Fire And Ice

The sight of the spot where he had caught his first prey filled Fireheart with happy memories. He watched Cinderpaw stand at the edge of the stream and crane her neck to peer into the black water. “If I were you, I’d leave fishing to RiverClan,” Fireheart warned her. “If they like getting their fur wet, then let them. I prefer dry paws.”

Cinderpaw padded restlessly around in a circle. “What now?”

Her excitement, and his own apprentice memories, filled Fireheart with energy. He bounded away, calling over his shoulder, “The Owl Tree!” Cinderpaw charged after him, her short fluffy tail sticking out behind her.

They crossed the stream over a fallen tree Fireheart had used many times before. “There are stepping-stones farther down, but this is a quicker route. Be careful though!” The pale white trunk was stripped of its bark. “It gets slippery when it’s wet or icy.”

He let Cinderpaw cross first, keeping close behind in case she lost her pawhold. The stream wasn’t particularly deep, but it would be cold as ice, and Cinderpaw was still too small to cope with a soaking.

She crossed the log easily, and Fireheart felt a glow of pride as he watched his apprentice jump down onto the forest floor at the far end. “Well done,” he purred.

Cinderpaw’s eyes shone. “Thanks,” she mewed. “Now, where’s this Owl Tree?”

“This way!” Fireheart bounded away through the undergrowth. The ferns had turned brown since greenleaf. By the end of leaf-fall, they would be flattened by rain and wind, but now they still stood tall and crisp. Fireheart and Cinderpaw wove their way beneath the arching fronds.

Ahead, a massive oak towered above the surrounding trees. Cinderpaw tipped her head back, looking for the top. “Does an owl really live here?” she mewed.

“Yes,” replied Fireheart. “Can you see the hole in the trunk up there?”

Cinderpaw narrowed her eyes to peer through the branches. “How do you know it’s not a squirrel hole?”

“Smell!” Fireheart told her.

Cinderpaw sniffed loudly but shook her head, her eyes curious as she looked up at Fireheart.

“I’ll show you what squirrels smell like another time,” Fireheart meowed. “You won’t smell any around here. No squirrel would dare make its nest so near an owl hole. Look at the ground; what do you see?”

Cinderpaw looked down, puzzled. “Leaves?”

“Try burrowing under the leaves.”

The forest floor was carpeted with brown oak leaves, crisp with frost. Cinderpaw began snuffling among them and then shoved her nose in right up to her ears. When she sat up there was something the size and shape of a pinecone in her mouth. “Yuck, smells like crowfood!” she spat. Fireheart purred with amusement.

“You knew it was there, didn’t you?”

“Bluestar played the same trick on me when I was an apprentice. You’ll never forget the stench.”

“What is it?”

“An owl pod,” Fireheart explained. He remembered what Bluestar had told him. “Owls eat the same prey as us, but they can’t digest the bones and fur, so their bellies roll the leftovers into pods and they spit them out. If you find one of those under a tree, it means you’ve found an owl.”

“Why would you want to find an owl?” squeaked Cinderpaw in alarm. Fireheart’s whiskers twitched as he looked into her wide eyes, as blue as her mother’s. Frostfur must have told her the elders’ tale of how owls carried off young kits who strayed from their mother’s side.

“Owls get a better view of the forest than we do. On windy nights, when scents are hard to follow, you can look out for owls and follow where they hunt.” Cinderpaw’s eyes were still wide, but the fear had left them, and she nodded. She does listen sometimes! Fireheart thought with relief.

“Where next?” mewed Cinderpaw.

“The Great Sycamore,” Fireheart decided. They traveled through the woods as the sun rose into the pale blue sky, crossing a Twoleg path and another tiny stream. Eventually they arrived at the sycamore tree.

“It’s huge!” Cinderpaw gasped.

“Smallear says he climbed to the top branch when he was an apprentice,” Fireheart meowed.

“No way!” mewed Cinderpaw.

“Mind you, when Smallear was an apprentice, this tree was probably only a sapling!” Fireheart joked. He was still gazing up when a rustling sound behind him told him Cinderpaw had dashed off again. He sighed and chased after her through the bracken. His nose detected a familiar scent that made him nervous. Cinderpaw was heading toward Snakerocks.

Adders! Fireheart picked up his pace.

He emerged from the trees and looked around anxiously. Cinderpaw was standing on a boulder at the bottom of the steep, rocky slope. “Come on; I’ll race you to the top!” she mewed.

Fireheart froze, horror-struck, as she crouched, ready to spring onto the next boulder. “Cinderpaw! Get down from there!” he yowled.

He held his breath as Cinderpaw turned and scrambled down again. She stood trembling, her fur on end, as Fireheart rushed over to her. “This place is called Snakerocks,” he puffed.

Cinderpaw looked up at him, her eyes huge. “Snakerocks?”