Into the Wild (Warriors 1)

As he spoke, Bluestar stood, and, holding her tail high, flicked it from one side to the other. Firepaw’s heart missed a beat as the ThunderClan cats rose as one and bounded through the bushes, down toward the meeting place. He raced alongside them, feeling the wind rush in his ears and his paws tingle with anticipation.

The ThunderClan cats paused instinctively on the edge of the clearing, outside the boundary of the oaks. Bluestar sniffed the air. Then she nodded and the troop moved forward into the clearing.

Firepaw felt thrilled. The other cats looked even more impressive close up, milling about the Great Rock. A large white warrior strode past. Firepaw and Ravenpaw looked at him in awe.

“Look at his paws!” Ravenpaw murmured.

Firepaw looked down and realized the huge paws of this great tom were jet black.

“It must be Blackfoot,” mewed Grewpaw. “ShadowClan’s new deputy.”

Blackfoot stalked over to Brokenstar and sat down beside him. The ShadowClan leader acknowledged him with a twitch of one ear, but said nothing.

“When does the meeting begin?” Ravenpaw asked Whitestorm.

“Be patient, Ravenpaw,” he answered. “The sky is clear tonight, so we have plenty of time.”

Lionheart leaned over and added, “We warriors like to spend a little time boasting about our victories, while the elders swap tales about the ancient days before the Twolegs came here.” All three apprentices looked up at him and saw his whiskers twitch mischievously.

Dappletail, One-eye, and Smallear headed straight off toward a group of elderly cats who were settling themselves below one of the oak trees. Whitestorm and Lionheart strolled over to another pair of warriors whom Firepaw did not know. He sniffed the air and recognized their scent as RiverClan.

Bluestar’s voice sounded behind the three apprentices. “Don’t waste any of your time tonight,” she warned. “This is a good opportunity to meet your enemies. Listen to them; remember what they look like and how they behave. There is a great deal to be learned from these meetings.”

“And say little,” warned Tigerclaw. “Don’t give anything away that might be used against us once the moon has waned.”

“Don’t worry; we won’t!” Firepaw promised hastily, looking into Tigerclaw’s eyes. The feeling that Tigerclaw didn’t trust his loyalty lingered with him still.

The two warriors nodded and moved on, and the apprentices were left alone. They looked at each other.

“What do we do now?” Firepaw asked.

“What they said,” replied Ravenpaw. “Listen.”

“And don’t say too much,” Graypaw added.

Firepaw nodded gravely. “I’m going to see where Tigerclaw went,” he mewed.

“Well, I’m going to find Lionheart,” mewed Graypaw. “You coming, Ravenpaw?”

“No, thanks,” Ravenpaw replied. “I’m going to find some of the other apprentices.”

“Okay, we’ll meet up later,” mewed Firepaw, and he trotted in the direction Tigerclaw had taken.

He scented Tigerclaw easily and found him sitting at the center of a group of huge warriors, behind the Great Rock. Tigerclaw was speaking.

It was a tale Firepaw had heard many times at camp. Tigerclaw was describing his recent battle against the RiverClan hunting party. “I wrestled like a LionClan cat. Three warriors tried to hold me but I threw them off. I fought them until two lay knocked out and the other had run off into the forest like a kit crying for its mother.”

This time Tigerclaw didn’t mention killing Oakheart in vengeance for Redtail’s death. Perhaps it’s so he doesn’t offend the RiverClan warriors, Firepaw decided.

Firepaw listened politely to the end of the story, but a familiar scent was distracting him. As soon as Tigerclaw had finished speaking, Firepaw turned and crept away toward the sweet smell, which was coming from a group of cats nearby.

He found Graypaw sitting among these cats, but that was not the scent he had been following. Sitting opposite Graypaw, between two RiverClan toms, was Spottedleaf. Firepaw glanced at her shyly and settled himself beside his friend.

“Still no scent of WindClan,” he mewed to Graypaw.

“The meeting hasn’t begun yet; they may still come,” replied his friend. “Look, there’s Runningnose. He’s the new ShadowClan medicine cat, apparently.” He nodded toward a small gray-and-white cat at the center of the group.

“I can see why they call him Runningnose,” Firepaw remarked. The medicine cat’s nose was wet at the tip and encrusted around the edges.

“Yep,” replied Graypaw with a scornful growl. “I can’t see why they appointed him when he can’t even cure his own cold!”

Runningnose was telling the cats about a herb that medicine cats had used in the old days to cure kitten-cough. “Since the Twolegs came and filled the place with hard earth and strange flowers,” he complained in a high-pitched yowl, “the herb has disappeared, and kittens die needlessly in cold weather.”

The cats gathered around him yowled their disapproval.

“It never would have happened in the time of the great Clan cats,” growled a black RiverClan queen.

“Indeed,” mewled a silver tabby. “The great cats would have killed any Twolegs that dared enter their territory. If TigerClan roamed this forest still, Twolegs would not have built this far into our land.”

Then Firepaw heard Spottedleaf’s quiet mew. “If TigerClan still roamed these forests, we would hardly have made our territory here, either.”

“What’s TigerClan?” mewed a small voice beside them. Firepaw noticed a little tabby apprentice from one of the other Clans sitting beside him.

“TigerClan is one of the great cat Clans that used to roam the forest,” Graypaw explained quietly. “TigerClan is cats of the night, big as horses, with jet-black stripes. Then there is LionClan. They’re…” Graypaw hesitated, frowning as he tried to remember.

“Oh! I’ve heard of them,” mewed the tabby. “They were as big as TigerClan cats, with yellow fur and golden manes like rays of the sun.”

Graypaw nodded. “And then there is the other one, SpottyClan or something like that….”

“I suspect you’re thinking of LeopardClan, young Graypaw,” meowed a voice from behind them.

“Lionheart!” Graypaw greeted his mentor with an affectionate touch of his nose.

Lionheart shook his head in mock despair. “Don’t you youngsters know your history? LeopardClan are the swiftest cats, huge and golden, spotted with black pawprints. You can thank LeopardClan for the speed and hunting skills you now possess.”

“Thank them? Why?” asked the tabby.

Lionheart gazed down at the little apprentice and answered, “There is a trace of all the great cats in every cat today. We would not be night hunters without our TigerClan ancestors, and our love of the sun’s warmth comes from LionClan.” He paused. “You are a ShadowClan apprentice, aren’t you? How many moons are you?”

The tabby stared awkwardly down at the ground. “S-six moons,” he stammered, not meeting Lionheart’s eye.

“Rather small for six moons,” Lionheart murmured. His tone was gentle, but his gaze was searching and serious.

“My mother was small too,” answered the tabby nervously. He bowed his head and backed away, disappearing into the crowd of cats with a twitch of his light brown tail.

Lionheart turned to Firepaw and Graypaw. “Well, he might be small, but at least he was curious. If only you two showed as much interest in the stories your elders tell!”

“Sorry, Lionheart,” Firepaw and Graypaw mewed, exchanging doubtful glances.

Lionheart grunted good-naturedly. “Oh, go away, the pair of you! Next time I hope Bluestar decides to bring apprentices who appreciate what they hear.” And with a half-hearted growl he chased them away from the group.

“Come on,” purred Graypaw as they leaped away. “Let’s see where Ravenpaw’s gotten to.”

Ravenpaw was in the middle of a group of apprentices who were cla

moring for him to tell them about the battle with RiverClan.

“Go on, Ravenpaw; tell us what happened!” called a pretty black-and-white she-cat.

Ravenpaw shyly shuffled his paws and shook his head.

“Come on, Ravenpaw!” insisted another.

Ravenpaw looked around and saw Firepaw and Graypaw at the edge of the crowd. Firepaw nodded encouragingly. Ravenpaw flicked his tail in acknowledgment and began his story.

He stumbled a bit at first, but as he continued, the tremor disappeared from his voice and his audience leaned in, their eyes growing wider.

“Fur was flying everywhere. Blood spattered the leaves of the bramble bushes, bright red against green. I’d just fought off a huge warrior and sent him squealing into the bushes when the ground shook, and I heard a warrior scream. It was Oakheart! Redtail raced past me, his mouth dripping blood and his fur torn. ‘Oakheart is dead!’ he howled. Then he rushed off to help Tigerclaw as he fought another warrior.”