Tigerclaw’s Fury

Tigerclaw tipped his head on one side. “If you wish, Runningnose. We’ll be here soon after dawn.” He padded out of the camp, letting his companions call their farewells over their shoulders.

They are beginning to need you like the forest needs rain, whispered the voice in his head. Good work, Tigerclaw.

The four cats looked excited and proud to have been chosen for Tigerclaw’s hunting patrol. Russetfur’s lean muscles strained beneath her fox-colored fur as if she was already picturing her first pounce, while Ratscar was flexing his claws, checking them for sharpness. Clawface looked as composed as ever, but his ears were pricked and the tip of his tail twitched. Beside him stood Whitethroat, a black-and-white tom who was small for his age but seemed quick and keen. Tigerclaw wanted to see just how fast he could move.

“I thought we’d hunt something other than ShadowClan prey today,” Tigerclaw announced.

Russetfur tipped her head to one side. “What else is there?”

“Perhaps prey from somewhere else?” mewed Clawface, his eyes beginning to gleam.

Tigerclaw nodded. “Let’s try ThunderClan,” he suggested, watching each warrior closely.

Russetfur and Ratscar braced their shoulders and narrowed their eyes, but Whitethroat took a step back.

“Th… ThunderClan?” he stammered. “Really? But that would be stealing!”

Tigerclaw blinked. “Do you have a problem, Whitethroat?”

The little cat looked down at his paws. “I would rather not take prey from ThunderClan, that’s all,” he meowed.

Clawface crossed to stand beside Tigerclaw. “There are rumors,” he began quietly, “that Whitethroat and Littlecloud sought shelter in ThunderClan during the worst of the sickness.”

“Do you think that’s true?” Tigerclaw hissed.

Clawface studied the black-and-white warrior, who seemed to be trying to shrink inside his own pelt. “I can imagine two frightened cats trying to escape from a Clan that was dying around them,” he mewed.

“Then we need to make sure their loyalty to their own Clan hasn’t faltered,” Tigerclaw stated grimly. Raising his voice, he meowed, “Whitethroat, this is not a hunt-if-you-want-to patrol. You will follow where I lead, is that clear?” He padded over to the warrior and let his claws slide out. “All other Clans are enemies to ShadowClan. If we want to take prey from them, there should be nothing to stop us. Do you understand?”

Looking terrified, the small cat nodded. Tigerclaw let his gaze drift around the clearing until it settled on Littlecloud. The gray tabby was shuffling through some herbs for Runningnose. Tigerclaw curled his lip. Now that Littlecloud was an apprentice medicine cat, it would be hard to test his loyalty in the form of hunting or battle. Tigerclaw would have to keep an eye on him.

“Let’s go,” he meowed, curling his tail over his back and leading the way out of the camp at a brisk trot. He swiveled his ears to check that four sets of paws were following, then ducked into the tangled, brittle grass where tiny paths would lead them to the tunnel that ran beneath the Thunderpath. Before he ducked into the narrow hole, Tigerclaw paused to take one last breath of ShadowClan scent. Was this where he belonged now? He hadn’t been into ThunderClan territory since… He pushed aside the memory of Bluestar ordering him to leave and ran into the tunnel. His paw steps echoed hollowly around him for a moment, then he burst into the thick green forest on the other side. Home! screeched his traitorous senses as countless smells of leaves and ferns and lush green growing things filled his nose. Woven among them were traces of tiny furred creatures, rustling through the undergrowth, scrambling over mossy tree trunks, leaving their invisible trails for hungry cats to follow.

“Wow!” breathed Ratscar. “This smells like good hunting!”

Tigerclaw nodded. “Stay close to the Thunderpath for now. There’s no point drawing attention to ourselves before we’ve had a chance to catch a decent haul.”

He plunged into the bracken, relishing the feel of dew-damp leaves brushing against his spine. Almost at once he heard the crunch of a mouse nibbling on a seed. Dropping into the hunter’s crouch, he crept forward, one paw step at a time, until his muzzle pushed aside a frond of bracken and revealed the small brown creature. Tigerclaw bunched his hindquarters beneath him, then sprang silently past the frond to land right on top of the mouse. It let out a faint squeak, soft and warm and delicious-smelling in Tigerclaw’s paws. He swallowed the water that had surged into his mouth and buried his prey quickly.

Behind him, the ShadowClan cats were staring openmouthed.

“That was fast!” Russetfur commented.