Into The Wild

Ravenpaw flinched and dropped his eyes to the ground.

“Tigerclaw’s a bit grumpy today,” Graypaw whispered into Firepaw’s ear.

Lionheart glanced at his apprentice sternly and announced, “Today we are going to practice stalking. Now, there is a big difference between creeping up on a rabbit and creeping up on a mouse. Can any of you tell me why?”

Firepaw had no idea, and Ravenpaw seemed to have taken Tigerclaw’s comment to heart and was holding his tongue.

“Come on!” snorted Tigerclaw impatiently.

It was Graypaw who answered: “Because a rabbit will smell you before he sees you, but a mouse will feel your pawsteps through the ground before he even smells you.”

“Exactly, Graypaw! So what must you bear in mind when hunting mice?”

“Step lightly?” Firepaw suggested.

Lionheart looked approvingly at him. “Quite right, Firepaw. You must take all your weight into your haunches, so that your paws make no impact on the forest floor. Let’s try it!”

Firepaw watched as Graypaw and Ravenpaw immediately dropped into a stalking crouch.

“Nicely done, Graypaw!” meowed Lionheart as the two apprentices began to move forward stealthily.

“Keep your rear down, Ravenpaw, you look like a duck!” spat Tigerclaw. “Now you try it, Firepaw.”

Firepaw crouched down and began to creep across the forest floor. He felt himself fall instinctively into the right position, and as he stepped forward, as silently and lightly as he could, he felt a glow of pride that his muscles responded so smoothly.

“Well, it’s obvious you’ve known nothing but softness!” growled Tigerclaw. “You stalk like a lumbering kittypet! Do you think dinner is going to come and lie down in your food dish and wait to be eaten?”

Firepaw sat up quickly as Tigerclaw spoke, a little taken aback by his harsh words. He listened carefully to the warrior, determined to get everything right.

“His pace and forward movement will come later, but his crouch is perfectly balanced,” Lionheart pointed out mildly.

“Which is better than Ravenpaw, I suppose,” complained Tigerclaw. He cast a scornful look at the black cat. “Even after two moons of training, you’re still putting all your weight on your left side.”

Ravenpaw looked even more dejected, and Firepaw couldn’t stop himself from blurting out, “His injury is bothering him, that’s all!”

Tigerclaw whipped his head around and glared at Firepaw. “Injuries are a fact of life. He should be able to adapt. Even you, Firepaw, have learned something this morning. If Ravenpaw picked up things as quickly as you, he’d be a credit to me instead of an embarrassment. Imagine being shown up by a kittypet!” he spat angrily at his apprentice.

Firepaw felt his fur prickle with discomfort. He couldn’t meet Ravenpaw’s eyes, so he looked down at his paws.

“Well, I’m more lopsided than a one-legged badger,” mewed Graypaw, breaking off from his careful stalking to stagger comically across the clearing. “I think I’ll have to settle for hunting stupid mice. They won’t stand a chance. I shall just wander up to them and sit on them till they surrender.”

“Concentrate, young Graypaw. This is no time for your jokes!” meowed Lionheart sternly. “Perhaps you might focus your mind better if you try out your stalking for real.”

All three apprentices looked up brightly.

“I want each one of you to try catching real prey,” meowed Lionheart. “Ravenpaw, you look beside the Owltree. Graypaw, there might be something in that big bramble patch over there. And you, Firepaw, follow the rabbit track over that rise; you’ll find the dry bed of a winter stream. You may find something there.”

The three apprentices bounded away, even Ravenpaw finding some extra energy for this challenge.

With the blood pounding in his ears, Firepaw crept slowly up over the rise. Sure enough, a streambed cut through the trees ahead of him. In leaf-fall, he guessed it would carry the rainwater away from the forest and into the great river that cut through RiverClan territory. Now it was dry.

Firepaw crept quietly down the bank and crouched on its sandy floor. Every sense felt on fire with tension. Silently he scanned the empty stream for signs of life. He watched for any tiny movement, his mouth open so he could pick up the smallest scent, his ears twisted forward.

Then he smelled mouse. He recognized the odor instantly, remembering his first taste the night before. Wild energy surged through him, but he remained motionless, trying desperately to pinpoint the prey.

He strained his ears forward until he picked up the rapid pulsing of a tiny mouse heart. Then a flash of brown caught his eye. The creature was scrambling through the long grass that draped the edges of the stream. Firepaw shifted closer, remembering to keep his weight on his haunches until he was within striking distance. Then he pushed back hard on his hindpaws and sprang, kicking up sand as he rose.