River Of Fire

Even while she was speaking, Twigpaw realized that Finpaw wasn’t going to listen. The young brown tom scampered around her, his voice squeaking in excitement. “Are you going on an adventure? Can I come?”

Twigpaw sighed. She should have known from the beginning that there would be no getting rid of Finpaw. Besides, she thought, if I bring back prey and look after an apprentice, it’ll prove that I’m a real warrior.

“Okay,” she sighed. “Just stop making that racket. You’ll scare off all the prey in the forest.”

“Is that it?” Finpaw lowered his voice, to Twigpaw’s relief. “Are we going hunting? Cool!”

He padded at Twigpaw’s side as they headed deeper into the forest, taking care to set his paws down lightly. The forest was cool and shady under a covering of cloud, with here and there a brighter patch where the sun was struggling to break through. Twigpaw kept halting to taste the air, alert for prey and also for cat-scent; she didn’t want to risk meeting any of her Clanmates.

Finpaw spotted prey first: a mouse scrabbling around in the debris at the foot of an oak tree. He dropped into the hunter’s crouch and crept up on it, but just before he was close enough to pounce, he put one paw down on a dead leaf. The crackling sound alerted the mouse, which darted toward the shelter of the oak roots.

“Mouse dung!” Finpaw exclaimed.

But Twigpaw had been watching, and was ready. With a massive leap she hurled herself on top of the mouse and slapped a forepaw down on it, cutting off its squeak of terror.

“Thank you, StarClan, for this prey,” she mewed.

“Hey, great catch!” Finpaw padded up and sniffed the mouse. “Sorry I missed it.”

“It’s not a problem.” Twigpaw touched his ear with her nose. “We make a good team.”

The two cats went on hunting. When she had caught another mouse and a shrew, Twigpaw dug a hole and buried her prey, ready for her to collect later. My idea’s working well, she thought. Sparkpelt will be really impressed!

Looking around, she realized that they were close to the WindClan border. “Maybe we should go as far as the stream,” she suggested to Finpaw. “We might even be lucky and find more watermint.”

Finpaw agreed, but before they had gone much farther, Twigpaw spotted a squirrel climbing down the trunk of an ash tree and set off across an open stretch of ground just ahead. It was taking its time, bobbing along for a few paw steps, then stopping to sit upright with its tail curled upward. Clearly it was unaware of the two cats.

Twigpaw angled her ears toward the squirrel. “Stay back and stay quiet,” she murmured to Finpaw.

Eyes bright, Finpaw nodded enthusiastically.

Twigpaw began to follow the squirrel, creeping forward with her belly brushing the grass. The gap between her and the squirrel grew narrower. But before she could reach her prey, the squirrel sat upright. Twigpaw gritted her teeth with annoyance as she realized the breeze had shifted, carrying her scent toward it.

In the next heartbeat the squirrel pelted for the nearest tree, its tail streaming out behind it. With a yowl of frustration, Twigpaw followed. Her muscles bunched and stretched as she tried to force every last scrap of speed out of her legs.

The squirrel reached the tree and fled up the trunk. Twigpaw was running so fast that she couldn’t stop. Her legs carried her on for a few more strides; then suddenly there was nothing under her paws anymore. She let out a screech as she fell into cold water, and the current closed over her head.

For a moment Twigpaw thrashed helplessly, trying to get to her paws as she was bumped along the bottom of the stream. Then her head broke the surface. She couldn’t see much for the water in her eyes, but a green blur loomed up beside her, and she reached out with both forepaws.

Her claws caught in the gritty soil of the bank, and with a massive effort Twigpaw hauled herself out of the water and scrabbled her way upward until she could collapse, choking and gasping, on level ground.

For a moment Twigpaw lay there, eyes closed, catching her breath. Then, at a distance, she heard Finpaw calling, “Twigpaw! Twigpaw!”

“I’m okay . . . ,” she managed to choke out.

Much closer, another voice meowed, “What are you doing here?”

Twigpaw opened her eyes. At first all she could see were paws: gray paws, standing around her in a half circle. Her gaze traveled upward, and her heart lurched as she recognized a WindClan patrol: Featherpelt with Emberfoot and his apprentice, Smokepaw. All three of them looked hostile, with bristling fur and claws extended.

Oh, StarClan! I’ve come out on WindClan territory!

“What are you doing here?” Featherpelt repeated.

“I’m sorry,” Twigpaw gasped. “I didn’t mean to be here.”