Into the Wild (Warriors 1)

“I’m called Firepaw now,” Firepaw meowed. He relaxed his shoulders and let his fur fall flat into a sleek orange pelt.

Smudge relaxed too. His ears pricked up. “Firepaw?” he echoed, amused. “Well, Firepaw, it looks like your new housefolk don’t feed you enough! You certainly weren’t this scrawny last time we met!”

“I don’t need Twolegs to feed me,” Firepaw replied. “I’ve got a whole forest of food to eat.”

“Twolegs?”

“Housefolk. That’s what the Clans call them.”

Smudge looked bewildered for a second; then his expression changed to one of complete astonishment. “You mean you’re really living with the wildcats?”

“Yes!” Firepaw paused. “You know, you smell…different. Unfamiliar.”

“Unfamiliar?” Smudge echoed. He sniffed. “I suppose you’re used to the smell of those wildcats now.”

Firepaw shook his head, as if to clear his mind. “But we were kittens together. I should know your smell like I’d know the smell of my birth mother.” Then Firepaw remembered. Smudge had passed six moons. No wonder he looked so soft and fat, and smelled so strange. “You’ve been to the Cutter!” He gasped. “I mean, the vet!”

Smudge shrugged his plump black shoulders. “So?” he mewed.

Firepaw was speechless. So Bluestar was right.

“Come on, then! What’s it like, living wild?” Smudge demanded. “Is it as good as you thought it’d be?”

Firepaw thought for a moment: about last night, sleeping in a damp den. He thought about mouse bile and clearing away Yellowfang’s dirt, and trying to please both Lionheart and Tigerclaw at once during training. He remembered the teasing he suffered about his kittypet blood. Then he remembered the thrill of his first catch, of charging through the forest in pursuit of a squirrel, and of warm evenings beneath the stars sharing tongues with his friends.

“I know who I am now,” he meowed simply.

Smudge tipped his head to one side and stared at Firepaw, clearly confused. “I should be getting home,” he mewed. “Mealtime soon.”

“Go carefully, Smudge.” Firepaw leaned forward and gave his old friend an affectionate lick between the ears. Smudge nuzzled him in return. “And stay alert. There may be another cat in the area who is not as fond of kittypets—I mean, house cats—as I am.”

Smudge’s ears flicked nervously at these words. He looked around cautiously and leaped up onto the trunk of the fallen tree. “Good-bye, Rusty,” he mewed. “I’ll tell everyone at home that you’re okay!”

“’Bye, Smudge,” meowed Firepaw. “Enjoy your meal!”

He watched the white tip of Smudge’s tail disappear over the edge of the tree. In the distance he could hear the rattle of dried food being shaken, and a Twoleg voice calling.

Firepaw turned, his tail high, and started back toward his own home, sniffing the air as he went. I’ll find a finch or two here, he decided. Then I’ll catch something else on the way back through the pines. He felt bursting with energy after meeting Smudge and realizing just how lucky he was to live in the Clan.

He looked up at the branches above him and began to stalk silently across the forest floor, every sense alert. Now he just needed to impress Bluestar and Tigerclaw, and the day would be perfect.

CHAPTER 11

Firepaw returned with a chaffinch gripped firmly between his teeth. He dropped it in front of Tigerclaw, who stood waiting in the hollow.

“You’re the first one back,” meowed the warrior.

“Yeah, but I’ve got loads more prey to fetch,” Firepaw mewed quickly. “I buried it back—”

“I know exactly what you did,” Tigerclaw growled. “I’ve been watching you.”

A swish of bushes announced Graypaw’s return. He was carrying a small squirrel in his mouth, which he dropped beside Firepaw’s chaffinch. “Yuck!” he spat. “Squirrels are too furry. I’ll be picking hairs out of my teeth all evening.”

Tigerclaw paid no attention to Graypaw’s grumbling. “Ravenpaw’s late,” he observed. “We’ll give him a bit longer and then return to camp.”

“But what if he’s been bitten by an adder?” Firepaw protested.

“Then it’s his own fault,” Tigerclaw replied coldly. “There’s no room for fools in ThunderClan.”

They waited in silence. Graypaw and Firepaw exchanged glances, worried about Ravenpaw. Tigerclaw sat motionless, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

Firepaw was the first to scent Ravenpaw’s arrival. He jumped to his paws as the black cat leaped into the clearing, looking unusually pleased with himself. Dangling from his mouth was the long, diamond-patterned body of an adder.

“Ravenpaw! Are you okay?” Firepaw called.

“Hey!” meowed Graypaw, rushing forward to admire Ravenpaw’s catch. “Did that bite you?”

“I was too quick for it!” Ravenpaw purred loudly. Then he caught Tigerclaw’s eye and fell silent.

Tigerclaw fixed all three excited apprentices with a cold stare. “Come on,” he said shortly. “Let’s collect the rest of your prey and get back to camp.”

Firepaw, Graypaw, and Ravenpaw entered the camp, strolling behind Tigerclaw. Their impressive day’s catch hung from their mouths, although Ravenpaw kept tripping over his dead snake. As they emerged from the gorse into the camp, a group of young kits scrambled out of the nursery to watch them pass.

“Look!” Firepaw heard one of them say. “Apprentices, just back from hunting!” He recognized the little tabby Yellowfang had hissed at the day before. Sitting next to him was a fluffy gray kit, no more than two moons old. A tiny black kit and a small tortoiseshell stood beside them.

“Isn’t that the kittypet, Firepaw?” squeaked the gray kit.

“Yeah! Look at his orange fur!” mewed the black one.

“They say he’s a good hunter,” the tortoiseshell added. “He looks a bit like Lionheart. Do you suppose he’s as good as him?”

“I can’t wait to start my training,” mewed the tabby. “I’m going to be the best warrior ThunderClan has ever seen!”

Firepaw lifted his chin, feeling proud at the kits’ admiring comments. He followed his two friends into the center of the clearing.

“An adder!” Graypaw mewed again, as the apprentices dropped their catch for the other cats to share.

“What shall I do with it?” asked Ravenpaw, sniffing the snake’s long body as it lay beside the heap.

“Can you eat adders?” asked Graypaw.

“Trust you to think of your stomach!” Firepaw joked, butting Graypaw with his head.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to eat it,” murmured Ravenpaw. “I mean, my mouth tastes pretty foul after carrying it back.”

“Let’s put it on the tree stump, then,” suggested Graypaw, “so that Dustpaw and Sandpaw can see it when they get back.”

They each carried a piece of their fresh-kill, and the adder, back to their den. Graypaw carefully placed the adder on the stump, arranging the snake so that it could be seen clearly from all sides. Then they ate. When they had finished they sat close together to groom one another and talk.

“I wonder who Bluestar will choose to go to the Gathering?” Firepaw meowed. “It’ll be full moon tomorrow.”

“Sandpaw and Dustpaw have been twice already,” replied Graypaw.

“Perhaps Bluestar will choose one of us this time,” mewed Firepaw. “After all, we’ve been training for almost three moons now.”

“But Sandpaw and Dustpaw are still the eldest apprentices,” Ravenpaw pointed out.

Firepaw nodded. “And this Gathering will be an important one. It’ll be the first time the Clans have met since WindClan disappeared. No cat knows what ShadowClan is going to say about it.”

Tigerclaw’s low meow interrupted them. “You are right, youngster.” The warrior had strolled up to them unnoticed. “By the way, Firepaw,” he added smoothly, “Bluestar wants to see you.”

Firepaw looked up, startled. Why would Bluestar want

to see him?

“Now—if you can spare the time,” Tigerclaw meowed.

Firepaw jumped up immediately and bounded off across the clearing toward Bluestar’s den.

Bluestar was sitting outside, her tail flicking restlessly back and forth. When she saw Firepaw she stood up and looked steadily down at him. “Tigerclaw has told me that he saw you talking with a cat from the Twolegplace today,” she meowed quietly.

“But—” Firepaw began.

“He said that you began by fighting with this cat but ended up sharing tongues with it.”

“That’s true,” Firepaw admitted, feeling his fur prickle defensively. “But he was an old friend. We grew up together.” He paused and swallowed. “When I was a kittypet.”

Bluestar looked at him for a long moment. “Do you miss your old life, Firepaw?” she asked. “Think carefully, now.”

“No.” How can Bluestar think that? Firepaw wondered. His head was spinning. What was Bluestar trying to make him say?