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Post by SmugGull on Apr 19, 2019 10:40:09 GMT -5
CHAPTER ONE
Thunder split the sky and the world went white as lightning struck the fallen tree next to him. Flames washed over him, suffocating his howl of pain – he heard Sandstorm scream, and then –
It was over.
~~
Firestar wheezed and coughed as he opened his eyes. The air was hot, suffocating – he gagged on the stuffy air, clawing at whatever was constricted around his throat – it was thick, heavy, and –
– a collar?
Firestar stared blankly down at his chest where a golden bell dangled from his throat. There was a dish next to his nest – nest? Bed? Nest – filled with dry, bland-smelling pellets.
Something clicked in his mind and he shot to his feet, frantically checking himself for gray hairs. He found none – his pelt was pure ginger, as fluffy as a newly-minted apprentice's. He was young again – as young as when he'd first joined the clan.
This was a day that would be seared into his mind forever; the day he'd wandered into the woods and stepped into a world wilder and more complicated than he could have ever imagined; the one choice he'd never regretted in his life. If he stepped outside and it was raining – if Smudge was there –
Smudge. Firestar had barely thought of his friend since the clans had been forced to leave the forest, driven out by the Twoleg invasion. So many cats had died... if this were real, could he save them, too?
Could he save Whitestorm?
Cinderpelt?
Spottedleaf?
Bluestar?
Could he stop Tigerstar before anyone got hurt?
Firestar – Rusty, now, technically – ignored the dish beside him and bolted for the cat flap, hissing as his fur caught on the sides.
He leaped to the top of the fence without breaking stride and stumbled on the landing. His collar was wrapped around his throat like a fox trap, cutting off his air supply, and it burned – he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe –
Get it off, get it off, get it off –
“– sty! Rusty!”
The collar came free with a snap and Firestar – Rusty, his name was Rusty, he hated it, he wanted it gone – Rusty heaved a great, gasping breath. The air had never tasted so sweet.
“Rusty?”
A narrow black-and-white face filled Rusty's vision. He scrambled backward with a hiss and the face retracted hastily.
“It's me, it's me!” the face yelped.
Rusty blinked as the face resolved itself into the face of a plump black-and-white tom. A hauntingly familiar black-and-white tom.
"Smudge?"
"Hi," Smudge took a cautious step forward. "Are you going to claw my face off if I came closer?"
Rusty just stared. Smudge was here. He was young. This...this was real.
It was real.
"Oh, no," Smudge muttered. "Please don't start panicking again."
Rusty was seriously considering panicking again. What if he messed up – now that he knew what was going to happen, what if he couldn't stop it? What did that make him? A fool? An incompetent? A fox-hearted coward?
He took a deep breath and managed to keep himself from spiraling. "I'm okay," he muttered.
"Sure, you are." Smudge pressed up against Rusty's side. "Seriously, what happened?"
"I saw..." Rusty trailed off, huffing a tired laugh. "I saw a lot. Cats dying. Suffering. Rising from the grave. There were good things, too, but..."
Smudge was silent for a long moment. Then he butted his head against Rusty's shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?" he meowed.
Yes, but not with you. In that moment, he missed Sandstorm so badly it hurt.
"Not really."
"Oh, thank goodness." Smudge slumped dramatically. "I wouldn't have slept for weeks."
Rusty snorted. "Weeks? Try 'ever again'. You and your poor, delicate constitution."
Smudge nodded vigorously. "Yes, exactly. See, you get it."
Rusty snorted, feeling some of the tension ease out of him as he fell back into the habits of his kit-hood. He leaned easily against Smudge and stared into the forest beyond.
Greystripe was out there somewhere, with Bluestar and Lionheart not far behind. All he had to do was step into the trees...
Suddenly, this all seemed oppressively real.
Stop Tigerstar – Tigerclaw. Save the cats he killed. Save Bluestar's family.
It was impossibly simple; it was also downright impossible. And he could do it – or at least try.
All he had to do was step into the trees.
"I'm going into the forest."
Smudge stared at him with round eyes. "What? Why? It's dangerous – you know what Henry said – ”
Rusty snorted. "Henry doesn't know what he's talking about." He stood up, balancing precariously on the flimsy Twoleg fence, and looked back at Smudge. "I'm going to join the wild cats. I won't be able to see you much, but I'll try and visit once in a while. Look after Princess for me."
Smudge lashed his tail ferociously enough that the fence wobbled, nearly pitching Rusty face-first into the dirt below. "You're not serious," he protested. "They'll eat you for breakfast."
"Those dreams I had weren't just dreams," Rusty told him. "They were my friends. I have to protect them."
"But you could die!"
Rusty chuckled. "It wouldn't be the first time. Promise me you'll look after Princess?"
"I – " Smudge sighed. "Okay, but – be careful!"
"I will."
With that, Rusty jumped off the fence and landed lightly on the ground below. He braced, preparing for the customary protests of his joints. They didn't come.
That sealed it, really. He hadn't been able to make a jump like that without feeling it in moons.
~~
Rusty relaxed as soon as he was underneath the trees. He welcomed the whisper of the wind in the leaves and the feel of solid, wild earth under his paws like old friends – it had been a long time since he'd been able to sit back and just... appreciate the world around him.
"Welcome home."
Rusty whipped around with a hiss, puffing his fur out on reflex. Then he blinked.
The cat standing there - he assumed it was also the cat who'd spoken – was a massive reddish-brown tom with the scarred head of a seasoned warrior and the plump well-fed appearance of a kittypet.
But the most startling thing was that the trees behind him were visible and he was wreathed in stars.
Before Rusty could ask any of the thousand questions he had – who are you, what's happened, why are you here – the cat vanished with an amused purr.
So maybe it was less "opportunity to fix his mistakes" and more "fever dream of the dying," but he'd take what he could get.
Rusty looked around, tasting the air – the wind was blowing towards Snakerocks, carrying with it the smells of Twoleg food and the pines of the Treecut place. In the immediate vicinity, he could taste a nest of thrushes, a vole (too faint to be above ground, it was probably burrowed somewhere) and...
Mouse.
It felt like he hadn't tasted mouse in ages.
He fell into a hunting crouch as the mouse sat up among the brambles, nibbling on a large seed. Carefully, Rusty took one pace forward – two paces – and pounced.
The mouse's squeak was cut short as Rusty's claws pierced its fragile skin and sliced through its neck. Snatching up his prize in his jaws, Rusty glanced around for a safe alcove where he could enjoy the fresh-kill.
The wind shifted, and Rusty's hackles rose as the scent of fox hit his nose. He dropped the mouse as he wheeled toward the source of the smell, dropping low and unsheathing his claws with a hiss. Ahead of him, hiding behind a tall clump of ferns, he could see the telltale white-tipped red tail vanish into the greenery. A moment later, he saw the gleam of golden eyes and white teeth.
The fox sprang and Rusty darted out of the way, raking his claws down its side, yowling when fox's jaws closed around his tail. The fox yanked him off-balance, sending him scrabbling for purchase – another yank and his paws slipped out from underneath him completely. His breath left him in a whoof as he hit the ground. The fox loomed over him, jaws hanging open in a grin – Rusty wheezed in a breath, struggling to his feet –
A yowling ball of grey fur slammed into the fox's side, sending it staggering. Rusty scrambled to his feet and rushed the fox, lashing out with his claws and scoring a hit. Red blood sprayed into the air from the gashes in the creature's muzzle and it backed away, yipping uncertainly.
The grey ball of fur had resolved itself into a fluffy grey cat clinging to the fox's back, still yowling at the top of his lungs.
“Greystripe!”
Greypaw faltered. “What –”
His question was cut off as the fox heaved itself against a nearby tree, knocking Greypaw to the floor. Before he could recover, the fox’s teeth sank into Greypaw’s hind leg.
Greypaw screamed.
Rusty lunged, catching the fox by the throat the same way he’d caught Tigerstar (StarClan, it had been today, but it was a whole other lifetime) and biting down hard.
The fox gagged, releasing Greypaw, and struggled to dislodge the cat that was now ripping into the all-important vein in its throat. Rusty held fast, though, and soon the fox went limp, the light fading from its eyes.
Rusty let it slump to the ground, turning to Greypaw with worry roiling in his belly. “Are you –”
“You just killed a fox,” Greypaw said faintly, staring at him with wide yellow eyes. “You’re a kittypet, how did you –”
Rusty sighed. “I wasn’t always a kittypet – look, you need to see the medicine cat –”
“Greypaw!”
Rusty turned to see Lionheart shouldering his way out of the brush. The golden tabby tom looked younger than he remembered – perhaps it was the bias of youth that had turned Lionheart into the aged, silver-speckled elder of Rusty’s memories.
Anger and concern warred on Lionheart’s face as he strode over to Greypaw, ignoring Rusty entirely. “What were you thinking?”
“I couldn’t just let it eat him!” Greypaw winced as he tried to put weight on his injured leg. “Ow, ow, ow –”
“Keep your weight off it,” Rusty hissed. It wasn’t bleeding the great spouting gushes that signaled a cat’s imminent journey to StarClan, but there was still a fair amount of blood and fox mouths were filthy. “Leafp –” Wrong medicine cat, “– Spottedleaf will have something to keep it from getting infected.”
Lionheart glared at him and opened his mouth to speak.
“You know a great deal about ThunderClan, kittypet.”
Rusty spun around to see Bluestar emerging from the undergrowth, as magnificent as he remembered. Her pelt shone and her eyes were sharp, shrewd, and clear – this was not the broken, mistrustful she-cat of her last moons, but the proud queen she was before…
Before Tigerstar.
Rusty dipped his head, taking a cautious step back. “Bluestar.”
“And yet for all your knowledge, you still trespass on our land and steal our prey.” She tipped her head to the side. “Why is that?”
“Bluestar –”
“Take Greypaw back to camp, Lionheart.” Bluestar’s gaze did not waver from Rusty’s. “See his injury is tended to."
Lionheart hesitated, his gaze flicking between Bluestar and Rusty before landing on Greypaw, who was leaning on Lionheart for support. Slowly, he nodded, and the pair disappeared into the forest in the direction of the camp.
“Well?” Bluestar looked at him expectantly. “Why are you here?
Rusty blinked. “I –” I want to save you, I want to stop Tigerstar, I want to see Sandstorm. “I want to join you.”
Bluestar narrowed her eyes. “So you steal our prey?”
“Not steal,” Rusty corrected, warming to the story. “I was planning on bringing it to you, to prove myself worthy of becoming an apprentice.”
“To prove yourself,” Bluestar repeated. “I see.” She nodded to the mouse he’d caught, discarded as soon as he’d confronted the fox. “Bring your proof, then, kittypet. We will see what the clan makes of it.” With that, she turned tail and ran into the forest.
Rusty scooped up his mouse and rushed after her. His heart soared – this was a much better first impression than last time.
Just like Lionheart and Whitestorm all those moons ago – tomorrow – Bluestar made no allowances as she wound a dizzying path through the territory. Rusty clued into the winding route as soon as they left the Treecut Place and Bluestar headed towards Sunningrocks. He dropped back a few fox-lengths, feigning fatigue, then split off into the woods and made a beeline for the ThunderClan camp.
He could smell the scent trails of warriors coming to and from, but even if he’d been deaf, blind, and nose-less, Rusty would still have been able to find the path to camp. He had not been in here in moons and moons, but he would never forget the forest.
Ahead of him were the scents of Greypaw and another – Lionheart, he assumed, but Rusty hadn’t known the golden tom long enough to be familiar with his scent after so long. He slowed, dropping into a crouch as he made to slink past them. His whiskers twitched – imagine the looks on their faces when they see me waiting at the camp entrance – as he wove his way though a thicket of bracken, keeping one ear turned toward the pair.
“…see him?” Greypaw sounded awed. “He’s so small! And a kittypet! And he just charged a fox like it was nothing – he was already getting up when I jumped on it, too – and then –”
“I saw. Impressive, for a kittypet so young.” Lionheart’s praise was grudging.
“You don’t think Bluestar’s going to hurt him, do you?” Greypaw asked anxiously. “I mean, he saved me.”
“I doubt Bluestar will be too harsh with him, considering his actions.”
There was silence on the path for a moment. Rusty resisted the urge to look over and see if he’d been spotted – with the moonlight scattered through the leaves like it was, any stray beam could set his eyes alight and give away his position.
“Do you think he’d make a good warrior?”
Lionheart heaved a sigh. “He’s a kittypet, Greypaw. He has led a soft, sheltered life. Even if he wished to join us – even if Bluestar would allow it – there is no guarantee he would be capable.”
Rusty held back a snort. Soft, sheltered life! That was a fine thing to call what he’d been doing for the last few seasons: struggling against Onestar’s increasingly selfish leadership, leading ThunderClan against the Dark Forest invasion while his own clanmates were held under Tigerstar’s thrall, dealing with his mouse-brained grandkits.
Thank StarClan for Jayfeather. He hoped the blind medicine cat had met Yellowfang in his dreams – they would have gotten along disastrously well.
He cut a wider arc around the pair as the wind shifted and continued toward the ThunderClan camp.
~~
Rusty had just finished cleaning the fox blood from his chest and paws when Bluestar appeared out of the foliage.
“Kittypet.”
Rusty dipped his head. “Bluestar.”
Bluestar examined him with narrow eyes. “Do you know where our camp is?”
Rusty pointed with his tail to the entrance. “Follow the smell of cat.”
“Indeed.” Bluestar tossed her head. “Come, then.”
Rusty picked up his mouse and followed Bluestar down the boulders and through the thick gorse that guarded the camp walls. The sensation of the worn-down track underneath his paws made the world tilt around him – he had never thought to set foot in the place again, yet here he was, following Bluestar as he had when he was young.
He squared his shoulders as they exited to the gorse tunnel into the camp proper. Whitestorm was the first cat he spotted, and the sight of his long white fur filled Rusty with guilt. He squashed it – he was back. He could fix it, this time.
A familiar, long-hated scent hit his nose and Rusty wheeled around to see Tigerstar – Tigerclaw, now, he wasn’t a leader yet (and never would be, if Rusty had anything to say about it) – padding towards them with Darkstripe at his side and Longtail trailing behind.
Funny. Rusty had nearly forgotten that Longtail used to be one of Tigerclaw’s lackeys. The pale tabby looked so much younger, so different now than he had before.
“Bluestar,” Tigerclaw greeted, dipping his head. “Are you still joining us for the moonhigh patrol?”
“In a moment,” she responded, nodding to Rusty. “I must introduce him to the clan first, once Lionheart and Greypaw return. Speaking of apprentices,” she added, “where is your own, Tigerclaw?”
Tigerclaw flicked his tail dismissively. “Hiding somewhere, no doubt. Ravenpaw fears his own shadow, it seems.”
Rusty hissed. Ravenpaw was a fine, brave cat – it was Tigerclaw who was ruining him.
Tigerclaw’s gaze swiveled towards him and Rusty stiffened, the fur on the back of his neck puffing out on instinct.
Before Tigerclaw could rumble out a threat – and before Rusty could spit out something that would really get him into trouble – a yowl of “Spottedleaf!” came from the tunnel.
Several cats turned toward the camp entrance – Rusty spotted Runningwind amongst them and his stomach clenched – to see Lionheart supporting the wounded Greypaw.
Rusty dashed over immediately, barely slowing down to drop his mouse into the fresh-kill pile, and pressed himself against Greypaw’s other side.
“I’m fine,” Greypaw insisted. “You worry too much.”
But the walk back had taken its toll. Greypaw’s leg fur was thick with blood and he sagged against Rusty’s shoulder.
“What’s your name again?” Greypaw muttered.
“Don’t worry about it,” Rusty told him. “It’ll probably change by sunup anyway.”
“Oh.” Greypaw nodded. “Sure. Makes sense.”
Then Spottedleaf was there, pushing Rusty and Lionheart to the side and guiding Greypaw away. Rusty watched him go, kneading his paws into the dirt nervously.
“You act as though you know him,” Lionheart rumbled.
Rusty shrugged. “I know…of him. He’s a good cat. He’ll be a great warrior.”
Lionheart rumbled and turned away.
Bluestar’s yowl cut through the murmurs and hisses that were spreading through the clan camp. “Let all cats who are old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting!”
It was just as before – cats emerged from the edges of the clearing like liquid shadow, padding over to the Highrock and staring up expectantly at Bluestar. They sought her wisdom, her strength, her leadership…
Rusty ducked his head as his thoughts strayed to the moons following Tigerclaw’s exile, when Fireheart had been in desperate need of all those things from her and instead found only madness.
“ThunderClan needs more warriors,” Bluestar began. “Never before have we had so few apprentices in training. It has been decided that ThunderClan will take in an outsider to train as a warrior…”
Indignant mutters swept through the gathered cats.
“– and I have found a cat,” she continued, glaring the clan down until they quieted, “who is willing to become an apprentice of ThunderClan.”
“Lucky to become an apprentice!” Longtail howled from his place beside Tigerclaw.
“This young cat, along with apprentice Greypaw,” Bluestar continued, ignoring Longtail’s outburst, “defeated a fox that had intruded on ThunderClan territory. He himself struck the killing blow, and already he has added fresh-kill to the pile. It is my decision that he should train with the other apprentices to become a full warrior of our clan.”
ThunderClan, as one, stared at Rusty.
He took the opportunity to make eye contact with Tigerclaw and lick some of the fox blood off his muzzle.
Then Darkstripe, in Darkstripe fashion, ruined the moment by spitting, “He smells like Twoleg! You expect us to welcome a kittypet into our clan?”
“Once a kittypet, always a kittypet!” Longtail yowled. “This clan needs wild-born warriors, not another soft mouth to feed!”
Rusty paused in his washing to stare Longtail down. “If you’ve a challenge to make, then make it,” he said. “I’m not going to waste my time with your bluster.”
Somewhere in the crowd, Dustpelt – Dustpaw – snickered.
Longtail hissed and dropped into a crouch, but Rusty didn’t bother with the formalities. He lunged, barreling straight into Longtail and slashing at the older cat’s muzzle. Longtail was smarter than the fox, though, and ducked under the blow.
Fur and dust flew as the two cats struggled against each other. Rusty’s blows were precise, practiced, but his soft kittypet body didn’t have the strength of a seasoned warrior, and his frustration only drove him to new heights of rage at Longtail’s short-sighted foolishness – and if he happened to score his claws across Tigerclaw’s flank in the process, well, that was just a bonus.
Longtail was strong, stronger than Rusty – but he hadn’t lived the nine lives of a leader, and it showed. His first mistake came earlier than Rusty had anticipated, and he almost didn’t react in time out of surprise – but he slammed into Longtail’s undefended side, sending the larger cat crashing to the dirt. Rusty leaped upon him, sinking his claws into the ruff of fur guarding Longtail’s soft, vulnerable neck, and left them there.
“Do you yield?” he hissed.
Longtail spat at him, raking his hind paws across Rusty’s belly – but Rusty knew that trick and arched his spine, puffing out his fur and snarling, once again, “Do you yield?”
Any answer from Longtail was drowned out by a thunderous caterwaul as Bluestar leaped down from the Highrock.
“Enough!” she commanded. “He is beaten.” She turned to face the rest of the clan, and Rusty sheathed his claws and stepped back, allowing Longtail to scramble to his feet with ill grace.
“The newcomer has proven himself in a battle for his honor,” Bluestar announced. “He has defeated the warrior Longtail and is free to join ThunderClan as an apprentice.”
Bluestar glanced at him over her shoulder. “Even in the moonlight, you look like a fire,” she murmured. “You fought well.”
Better than last time, Rusty reflected. Last time, he’d nearly been choked by his own collar.
(He wondered, briefly, if the collar had remained buried in the dirt where he’d left it – if the Twolegs had moved it when they destroyed the forest, or if it was sealed beneath their dens and Thunderpaths for the rest of time.)
Bluestar turned back to the rest of the clan. “From this day forward, until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Firepaw, in honor of his flame-colored coat.”
Firepaw (and oh, that name felt good) bowed his head. “Thank you, Bluestar.”
Bluestar’s eyes gleamed briefly and she jumped back atop Highrock. “An apprentice needs a mentor,” she announced, “for a cat cannot learn without someone to teach them. However, the wrong mentor can destroy the most promising apprentice. Tigerclaw, your judgement is clear and honest.”
Firepaw snorted.
“Tomorrow, you will mentor Firepaw as though he were your own apprentice and assess his strengths.”
“What?” Firepaw yowled.
Bluestar ignored him with supreme unconcern. “This meeting is adjourned.” With that, she jumped down from Highrock and padded over to Tigerclaw, who was licking the shallow cut that Firepaw had left in his flank.
Firepaw backed away as they began speaking, then turned and headed for the medicine den. He ducked inside to see Spottedleaf pressing cobwebs into the puncture wounds on Greypaw’s hind leg. The blood had been cleaned away, and Firepaw noticed that the wounds themselves weren’t as large as he’d feared.
“Is he going to be okay?” he asked, padding up to Greypaw’s other side.
Spottedleaf flicked her tail. “He’ll be fine, although what possessed you two to take on a fox all by yourselves, I don’t know.”
“We did fine!” Greypaw protested. “It’s only one little injury and the fox is dead.” He turned to Firepaw. “Do you have a name yet, by the way? I couldn’t hear Bluestar from in here.”
“Firepaw.”
Greypaw nodded. “Good name. Suits you. Do you have a mentor yet? Mine is Lionheart, but I bet you figured that out already – Dustpaw’s mentor is Redtail, the deputy –”
Firepaw purred, delighted to see that Greypaw hadn’t changed a bit. “Not yet. Bluestar assigned me to Tigerclaw for tomorrow, something about assessing my strengths and weaknesses.”
“You don’t like Tigerclaw?” Greypaw meowed, tilting his head.
Firepaw tried to bite back a snarl and was only partially successful.
Greypaw shrugged as best he could with Spottedleaf murmuring for him to hold still. “Well, suit yourself. But you’d better hope he likes you, or Bluestar will throw you out of the clan quicker than you can say ‘mouse’.”
“Mouse.”
Spottedleaf purred in amusement. “Very amusing, Firepaw. Now, shoo! I can’t help Greypaw with you hovering over him like a hawk.”
Firepaw dipped his head and trotted out of the den. He eyed the fresh-kill pile, wondering if it was worth it – technically, he had fed the clan, but one measly mouse wasn’t much. In the end, he settled on a compromise and headed for the elder’s den.
Dappletail was the first to spot him. “Ah, young Firepaw,” she rasped. “That was a fine fight. Longtail is young, but he is a fine warrior. You did well.”
Firepaw dipped his head. “Thank you, Dappletail.” He glanced around at the other elders – One-eye, Smallear, Patchpelt, and Halftail – and, suddenly feeling very young, asked, “Have you eaten?”
“This morning,” Patchpelt meowed. “But your arrival rather interrupted Sandpaw’s evening chores.”
“I’ll bring you something,” Firepaw promised, and headed for the fresh-kill pile. Behind him, he heard Halftail wondering how Firepaw knew Dappletail’s name, and winced.
Well, he’d already named Bluestar, Greypaw, and Spottedleaf without being introduced. It was a little late to feign ignorance now. He picked out a plump thrush from the fresh-kill pile and was reaching for a squirrel when he heard a growl from behind him.
“And just what do you think you’re doing?”
Firepaw looked over to see Tigerclaw glowering at him, pale amber eyes blazing. “Feeding the elders,” Firepaw responded coolly. “They haven’t eaten since morning.”
Tigerclaw continued to stare at him. “You know much of our clan, for a kittypet.”
Firepaw bristled. “I wasn’t always a kittypet,” he growled. He snatched up a squirrel and took it, along with the thrush, over to the elder’s den.
“Making friends already, I hear,” Dappletail remarked, taking a bite of the thrush. “Ah, wonderful. Thank you. Have you eaten yet today?”
“Not yet,” Firepaw confessed. “I haven’t had the opportunity.” Not that it really mattered – as far as his body was concerned, he’d done nothing until shortly after moonrise.
“Here.” Dappletail shoved the rest of the thrush at him. “Eat. You’ll need your strength for training tomorrow.”
“I’ll manage,” Firepaw demurred, thinking of the hungry moons of the Great Journey. “I’m sure you need your strength as well.”
Dappletail snorted. “To do what? Sit and tell stories? If it’s so terrible I’ll fetch myself another sparrow.”
“That’s a thrush,” Patchpelt muttered.
“Whichever. Eat.”
Firepaw bent his head obediently and took a bite of thrush. Warm blood flooded his mouth – the taste was incredible, and it took all his willpower to push it back towards Dappletail instead of fnishing it off right there.
“Oh, I think not,” Dappletail said, amused. “Eat up, apprentice. Tigerclaw’s not going to be kind you, not after that display.”
“He’s just…” Firepaw searched for a descriptor that wasn’t immediately incriminating. “He’s so…intense. Single-minded. I’ve known cats like that, they never end happily.”
“He can be a tad overwhelming,” Halftail agreed. “But he’s a fine cat, and one of the best warriors in the clan. Try not to let your first impressions sour your perception of him.”
Too late for that, Firepaw thought. He finished the thrush quickly and meowed his thanks to Dappletail, who waved him off.
“You’ve got guts, youngster,” she meowed. “It’s good for Tigerclaw to be challenged every so often.”
Firepaw’s whiskers twitched. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good.” Dappletail yawned. “Now, shoo.”
Firepaw shooed. He padded over to the apprentice den, slipping through the ferns to find Ravenpaw, Dustpaw, and Sandpaw curled up in their respective nests. Sandpaw raised her head as he entered, sniffing rudely and wrinkling her nose.
“What’s that stench?” she meowed. “It smells like kittypet!”
Firepaw sighed. Apparently, this nonsense was going to be happening again.
He knew she’d snap out of it, but it was still going to grate on him.
“Hello, Sandpaw,” he said wearily. He saw Dustpaw turn his head to see what was going on. “Dustpaw. Does she have a hairball stuck somewhere, or is she usually this bad-tempered?”
Sandpaw hissed at him and turned away pointedly. Firepaw rolled his eyes, suppressing a fond purr (she was a wonderful cat, a fine hunter, a fierce warrior with a brilliant sense of humor – or at least, she would be). He padded over to where Ravenpaw was curled up unmoving, presumably asleep, and raked together a pile of soft moss with his claws. He kneaded it into a comfortable shape, circled a few times, and then settled down to sleep.
He was home.
 CHAPTER NOTES
Hey everyone! I've been sitting on this project for a while and I'm so happy I've finally got enough to post. I hope you enjoyed it - please let me know what you thought. |
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