by Erin Hunter
Patchpaw was padding back to the apprentices’ den. “It would have been our first battle,” he sighed.
Leopardpaw bounded ahead of him, spinning and dropping into an attack crouch. “We would have shredded them.”
The Clan began to wander away, but Pinestar, still sitting on Highrock, let out a soft call. All eyes turned back to the ThunderClan leader. “There is something else,” he began.
Bluekit gazed up at Highrock, curiosity fluttering in her belly.
“I want to appoint two new apprentices.”
Who?
Then she realized.
“It must be us!” she hissed to Snowkit.
But Snowkit’s eyes were already sparkling with anticipation.
“I didn’t think he’d do it today!” Moonflower was hurrying toward them. She sounded flustered. “Look at you!” Bluekit stared in dismay at her pelt, dusty and mud-stained from her climb up and down the ravine.
“Quick! Wash!”
It was too late.
“Bluekit and Snowkit.” Pinestar was beckoning them forward with his tail.
Swiftbreeze stepped aside. Mumblefoot and Sunfall backed away to make space beneath Highrock.
Snowkit was already scampering forward, but Bluekit hesitated, ashamed of her scruffy pelt and uncomfortably conscious of the gaze of her Clanmates.
“Go on,” whispered Moonflower, nudging Bluekit forward. “Your pelt doesn’t really matter.” Pride was lighting her eyes. “It’s your spirit he wants to welcome into ThunderClan.”
Taking a deep breath, Bluekit followed her sister and stood below Highrock, hoping no one could see her legs trembling.
Pinestar gazed down. “You have been with us for six moons. Today you will start your training. Your father has been loyal to ThunderClan and is a brave warrior. May you both tread in his paw steps.”
Bluekit glanced at her father. He’d stopped muttering with Adderfang and was watching intently. Bluekit’s legs trembled harder. Why did she have to look such a mess?
“Snowkit.” Pinestar’s mew rang out in the cold dawn air as the sun began to turn the camp a rosy pink.
Snowkit lifted her muzzle.
“From this day forward you shall be known as Snowpaw.”
As Snowpaw puffed out her chest, Pinestar scanned the warriors watching from beneath Highrock. “Sparrowpelt,” he meowed.
The dark brown tabby looked sharply up at him, as though surprised.
“You will mentor Snowpaw. Train her to be a fine warrior.”
Blinking, Sparrowpelt stepped forward and touched his muzzle to Snowkit’s head.
“Bluekit,” Pinestar went on, “until you earn your warrior name, you will be Bluepaw. Your mentor will be Stonepelt.”
Stonepelt padded to her side. “You’re still not allowed in the warriors’ den,” he teased, nudging her head with his nose.
Bluepaw could hardly believe it. She was going to sleep in the apprentices’ den tonight!
CHAPTER 4
“Bluepaw! Bluepaw!”
As the Clan began to chant her new name, Bluepaw looked around the clearing, feeling as tall as Highrock. At last she could begin to help her Clanmates.
Stormtail gave her a small nod. She wanted to run and press her muzzle against his. But her paws wouldn’t move and she stared in silence as he turned back to Adderfang.
“Can you believe it?” Snowpaw ran up to her, purring.
Rosekit, Sweetkit, and Thistlekit came dashing across the clearing, mewing excitedly.
“You’re apprentices!” Sweetkit squealed.
Rosekit skipped around them. “We’ll miss you in the nursery.”
Thistlekit’s eyes were dark with annoyance. “If you’re apprentices, I don’t see why I can’t be. I’m almost as big as you.”
Sweetkit rolled her eyes. “No, you’re just always boasting!”
“Don’t worry, Thistlekit!” Snowpaw reassured him. “I’ll teach you every battle move I learn.”
Thistlekit stuck his nose in the air. “I’m already a better fighter than you’ll ever be!” he huffed.
Bluepaw’s claws itched. She wanted to cuff him around the ear. He should show some respect to the apprentices in his Clan!
“Congratulations!” Swiftbreeze trotted toward them with her tail straight up.
Bluepaw purred, looking around for her mother.
Moonflower had stopped to talk with Stormtail but, catching Bluepaw’s eye, she broke away and hurried to join her kits. “I’m so proud of you!” She glanced back at Stormtail. “Your father is, too.”
Almost as though she had beckoned him, Stormtail padded toward them. Adderfang followed, his eyes narrowed as though something were troubling him.
“Well done.” Stormtail’s gaze flicked to Bluepaw’s muddy paws. She sat down with a bump, tucking them as far out of sight as she could.
“We’re going to be the best apprentices!” Snowpaw mewed happily.
Stormtail flicked his tail. “I expect nothing less.”
Goosefeather joined them, with Featherwhisker beside him. “Congratulations, you two,” he meowed warmly.
“Thank you.” Bluepaw dipped her head.
Goosefeather nodded to Stormtail. “You must be very proud.”
Stormtail’s ears twitched. “Of course.”
Adderfang wiped a paw casually over one ear. “It’s interesting that Pinestar chooses now to make you apprentices.” He paused, his paw in midair, and looked Bluepaw up and down. “One might almost think it was unplanned.”
Bluepaw tipped her head on one side. “What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t mean anything,” Moonflower meowed quickly. She glared at Adderfang. “Do you?”
The mottled brown tom met her gaze without flinching. “Well, it has certainly distracted the Clan from WindClan’s thieving.”
Goosefeather flicked his tail. “If there’s going to be a battle, Adderfang, then we will need all the warriors we can get.”
Adderfang shrugged. “Warriors, yes. But apprentices?”
Snowpaw fluffed out her fur. “We’ll fight as well as any cat.”
Adderfang’s whiskers twitched. “I’m sure you’ll do your best, but only training will make you a warrior, and you’ve had none.”
Bluepaw suddenly felt very small. What in StarClan had made her think she could help her Clan? Coldness crept under her pelt. Was Adderfang right? Had Pinestar really made them apprentices only to stop a battle with WindClan from happening?
Stonepelt’s mew shook Bluepaw from her thoughts. “I hope you’re ready to climb the ravine again.”
The coldness left her pelt. “Are we going out right now?”
“The sooner we begin your training, the better,” Stonepelt meowed. “If WindClan is planning something, you’ll need all the skills I can teach you.”
He was going to train her to fight WindClan! Bluepaw felt a thrill as Stonepelt led her to the camp entrance. It was real; she was an apprentice. This time, she would be going all the way into the forest, not stopping at the edge to peer inside like a frightened kit. What would Stonepelt show her—where to find the juiciest prey? What would he teach her—how to surprise an enemy with a fierce battle move? Her heart was racing as she followed him up the ravine, the path feeling easier now that she knew what to expect.
Rocks clattered behind them. Bluepaw turned to see Snowpaw and Sparrowpelt bounding up the ravine as well.
“Are you going into the forest, too?” Bluepaw felt a prickle of jealousy as Snowpaw caught up. She wanted the forest to herself.
“Yes!” Snowpaw bounded past her and raced ahead, her long legs making easy work of the difficult scramble.
Sparrowpelt guided her from behind. “Take the route between those two big boulders,” he called. “Usually only warriors go that way, but I think you’ll be able to make the jump.”
Bluepaw quickened her pace, breaking into a dash as soon as the path flattened out and wove between some bushes. Why should Snowpaw be th
e first one into the forest?
“Careful!” Stonepelt cautioned as she sent pawfuls of scree tumbling down the slope. “Your Clanmates might be following.”
“Sorry.” Bluepaw slowed down, taking her steps more carefully. She was frustrated to see Snowpaw disappear over the top of the ravine.
“Speed isn’t everything,” Stonepelt told her. “A warrior who runs ahead of the prey catches less.”
Yeah, right! She scrambled the last paw steps to the top and, mounting the ridge, turned to gaze down on the camp.
Snowpaw was already staring below them, her blue eyes azure in the dawn sunshine. “It’s so far down!” she breathed.
Bluepaw felt warmth spread through her belly. She had seen this view already. “Look,” she pointed out to Snowpaw. “You can see the clearing. There, between those branches.”
Snowpaw peered, her ears pricking up. “Is that Thistlekit and Rosekit playing beside the fallen tree?”
Two familiar pelts tumbled over the bright clearing. They looked tiny from up there. Bluepaw raised one of her front paws, hoping they might see her, but the kits didn’t look up. Suddenly Bluepaw felt very, very far away from her old denmates.
Sparrowpelt was standing at the edge of the trees. “Come on!” he called to Snowpaw. “I’ll show you the river.”
The river! Bluepaw could not even imagine what it must look like. The only water she had seen was in Goosefeather’s clearing and in the puddles they drank from in camp. She knew only that the river was wide and that it flowed like wind through the trees.
“Are we going to the river, too?” she asked Stonepelt.
Stonepelt shook his head. “We have something much more important to do.”
Bluepaw tried not to feel disappointed. After all, something more important could be even more exciting than seeing the river! As Snowpaw’s white pelt disappeared into the forest behind Sparrowpelt, Bluepaw trotted into the trees after Stonepelt.
Sunlight sliced through the half-bare branches and striped the forest floor like a tiger’s pelt. Bluepaw smelled prey—not the dead smell of fresh-kill, but something far more enticing. She smelled mouse, sparrow, squirrel, and shrew, all with a tang of life that made her mouth water.
“Are we going to hunt?” she asked.
“Not today.” Stonepelt hopped over a fallen tree and waited while she scrambled after him before heading deeper into the woods.
“Border patrol?”
Stonepelt shook his head.
“Will you show me the borders?”
“Soon.”
They padded down a small slope, the dry, dying leaves crunching under their paws.
“Are we going to practice battle skills?” Bluepaw thought that Stonepelt must have something really amazing planned. He was being so secretive. “What’s the first move I should learn?”
“We’ll come to that another time.”
“So what are we going to do?”
Stonepelt stopped at the foot of an oak. Its thick roots, covered in layers of green moss, snaked into the ground. “I’m going to teach you how to gather bedding for the elders.”
“What? Moss?” Bluepaw couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her mew.
“It keeps their nest warm,” Stonepelt explained.
“But I thought—”
“Do you want them to climb all the way up here to gather it for themselves?” Stonepelt gazed at her steadily.
“No!” Bluepaw shook her head. “Of course not. But I just hoped…” She swallowed back the whine she heard rising in her mew. The Clan was more important than anything else; the elders needed clean, soft, fresh bedding. And she didn’t want Stonepelt to think she was selfish. Still, she couldn’t help feeling resentment itch at her pelt as she began to claw lumps of the spongy, damp moss from the oak root.
“Wait.” Stonepelt put his paw over hers. “You’re pulling up dirt as well as moss. The elders won’t like that. Let me show you.”
Bluepaw sat back while Stonepelt demonstrated. “Arch your paw like this, and stretch your claws as far as they’ll go.” With swift, delicate precision he sliced a swath of moss from the tree, leaving the roots and dirt still clinging to the bark while a clean, neat piece of moss dangled from his paw. “Now you try.”
Bluepaw copied him, arching her paw, stretching her claws till they hurt, and sliced at the moss. The piece she cut was smaller and more ragged than Stonepelt’s, but she had managed to leave the roots and dirt behind.
“Very good!” Stonepelt purred. “Keep practicing.”
He sat and watched as Bluepaw sliced away at the moss, cutting piece after piece and dropping them into a growing pile beside her. Before long she felt rhythm in her movement and noticed the moss that she cut was thicker and less scrappy. Pausing, she looked at Stonepelt, hoping for his approval, and was pleased to see his eyes glowing.
“You’re a natural,” he told her. “And though you don’t know it, you’re practicing valuable battle and hunting skills.”
Bluepaw blinked. “How?”
“With each slice of your claw, you’re getting more and more controlled,” Stonepelt explained. “By the time you’ve mastered this, you’ll be able to rake your enemy’s muzzle with a flick of your paw, and to kill prey quickly and cleanly.”
Bluepaw purred, suddenly pleased with the pile of moss she had collected.
“And now,” Stonepelt went on, “we have to carry it home.”
Bluepaw instantly leaned down to grasp a bunch between her teeth.
“If we carry it like that, then we’re going to have to make several journeys,” Stonepelt warned. Bluepaw had managed to pick up only a few small scraps from the top of the pile.
“Squash it down like this.” Deftly Stonepelt pressed the moss beneath his paws, squeezing out the moisture. “Now, roll a bundle together and grasp it under your chin.” He gripped a large wad beneath his own chin and held it there while he went on. “That will leave your jaws free to carry more.”
Bluepaw stifled a purr of amusement. Stonepelt looked so funny with his chin clamped to his chest and moss spilling out from either side.
“Don’t twitch your whiskers at me!” he meowed sternly. “I know it looks odd, but would you rather climb the ravine twice?”
Bluepaw shook her head.
“I didn’t think so.” Stonepelt flicked his tail. “Imagine this was prey we were carrying home to a hungry Clan. The more we can carry, the sooner our Clan will be fed.”
Bluepaw shifted her paws. She hadn’t thought of it like that. She began pummeling the pile of moss, rolling a ball as Stonepelt had done, then leaned down to grasp it under her chin. It was harder to hold in place than she’d thought, especially when she picked up a second bundle between her jaws. She dropped each of the bundles twice before they reached the edge of the ravine. Each time, Stonepelt waited patiently while she picked it up. He didn’t offer more advice, just watched and nodded as she persevered.
At the top of the rocky slope, Bluepaw sniffed the air for any sign of Snowpaw. She didn’t want her sister to witness her awkward progress: chin squashed down, chest fur dripping from the wet moss.
Scrambling down the ravine was even less dignified; she couldn’t see her paws and had to feel for every clawhold. She was relieved that Stonepelt was a few steps ahead, breaking her fall every time she slipped until at last they reached the bottom. Even the gorse tunnel proved a problem. Half the bundle underneath her chin caught on the spiky walls and was yanked out of her grip.
“Mouse dung!” she cursed, wriggling around to retrieve it before hauling it into the clearing.
I must be the first cat to enter the camp backward! Her pelt was hot with embarrassment as she shuffled tailfirst from the tunnel, moss trailing from her chin.
Leopardpaw padded past. “Busy?” The apprentice gazed down her raven-black muzzle at Bluepaw.
Bluepaw dropped her moss and looked Leopardpaw in the eye. “I’ve learned how to use my claws properly and how to carry two
bits of prey at once.”
“In other words, you’ve been gathering moss.” Leopardpaw sniffed.
Bluepaw whipped her tail crossly as Leopardpaw padded away toward the fresh-kill pile. Then she spotted Stonepelt watching from the fallen tree, moss piled at his paws, eyes sparkling with amusement. Growling under her breath, Bluepaw rebundled her moss and stamped across the clearing to join him.
“Is there something in the warrior code that says you’re allowed to put thistles in your denmate’s nest?” Bluepaw asked, spitting out her moss.
Stonepelt shook his head, his whiskers twitching. “I don’t think so, but I’m sure you wouldn’t be the first.” He gathered up his moss and pushed his way between the branches of the fallen tree.
Sighing, Bluepaw followed.
“Oh, good,” Larksong meowed as they entered the elders’ den. “I don’t think I could sleep another night in plain bracken. It’s too cold!”
Mumblefoot, who had been resting his head on his front paws, raised his chin and gazed at Bluepaw. “How does it feel to be an apprentice at last?”
“Great!” she lied. At least it would be if I were hunting instead of collecting bedding. She pushed the thought away. This is important, too, she reminded herself, still not entirely convinced.
Stonepelt was already rootling through Weedwhisker’s nest, plucking out stale, stinky strands of bracken. Bluepaw hurried to help him while Weedwhisker sat to one side, his eyes half-closed as though he was dozing.
“Pass the moss,” Stonepelt meowed once they’d removed most of the bedding.
Bluepaw picked up a wad and dropped it into Weedwhisker’s bed. Stonepelt expertly tore it apart with his claws and tucked it among the remaining stems of bracken until the nest was deeply lined, soft and green. “We’ll get fresh bracken tomorrow to bolster the sides,” he promised Weedwhisker.
“Good.” Weedwhisker yawned. “My bones ache in this weather.”
He didn’t even say thank you! Bluepaw whisked some spare moss aside but held her tongue.
Weedwhisker climbed into his nest as they began work on Larksong’s. “There’s a thorn!” he complained.
