River, page 2
Lionblaze, who had so far listened in silence, rasped his tongue thoughtfully over his golden pelt. “That was a different time, Thornclaw.” His voice was a warm rumble in his throat. “Now StarClan might agree to take the nine lives away. After all, they encouraged the Lights in the Mist to make these changes to the code.”
Thornclaw flicked an ear in annoyance. “I wish Graystripe were here to explain,” he muttered. “He knew how it worked, back in the day. I just don’t understand what happened in the Dark Forest, and I wish I did.”
“Lots of cats wish that,” Lionblaze responded. “But we have to trust that our leaders understand and will do what’s right.”
Thornclaw’s only reply was a grunt.
“What do you think, Flamepaw?” Baypaw mumbled around a mouthful of mouse. “Should we be able to get rid of our leader?”
Flamepaw dragged his attention away from the senior warriors’ conversation. “Sure we should,” he replied, half hoping that the senior warriors would hear him. “Except I don’t think that goes far enough. Maybe the Clans would work better if we changed leaders regularly.”
Baypaw’s eyes stretched wide with shock, and he choked on his lump of prey, swallowing it with difficulty. “What!”
“Well, what’s the alternative?” Flamepaw meowed defensively. “The way it is now, one cat chosen by the previous leader gets to boss every cat around until they’ve gone through nine whole lives. How is that fair?”
Recovering himself, his foster brother rolled his eyes. “You might not want to say that too loud,” he pointed out, “especially considering that our leader, Bramblestar, is your kin.”
Flamepaw hunched his shoulders. “It’s not like any cat would listen to me, anyway,” he muttered sulkily.
Forcing himself to eat more of the mouse, Flamepaw wished silently that every cat would stop judging him because of his kin. His mother was Sparkpelt, daughter of the Clan leader, Bramblestar, and his deputy, Squirrelflight—and Squirrelflight was the daughter of Firestar, the greatest leader the forest had ever known. No cat realized how hard it was, carrying the blood of cats like those in his veins.
I’m even sort of named after Firestar, Flamepaw thought. Gazing at his black paws, he added to himself, Which is weird, because I’m not at all fire-colored. I guess Firestar was such a great cat, it was more important to Sparkpelt to remind every cat that I’m his kin, instead of looking at what I’m actually like. I wonder if my father would have gone along with it.
Most cats never mentioned Flamepaw’s father, Larksong, who had died before Flamepaw had a chance to know him. Flamepaw’s mentor, Lilyheart, was Larksong’s mother, and sometimes she told Flamepaw stories about him. Maybe Larksong would have understood me, Flamepaw thought wistfully. Lilyheart says I look like him.
He swallowed the last mouthful of mouse; Baypaw had already finished eating, and was sitting up, cleaning his whiskers. As Flamepaw swiped his tongue over his jaws, his mother, Sparkpelt, padded over to them.
“Good luck on your assessments,” she mewed.
“Thanks, Sparkpelt!” Baypaw responded, bouncing to his paws.
Flamepaw inclined his head politely. “Thank you.”
“I’m sure you’ll do very well,” Sparkpelt told him.
Flamepaw wished that he didn’t feel so stiff and awkward around his mother. He knew that Sparkpelt loved him. Well, she has to, seeing as she’s my mother. But he wasn’t sure that she liked him very much. Sometimes he thought she didn’t know him well enough to like him.
Sparkpelt hadn’t raised him as a young kit; she had been too depressed by the death of his father, Larksong, and his littermate, Flickerkit. Sorrelstripe had stepped in to nurse him instead.
Later, Sparkpelt and Finchpaw—Flamepaw’s surviving littermate—had grown close when they had been exiled together by the impostor, leaving Flamepaw behind in the ThunderClan camp. Maybe because he had been separated from her so young, Flamepaw still felt as if he barely knew Sparkpelt. He was not even sure he wanted to know her; he was torn between hoping for her attention because she was his mother, and resenting her for having abandoned him.
Now Sparkpelt didn’t seem to know what to say to him. While Flamepaw still stood there in awkward silence, she gave a final dip of her head, then padded across the camp to where Finchpaw was sharing fresh-kill with Myrtlepaw, Baypaw’s littermate. At once Flamepaw could see how much more relaxed Sparkpelt became, touching noses with Finchpaw and giving her a loving lick around her ear.
Dragging his gaze away, Flamepaw spotted Baypaw and Myrtlepaw’s mother, Sorrelstripe, who had fostered him and Finchpaw. Now she gave him and Baypaw an encouraging wave of her tail. Inclining his head in reply, Flamepaw let out a long sigh. Sometimes I wish Sorrelstripe were my mother.
His mentor, Lilyheart, was already waiting near the entrance to the camp. As Flamepaw watched, Baypaw’s mentor, Mousewhisker, and Finchpaw’s mentor, Cinderheart, padded over to her. A moment later, Eaglewing, Myrtlepaw’s mentor, slipped out of the warriors’ den and raced across the camp to join the others.
“Come on, Flamepaw!” Lilyheart called. “It’s time!”
Flamepaw rose to his paws as the rest of the mentors summoned their apprentices, and followed the other young cats toward the camp entrance. Yowls of “Good luck!” rang in his ears from more of his Clanmates around the clearing. Flamepaw felt his sadness drain away like water into dry ground, replaced by nervous excitement thrilling from his ears to his tail-tip.
Outside the camp, the four mentors and their apprentices headed off in different directions. Before he followed Mousewhisker, Baypaw paused to give Flamepaw a reassuring nudge. “You’ve got this,” he meowed.
“So do you,” Flamepaw responded, pressing his muzzle into Baypaw’s shoulder. Then he followed Lilyheart into the woods, heading toward the lake.
Once the scents of the other cats and the sound of their paw steps had faded, Lilyheart halted. “Okay, you need to go hunt,” she told him. “You won’t see me, but I’ll be watching you. I expect you to catch loads of prey, so we’ll impress all the cats in the camp with what a good hunter you are.”
Lilyheart’s cheerful tones, and the way she obviously expected him to do well, roused Flamepaw’s ambition. I’m going to make a really spectacular catch!
Standing still, all his senses alert, he opened his jaws to taste the air. Succulent prey-scents flowed in on him, telling him it would be a good day for hunting.
Almost at once he distinguished the scent of mouse and heard a scuffling. Padding forward, he located the sound among a heap of fallen leaves; he could even see the leaves twitch. That’s where the mouse is hiding—there might even be two! Briefly he dropped into the hunter’s crouch, but then he hesitated; mice weren’t particularly impressive prey. Any daft furball can catch mice! It wasn’t enough for him to pass his assessment by catching just any prey; he wanted Lilyheart to be really impressed.
Straightening up, Flamepaw padded on into the forest, passing over another mouse and a shrew that practically ran into his paws as it scuttled across his path.
Maybe a bird would be good, he thought. They’re harder to hunt.
A few paces farther on, Flamepaw rounded the edge of a bramble thicket and came upon a squirrel nibbling at something in its forepaws a couple of tail-lengths away from the nearest tree. It looks so fat and juicy! That would be a great piece of prey to bring back.
Flamepaw carefully got into position and began to creep forward, checking that he was upwind of the squirrel and setting his paws down as lightly as he could. The squirrel seemed unaware of him, all its attention on what it held between its paws.
But before Flamepaw was close enough to pounce, he remembered a move that he had practiced once or twice with Baypaw. Lilyheart had never seen it. That would impress her, for sure!
Flamepaw abandoned his crouch and bounded forward, launching himself into a powerful leap—not at the squirrel but at the tree behind it. He meant to whip around as soon as he hit the tree and ricochet away from it, cutting off the squirrel’s escape route as it fled for safety.
But the spectacular move didn’t work. Flamepaw hit the tree with one paw crushed under him; pain stabbed up his leg as far as his shoulder. Gasping, he tried to correct his position as he pushed off. But he was tangled up in his own paws and completely misjudged his leap. He thumped to the ground among the tree roots, all the breath driven out of him. The squirrel leaped over him and raced up the trunk, pausing on a low branch to chatter insults at Flamepaw before vanishing among the leaves.
Flamepaw scrambled to his paws, fighting to catch his breath. Debris from among the roots was clinging to his fur. Worse, every hair on his pelt was hot with embarrassment, because he knew that Lilyheart must have been watching. She would have seen how he had messed up the move; worse, the racket he and the squirrel had made must have scared off any other prey within earshot.
Shaking the earth and scraps of leaf out of his pelt, Flamepaw padded on, determined now to make a few good catches—simple catches that any trained warrior could make. No more showing off, he told himself sternly.
He paused beside a clump of bracken, ears pricked for the sound of prey hiding in the depths of the fronds. He heard nothing, but when he pushed his way through to the other side, he immediately spotted a magpie pecking at the ground a few fox-lengths away.
Excitement tingled through Flamepaw. This was another outstanding piece of prey! He took up the hunter’s crouch again, checking carefully to make sure his paws were properly tucked in and his tail curled along his side. Then, paw step by stealthy paw step, he crept up on the magpie.
I have to catch this one!
He slid one paw forward and almost set it down on a curled-up leaf, but managed to draw back a heartbeat before he would have trod on it and alerted his prey. It took all his strength to keep on sneaking slowly forward, when what he wanted to do was leap on the bird and sink his claws into it.
Flamepaw was sure he hadn’t made a noise, but before he reached the best distance for a pounce, the magpie looked up, tilting its head as if it had heard something. It’s going to fly away! Flamepaw flung himself forward in a massive leap. His claws scraped the magpie’s tail; it took off with a clatter of wings and a harsh cry, leaving Flamepaw with his claws slammed down on a single feather.
“Fox dung!” he snarled.
He stared after the bird in utter frustration, then forced himself to concentrate again and peered grimly through the trees. The bird’s noisy escape would have scared off most of the nearby prey—again. Flamepaw’s belly was churning as he set out once more. He was acutely aware of the sun approaching sunhigh, and expected at any moment to see Lilyheart coming to meet him.
And I haven’t caught a single piece of prey. Oh, StarClan, please send me something . . . anything!
Padding onward, Flamepaw drew a huge breath of relief as he picked up the scent of mouse and spotted a skinny specimen scuffling about underneath a holly bush. This time he slid forward carefully, hardly daring to breathe, his paws skimming lightly over the ground. He caught his prey with a neat pounce, and at the same moment another mouse shot out of cover; Flamepaw lashed out with claws extended and caught it as well.
“Thank you, StarClan, for this prey,” he mewed with heartfelt gratitude.
But he knew he hadn’t done well enough, and, even worse, he had lost the squirrel and the magpie because of his own stupidity. I could have done so much better. He could only hope that he still had enough time to add more to his pathetic haul.
He began swiftly scratching out a hole to bury the two catches, only to hear Lilyheart’s voice behind him, speaking his name. He turned to see his mentor emerging from the undergrowth.
Flamepaw’s tail drooped as he saw the look in Lilyheart’s eyes: sympathy mingled with disappointment. His pelt was hot with shame. He didn’t need her to tell him he had failed his assessment.
I know I have. And I know I deserved to.
Chapter 2
“Stand still,” Curlfeather mewed. Her tongue rasped over Frostpaw’s light gray pelt in long, skillful strokes. “You know you have to look especially clean and neat. This is a very important day.”
Frostpaw did as her mother told her, though she felt as though her belly were filled with butterflies. So much excitement was thrilling through her that she wanted to leap and squeal and chase her own tail.
But I can’t behave like that anymore, she told herself. I’m not a kit anymore; by the end of the day, I’ll officially be a medicine-cat apprentice!
For the last quarter moon Frostpaw had been helping Mothwing in the medicine-cat den, and now she was ready to make her first trip to the Moonpool for the half-moon meeting. There she would meet the other medicine cats, the ones from other Clans, and have her apprentice ceremony.
“I can’t wait!” she exclaimed, unable to suppress a wriggle of anticipation. “But I’m kind of scared, too.”
“Nonsense, you’ll be fine,” Curlfeather responded, brushing her tail along Frostpaw’s side. “Haven’t we always known that you’re special? Hasn’t StarClan chosen you to be a medicine cat for RiverClan?”
“Do you think they really have?” Frostpaw breathed out.
“Of course they have. Remember how you dreamed about Jayclaw leaving you alone in camp? And then he died a few days later?” Curlfeather’s voice softened for a moment as she spoke about her mate, Frostpaw’s father. Frostpaw ducked her head. She’d been too young when Jayclaw died to remember much about her father, but sometimes she wondered how her life might be different if he had lived. Would her mother be so protective of Frostpaw and her littermates?
A heartbeat later Curlfeather went on more briskly, “You predicted that thunderstorm only a few days ago. And you’ve been working hard with Mothwing in her den the last few days, learning all about herbs and healing. You even took that thorn out of Podlight’s pad. Of course you’re going to be a fine medicine cat.”
Grateful for the reassurance, Frostpaw leaned into her mother’s soft brown fur, a purr rising in her throat. Curlfeather’s such a great cat. If she thinks I can do it, I know I’ll be okay.
As Curlfeather finished grooming her with a swift lick around her ears, Frostpaw saw the RiverClan leader, Mistystar, emerge from her den, followed by her deputy, Reedwhisker.
“The hunting was good today,” Mistystar meowed. “The fresh-kill pile is well stocked. But when you send out the border patrol, Reedwhisker, you need to tell them to check if that badger is still hanging around.”
“Sure, got it,” Reedwhisker responded. He headed off with a swish of his tail, calling to his Clanmates as he went.
Watching her Clan leader, Frostpaw couldn’t help thinking how weary her voice had sounded, and how she was beginning to look thin and frail. I wonder how many lives she has left. Maybe when I’m a medicine cat, I’ll know things like that.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice behind her. “Come on, Frostpaw, stop daydreaming. It’s time to go.”
Frostpaw spun around to see the RiverClan medicine cat, Mothwing, standing behind her. There was a look of impatience in her beautiful amber eyes, though she gave Frostpaw a friendly touch on the shoulder with her tail-tip.
“She’s ready,” Curlfeather meowed, giving Frostpaw a farewell nuzzle. “I know you’ll do well,” she purred.
As Frostpaw gave her pelt a shake, she heard a scamper of paws, and RiverClan’s newest warrior apprentices—her littermates, Mistpaw and Graypaw—rushed up to her.
“Good luck!” Mistpaw yowled excitedly.
“Yeah, you’ll be fine,” Graypaw added. “You’ve been doing a great job helping Mothwing so far. How could the other medicine cats not accept you?”
Frostpaw turned to follow her future mentor out of camp, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Oh, I hope you’re right!” she mewed fervently.
The sun was going down as Mothwing led the way through RiverClan territory toward the horseplace, and then along the WindClan lakeshore. Frostpaw padded along at her shoulder, trying not to feel scared at all the open space around her. This was her first time away from camp, and she had never imagined that the moor could be so steep, or the lake stretch so far, its surface scarlet in the evening light.
“Medicine cats are allowed to pass through other territories,” Mothwing informed Frostpaw after a while, “but even so, it’s best to stay near the water. WindClan cats can be a touchy lot, and there’s no sense in provoking them.”
Frostpaw nodded solemnly, beginning to feel really special as Mothwing taught her the ways of medicine cats. I’m going to learn so much!
At the border between WindClan and ThunderClan, Mothwing plunged into the stream and Frostpaw followed. Frostpaw flinched at the feeling of cold leaf-fall water soaking her fur, then gradually relaxed. It’s kind of nice, once you get used to it.
As they headed farther across the moor, Frostpaw realized that she couldn’t smell the WindClan border markers anymore. “Why has WindClan stopped marking their border?” she asked Mothwing.
“Because we’re outside WindClan territory now,” Mothwing replied, “We’re outside all the Clan territories.”
Frostpaw gasped, hardly able to stop herself bouncing up and down with excitement. It’s not just my first time out of camp, she told herself. It’s my first time leaving Clan territory. Wait till I tell Mistpaw and Graypaw!
But Frostpaw soon forgot about bouncing. Her legs were growing tired as she and Mothwing climbed up the long moorland slope, but she didn’t dare to ask for a rest. Her mother, she knew, would have stopped before Frostpaw even needed to ask, curling herself around her as a shelter from the wind. Mothwing was concentrating on getting where they were going. Frostpaw found her a bit scary, but at the same time, she liked the way that Mothwing just assumed she could keep up.
She’s not treating me like a kit anymore.
“What will happen when we get to the Moonpool?” she asked.
