“Who says we won’t be?” mewed Ravenpaw, his eyes flicking from side to side as if he expected an enemy patrol to leap out of the bushes at any time.
Firepaw looked at the heap of fresh-kill that was piled beside the two apprentices. “Looks like you’ve done all right today,” he mewed.
“Yeah,” mewed Graypaw proudly. “And we’ve still got the rest of the afternoon to hunt. Do you want to join us?”
“You bet!” Firepaw purred. He gave himself a final shake, then bounded into the undergrowth after his friends.
Firepaw could tell that the cats back at camp were impressed with the amount of prey the three apprentices had managed to catch during their afternoon hunt. They were welcomed back with high tails and friendly nuzzles. It took them four journeys to carry their bumper catch to the storage hole the elders had dug.
Lionheart and Tigerclaw had just returned with their patrol as Firepaw, Graypaw, and Ravenpaw carried their last load into the camp.
“Well done, you three,” meowed Lionheart. “I hear you’ve been busy. The store is almost full. You might as well add that last lot to the pile of fresh-kill for tonight. And take some of it back to your den with you. You deserve a feast!”
The three apprentices flicked their tails with delight.
“I hope you’ve not been neglecting Yellowfang with all this hunting, Firepaw,” Tigerclaw growled warningly.
Firepaw shook his head impatiently, eager to get away. He was starving. He had obeyed the warrior code this time and not eaten a morsel while he was hunting for the Clan. Nor had Graypaw or Ravenpaw.
They trotted away and dropped the last of their catch on the fresh-kill that already lay at the center of the clearing. Then each of them took a piece and carried it back to their tree stump. The den was empty.
“Where are Dustpaw and Sandpaw?” asked Ravenpaw.
“They must still be out on patrol,” Firepaw guessed.
“Good,” meowed Graypaw. “Peace and quiet.”
They ate their fill and lay back to wash. The cool evening air was welcome after the heat of the day.
“Hey! Guess what!” mewed Graypaw suddenly. “Ravenpaw managed to squeeze a compliment out of old Tigerclaw this morning!”
“Really?” Firepaw gasped. “What on earth did you do to please Tigerclaw—fly?”
“Well,” Ravenpaw began shyly, looking at his paws, “I caught a crow.”
“How’d you manage that?” Firepaw mewed, impressed.
“It was an old one,” Ravenpaw admitted modestly.
“But it was huge,” added Graypaw. “Even Tigerclaw couldn’t find fault with that! He’s been in such a bad mood since Bluestar took you on as her apprentice.” He licked his paw thoughtfully for a moment. “Hang on, make that since Lionheart was made deputy.”
“He’s just worried about ShadowClan, and the extra patrols,” mewed Ravenpaw, hastily. “You should try not to annoy him.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a loud yowl from the other side of the clearing.
“Oh, no.” Firepaw groaned, getting to his paws. “I forgot to take Yellowfang her share!”
“You wait here,” mewed Graypaw, leaping up. “I’ll take her something.”
“No, I’d better go,” Firepaw protested. “This is my punishment, not yours.”
“No one will notice,” argued Graypaw. “They’re all busy eating. You know me: quiet as a mouse, quick as a fish. Wait here.”
Firepaw sat down again, unable to hide his relief. He watched his friend trot away from the tree stump to the pile of fresh-kill.
As if he were carrying out orders, Graypaw confidently picked out two of the juiciest-looking mice. Quickly, he began to pad across the clearing toward Yellowfang.
“Stop, Graypaw!” A loud growl rumbled from the entrance to the warriors’ den. Tigerclaw strode out and marched over to Graypaw. “Where are you taking those mice?” he demanded.
With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Firepaw watched, helpless, from the tree stump. Beside him, Ravenpaw froze midchew and crouched over his meal with his eyes wider than ever.
“Umm…” Graypaw dropped the mice and shuffled his paws uncomfortably.
“Not helping young Firepaw by feeding that greedy traitor over there, are you?”
Firepaw watched Graypaw study his paws for a moment. Finally he replied, “I, er, I was just feeling hungry. I was going to take them off and eat them by myself. If I let that pair get a look in”—he glanced at Firepaw and Ravenpaw—“they’ll leave me with nothing but bones and fur.”
“Oh, really?” mewed Tigerclaw. “Well, if you’re so hungry, you might as well eat them here and now!”
“But—” Graypaw began, looking up at the senior warrior in alarm.
“Now!” growled Tigerclaw.
Graypaw bent his head quickly and began to eat the mice. He demolished the first one in a couple of bites and swallowed it quickly. The second mouse took longer for him to eat. Firepaw thought he’d never manage to swallow it, and his own stomach clenched in sympathy, but eventually Graypaw gave a final, difficult gulp and the last bit of mouse disappeared.
“Better now?” asked Tigerclaw, his voice smooth with mock sympathy.
“Much,” replied Graypaw, stifling a burp.
“Good.” Tigerclaw stalked off again, back to his den.
Graypaw slunk uncomfortably back to Firepaw and Ravenpaw.
“Thanks, Graypaw,” Firepaw mewed gratefully, nudging his friend’s soft fur. “That was quick thinking.”
The noise of Yellowfang’s yowl rose into the air once more. Firepaw sighed and got to his paws. He would make sure he took her enough to see her through the night. He wanted to turn in early. His stomach was full and his paws were tired.
“Are you okay, Graypaw?” he asked as he turned to leave.
“Mrr-ow-ow,” moaned Graypaw. He was hunched into a low crouch, squinting with pain. “I’ve eaten too much!”
“Go and see Spottedleaf,” Firepaw suggested. “I’m sure she’ll find something to help.”
“I hope so,” mewed Graypaw, tottering slowly away.
Firepaw wanted to watch him go, until another angry yowl from Yellowfang sent him sprinting across the clearing.
CHAPTER 10
By the following morning, a thin drizzle soaked the treetops and dripped down into the camp.
Firepaw woke up feeling damp. It had been an uncomfortable night. He stood up and shook himself vigorously, fluffing out his fur. Then he left the apprentices’ den and trotted across the clearing to Yellowfang’s nest.
Yellowfang was just stirring. She lifted her head and squinted at Firepaw as he approached. “My bones ache this morning. Has it been raining all night?”
“Since just after moonhigh,” Firepaw replied. He reached out and prodded her mossy nest cautiously. “Your bedding is soaking wet. Why don’t you move nearer to the nursery? It’s more sheltered there.”
“What? And be kept awake all night by those mewling kits! I’d rather get wet!” Yellowfang growled.
Firepaw watched her circle stiffly on her mossy bed. “Then at least let me fetch you some dry bedding,” he offered, keen to drop the subject of kits if it upset the old she-cat so much.
“Thank you, Firepaw,” replied Yellowfang quietly, settling down again.
Firepaw felt stunned. He wondered if Yellowfang was feeling all right. It was the first time she had thanked him for anything, and the first time she had not called him kittypet.
“Well, don’t just stand there like a startled squirrel; go and fetch some moss!” she snapped.
Firepaw’s whiskers twitched with amusement. This was more like the Yellowfang he was used to. He nodded and sprinted off.
He almost crashed into Speckletail in the middle of the clearing. This was the queen who had watched Yellowfang’s angry outburst at the tabby kit the day before.