked defiant. “It’s not raining. I can do it today.”
Rock shrugged. “If you insist. Fallen Leaves, if you wish to become a sharpclaw, you must free yourself from this tunnel. Because you have elected to complete this challenge today, I can be of no help in navigation. I wish you well, softpaw.”
Jaypaw saw his stick! Rock balanced it in the curve of one paw and meticulously dragged a single claw through it. He did not add a strike through this one. He stared up at the cave ceiling for a moment, and Jaypaw could see sadness welling in his silvery eyes. He did not mark the scratch with a second line. (yeah I just said that)
Softpaw? Sharpclaw? Jaypaw found himself flying along behind Fallen Leaves as the now-nervous tom padded into a tunnel. Jaypaw didn’t think it was a familiar one, but he had always navigated by scent, sound, and feel, never by sight.
Sure enough, Fallen Leaves reached a dead end. Now fearful, the tabby whirled and bolted clumsily down the tunnel, stumbling in the dark. Jaypaw cringed as Fallen Leaves slammed face-first into the rock. Beginner’s mistake.
And now the thundering of water had returned. But Jaypaw didn’t know this place. Fallen Leaves got back to his paws, shook his head to clear it, and tried a new tunnel. Dead end.
Water crashed over him, and Jaypaw shrieked.
“Jaypaw,” Ashfoot called, sounding only slightly alarmed. He had had the vision almost instantaneously. “Are you okay?”
“I’m coming,” he howled back, shoving the stick down into the cattails. “I just tripped.”
“You should go around next time,” Ashfoot scolded gently. But Jaypaw was sure that as long as he lived he would never willingly set paw in the water. (okay but he had no reaction to the fact that when the vision ended he was still standing in the water)
The lake lapped at the shore, and Jaypaw was glad he wasn’t a RiverClan cat. The water in his dream of the mountains had not been too bad, but that was only because he had felt like a different cat then. Dreams were a strange thing. This water was cold and unforgiving, especially after the recent rains.
Jaypaw had fallen a bit behind the patrol, but this had become routine. They knew now that he was a good enough tracker that he would never get lost just by being slow, so as long as he stayed within a range where they could see him they weren’t worried.
Jaypaw fought his way through a tangle of reeds. He could have gone around, but he didn’t feel like it. I’m stronger than a couple plants. The lake water pooled on both sides, and continuing through the ferns was probably a drier path anyway.
But he tripped. Jaypaw crashed to the ground, rattling the cattails and reeds around him, and felt something hard against his jaw.
It hadn’t hurt him, at least. His jaw was intact, and he could move it without any real pain, though it ached a bit from the impact. And yet there was something about the rock he had hit…
It wasn’t a rock. Jaypaw placed his paw on it and recognized it instantly. My stick! It carried the ancient air of the tunnels with it, and its barkless wood was scored by countless clawmarks. But what’s it doing out here?
The rushing water nearby answered his question almost instantly. The tunnels must release their water here when they overflowed; the stick must have been carried by the current and gotten tangled in the base of the reeds.
And then he was watching—he could see. He saw a ginger-and-white cat beside a river. The cave. And up on the rocky ledge he had seen was a nearly hairless cat with slightly-less-bulbous but still hauntingly familiar white-blue eyes. “Who are you?” the spotted cat meowed nervously.
“My name is Rock.” Rock’s remaining fur was ragged, moth-eaten. “Welcome, Fallen Leaves. Is it raining?” He leaned toward Fallen Leaves. “If it is, you should wait for another day.”
“No,” said Fallen Leaves. (I couldn't find Dark River to write this scene accurately)
“Strange,” Rock mewed softly. “The rain falls fast in my eyes.”
Fallen Leaves looked defiant. “It’s not raining. I can do it today.”
Rock shrugged. “If you insist. Fallen Leaves, if you wish to become a sharpclaw, you must free yourself from this tunnel. Because you have elected to complete this challenge today, I can be of no help in navigation. I wish you well, softpaw.”
Jaypaw saw his stick! Rock balanced it in the curve of one paw and meticulously dragged a single claw through it. He did not add a strike through this one. He stared up at the cave ceiling for a moment, and Jaypaw could see sadness welling in his silvery eyes. He did not mark the scratch with a second line. (yeah I just said that)
Softpaw? Sharpclaw? Jaypaw found himself flying along behind Fallen Leaves as the now-nervous tom padded into a tunnel. Jaypaw didn’t think it was a familiar one, but he had always navigated by scent, sound, and feel, never by sight.
Sure enough, Fallen Leaves reached a dead end. Now fearful, the tabby whirled and bolted clumsily down the tunnel, stumbling in the dark. Jaypaw cringed as Fallen Leaves slammed face-first into the rock. Beginner’s mistake.
And now the thundering of water had returned. But Jaypaw didn’t know this place. Fallen Leaves got back to his paws, shook his head to clear it, and tried a new tunnel. Dead end.
Water crashed over him, and Jaypaw shrieked.
“Jaypaw,” Ashfoot called, sounding only slightly alarmed. He had had the vision almost instantaneously. “Are you okay?”
“I’m coming,” he howled back, shoving the stick down into the cattails. “I just tripped.”
“You should go around next time,” Ashfoot scolded gently. But Jaypaw was sure that as long as he lived he would never willingly set paw in the water. (okay but he had no reaction to the fact that when the vision ended he was still standing in the water)
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
HOLLYPAW
Hawkfrost’s boiling blue glare was still fixed on Hollypaw’s back as she said her goodbyes to Willowpaw, Mothwing, Blackclaw, and Swallowtail. (boiling) She rolled in the sand by the lake for a moment, hoping no one would be able to smell RiverClan scent on her, and trotted back to where Kestrelpaw had sent her for herbs.
He was there now. “Hollypaw! Where did you go?” His blue eyes clouded with confusion. “You’re all dirty, too.”
She licked at her black fur, regretting that she hadn’t washed the sand off in the lake. “I went the wrong way and tripped,” she said.
“Well, now you can help me with the burnet.” He pulled a long leaf from the ground. “Burnet and comfrey.”
Hollypaw helped him. He showed her where some had been stolen. “I think it was Willowpaw. I’m not going to rat on her this time, but if you ever notice she’s taken more, we should do something about it.”
Hollypaw nodded. “Smells like her,” she mewed evasively.
Once Kestrelpaw was satisfied that they’d gathered enough, they headed back to camp together and deposited the herbs in neat stacks in the medicine den. Hollypaw was exhausted from her excursion; she passed Lionpaw as he left the den. At least he’s sleeping, I guess, she thought. Daytime probably isn’t the best time for that.
Gorsetail’s kits had opened their eyes, and Thistlekit charged across the clearing to join her. Gorsetail hadn’t told anyone who the other parent was, and no cat had stepped forward. Hollypaw wasn’t sure whether she trusted that his kits were full WindClan, but she was determined to treat them like they belonged anyway. She had chosen to believe his mate was another WindClan cat to prevent herself from losing respect for him. (fun fact: Kate? made GorsexBeech canon, with Beech being Beechfur of RiverClan)
Thistlekit’s long, soft white fur was messy. “Who are you?” she whispered, dark gray-blue kitten-eyes huge. “I don’t know you.”
“Hollypaw. I’m an apprentice.”
“I’m goin’ to be an apprentice soon,” said Thistlekit with a strong air of self-importance. Hollypaw purred, amused. Thistlekit glared at her. “I’m old enough!”
The kit was under half a moon old. “Oh, right,” said Hollypaw. “I must have been confused, since I’ve never met you before, but now I see how big and fierce you are.”
Thistlekit looked appeased. “Can I come in the medicine den with you?”
Hollypaw thought for a moment. “Sure.” Thistlekit would probably be a pain to deal with soon, but for now Hollypaw could act almost like a mentor to her. I wonder if I could teach a kit not to be annoying.
Thistlekit gaped awestruck at the interior of the den. It was not well lit, but toward the back of the crevice it opened again to the sky, and the tangle of gorse that created the ceiling there allowed some light to filter in.
Barkface looked surprised to see Hollypaw with the kit. “You’re back sooner than I expected,” he rasped.
“Thistlekit wanted to look in here.” The fuzzy kit sniffed at the catmint, and Hollypaw put her paw on it. “That’s only for when you’re very sick.”
Thistlekit blinked sadly at her. “But I’m sick!” she wailed, flopping to the ground. “I need a leaf!”
“You’re not sick,” Hollypaw sighed. “Get up.”
Thistlekit kept wailing, and Barkface rolled to his paws and touched his nose to her pelt. “It is okay, Thistlekit,” he murmured. “The leaf smells sweet, but it has a very bitter and unpleasant taste. Yuck. Yucky leaf.”
Thistlekit stopped her tantrum and stared at the medicine cat. Hollypaw thought it was clever of Barkface to lie about the leaf, but Thistlekit didn’t look as if she truly believed him.
“I think you will find more entertaining things to do out in the camp clearing,” Barkface suggested. “Perhaps Hollypaw could show you around the old badger setts.”
Thistlekit stood up. “Okay,” she said, sounding very disappointed.
Hollypaw guided the kit back through Barkface’s boulder and into the open, then to one of the dens. “Sometimes, when the weather is nasty, the warriors and apprentices sleep down in this hole.”
Thistlekit stared into the sett. “Are there still badgers?” she whispered, looking less scared than hopeful.
“No, the badgers left a long time ago.” Hollypaw ducked into the sett. “See, it’s perfectly safe.”
“Why?” Thistlekit’s dark eyes gleamed.
Hollypaw knew that game, but she wasn’t going to allow it. “Come on, let’s go see something else.” She pointed her tail at Onestar’s den. “That’s where the leader sleeps.”
Thistlekit just stared at the rock, looking confused.
“Our leader is Onestar, and that’s where he sleeps. Do you want to see inside? I can’t take you actually into it, but you can look.”
“I want to be the leader,” Thistlekit mewed.
Hollypaw twitched her whiskers. “Well, one day. But right now, you still have to learn how.”
Thistlekit waved her tail and bounded toward Onestar’s den. Hollypaw followed, sighing again. She didn’t think she could teach a kit to not be annoying. But maybe, if she put up with her for now, Onestar would allow her to mentor Thistlekit when it was time. That would be one step closer to deputy.
Hawkfrost’s boiling blue glare was still fixed on Hollypaw’s back as she said her goodbyes to Willowpaw, Mothwing, Blackclaw, and Swallowtail. (boiling) She rolled in the sand by the lake for a moment, hoping no one would be able to smell RiverClan scent on her, and trotted back to where Kestrelpaw had sent her for herbs.
He was there now. “Hollypaw! Where did you go?” His blue eyes clouded with confusion. “You’re all dirty, too.”
She licked at her black fur, regretting that she hadn’t washed the sand off in the lake. “I went the wrong way and tripped,” she said.
“Well, now you can help me with the burnet.” He pulled a long leaf from the ground. “Burnet and comfrey.”
Hollypaw helped him. He showed her where some had been stolen. “I think it was Willowpaw. I’m not going to rat on her this time, but if you ever notice she’s taken more, we should do something about it.”
Hollypaw nodded. “Smells like her,” she mewed evasively.
Once Kestrelpaw was satisfied that they’d gathered enough, they headed back to camp together and deposited the herbs in neat stacks in the medicine den. Hollypaw was exhausted from her excursion; she passed Lionpaw as he left the den. At least he’s sleeping, I guess, she thought. Daytime probably isn’t the best time for that.
Gorsetail’s kits had opened their eyes, and Thistlekit charged across the clearing to join her. Gorsetail hadn’t told anyone who the other parent was, and no cat had stepped forward. Hollypaw wasn’t sure whether she trusted that his kits were full WindClan, but she was determined to treat them like they belonged anyway. She had chosen to believe his mate was another WindClan cat to prevent herself from losing respect for him. (fun fact: Kate? made GorsexBeech canon, with Beech being Beechfur of RiverClan)
Thistlekit’s long, soft white fur was messy. “Who are you?” she whispered, dark gray-blue kitten-eyes huge. “I don’t know you.”
“Hollypaw. I’m an apprentice.”
“I’m goin’ to be an apprentice soon,” said Thistlekit with a strong air of self-importance. Hollypaw purred, amused. Thistlekit glared at her. “I’m old enough!”
The kit was under half a moon old. “Oh, right,” said Hollypaw. “I must have been confused, since I’ve never met you before, but now I see how big and fierce you are.”
Thistlekit looked appeased. “Can I come in the medicine den with you?”
Hollypaw thought for a moment. “Sure.” Thistlekit would probably be a pain to deal with soon, but for now Hollypaw could act almost like a mentor to her. I wonder if I could teach a kit not to be annoying.
Thistlekit gaped awestruck at the interior of the den. It was not well lit, but toward the back of the crevice it opened again to the sky, and the tangle of gorse that created the ceiling there allowed some light to filter in.
Barkface looked surprised to see Hollypaw with the kit. “You’re back sooner than I expected,” he rasped.
“Thistlekit wanted to look in here.” The fuzzy kit sniffed at the catmint, and Hollypaw put her paw on it. “That’s only for when you’re very sick.”
Thistlekit blinked sadly at her. “But I’m sick!” she wailed, flopping to the ground. “I need a leaf!”
“You’re not sick,” Hollypaw sighed. “Get up.”
Thistlekit kept wailing, and Barkface rolled to his paws and touched his nose to her pelt. “It is okay, Thistlekit,” he murmured. “The leaf smells sweet, but it has a very bitter and unpleasant taste. Yuck. Yucky leaf.”
Thistlekit stopped her tantrum and stared at the medicine cat. Hollypaw thought it was clever of Barkface to lie about the leaf, but Thistlekit didn’t look as if she truly believed him.
“I think you will find more entertaining things to do out in the camp clearing,” Barkface suggested. “Perhaps Hollypaw could show you around the old badger setts.”
Thistlekit stood up. “Okay,” she said, sounding very disappointed.
Hollypaw guided the kit back through Barkface’s boulder and into the open, then to one of the dens. “Sometimes, when the weather is nasty, the warriors and apprentices sleep down in this hole.”
Thistlekit stared into the sett. “Are there still badgers?” she whispered, looking less scared than hopeful.
“No, the badgers left a long time ago.” Hollypaw ducked into the sett. “See, it’s perfectly safe.”
“Why?” Thistlekit’s dark eyes gleamed.
Hollypaw knew that game, but she wasn’t going to allow it. “Come on, let’s go see something else.” She pointed her tail at Onestar’s den. “That’s where the leader sleeps.”
Thistlekit just stared at the rock, looking confused.
“Our leader is Onestar, and that’s where he sleeps. Do you want to see inside? I can’t take you actually into it, but you can look.”
“I want to be the leader,” Thistlekit mewed.
Hollypaw twitched her whiskers. “Well, one day. But right now, you still have to learn how.”
Thistlekit waved her tail and bounded toward Onestar’s den. Hollypaw followed, sighing again. She didn’t think she could teach a kit to not be annoying. But maybe, if she put up with her for now, Onestar would allow her to mentor Thistlekit when it was time. That would be one step closer to deputy.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
JAYPAW
Half a moon had come and gone since Hollypaw’s trip to RiverClan. She hadn’t told anyone about it, of course, but Jaypaw had smelled it on her. Just as he had smelled it on Gorsetail time after time.
But Hollypaw had visited only once, and Jaypaw didn’t want to anger her by telling her he knew. He had noticed her fear-scent that day.
Fear radiated from her again now as she shot into the camp. “Get here, now,” she panted. Jaypaw, Lionpaw, and Heatherpaw listened, and Lionpaw nudged Breezepaw, who had been telling a story about the rabbit he had caught that morning. “I don’t know where Thistlekit is,” Hollykit whispered.
Even Breezepaw registered as alarmed, shock pouring from him, and Jaypaw was pleasantly surprised even through his own fear that the other apprentice was capable of caring about someone other than himself.
“Gorsetail’s on patrol, and they don’t have another parent to be worried, and Mottlenose is in the medicine den,” Hollypaw counted. “So it’s just me who’s noticed, probably. I found—I found Thistlekit’s scent along with the others, I mean.”
Jaypaw padded toward the camp entrance. “What are you waiting for? Why didn’t you follow it?”
“They—they went down a tunnel,” she whispered, sounding terrified.
Jaypaw froze. “No. You can’t be serious.”
He could not see the sky, but he knew from the static air that a storm brewed overhead. The other four apprentices followed him.
“Get a warrior,” Breezepaw snarled. “We can’t do this.”
“What, are you scared?” Jaypaw snapped. “We have to get them immediately.” He wished Harepaw had been there, but he was out training with Antpaw and Emberpaw. I’m their only tunneler.
Breezepaw growled. “I’m not scared and I think you’re lying.” His voice shook, and Jaypaw, probing his thoughts, caught a glimpse of the time he had fallen into the mud.
Jaypaw picked up the kits’ scent trails easily and followed them into a tunnel. The ancient air washed over him. His siblings, Heatherpaw, and Breezepaw could not navigate the path as quickly as he could. “Hurry up.” He couldn’t carry all three kits alone, and he didn’t want to lose the other apprentices down here, either.
They were trying, at least. “Okay, be a little more careful,” he said with alarm as one of them—he decided to believe it was Breezepaw—sent a shower of pebbles across the floor.
A distressed hiss from somewhere else told him it had not been Breezepaw, but Jaypaw pressed on. Dread gathered deeper and deeper in his belly as the certainty solidified that the kits had gotten to Rock’s cavern.
Lionpaw and Heatherpaw both squealed excitedly as they followed Jaypaw into the slippery river room. His terror grew, knotting Jaypaw’s heart as he noticed the river was getting higher.
Was this the way Fallen Leaves went? Jaypaw couldn’t match any of the tunnels he traveled down with the ones he had seen. The kits’ scent trails overlapped back onto themselves in several places, and Jaypaw was worried he would never find them.
A pelt rubbed against his, and he hissed. “Don’t touch me.” No one apologized, and he assumed it must have been Breezepaw. Jaypaw frantically charged down tunnel after tunnel, other apprentices trailing behind him. Lionpaw cried something about the cold water, and Jaypaw shrieked, but Lionpaw was only talking about the spray from the water arcing out of the current as it beat against higher stone.
Jaypaw nearly slammed into the wall, his whiskers alerting him to the dead end just in time. He didn’t think StarClan could see him down here, and he didn’t want to scare the others any more than he already had.
“I knew it. You led us all to our deaths,” Breezepaw roared over the sound of the crashing water.
Lionpaw made a noise of protest, but Jaypaw assumed he couldn’t come up with an argument to make, considering Jaypaw had brought them down here and refused to listen to Breezepaw when he had suggested finding a warrior.
Jaypaw did not think he had done the wrong thing. “The warrior code says you can’t neglect a kit in pain or danger,” Hollypaw wheezed, and Jaypaw was grateful to her for at least trying.
Breezepaw huffed. “It doesn’t say five cats should drown themselves so that more lives can be lost.”
Someone bumped into Jaypaw again. “Breezepaw!” he hissed. “Don’t touch me!”
“What are you talking about?” his half-brother snarled from somewhere behind him. “I’m nowhere near you!”
Jaypaw faltered. “S—sorry. Whoever that was, don’t—”
But he saw him. “Fallen Leaves,” he whispered. The water was much louder than the cat’s name, but he nodded. His ghostly form was more visible than anything Jaypaw had ever seen outside of a dream or his vision of the very same cat.
Fallen Leaves led him down a path he didn’t think he had tried. He made no noise, and the other apprentices didn’t seem to be able to see him or indeed detect him at all.
At the end of the tunnel, Fallen Leaves looked pleadingly at Jaypaw, mouthed something, and dissolved into smoke. Jaypaw could hear the kits now. “We’re here,” he mewed, and they started making excited noises. They were behind a boulder in the path.
“What happened?” Hollypaw called as Jaypaw squeezed over the boulder and began shoving the kits back into the tunnel.
“Sedgekit said we should climb over the boulder so we did and we got stuck,” Swallowkit sobbed. “We got stuck, and Thistlekit won’t move, and I’m scared!” Jaypaw reached out with his mind and found that Thistlekit was alive but weak, able to breathe but not to stand.
“We’ve got you now,” Hollypaw soothed, but she sounded as scared as the kits. As she should be.
“We need to get out immediately,” Jaypaw ordered. He knew his fur was standing on end, but he made no effort to flatten it—no one could see his fear, and fear-scent came from all of them. Even Breezepaw could not hide his terror.
Jaypaw managed to get back to the front of the party, scrambling past the other apprentices’ legs as they turned to follow him. “This way.” His heart pounded ferociously in his throat. Hollypaw, Lionpaw, and Heatherpaw had the kits. He followed his own scent back to Rock’s cavern.
It was too late.
The water had risen all the way to the mouth of this tunnel. “This isn’t good,” he squeaked.
The water rushed up at his paws now. Breezepaw shouted something, but Jaypaw didn’t know what it was. He stared up into the cavern.
And there was Rock, cupping the stick in one paw. How’d he get that back? Jaypaw thought indignantly. Rock looked directly at him. Fallen Leaves stood behind the ugly, hairless cat.
Rock had carved eight new scratches into the stick. With a glare of hatred, he rotated the stick, showing that a long clawmark crossed through all eight. Jaypaw blinked, and Rock and Fallen Leaves were gone. A faint motion told him the stick had fallen into the water. Breezepaw was still shouting, and the kits screamed loudly enough to pierce Jaypaw’s eardrums.
He thought he understood now. The water had reached his belly fur and threatened to send all eight of them swirling back through the tunnel. “Jump in, get deep, hold your breath,” Jaypaw bellowed, thrusting himself forward into the water. He clawed his way deeper. StarClan, please let this work!
Half a moon had come and gone since Hollypaw’s trip to RiverClan. She hadn’t told anyone about it, of course, but Jaypaw had smelled it on her. Just as he had smelled it on Gorsetail time after time.
But Hollypaw had visited only once, and Jaypaw didn’t want to anger her by telling her he knew. He had noticed her fear-scent that day.
Fear radiated from her again now as she shot into the camp. “Get here, now,” she panted. Jaypaw, Lionpaw, and Heatherpaw listened, and Lionpaw nudged Breezepaw, who had been telling a story about the rabbit he had caught that morning. “I don’t know where Thistlekit is,” Hollykit whispered.
Even Breezepaw registered as alarmed, shock pouring from him, and Jaypaw was pleasantly surprised even through his own fear that the other apprentice was capable of caring about someone other than himself.
“Gorsetail’s on patrol, and they don’t have another parent to be worried, and Mottlenose is in the medicine den,” Hollypaw counted. “So it’s just me who’s noticed, probably. I found—I found Thistlekit’s scent along with the others, I mean.”
Jaypaw padded toward the camp entrance. “What are you waiting for? Why didn’t you follow it?”
“They—they went down a tunnel,” she whispered, sounding terrified.
Jaypaw froze. “No. You can’t be serious.”
He could not see the sky, but he knew from the static air that a storm brewed overhead. The other four apprentices followed him.
“Get a warrior,” Breezepaw snarled. “We can’t do this.”
“What, are you scared?” Jaypaw snapped. “We have to get them immediately.” He wished Harepaw had been there, but he was out training with Antpaw and Emberpaw. I’m their only tunneler.
Breezepaw growled. “I’m not scared and I think you’re lying.” His voice shook, and Jaypaw, probing his thoughts, caught a glimpse of the time he had fallen into the mud.
Jaypaw picked up the kits’ scent trails easily and followed them into a tunnel. The ancient air washed over him. His siblings, Heatherpaw, and Breezepaw could not navigate the path as quickly as he could. “Hurry up.” He couldn’t carry all three kits alone, and he didn’t want to lose the other apprentices down here, either.
They were trying, at least. “Okay, be a little more careful,” he said with alarm as one of them—he decided to believe it was Breezepaw—sent a shower of pebbles across the floor.
A distressed hiss from somewhere else told him it had not been Breezepaw, but Jaypaw pressed on. Dread gathered deeper and deeper in his belly as the certainty solidified that the kits had gotten to Rock’s cavern.
Lionpaw and Heatherpaw both squealed excitedly as they followed Jaypaw into the slippery river room. His terror grew, knotting Jaypaw’s heart as he noticed the river was getting higher.
Was this the way Fallen Leaves went? Jaypaw couldn’t match any of the tunnels he traveled down with the ones he had seen. The kits’ scent trails overlapped back onto themselves in several places, and Jaypaw was worried he would never find them.
A pelt rubbed against his, and he hissed. “Don’t touch me.” No one apologized, and he assumed it must have been Breezepaw. Jaypaw frantically charged down tunnel after tunnel, other apprentices trailing behind him. Lionpaw cried something about the cold water, and Jaypaw shrieked, but Lionpaw was only talking about the spray from the water arcing out of the current as it beat against higher stone.
Jaypaw nearly slammed into the wall, his whiskers alerting him to the dead end just in time. He didn’t think StarClan could see him down here, and he didn’t want to scare the others any more than he already had.
“I knew it. You led us all to our deaths,” Breezepaw roared over the sound of the crashing water.
Lionpaw made a noise of protest, but Jaypaw assumed he couldn’t come up with an argument to make, considering Jaypaw had brought them down here and refused to listen to Breezepaw when he had suggested finding a warrior.
Jaypaw did not think he had done the wrong thing. “The warrior code says you can’t neglect a kit in pain or danger,” Hollypaw wheezed, and Jaypaw was grateful to her for at least trying.
Breezepaw huffed. “It doesn’t say five cats should drown themselves so that more lives can be lost.”
Someone bumped into Jaypaw again. “Breezepaw!” he hissed. “Don’t touch me!”
“What are you talking about?” his half-brother snarled from somewhere behind him. “I’m nowhere near you!”
Jaypaw faltered. “S—sorry. Whoever that was, don’t—”
But he saw him. “Fallen Leaves,” he whispered. The water was much louder than the cat’s name, but he nodded. His ghostly form was more visible than anything Jaypaw had ever seen outside of a dream or his vision of the very same cat.
Fallen Leaves led him down a path he didn’t think he had tried. He made no noise, and the other apprentices didn’t seem to be able to see him or indeed detect him at all.
At the end of the tunnel, Fallen Leaves looked pleadingly at Jaypaw, mouthed something, and dissolved into smoke. Jaypaw could hear the kits now. “We’re here,” he mewed, and they started making excited noises. They were behind a boulder in the path.
“What happened?” Hollypaw called as Jaypaw squeezed over the boulder and began shoving the kits back into the tunnel.
“Sedgekit said we should climb over the boulder so we did and we got stuck,” Swallowkit sobbed. “We got stuck, and Thistlekit won’t move, and I’m scared!” Jaypaw reached out with his mind and found that Thistlekit was alive but weak, able to breathe but not to stand.
“We’ve got you now,” Hollypaw soothed, but she sounded as scared as the kits. As she should be.
“We need to get out immediately,” Jaypaw ordered. He knew his fur was standing on end, but he made no effort to flatten it—no one could see his fear, and fear-scent came from all of them. Even Breezepaw could not hide his terror.
Jaypaw managed to get back to the front of the party, scrambling past the other apprentices’ legs as they turned to follow him. “This way.” His heart pounded ferociously in his throat. Hollypaw, Lionpaw, and Heatherpaw had the kits. He followed his own scent back to Rock’s cavern.
It was too late.
The water had risen all the way to the mouth of this tunnel. “This isn’t good,” he squeaked.
The water rushed up at his paws now. Breezepaw shouted something, but Jaypaw didn’t know what it was. He stared up into the cavern.
And there was Rock, cupping the stick in one paw. How’d he get that back? Jaypaw thought indignantly. Rock looked directly at him. Fallen Leaves stood behind the ugly, hairless cat.
Rock had carved eight new scratches into the stick. With a glare of hatred, he rotated the stick, showing that a long clawmark crossed through all eight. Jaypaw blinked, and Rock and Fallen Leaves were gone. A faint motion told him the stick had fallen into the water. Breezepaw was still shouting, and the kits screamed loudly enough to pierce Jaypaw’s eardrums.
He thought he understood now. The water had reached his belly fur and threatened to send all eight of them swirling back through the tunnel. “Jump in, get deep, hold your breath,” Jaypaw bellowed, thrusting himself forward into the water. He clawed his way deeper. StarClan, please let this work!
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
LIONPAW
Lionpaw’s lungs screamed for air. The kit in his jaws—Thistlekit?—was probably having an even harder time with this than he was. His back slammed against rock, and sharp edges tore at his shoulders. His head scraped something jagged.
And then he was spinning into the lake, crashing into cattails and reeds. Thistlekit or whichever one it was flew from his jaws; she looked pained but alive. He splashed frantically onto his feet. “Everyone okay,” he gasped, coughing up water. It leaked from the corners of his mouth, and tufts of fur had been pulled from his pelt. He was bleeding. But he was fine.
Everyone else had survived, too. Jaypaw’s mouth gushed water as his nose bled freely; Hollypaw’s fur parted to reveal a long gash. Breezepaw and Heatherpaw looked equally banged up.
As far as rock injury, the kits had fared far better, since the apprentices had shielded them from most of the rocks. They all seemed to have swallowed far too much water, and Heatherpaw had to press on Swallowkit’s flank to get her to throw more of it up.
“Let’s get you back to camp,” Hollypaw said. Her voice was strained and raspy.
Jaypaw shuddered. “Don’t ever explore down there again.” Blood spurted from his nostrils.
Thistlekit didn’t seem to have been hurt when Lionpaw had dropped her; she shivered in the pouring rain, long white fur clumping, but she was able to totter through the marsh on her own. A fierce current swept over the cats’ paws, but they had jetted far enough from the muddy hole that it could not topple them over.
Lionpaw’s head ached. He kept his ears pinned back; this seemed to make it hurt a little less. He nudged Thistlekit forward, aware of how telling it was that neither Jaypaw nor Breezepaw had complained about the others leading them.
Swallowkit dangled from Heatherpaw’s jaws and Sedgekit from Hollypaw’s. Lionpaw almost wanted to laugh at how sorry they looked, ragged and bloody. Water did this to us. The Clans’ finest warriors here.
Whitetail, Owlwhisker, and Ashfoot intercepted them before they reached camp. None of the warriors appeared to know exactly what to say, but even in the darkness of the storm Lionpaw could see the horror and confusion in their eyes.
“I’m taking you to Barkface,” Ashfoot said. “I don’t want you to explain just yet. You need rest.”
Lionpaw was relieved that they weren’t in trouble—yet—and saw no reason to argue. Barkface’s eyes widened as he saw them, but he asked no questions, instead busily setting to work treating them. Out of the corner of his eye Lionpaw could see Hollypaw blearily pawing at her herbs, trying to identify them.
Barkface quietly ordered the apprentices to sleep and carried Gorsetail’s kits out one by one. His voice sternly telling Kestrelpaw to keep quiet buzzed in Lionpaw’s ears as he curled up on the moss.
He must have dreamed—Jaypaw had insisted every cat dreamed every night—but he didn’t remember when he woke up. Or if he did, his dreams were of wandering in total darkness, with no sense of where the surface might be, while a distant roar grew louder and louder, making the stone around him vibrate.
Lionpaw woke with his head and pelt still throbbing, but he was sure he had been asleep for a very long time. Hollypaw, Heatherpaw, and Jaypaw had gone; only Breezepaw was still in the den, and he had his back turned to Lionpaw. The black tom’s breathing was irregular, as if he had just run here from ShadowClan in the sun.
“Thank you for coming,” Lionpaw croaked.
Breezepaw tensed. “What are you talking about? I did what any cat—you made me go.”
Lionpaw shifted, trying to get closer to his half-brother, but he didn’t move much. “I’m afraid of the tunnels. And there were just three kits. You didn’t have to.”
“I’m not afraid,” Breezepaw snapped, audibly gasping in pain.
“I didn’t say you were.” This time Lionpaw managed to roll to his paws, though he remained on the ground. “But none of us really had to do it, and if any of us did it was Hollypaw, Jaypaw, and me.”
“But I did have to.” Lionpaw didn’t understand the pain he thought he heard in the words, but all Breezepaw added was, “You should know. Doesn’t anyone think you’re less of a warrior?”
Lionpaw blinked, sending pain shooting through his forehead. “Well, I don’t listen to them.”
Breezepaw sighed disparagingly. “Of course you don’t.”
Lionpaw’s fur prickled; he knew Breezepaw meant it as an insult, but maybe he had had it coming, treading such sensitive ground. He wanted to ask who Breezepaw was talking about, but he knew that would be a worse offense in the other cat’s eyes than killing him.
Breezepaw was obviously not asleep, but when he curled tighter in his nest, Lionpaw decided it was time to face the Clan. He crept out of the medicine den and wished he could take back the very action of moving a muscle.
The light outside was not as bright as he had been expecting, and he relaxed as he saw how dim the sky was. Just the thought of the piercingly bright sun was painful.
Leafpool’s amber eyes glowed as she saw him. “You’re all okay,” she mewed. “We were worried we had lost you.” Crowfeather sat beside her, staring warmly at his kits and apprentice. “I’m very proud,” his mother added.
The other cats sitting around the camp all seemed in agreement. Gorsetail softly called his thanks from the nursery, and according to Hollypaw he had given her, Heatherpaw, and Jaypaw each a separate thanks as well. Onestar dipped his head toward the cluster of apprentices.
Nightcloud was the only cat who seemed put off by any of it, and even she was relieved the kits were safe. Her biggest concern seemed to be that Breezepaw had not yet left Barkface’s den, and her posture became much less stiff after Lionpaw assured her he was only tired. She even went so far as to give him a curt but polite nod.
“We’re heroes now,” Hollypaw informed him. “Every cat will respect us now.”
Lionpaw still didn’t think they needed that—but maybe being a warrior would be more fun if the Clan was on his side.
When Breezepaw finally left Barkface’s den, Gorsetail thanked him, too. Lionpaw went to sleep again that night somehow exhausted from his nap in Barkface’s den. He couldn’t wait until he was a warrior.
Lionpaw’s lungs screamed for air. The kit in his jaws—Thistlekit?—was probably having an even harder time with this than he was. His back slammed against rock, and sharp edges tore at his shoulders. His head scraped something jagged.
And then he was spinning into the lake, crashing into cattails and reeds. Thistlekit or whichever one it was flew from his jaws; she looked pained but alive. He splashed frantically onto his feet. “Everyone okay,” he gasped, coughing up water. It leaked from the corners of his mouth, and tufts of fur had been pulled from his pelt. He was bleeding. But he was fine.
Everyone else had survived, too. Jaypaw’s mouth gushed water as his nose bled freely; Hollypaw’s fur parted to reveal a long gash. Breezepaw and Heatherpaw looked equally banged up.
As far as rock injury, the kits had fared far better, since the apprentices had shielded them from most of the rocks. They all seemed to have swallowed far too much water, and Heatherpaw had to press on Swallowkit’s flank to get her to throw more of it up.
“Let’s get you back to camp,” Hollypaw said. Her voice was strained and raspy.
Jaypaw shuddered. “Don’t ever explore down there again.” Blood spurted from his nostrils.
Thistlekit didn’t seem to have been hurt when Lionpaw had dropped her; she shivered in the pouring rain, long white fur clumping, but she was able to totter through the marsh on her own. A fierce current swept over the cats’ paws, but they had jetted far enough from the muddy hole that it could not topple them over.
Lionpaw’s head ached. He kept his ears pinned back; this seemed to make it hurt a little less. He nudged Thistlekit forward, aware of how telling it was that neither Jaypaw nor Breezepaw had complained about the others leading them.
Swallowkit dangled from Heatherpaw’s jaws and Sedgekit from Hollypaw’s. Lionpaw almost wanted to laugh at how sorry they looked, ragged and bloody. Water did this to us. The Clans’ finest warriors here.
Whitetail, Owlwhisker, and Ashfoot intercepted them before they reached camp. None of the warriors appeared to know exactly what to say, but even in the darkness of the storm Lionpaw could see the horror and confusion in their eyes.
“I’m taking you to Barkface,” Ashfoot said. “I don’t want you to explain just yet. You need rest.”
Lionpaw was relieved that they weren’t in trouble—yet—and saw no reason to argue. Barkface’s eyes widened as he saw them, but he asked no questions, instead busily setting to work treating them. Out of the corner of his eye Lionpaw could see Hollypaw blearily pawing at her herbs, trying to identify them.
Barkface quietly ordered the apprentices to sleep and carried Gorsetail’s kits out one by one. His voice sternly telling Kestrelpaw to keep quiet buzzed in Lionpaw’s ears as he curled up on the moss.
He must have dreamed—Jaypaw had insisted every cat dreamed every night—but he didn’t remember when he woke up. Or if he did, his dreams were of wandering in total darkness, with no sense of where the surface might be, while a distant roar grew louder and louder, making the stone around him vibrate.
Lionpaw woke with his head and pelt still throbbing, but he was sure he had been asleep for a very long time. Hollypaw, Heatherpaw, and Jaypaw had gone; only Breezepaw was still in the den, and he had his back turned to Lionpaw. The black tom’s breathing was irregular, as if he had just run here from ShadowClan in the sun.
“Thank you for coming,” Lionpaw croaked.
Breezepaw tensed. “What are you talking about? I did what any cat—you made me go.”
Lionpaw shifted, trying to get closer to his half-brother, but he didn’t move much. “I’m afraid of the tunnels. And there were just three kits. You didn’t have to.”
“I’m not afraid,” Breezepaw snapped, audibly gasping in pain.
“I didn’t say you were.” This time Lionpaw managed to roll to his paws, though he remained on the ground. “But none of us really had to do it, and if any of us did it was Hollypaw, Jaypaw, and me.”
“But I did have to.” Lionpaw didn’t understand the pain he thought he heard in the words, but all Breezepaw added was, “You should know. Doesn’t anyone think you’re less of a warrior?”
Lionpaw blinked, sending pain shooting through his forehead. “Well, I don’t listen to them.”
Breezepaw sighed disparagingly. “Of course you don’t.”
Lionpaw’s fur prickled; he knew Breezepaw meant it as an insult, but maybe he had had it coming, treading such sensitive ground. He wanted to ask who Breezepaw was talking about, but he knew that would be a worse offense in the other cat’s eyes than killing him.
Breezepaw was obviously not asleep, but when he curled tighter in his nest, Lionpaw decided it was time to face the Clan. He crept out of the medicine den and wished he could take back the very action of moving a muscle.
The light outside was not as bright as he had been expecting, and he relaxed as he saw how dim the sky was. Just the thought of the piercingly bright sun was painful.
Leafpool’s amber eyes glowed as she saw him. “You’re all okay,” she mewed. “We were worried we had lost you.” Crowfeather sat beside her, staring warmly at his kits and apprentice. “I’m very proud,” his mother added.
The other cats sitting around the camp all seemed in agreement. Gorsetail softly called his thanks from the nursery, and according to Hollypaw he had given her, Heatherpaw, and Jaypaw each a separate thanks as well. Onestar dipped his head toward the cluster of apprentices.
Nightcloud was the only cat who seemed put off by any of it, and even she was relieved the kits were safe. Her biggest concern seemed to be that Breezepaw had not yet left Barkface’s den, and her posture became much less stiff after Lionpaw assured her he was only tired. She even went so far as to give him a curt but polite nod.
“We’re heroes now,” Hollypaw informed him. “Every cat will respect us now.”
Lionpaw still didn’t think they needed that—but maybe being a warrior would be more fun if the Clan was on his side.
When Breezepaw finally left Barkface’s den, Gorsetail thanked him, too. Lionpaw went to sleep again that night somehow exhausted from his nap in Barkface’s den. He couldn’t wait until he was a warrior.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
JAYPAW
Jaypaw thought he might be back in the Tribe of Endless Hunting. He still had no idea who these cats were, but from the rocky ceiling and soft mossy floor, he thought he recognized the cave where he had met Sand and Half Moon.
Scampering down a wide, shining passageway, he passed a few mud-streaked cats; he dipped his head, and they flicked their ears. This was the right cave, then.
As he explored the expansive system—he thought Ice might have commented that it was infinite, but that might have been a detail filled in by his own mind—he spotted something that stopped him in his tracks. (I forgot about the "find" tool and couldn't find where Ice called it infinite, so I made this vague)
He wasn’t sure what it was about the place that had first caught his eye from the outside. It wasn’t particularly bright or lush; in fact, it was the opposite, a dark cavern full of stone teeth hanging from the ceiling and jutting from the floor. He had seen the stone teeth elsewhere, but these were more numerous.
What intrigued him most was the water. This water did not come from a bubbling stream or pour from the rock. It was a still pool of sky. Confused, he looked up, confirming that the cave had a ceiling; there was no sky to reflect.
“Hello, young one,” a tortoiseshell greeted him. They were as faded as Half Moon had been, maybe more so. “You are not from here.”
“What is this place?”
“This is the Chamber of the Pointed Stones,” she mewed, gesturing with her muzzle at the stone teeth surrounding them. “This is the place where we may gaze upon the living. I? I am but a queen who calls this home.”
Jaypaw craned his neck to peer into the pool. His reflection stared back, and he suddenly realized this was the first time he had ever seen himself. He had seen Crowfeather and Leafpool in their dreams. He didn’t look anything like them. “I don’t know why I’m here. I’m from the Clans.”
“Your predecessors traveled here many seasons ago,” she mewed. Ice’s friend had said something almost identical on his first visit. “You are perhaps a softpaw, but that is of no matter. If you walk our skies, there must be a reason, though I know not what it could be.” She had emerged wholly now from the stone teeth.
Jaypaw thought again of the prophecy. “What do you know about a cat with fire in his pelt? A cat named Firestar.”
She shook her head. “I do not know Firestar. His name sounds that of one of your Clan cats, but I had hunted among spirits for countless seasons before anyone had need of shelter with the Tribe, and I admit I was criminally incurious at the time. ‘They will leave soon,’ I thought; ‘the silver cat has already given up her life for us.’ I felt no need to pry.” Her tail waved over the water. She didn’t have a reflection.
“Why can’t I see the real cats now?” Jaypaw didn’t think the tortie had any reason to lie, but the pool was mostly an undisturbed swath of stars. He recognized Silverpelt. “Is that StarClan up there?”
She closed her eyes tranquilly. “You are alive; the Pointed Stones do not speak for everyone. And—yes and no.”
Jaypaw glared at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“The skies stretch far wider than the earth,” she explained, waving a paw. “StarClan’s territory overlaps ours, but they are not above or below.”
Jaypaw wrinkled his nose. “StarClan has borders?”
She was silent for a moment, and Jaypaw was about to ask again when she said, “We do not have boundaries in the traditional sense. But every cat has their place in the sky, and one can see on a long enough journey that these regions are connected.”
Jaypaw stared at the water, remembering Darkstripe. He knew this was his chance to ask about that place, but he didn’t feel like talking about it right now. Annoyance sparked at him as he realized just how little this cat had really told him.
The tortoiseshell watched him quizzically. “I feel I have seen you before,” she mused.
“Well, I don’t know you.” Starting to feel slightly creeped out, Jaypaw felt the dream slipping from his mind. “Who are you?” If he knew her name, maybe he could find her again, and then he could press her for answers.
She smiled, bluish green eyes folding very thin, and Jaypaw knew she had been very old when she had lived. “My name is Teller of the Pointed Stones.” (and you're kind of useless)
Jaypaw thought he might be back in the Tribe of Endless Hunting. He still had no idea who these cats were, but from the rocky ceiling and soft mossy floor, he thought he recognized the cave where he had met Sand and Half Moon.
Scampering down a wide, shining passageway, he passed a few mud-streaked cats; he dipped his head, and they flicked their ears. This was the right cave, then.
As he explored the expansive system—he thought Ice might have commented that it was infinite, but that might have been a detail filled in by his own mind—he spotted something that stopped him in his tracks. (I forgot about the "find" tool and couldn't find where Ice called it infinite, so I made this vague)
He wasn’t sure what it was about the place that had first caught his eye from the outside. It wasn’t particularly bright or lush; in fact, it was the opposite, a dark cavern full of stone teeth hanging from the ceiling and jutting from the floor. He had seen the stone teeth elsewhere, but these were more numerous.
What intrigued him most was the water. This water did not come from a bubbling stream or pour from the rock. It was a still pool of sky. Confused, he looked up, confirming that the cave had a ceiling; there was no sky to reflect.
“Hello, young one,” a tortoiseshell greeted him. They were as faded as Half Moon had been, maybe more so. “You are not from here.”
“What is this place?”
“This is the Chamber of the Pointed Stones,” she mewed, gesturing with her muzzle at the stone teeth surrounding them. “This is the place where we may gaze upon the living. I? I am but a queen who calls this home.”
Jaypaw craned his neck to peer into the pool. His reflection stared back, and he suddenly realized this was the first time he had ever seen himself. He had seen Crowfeather and Leafpool in their dreams. He didn’t look anything like them. “I don’t know why I’m here. I’m from the Clans.”
“Your predecessors traveled here many seasons ago,” she mewed. Ice’s friend had said something almost identical on his first visit. “You are perhaps a softpaw, but that is of no matter. If you walk our skies, there must be a reason, though I know not what it could be.” She had emerged wholly now from the stone teeth.
Jaypaw thought again of the prophecy. “What do you know about a cat with fire in his pelt? A cat named Firestar.”
She shook her head. “I do not know Firestar. His name sounds that of one of your Clan cats, but I had hunted among spirits for countless seasons before anyone had need of shelter with the Tribe, and I admit I was criminally incurious at the time. ‘They will leave soon,’ I thought; ‘the silver cat has already given up her life for us.’ I felt no need to pry.” Her tail waved over the water. She didn’t have a reflection.
“Why can’t I see the real cats now?” Jaypaw didn’t think the tortie had any reason to lie, but the pool was mostly an undisturbed swath of stars. He recognized Silverpelt. “Is that StarClan up there?”
She closed her eyes tranquilly. “You are alive; the Pointed Stones do not speak for everyone. And—yes and no.”
Jaypaw glared at her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“The skies stretch far wider than the earth,” she explained, waving a paw. “StarClan’s territory overlaps ours, but they are not above or below.”
Jaypaw wrinkled his nose. “StarClan has borders?”
She was silent for a moment, and Jaypaw was about to ask again when she said, “We do not have boundaries in the traditional sense. But every cat has their place in the sky, and one can see on a long enough journey that these regions are connected.”
Jaypaw stared at the water, remembering Darkstripe. He knew this was his chance to ask about that place, but he didn’t feel like talking about it right now. Annoyance sparked at him as he realized just how little this cat had really told him.
The tortoiseshell watched him quizzically. “I feel I have seen you before,” she mused.
“Well, I don’t know you.” Starting to feel slightly creeped out, Jaypaw felt the dream slipping from his mind. “Who are you?” If he knew her name, maybe he could find her again, and then he could press her for answers.
She smiled, bluish green eyes folding very thin, and Jaypaw knew she had been very old when she had lived. “My name is Teller of the Pointed Stones.” (and you're kind of useless)
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CROWFEATHER
Licking Leafpool’s ear, he rose to leave, knowing Nightcloud’s stare bored into his pelt.
Sure enough, as he padded through the clearing, Nightcloud appeared. She met him just over halfway across the clearing. “I saw that.”
“Leafpool is part of my life,” Crowfeather told her. “I know you don’t like her, or having her around, but she is here.”
“I don’t believe you,” Nightcloud growled. “After all this time, you still haven’t let her go.”
“Nightcloud, you are my mate.” He returned her tone. She could not guilt him out of this. “You know I care deeply for you; you are my only mate. This has nothing to do with our family; I seek the welfare of WindClan and of every cat in its care.”
“Does our son mean nothing?” she spat.
“I have three sons,” he meowed coldly.
“Are you quite certain you are not including Hollypaw among that number? I speak of Breezepaw. Or had you forgotten him?”
How dare she? Haven’t I done everything I can? “I have a responsibility to WindClan to look out for every cat.”
“That scum is no more a WindClan cat than Blackstar.” Nightcloud’s fur was beginning to rise.
“The final decision is Onestar’s,” Crowfeather pointed out.
Her eyes burned like green suns. “I will never understand why some cats are so desperate to prove their disloyalty. I have been betrayed before. I do not forgive lightly.”
You were desperate for kits and for someone who would listen to your yapping for more than four heartbeats. But her words had stung him more than he would like to admit. He had run off with Leafpool in a moment of weakness, yet he knew he would do it again in a heartbeat.
The expression on his mate’s face as he turned away displayed her hatred quite plainly, but he could not focus on that now. He had brought WindClan three extra kits, and now they were heroes, along with his fourth kit and his apprentice; as far as Crowfeather was concerned, he had demonstrated his loyalty unquestionably.
That was why he thought it would be a good time to ask Onestar if Leafpool could join the Clan.
She lived in their camp, of course, but she could only leave under tight supervision. Most of her missions were just collecting herbs with Barkface. Crowfeather had been confined to camp for a moon, the only exception to this being patrols specifically assigned to him, and in fact he thought he had been sent on an inordinate number of dawn and evening patrols.
Leafpool had been stuck here for, what, eight moons? Nine? Crowfeather couldn’t remember how long it had been since his kits had become apprentices. Pushing aside the thought, he padded toward Onestar’s den, picking up his pace as he saw that the leader stood outside.
“Onestar,” he mewed.
The tabby tom’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Crowfeather.” His voice was not entirely unfriendly as it had been moons ago, but it still gave Crowfeather pause. Maybe this was not such a great idea.
“I need to talk to you about Leafpool,” Crowfeather said, knowing he needed to confess this as soon as possible.
Onestar stiffened. “Not planning to skip off to the hills and make more kits, are you? Believe it or not, it is possible to make kits in WindClan, too.”
Flattening his ears, Crowfeather continued as if he had not heard Onestar the first time. “I am well aware that my brief departure from the Clan was a gross breach of of the warrior code, and that I risked my position as a warrior. However, we—we now have a cat in our camp who has as many moons of experience as I.”
“You are not even our most experienced warrior,” Onestar grunted. “WindClan does not need ThunderClan for its survival. Their last defeat seems proof enough.”
“Please listen to me,” Crowfeather begged. “Leafpool has adjusted well to the hills. She will be a loyal warrior.”
“Don’t speak to me of loyalty,” Onestar warned him, eyes glinting. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Crowfeather lashed his tail in frustration. “Doesn’t any cat mean anything to you? Firestar is dead; there is nothing left to prove. Honor his memory by—”
“WindClan has never needed to bow to ThunderClan,” Onestar snarled. “I didn’t need Firestar, and I don’t need his daughter. Leave me alone.” He stormed away.
Crowfeather stared after him, then cast his gaze around the camp. The only cat there who looked back at him was Nightcloud. She shook her head.
Licking Leafpool’s ear, he rose to leave, knowing Nightcloud’s stare bored into his pelt.
Sure enough, as he padded through the clearing, Nightcloud appeared. She met him just over halfway across the clearing. “I saw that.”
“Leafpool is part of my life,” Crowfeather told her. “I know you don’t like her, or having her around, but she is here.”
“I don’t believe you,” Nightcloud growled. “After all this time, you still haven’t let her go.”
“Nightcloud, you are my mate.” He returned her tone. She could not guilt him out of this. “You know I care deeply for you; you are my only mate. This has nothing to do with our family; I seek the welfare of WindClan and of every cat in its care.”
“Does our son mean nothing?” she spat.
“I have three sons,” he meowed coldly.
“Are you quite certain you are not including Hollypaw among that number? I speak of Breezepaw. Or had you forgotten him?”
How dare she? Haven’t I done everything I can? “I have a responsibility to WindClan to look out for every cat.”
“That scum is no more a WindClan cat than Blackstar.” Nightcloud’s fur was beginning to rise.
“The final decision is Onestar’s,” Crowfeather pointed out.
Her eyes burned like green suns. “I will never understand why some cats are so desperate to prove their disloyalty. I have been betrayed before. I do not forgive lightly.”
You were desperate for kits and for someone who would listen to your yapping for more than four heartbeats. But her words had stung him more than he would like to admit. He had run off with Leafpool in a moment of weakness, yet he knew he would do it again in a heartbeat.
The expression on his mate’s face as he turned away displayed her hatred quite plainly, but he could not focus on that now. He had brought WindClan three extra kits, and now they were heroes, along with his fourth kit and his apprentice; as far as Crowfeather was concerned, he had demonstrated his loyalty unquestionably.
That was why he thought it would be a good time to ask Onestar if Leafpool could join the Clan.
She lived in their camp, of course, but she could only leave under tight supervision. Most of her missions were just collecting herbs with Barkface. Crowfeather had been confined to camp for a moon, the only exception to this being patrols specifically assigned to him, and in fact he thought he had been sent on an inordinate number of dawn and evening patrols.
Leafpool had been stuck here for, what, eight moons? Nine? Crowfeather couldn’t remember how long it had been since his kits had become apprentices. Pushing aside the thought, he padded toward Onestar’s den, picking up his pace as he saw that the leader stood outside.
“Onestar,” he mewed.
The tabby tom’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Crowfeather.” His voice was not entirely unfriendly as it had been moons ago, but it still gave Crowfeather pause. Maybe this was not such a great idea.
“I need to talk to you about Leafpool,” Crowfeather said, knowing he needed to confess this as soon as possible.
Onestar stiffened. “Not planning to skip off to the hills and make more kits, are you? Believe it or not, it is possible to make kits in WindClan, too.”
Flattening his ears, Crowfeather continued as if he had not heard Onestar the first time. “I am well aware that my brief departure from the Clan was a gross breach of of the warrior code, and that I risked my position as a warrior. However, we—we now have a cat in our camp who has as many moons of experience as I.”
“You are not even our most experienced warrior,” Onestar grunted. “WindClan does not need ThunderClan for its survival. Their last defeat seems proof enough.”
“Please listen to me,” Crowfeather begged. “Leafpool has adjusted well to the hills. She will be a loyal warrior.”
“Don’t speak to me of loyalty,” Onestar warned him, eyes glinting. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Crowfeather lashed his tail in frustration. “Doesn’t any cat mean anything to you? Firestar is dead; there is nothing left to prove. Honor his memory by—”
“WindClan has never needed to bow to ThunderClan,” Onestar snarled. “I didn’t need Firestar, and I don’t need his daughter. Leave me alone.” He stormed away.
Crowfeather stared after him, then cast his gaze around the camp. The only cat there who looked back at him was Nightcloud. She shook her head.
to be honest (spoilers in the tag)
Yay!