Into the Wild (Warriors 1)

A cool breeze stirred the undergrowth, ruffling Rusty’s fur. He shivered, not with the cold, but with excitement at the incredible possibilities opening up in front of him.

“Are you wondering if it’s worth giving up your comfortable kittypet life?” asked Bluestar gently. “But do you realize the price you will pay for your warmth and food?”

Rusty looked at her, puzzled. Surely his encounter with these cats had proved to him just how easy and luxurious his life was.

“I can tell that you are still a tom,” Bluestar added, “despite the Twoleg stench that clings to your fur.”

“What do you mean—still a tom?”

“You haven’t yet been taken by the Twolegs to see the Cutter,” meowed Bluestar gravely. “You would be very different then. Not quite so keen to fight a Clan cat, I suspect!”

Rusty was confused. He suddenly thought of Henry, who had become fat and lazy since his visit to the vet. Was that what Bluestar meant by the Cutter?

“The Clan may not be able to offer you such easy food or warmth,” continued Bluestar. “In the season of leaf-bare, nights in the forest can be cruel. The Clan will demand great loyalty and hard work. You will be expected to protect the Clan with your life if necessary. And there are many mouths to feed. But the rewards are great. You will remain a tom. You will be trained in the ways of the wild. You will learn what it is to be a real cat. The strength and the fellowship of the Clan will always be with you, even when you hunt alone.”

Rusty’s head reeled. Bluestar seemed to be offering him the life he had lived so many times, and so tantalizingly, in his dreams, but could he live like that for real?

Lionheart interrupted his thoughts. “Come, Bluestar, let’s not waste any more time here. We must be ready to join the other patrol at moonhigh. Tigerclaw will wonder what has become of us.” He stood up and flicked his tail expectantly.

“Wait,” Rusty meowed. “Can I think about your offer?”

Bluestar looked at him for a long moment and nodded. “Lionheart will be here tomorrow at sunhigh,” she told him. “Give him your answer then.”

Bluestar murmured a low signal, and in a single movement the three cats turned and disappeared into the undergrowth.

Rusty blinked. He stared—excited, uncertain—up past the ferns that encircled him, through the canopy of leaves, to the stars that glittered in the clear sky. The scent of the Clan cats still hung heavy in the evening air. And as Rusty turned and headed for home, he felt a strange sensation inside him, tugging him back into the depths of the forest. His fur prickled deliciously in the light wind, and the rustling leaves seemed to whisper his name into the shadows.

CHAPTER 3

That morning, as Rusty slept off his night’s wanderings, the mouse dream came again, even more vivid than before. Free of his collar, beneath the moon, he stalked the timid creature. But this time he was aware of being watched. Shining from the shadows of the forest he saw dozens of yellow eyes. The Clan cats had entered his dream world.

Rusty woke, blinking in the bright sunshine that was streaming across the kitchen floor. His fur felt heavy and thick with warmth. His food bowl had been topped up, and his water bowl rinsed out and filled with bitter-tasting Twoleg water. Rusty preferred drinking from puddles outside, but when it was hot, or he was very thirsty, he had to admit it was easier to lap up the water indoors. Could he really abandon this comfortable life?

He ate, then pushed his way out of the cat flap into the garden. The day promised to be warm, and the garden was heavy with the smell of early blossoms.

“Hello, Rusty!” mewed a voice from the fence. It was Smudge. “You should have been awake an hour ago. The baby sparrows were out stretching their wings.”

“Did you catch any?” Rusty asked.

Smudge yawned and licked his nose. “Couldn’t be bothered. I’d already eaten enough at home. Anyway, why weren’t you out earlier? Yesterday you were complaining about Henry sleeping his time away, and today you’re not much better yourself.”

Rusty sat down on the cool earth beside the fence and curled his tail neatly over his front paws. “I was in the woods last night,” he reminded his friend. At once he felt the blood stir in his veins and his fur stiffen.

Smudge looked down at him, his eyes wide. “Oh, yes, I forgot! How was it? Did you catch anything? Or did anything catch you?”

Rusty paused, not sure how to tell his old friend what had happened. “I met some wild cats,” he began.

“What!” Smudge was clearly shocked. “Did you get into a fight?”

“Sort of.” Rusty could feel the energy surging through his body again as he recalled the strength and power of the Clan cats.

“Were you hurt? What happened?” Smudge prompted him eagerly.

“There were three of them. Bigger and stronger than any of us.”

“And you fought all three of them!” Smudge interrupted, his tail twitching with excitement.

“No!” Rusty mewed hastily. “Just the youngest one; the other two came later.”

“How come they didn’t shred you to pieces?”

“They just warned me to leave their territory. But then…” Rusty hesitated.

“What!” mewed Smudge impatiently.

“They asked me to join their Clan.”

Smudge’s whiskers quivered disbelievingly.

“They did!” Rusty insisted.

“Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know,” Rusty admitted. “I think they need extra paws in their Clan.”

“Sounds a bit odd to me,” Smudge mewed doubtfully. “I wouldn’t trust them if I were you.”

Rusty looked at Smudge. His black-and-white friend had never shown any interest in venturing into the woods. He was perfectly content living with his housefolk. He would never understand the restless longing that Rusty’s dreams stirred in him night after night.

“But I do trust them,” Rusty purred softly. “And I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to join them.”

Smudge scrambled down from the fence and stood in front of Rusty. “Please don’t go, Rusty,” he mewed in alarm. “I might never see you again.”

Rusty nudged him affectionately with his head. “Don’t worry. My housefolk will get another cat. You’ll get on with him fine. You get along with everyone!”

“But it won’t be the same!” Smudge wailed.

Rusty twitched his tail impatiently. “That’s just the point. If I stay around here till they take me to the Cutter, I won’t be the same either.”

Smudge looked puzzled. “The Cutter?” he echoed.

“The vet,” Rusty explained. “To be altered, like Henry was.”

Smudge shrugged and stared down at his paws. “But Henry’s all right,” he mumbled. “I mean, I know he’s a bit lazier now, but he’s not unhappy. We could still have fun.”

Rusty felt his heart fill with sadness at the thought of leaving his friend. “I’m sorry, Smudge. I’ll miss you, but I have to go.”

Smudge didn’t reply, but stepped forward and gently touched Rusty’s nose with his own. “Fair enough. I can see I can’t stop you, but at least let’s spend one more morning together.”

Rusty found himself enjoying the morning even more than usual, visiting his old haunts with Smudge, sharing words with the cats he had grown up with. Every one of his senses felt supercharged, as if he were poised before a huge jump. As sunhigh approached, Rusty grew more and more impatient to see if Lionheart would really be waiting for him. The idle buzz of meows from his old friends seemed to fade into the background as all his senses strained toward the woods.

Rusty jumped down from his garden fence for the last time and crept into the woods. He had said his good-byes to Smudge. Now all his thoughts were focused on the forest and the cats who lived in it.

As he approached the spot where he had met with the Clan cats the night before, he sat down and tasted the air. Tall trees shielded the ground from the midday sunshine, making it comfortably

cool. Here and there a patch of sunlight shone through a gap in the leaves and lit up the forest floor. Rusty could smell the same cat-scent as last night, but he had no idea whether it was old or new. He lifted his head and sniffed uncertainly.

“You have a lot to learn,” meowed a deep voice. “Even the tiniest Clan kit knows when another cat is nearby.”

Rusty saw a pair of green eyes glinting from beneath a bramble bush. Now he recognized the scent: it was Lionheart.

“Can you tell if I am alone?” asked the golden tabby, stepping into the light.

Hastily, Rusty sniffed again. The scents of Bluestar and Graypaw were still there, but not as strong as the previous night. Hesitantly, he mewed, “Bluestar and Graypaw aren’t with you this time.”

“That’s right,” meowed Lionheart. “But someone else is.”

Rusty stiffened as a second Clan cat strode into the clearing.