Into The Wild

Something stirred inside him, an unwarriorlike feeling he didn’t want: pity. He tried not to dwell on this instinct-he knew his loyalty must be to his Clan-but he couldn’t shake free of it. “You speak from your heart, young Firepaw.” Lionheart’s words echoed in his head once more. “This will make you a stronger warrior one day.” Then Tigerclaw’s warning rang in his ears: “Or it might make him give in to kittypet weakness right at the moment of attack.”

Yellowfang lunged forward and Firepaw jerked instantly back into aggression. The bigger cat tried to reach up onto his shoulders and get a killing grip, but this time she was hampered by her wounded leg.

“Gar-off!” Firepaw arched his spine, but Yellowfang managed to dig in her claws and hung on tight. The bigger cat’s weight forced him to the ground.

Firepaw tasted earth on his tongue and spat out a mouthful of grit. “Pah!”

He twisted nimbly to avoid Yellowfang’s thrashing back legs and the thorn-sharp claws that were trying to rake at his soft underbelly. Over and over they rolled, biting and snapping.

Moments later they broke apart. Firepaw was gasping for breath now. But he sensed that Yellowfang was weakening. The she-cat was badly wounded, and her back legs could barely support her scrawny body.

“Had enough yet?” Firepaw growled. If the intruder gave way, he’d let her go with just a warning bite to remember him by.

“Never!” Yellowfang hissed back bravely. But her injured leg gave way and she slumped to the ground. She tried to get up and failed. Her eyes were dull as she hissed up at Firepaw, “If I weren’t so hungry and tired, I’d have shredded you into mousedust.” The she-cat’s mouth twisted in pain and defiance. “Finish me off. I won’t stop you.”

Firepaw hesitated. He’d never killed another cat before. Perhaps, in the heat of battle, he would, but a mercy killing, in cold blood? This was something very different.

“What are you waiting for?” Yellowfang taunted. “You’re dithering like a kittypet!”

Firepaw smarted at the she-cat’s words. Could she smell the scent of Twolegs on him, even now, after all this time?

“I’m an apprentice warrior of ThunderClan!” he snapped.

Yellowfang narrowed her eyes. She’d seen Firepaw flinch at her words and she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Ha,” she snorted. “Don’t tell me ThunderClan is so desperate they have to recruit kittypets now?”

“ThunderClan is not desperate!” hissed Firepaw.

“Prove it then! Act like a warrior and finish me off. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

Firepaw stared at her. He would not be goaded into killing this miserable creature. He felt his muscles relax as curiosity pricked him. How had a Clan cat gotten in such a state? ThunderClan elders were looked after better than kits! “You seem in an awful hurry to die,” he meowed.

“Yeah? Well, that’s my business, mousefodder,” Yellowfang snapped. “What’s your problem, kitty? Are you trying to talk me to death?”

Her words were brave, but Firepaw could smell the hunger and sickness that were coming off the other cat in waves. She was going to die anyway if she didn’t eat soon. And since she could hardly hunt for herself, perhaps he should kill her now. The two cats looked at each other, uncertainty in both their gazes.

“Wait here,” Firepaw ordered at last.

Yellowfang seemed to deflate. Her hackles smoothed out and her tail lost its gorse-bush stiffness. “Are you kidding, kitty? I’m going nowhere.” She grunted, limping painfully toward a patch of soft heather. She flopped down and began licking her leg wound.

Firepaw glanced briefly over his shoulder at her and hissed quietly in exasperation before heading for the trees.

As he padded silently through the ferns, sun-warmed odors filled his nose, and he caught the sour reek of a long-dead rat. He heard the scratching of insects beneath bark, the rustle of furry things scurrying over leaves. His first thought had been to go and dig up the thrush he had killed earlier, but that would take too long.

Maybe he should go and scoop up the rat carcass. Easy meat, but a starving cat needed fresh-kill. Only when times were very hard would a warrior eat crow food.

Just then he paused, scenting a young rabbit ahead. A few more steps and he saw it. Flattening himself down, he stalked the creature. He was barely a mouse-length away before it detected him. By then it was too late. The white bobtail darting away sent the thrill of the chase surging through Firepaw’s veins. A rush of speed, a flash of claws, and he had it.

He held the wriggling body fast and finished it off quickly.

Yellowfang looked up tiredly as Firepaw dropped the rabbit on the ground beside her. Her grizzled jaw dropped. “Well, hello again, kitty! I thought you’d gone to fetch your little warrior friends.”

“Yeah? Well, I might still do that. And don’t call me kitty.” Firepaw growled, shoving the rabbit nearer with his nose. He felt embarrassed by his kindness. “Look, if you don’t want this…”

“Ah-no,” Yellowfang meowed hastily. “I do want it.”