Bramblestar’s Storm

Bramblestar knew that she was still regretting the loss of her special powers, which had helped her to pinpoint prey more accurately than any cat in the Clan. “And that’s what makes you the best cat to train these kittypets,” he told her briskly. “You know what it’s like to learn from the very beginning, when you’re feeling blind and deaf and lost in the trees.”

“Oh!” Dovewing was obviously surprised by this idea. “Okay, I’d be glad to help,” she agreed.

By this time the early patrols were ready to set out. Lionblaze was taking his cats to the WindClan border, to check the crossing place and to make sure there were no new WindClan scents. Squirrelflight was leading cats along the ShadowClan border, while Brightheart and Birchfall were both heading up hunting patrols in the woods beyond the territory.

“We’re all being asked to travel much farther than we’re used to,” Squirrelflight murmured as the patrols set out.

Bramblestar nodded, his gaze traveling across his thin, weary Clanmates. “We have no choice,” he reminded his deputy, feeling bad for them but knowing that they would all do what they had to, to protect the Clan and survive.

He took Dovewing and the kittypets into the trees in the direction of the ShadowClan border, treading in Squirrelflight’s paw steps but letting her patrol draw ahead. Once they were well away from the tunnel among dense undergrowth, he halted.

“First you have to learn the hunter’s crouch,” he began. “That’s essential for every ThunderClan cat—or any cat who happens to be living in ThunderClan for a time,” he added as Minty opened her jaws to object. “Dovewing, show them how.”

Dovewing crouched down with her paws drawn up under her and her hind legs braced for a pounce.

“See how she’s ready to leap?” Bramblestar meowed. “She’s putting all her strength into her hind legs—like this.” He pressed himself to the ground, copying Dovewing’s crouch. “Dovewing, show them the pounce.”

Dovewing sprang forward, her forepaws extended and her claws ready to grip her quarry.

“Great,” Bramblestar commented. “See how her forepaws flashed out? Her prey wouldn’t have a chance.”

“Now you try,” Dovewing suggested.

Bramblestar stayed in the crouching position so that the kittypets could copy him. All three looked nervous, but they wriggled into position and tucked in their paws neatly.

“Very good,” Dovewing mewed, pacing around them and checking their position. “Frankie, pull your hind paws a bit farther in. That’s right.”

“Excellent.” Bramblestar rose and arched his back in a stretch, loosening up after the crouch. “Now let’s try pouncing.” He peeled a bunch of moss off a nearby tree root and padded forward until he emerged in a small clearing. “Suppose this moss is a mouse,” he continued, dropping the bundle in the middle. “I want you to stalk it, crouch, and then pounce.”

“Is this what you do with your apprentices?” Jessy asked.

“Yes,” Bramblestar replied.

Jessy let out a snort that was half-amused, though her tail-tip flicked frustratedly. “But we’re not apprentices!” she pointed out. “We’ve all hunted before, whatever you think of our skills. Why don’t you let us show you what we can do?”

“I don’t think—” Bramblestar began, his neck fur beginning to rise defensively.

“That’s a great idea,” Dovewing interrupted. “That way, we’ll see what we need to teach you.”

Bramblestar nodded, appreciating the sense in what his Clanmate said. “Okay. Frankie, you go first. Can you scent any prey?”

The tabby tom cast him a nervous glance, then stood with his ears pricked and his jaws parted to taste the air. Bramblestar was slightly surprised that he knew what to do.

After a moment Frankie turned to him. “I think there’s a squirrel under there,” he mewed, angling his ears toward a holly bush at the edge of the clearing.

“I think so, too,” Bramblestar replied; he had picked up the scent several heartbeats before Frankie. “See if you can catch it.”

Forgetting all about stalking, Frankie tore across the clearing with a yowl, startling the squirrel, which shot out from beneath the holly bush and raced around a bramble thicket with its tail streaming out behind it. Frankie hurtled after it, crashing through the brambles, only to halt in frustration as the squirrel swarmed up the trunk of a nearby beech tree and vanished among the branches.

His head and tail drooping, Frankie trudged back to the other cats. “I’m sorry, I messed up,” he muttered. He looked thoroughly depressed, and he had lost several tufts of fur in his mad dash through the brambles.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Dovewing meowed bracingly. “Okay, you didn’t catch it, but you picked up its scent quickly, and you kept after it, even with brambles in the way. You just need to work on being quieter.”

Frankie perked up. “I’ll remember that,” he promised.

Dovewing gave him a nod and turned to Minty. “You try now.”