Into The Wild

The mouse raced away. But Firepaw was quicker. He scooped it into the air with one paw, threw it onto the sandy streambed, and lunged on top of it. He killed it quickly with one sharp bite.

Firepaw carefully lifted the warm body between his teeth and returned with his tail held high to the hollow where Tigerclaw and Lionheart waited. He had made his first kill. He was a true ThunderClan apprentice now.

CHAPTER 6

Early-morning sunlight streamed down onto the forest floor as Firepaw roamed in search of prey. Two moons had passed since he had begun his training. He felt at ease in this environment now. His senses had been awoken and educated in the ways of the woods.

Firepaw paused to sniff the earth and the cold blind things that moved within it. He caught the scent of a Twoleg that had wandered the forest recently. Now that greenleaf was fully here, leaves were thick on the branches and tiny creatures were busy beneath the carpet of leaf mold.

Firepaw made a lean, strong shape as he moved silently through the trees, all his senses alert for the scent trail that would end in a swift kill. Today he had been set his first solo task. He was determined to do well, even if his task was only to bring back fresh-kill for the Clan.

He headed for the stream that he had crossed on that first trek through the ThunderClan hunting grounds. It gurgled and spattered as it ran downhill over the smooth, round pebbles. Firepaw paused briefly to lap at the cold, clear water, then lifted his head and tested the air again for any scent of prey.

The stench of a fox lay heavy in the air here. The smell was stale, so the fox must have drunk here earlier in the day. Firepaw recognized the odor; he had smelled it on his first visit to the forest. Since then, Lionheart had taught him it was fox-scent, but, apart from the glimpse of the fox’s brush he had caught on that first outing, Firepaw had still never seen one properly.

He struggled to screen out the fox-stench and concentrate on prey-scent. Suddenly his whiskers prickled as he homed in on the warm blood-beat of prey-a water vole busy about its nest.

A moment later he saw the vole. The fat brown body was darting back and forth along the bank as it gathered grass stalks. Firepaw’s mouth watered in anticipation. His last meal had been many hours ago, but he dared not hunt for himself until the Clan had been fed. He remembered the words repeated by Lionheart and Tigerclaw time and time again: “The Clan must be fed first.”

Dropping into a crouch, Firepaw began to stalk the little creature. His orange belly fur brushed against the damp grass. He crept closer, his eyes never leaving his prey. Almost there. Another moment and he would be near enough to spring…

Suddenly there was a loud rustle in the ferns behind him. The water vole’s ears twitched and it disappeared down a hole in the bank.

Firepaw felt the hackles rising along his spine. Whatever had ruined his first good chance of catching prey would have to pay.

He sniffed the air. He could tell it was a cat, but he realized with a jolt that he couldn’t identify which Clan it belonged to-the stale stench of fox still confused his smell-sense.

A growl rose in his throat as he began doubling back in a wide circle. He pricked up his ears and opened his eyes wide, seeking out any movement. He heard the undergrowth rustle again. It was louder now, off to one side. Firepaw edged closer. He could see the ferns moving, but the fronds still hid the enemy from view. A twig snapped with a sharp cracking noise. From the noise it’s making, it must be big, Firepaw thought, preparing himself for a fierce battle.

He leaped for the trunk of an ash and climbed swiftly and silently up to an overhanging branch. Below him the invisible warrior came closer, and closer still. Firepaw held his breath, judging his moment as the ferns were pushed aside and a large grayish shape emerged.

“Gr-aaar!” The battle cry rumbled in Firepaw’s throat. Claws unsheathed, he launched himself at the enemy and landed squarely on a set of furry, muscular shoulders. He dug in hard, gripping with thorn-sharp claws, ready to deal out a powerful warning bite.

“Wa-ah! What’sat?” The body below him shot straight up in the air, carrying him with it.

“Uh! Graypaw?” Firepaw recognized the astonished voice and caught his friend’s familiar smell, but he was too fired up to loosen his grip.

“Ambush! Murr-oww!” spat Graypaw, not realizing that the cat gripping onto his back was Firepaw. He rolled over and over in an attempt to dislodge his attacker.

“Uufff-ff!” Firepaw rolled with him, squashed and flattened beneath the heavy body. “It’s me-Firepaw!” he yowled as he struggled to pull free and sheath his claws. Rolling away, he sprang to his feet and gave himself a shake, which rippled all the way along his body to the end of his tail. “Graypaw! It’s me,” he repeated. “I thought you were an enemy warrior!”