Into the Wild (10 page)

“Do you mean ShadowClan has chased them out?” called Smallear hesitantly.

“We can't be sure,” Bluestar meowed. “Certainly the scent of ShadowClan was everywhere. We found blood, too, and fur. There must have been a battle, though we found no bodies from either Clan.”

A shocked yowl rose from the crowd in a single voice. Firepaw felt the cats around him stiffen with shock and fury.
Never before had one Clan driven another from its hunting grounds.

“How can WindClan have been driven out?” One-eye croaked hoarsely. “ShadowClan is fierce, but WindClan is many. They have lived in the uplands for generations. Why have they been chased out now?” She shook her head anxiously, her whiskers trembling.

“I don't know the answers to any of your questions,” meowed Bluestar. “It is well known that ShadowClan has recently appointed a new leader, following the death of Raggedstar. Their new leader, Brokenstar, gave no hint of any threat when we met him at the last Gathering.”

“Perhaps Yellowfang has answers?” snarled Darkstripe. “After all, she is of ShadowClan!”

“I am no traitor! Nothing would make me share the secrets of ShadowClan with a brute like you!” growled Yellowfang, glaring aggressively at Darkstripe. The ThunderClan warrior moved forward, ears flat, eyes closed to slits, ready for a fight.

“Stop!” yowled Bluestar.

Darkstripe immediately halted in his tracks, even though Yellowfang goaded him on with blazing eyes and a ferocious hiss.

“That's enough!” Bluestar growled. “This situation is too serious for us to be fighting among ourselves. ThunderClan must prepare itself. From this moonrise onward, warriors will travel in larger groups. Other Clan members will remain close to the camp. Patrols will travel the boundary edges more frequently, and all the kits must stay in the nursery.”

The cats below her nodded in agreement.

Bluestar continued. “Our need for warriors is our greatest obstacle. We shall get around this by speeding up the training of our apprentices. They need to be ready even sooner to fight for our Clan.”

Firepaw saw Dustpaw and Sandpaw exchange a thrilled glance. Graypaw was gazing up at Bluestar, his eyes wide with excitement. Ravenpaw just shuffled his paws anxiously. The black apprentice's wide eyes showed worry rather than excitement.

Bluestar went on. “One young cat has been sharing mentors with Graypaw and Ravenpaw. By teaching him, I shall speed up the training of all three apprentices.” She paused and looked down at her Clan. “I shall take on Firepaw as my own apprentice.”

Firepaw opened his eyes wide in amazement. Bluestar was to be his mentor?

Beside him, Graypaw gasped, unable to hide his surprise. “What an honor! It's been
moons
since Bluestar had an apprentice. Usually she trains only the kits of deputies!”

Then a familiar voice rose from the front of the crowd. It was Tigerclaw. “So Firepaw is to be rewarded, not punished, for feeding an enemy warrior when he should have been feeding his own Clan?”

“Firepaw is my apprentice now. I will deal with him,” answered Bluestar. She stared into Tigerclaw's fierce eyes for a moment before lifting her head to address the whole Clan once more. “Yellowfang will be allowed to stay here until she
has recovered her strength. We are warriors, not savages. She is to be treated with respect and courtesy.”

“But the Clan cannot support Yellowfang,” Darkstripe protested. “We have too many mouths to feed already.”

“Yeah!” Graypaw whispered into Firepaw's ear. “And some of them are bigger than others!”

“I don't need anyone to care for me!” spat Yellowfang. “And I'll split open anyone who tries!”

“Friendly, isn't she?” Graypaw murmured.

Firepaw flicked the tip of his tail in silent agreement. There were muffled meows from the other warriors as they grudgingly recognized the enemy warrior's fighting spirit.

Bluestar ignored the murmuring. “We shall kill two prey with one blow, as it were. Firepaw, as punishment for breaking the warrior code, it will be your responsibility to care for Yellowfang. You will hunt for her and tend her wounds. You will fetch fresh bedding and clear away her dirt.”

“Yes, Bluestar,” mewed Firepaw, his head bowed in submission.
Clear away her dirt!
he thought to himself.
Ugh!

Mocking yowls came from Dustpaw and Sandpaw. “Good idea!” hissed Dustpaw. “Firepaw had better be good at cracking fleas!”

“And hunting!” added Sandpaw. “That sack of bones is going to need feeding up!”

“Enough!” Bluestar interrupted them. “I hope Firepaw will find no shame in caring for Yellowfang. She is a healer, and she is his elder. For those reasons alone he should respect her!” She shot a sharp glance at Sandpaw and Dustpaw. “And
there is no humiliation in caring for another cat when she is unable to take care of herself. The meeting is over. I would like to speak to my senior warriors alone now.” With that, she jumped down from the Highrock and marched toward her den.

Lionheart followed her. The other Clan cats began to move away from the Highrock. One or two congratulated Firepaw on being chosen as Bluestar's apprentice; others mockingly wished him luck looking after Yellowfang. Firepaw felt so dazed by Bluestar's announcement that he just nodded blankly.

Longtail padded up to him. The vee-shaped nick that Firepaw had cut into the tip of his ear still showed. The young warrior drew back his whiskers into an ugly snarl. “Well, I hope you'll think twice about bringing strays back into the camp next time,” he sneered. “Like I said, outsiders
always
bring trouble.”

“I'd go and see to Yellowfang
, if I were you,” whispered Graypaw, as Longtail strode away. “She's doesn't look very happy.”

Firepaw glanced over at the old she-cat. She was still lying beside the Highrock. Graypaw was right; she was glaring at him.

“Well, here goes,” he mewed. “Wish me luck!”

“You'll need the whole of StarClan on your side for this one,” answered Graypaw. “Call out if you need a hand. If she looks like she's going to get you, I'll sneak up behind her and whack her on the head with a stiff rabbit.”

Firepaw purred with amusement and trotted off toward Yellowfang. His cheerfulness quickly evaporated as he neared the injured queen.

The old cat was clearly in a terrible mood. She hissed a warning and showed her teeth. “Stop right there,
kittypet
!”

Firepaw sighed. It seemed he was in for a fight. He was still hungry and beginning to feel tired. He longed to curl up in his nest for an afternoon nap. The last thing he wanted was to argue with this pitiful clump of fur and teeth. “You can call me what you like,” he mewed wearily. “I'm just
following Bluestar's orders.”

“You
are
a kittypet, though, aren't you?” Yellowfang wheezed.

She's tired too
, Firepaw thought. There was less fire in her voice, although her spite was as strong as ever.

“I used to live with Twolegs when I was a kitten,” Firepaw replied calmly.

“Your mother a kittypet? Your father a kittypet?”

“Yes, they were.” Firepaw looked down at the ground, feeling resentment burn inside him. It was bad enough that members of his own Clan still viewed him as an outsider. He certainly didn't have to answer to this foul-tempered prisoner.

Yellowfang seemed to take his silence as an invitation to go on. “Kittypet blood is not the same as warrior blood. Why don't you run home to your Twolegs now instead of looking after me? It's humiliating, being fussed over by a lowborn cat like
you
!”

Firepaw's patience ran out. He snarled, “You'd still feel humiliated if I
were
warrior-born. You'd feel ashamed whether I was a precious she-cat from your own Clan or a wretched Twoleg that had picked you off the ground.” He lashed his tail from side to side. “It's the fact that you need to rely on
any
cat that you find so humiliating!”

Yellowfang stared at him, her orange eyes very wide.

Firepaw carried on fiercely: “You're just going to have to get used to being cared for until you are well enough to look after yourself, you spiteful old bone bag!”

He stopped as Yellowfang began to make a low, harsh, wheezing sound.

Alarmed, Firepaw took a step toward her. The she-cat was trembling all over and her eyes had narrowed into tiny slits. Was she having some kind of a fit?

“Look, I didn't mean . . .” he began, before he suddenly realized that she was
laughing
!

“Mr-ow, ow-ow,” she mewled, a purr rumbling up from deep inside her chest.

Firepaw didn't know what to do.

“You have spirit, kittypet,” Yellowfang croaked, stopping at last. “Now, I'm tired and my leg hurts. I need sleep and something to put on this wound. Go and find that pretty little medicine cat of yours and ask her for some herbs. I think you'll find a goldenrod poultice would help. And, while you're at it, I wouldn't mind a few poppy seeds to chew on. The pain is killing me!”

Stunned by her change of mood, Firepaw turned quickly and sprinted toward Spottedleaf's den.

He had never been in this part of the camp before. With his ears pricked, he padded through a cool green tunnel of ferns that led into a small grassy clearing. A tall rock stood at one side, split down the middle by a crack wide enough for a cat to make its den inside. Out of this opening trotted Spottedleaf. As usual, she looked bright-eyed and friendly, her dappled coat gleaming with a hundred shades of amber and brown.

Firepaw shyly mewed a greeting, and reeled off Yellowfang's list of herbs and seeds.

“I've got most of those in my den,” replied Spottedleaf. “I'll fetch some marigold leaves too. If she dresses her wound with that, it'll keep off any infection. Wait here.”

“Thanks,” Firepaw mewed as the medicine cat disappeared back into her den. He strained his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of her inside. But the den was too dark to see anything; he could only hear the sound of rustling and smell the heady scents of unfamiliar herbs.

Spottedleaf emerged from the gloom and dropped a bundle folded in leaves by Firepaw's feet. “Tell Yellowfang to go easy on the poppy seeds. I don't want her to deaden the pain entirely. A little pain can be useful, as it will help me judge how well she is healing.”

Firepaw nodded and picked up the herbs with his teeth. “Thanks, Spottedleaf!” he mewed through the mouthful of leaves, then headed back through the fern tunnel into the main clearing.

Tigerclaw was sitting outside the warriors' den, watching him closely. As Firepaw trotted over to Yellowfang, carrying the herbs, he could feel the amber-eyed stare burning the fur on the back of his neck. He turned his head and looked at Tigerclaw curiously. The warrior narrowed his eyes and looked away.

Firepaw dropped the bundle beside Yellowfang.

“Good,” she meowed. “Now, before you leave me in peace, find me something to eat. I'm starving!”

The sun had risen three times since Yellowfang had entered the camp. Firepaw woke early and nudged Graypaw, who was
still asleep beside him, his nose tucked under his thick tail. “Wake up,” Firepaw mewed. “Or you'll be late for training.”

Graypaw lifted his head sleepily and growled in reluctant agreement.

Firepaw prodded Ravenpaw.

The black cat opened his eyes immediately and leaped to his feet. “What is it?” he mewed, looking around wildly.

“Calm down, Ravenpaw. It's time for training soon,” Firepaw soothed.

Dustpaw and Sandpaw began to stir too, in their mossy nests on the far side of the den. Firepaw stood up and pushed his way out of the ferns.

The morning was warm. Firepaw could see a deep blue sky through the leaves and branches that overhung the camp. Today, however, a heavy dew glistened on the fern fronds and sparkled on the grass. Firepaw sniffed the air. Greenleaf was drawing to a close, and soon it would start to feel colder.

He lay down and rolled in the earth beside the tree stump, stretching his legs and tipping his head back to rub it on the cool ground. Then he flipped over onto his side, and looked across the clearing to see if Yellowfang was awake yet.

She had been given a resting place at the other end of the fallen tree where the elders gathered to eat. Her nest lay tucked against its mossy trunk, out of hearing of the elders, but in full view of the warriors' den across the clearing. Firepaw could just see a mound of pale gray fur, rising and falling in time to a gentle rumble of sleep.

Graypaw trotted out of the den behind him, followed by
Sandpaw and Dustpaw. Ravenpaw appeared last, with a nervous glance around the clearing before he emerged fully into the open.

“Another day looking after that mangy old fleabag, eh, Firepaw?” mewed Dustpaw. “I bet you wish you were out training with us.”

Firepaw sat up and shook the dust from his fur. He wasn't going to let himself get annoyed by Dustpaw's taunts.

“Don't worry, Firepaw,” murmured Graypaw. “Bluestar will have you back in training before long.”

“Perhaps she thinks a kittypet is better off staying in camp, tending to the sick,” mewed Sandpaw rudely, tossing her sleek ginger head and throwing him a scornful look.

Firepaw decided to ignore her barbed comments. “What is Whitestorm teaching you today, Sandpaw?” he mewed.

“We're doing battle training today. He's going to teach me how a real warrior fights,” Sandpaw replied proudly.

“Lionheart's taking me to the Great Sycamore,” mewed Graypaw, “to practice my climbing. I'd best go. He'll be waiting.”

“I'll come with you to the top of the ravine,” mewed Firepaw. “I have to catch breakfast for Yellowfang. Coming, Ravenpaw? Tigerclaw must have something planned for you.”

Ravenpaw sighed and nodded, then followed Graypaw and Firepaw as they trotted out of the camp. Even though his injury was completely healed, he still seemed to have little enthusiasm for warrior training.

“Here,” mewed Firepaw. He dropped a large mouse and a chaffinch onto the ground beside Yellowfang.

“About time,” she growled. The she-cat had still been sleeping when Firepaw had entered the camp after his hunting trip. But the smell of fresh-kill must have woken her, for now she had pulled herself into a sitting position.

She dropped her head and hungrily gulped down Firepaw's offerings. She had developed a massive appetite as her strength returned. Her wound was healing well, but her temper remained as fierce and unpredictable as ever.

She finished her meal and complained, “The base of my tail itches like fury, but I can't reach it. Give it a wash, will you?”

With an inward shudder, Firepaw crouched down and set to work.

As he cracked the plump fleas between his teeth, he noticed a gang of small kits tumbling in the dusty earth nearby. They were mauling each other and play-fighting, sometimes quite viciously. Yellowfang, who had closed her eyes as Firepaw groomed her, half opened one eye to observe the kits as they played. To his surprise, Firepaw felt her spine stiffen beneath his teeth.

He listened for a moment to the tiny yelps and squeaks of the kits.

“Feel my teeth, Brokenstar!” mewed one small tabby. He leaped onto the back of a little gray-and-white kit, who was pretending to be the ShadowClan leader. The two kits bundled toward the Highrock. Suddenly the gray-and-white kit gave a mighty heave and flung the tabby from his back. With
a startled squeak, the little tabby cannoned into Yellowfang's side.

Instantly the old she-cat leaped to her feet, fur on end, spitting violently. “Stay away from me, you scrap of fur!” she hissed.

The tabby kit took one look at the furious cat, turned tail, and ran. He hid himself behind a tabby queen, who was staring furiously across the clearing at Yellowfang.

The gray-and-white kit froze where he stood. Then, paw by paw, he cautiously backed away toward the safety of the nursery.

Yellowfang's reaction had shocked Firepaw. He thought he'd seen her at her most vicious when they fought after their first meeting, but her eyes burned with a new rage now. “I think the kits are finding it hard being confined to camp,” he mewed cautiously. “They're getting restless.”

“I don't care how restless they are,” growled Yellowfang. “Just keep them away from me!”

“Don't you like kits?” Firepaw asked, curious in spite of himself. “Did you never have kits of your own?”

“Don't you know medicine cats don't have kits?” hissed Yellowfang furiously.

“But I heard you were a warrior before that,” Firepaw ventured.

“I have no kits!” Yellowfang spat. She snatched her tail away from him and sat up. “Anyway”—her voice suddenly lowered, and she sounded almost wistful—“accidents seem to happen to kits when I'm around them.”

Her orange eyes clouded with emotion. She laid her chin flat on her forepaws and stared ahead. Firepaw watched her shoulders sink as she released a long, silent sigh.

Firepaw looked at her curiously. What could she mean? Was the old she-cat being serious? It was hard to tell; Yellowfang seemed to swing from mood to mood so quickly. He shrugged to himself and went on with the grooming.

“There are a couple of ticks I couldn't pull out,” he told her when he had finished.

“I should hope you didn't even try, you idiot!” snapped Yellowfang. “I don't want any tick heads embedded in my rear, thank you very much. Ask Spottedleaf for a little mouse bile to rub on them. A splash of that in their breathing holes and they'll soon loosen their grip.”