Into the Wild

by Erin Hunter

  “Great fight, Firepaw!” mewed Graypaw. “Especially for a kittypet! Longtail is a warrior, although he only finished his training two moons ago. That scar you left on his ear won’t let him forget you in a hurry. You’ve spoiled his good looks, that’s for sure.”

  “Thanks, Graypaw,” Firepaw replied. “He put up quite a fight, though!” He licked his front paw and began to wipe clean the deep scratch that stung above his eye. As he washed he heard his new name again, echoing among the meows of the cats.

  “Firepaw!”

  “Hey, Firepaw!”

  “Welcome, young Firepaw!”

  Firepaw closed his eyes for a moment and let the voices wash over him.

  “Good name, too!” Graypaw mewed approvingly, jolting him awake.

  Firepaw looked around. “Where did Longtail creep off to?”

  “I think he was heading toward Spottedleaf’s den.” Graypaw tipped his head toward the fern-enclosed corner Longtail had disappeared into. “She’s our medicine cat. Not bad-looking either. Younger and a lot prettier than most—”

  A low yowl next to the two cats stopped Graypaw midspeech. They both turned, and Firepaw recognized the powerful gray tabby cat who had sat behind Graypaw earlier.

  “Darkstripe,” mewed Graypaw, dipping his head respectfully.

  The sleek tom looked at Firepaw for a moment. “Lucky your collar snapped when it did. Longtail is a young warrior, but I can’t imagine him being beaten by a kittypet!” He spat the word kittypet scornfully, then turned and stalked off.

  “Now Darkstripe,” Graypaw hissed to Firepaw under his breath, “is neither young, nor pretty. . . . ”

  Firepaw was about to agree with his new friend when he was interrupted by a warning yowl from an old gray cat sitting at the edge of the clearing.

  “Smallear smells trouble!” Graypaw meowed, immediately alert.

  Firepaw barely had time to look around before a young cat crashed through the bushes and into the camp. He was skinny and—apart from the white tip of his long, thin tail—jet black from head to toe.

  Graypaw gasped. “That’s Ravenpaw! Why is he alone? Where’s Tigerclaw?”

  Firepaw looked at Ravenpaw staggering across the floor of the clearing. He was panting heavily. His coat was ruffled and dusty, and his eyes were wild with fear.

  “Who are Ravenpaw and Tigerclaw?” Firepaw whispered to Graypaw, as several other cats raced past him to greet the new arrival.

  “Ravenpaw’s an apprentice. Tigerclaw’s his mentor,” Graypaw explained quickly. “Ravenpaw went out with Tigerclaw and Redtail at sunrise on a mission against RiverClan, the lucky furball!”

  “Redtail?” Firepaw echoed, thoroughly confused by all these names.

  “Bluestar’s deputy,” hissed Graypaw. “But why on earth has Ravenpaw come back alone?” he added to himself. He lifted his head to listen as Bluestar stepped forward.

  “Ravenpaw?” The she-cat spoke calmly, but a look of worry clouded her blue eyes. The other cats drew back, curling their lips with anxiety.

  “What has happened?” Bluestar jumped onto the Highrock and looked down at the trembling cat. “Speak, Ravenpaw!”

  Ravenpaw was still struggling for breath, and his sides heaved fitfully while the dust around him turned red with blood, but still he managed to scramble up onto the Highrock and stand beside Bluestar. He turned to the crowd of eager faces that surrounded him, and summoned enough breath to declare, “Redtail is dead!”

  CHAPTER 4

  Shocked yowls rose from the Clan cats and echoed through the forest.

  Ravenpaw staggered slightly. His right foreleg glistened, wet with blood that flowed from the deep gash on his shoulder. “We m-met five RiverClan warriors beside the stream, not far from the Sunningrocks,” he went on shakily. “Oakheart was among them.”

  “Oakheart!” Graypaw gasped beside Firepaw. “He is the deputy of RiverClan. He’s one of the greatest warriors in the forest. Lucky Ravenpaw! Wish it could have been me. I’d have really—” Graypaw was silenced by a fierce glance from the old gray tom who had first sensed Ravenpaw’s return.

  Firepaw turned his attention back to Ravenpaw.

  “Redtail warned Oakheart to keep his hunting parties out of ThunderClan territory. He said the next RiverClan warrior to be caught in ThunderClan territory would be killed, but Oak . . . Oakheart would not back down. He said his Cl-Clan had to be fed, whatever we threatened.” Ravenpaw paused to wheeze for breath. His wound was still bleeding heavily, and he stood awkwardly to keep the weight off his shoulder.

  “That’s when the RiverClan cats attacked. It was hard to see what was happening. The fighting was vicious. I saw Oakheart had Redtail pinned to the ground, but then Redtail . . .” Suddenly Ravenpaw’s eyes rolled in his head and he lurched sideways. Half scrambling, half falling, he slithered off the Highrock and collapsed on the ground below.

  A ginger queen bounded toward him and crouched at his side. She licked his cheek briefly and called out, “Spottedleaf!”

  Out of the fern-shaded corner trotted the pretty tortoiseshell Firepaw had noticed sitting beside Graypaw earlier. She hurried over to Ravenpaw and mewed for the queen to stand back. Then she used her small pink nose to roll the apprentice over so that she could take a good look at the wound. She glanced up and meowed, “It’s all right, Goldenflower, his wounds aren’t fatal. But I’ll need to fetch some cobwebs to stop the bleeding.”

  As Spottedleaf sprinted back to her den, the hushed silence in the clearing was broken by a mournful howl. All eyes turned to the direction it had come from.

  A massive dark brown tabby staggered through the gorse tunnel. Between his sharp teeth the warrior held not prey, but the lifeless body of another cat. He dragged the tattered creature into the center of the clearing.

  Firepaw craned his neck and glimpsed a flash of bright ginger tail hanging limply in the dust.

  Shock rippled through the Clan like a chill breeze. Beside Firepaw, Graypaw dropped into a crouch as grief swept over him. “Redtail!”

  “How did this happen, Tigerclaw?” demanded Bluestar from her position on the Highrock.

  Tigerclaw let the scruff of Redtail’s neck fall from his mouth. He looked steadily back at Bluestar. “He died with honor, struck down by Oakheart. I couldn’t save him, but I managed to take Oakheart’s life while he was still gloating over his victory.” Tigerclaw’s voice was strong and deep. “Redtail’s death was not in vain, for I doubt we’ll see RiverClan hunters in our territory again.”

  Firepaw glanced at Graypaw. The apprentice’s eyes were dark with sadness.

  After a moment’s pause, several of the cats moved forward to lick Redtail’s bedraggled fur. As they groomed they purred hushed phrases to the dead warrior.

  Firepaw whispered into Graypaw’s ear, “What are they doing?”

  Graypaw didn’t take his eyes off the dead cat as he replied. “His spirit may have left to join StarClan, but the Clan will share tongues with Redtail one last time.”

  “StarClan?” Firepaw echoed.

  “It’s the tribe of heavenly warriors that watches over all Clan cats. You can see them in Silverpelt.”

  Firepaw looked confused, so Graypaw explained. “Silverpelt is that thick band of stars you see each night stretching across the sky. Each star is a StarClan warrior. Redtail will be among them tonight.”

  Firepaw nodded, and Graypaw stepped forward to share tongues with his dead deputy.

  Bluestar had remained silent while the first cats came to pay their respects to Redtail. Now she leaped down from the Highrock and walked slowly toward Redtail’s body. The other cats retreated and watched as their leader crouched down to share tongues with her old comrade one last time.

  When she had finished she raised her head and spoke. Her voice was low and thick with grief, and the Clan listened in silence. “Redtail was a brave warrior. His loyalty to ThunderClan could never be doubted. I always relied on his judgment, for it bore witness to the needs of the C
lan, and was never swayed by self-interest or pride. He would have made a fine leader.”

  Then she lowered herself onto her belly, her head bowed, her paws stretched neatly before her, and silently she grieved for her lost friend. Several other cats came and lay down beside her, their bowed heads and hunched backs echoing her mournful pose.

  Firepaw watched. He had not known Redtail, but he couldn’t help feeling moved as he witnessed the Clan mourn.

  Graypaw came and stood beside him again. “Dustpaw will be sad,” he remarked.

  “Dustpaw?”

  “Redtail’s apprentice. That brown-striped tabby over there. I wonder who his new mentor will be?”

  Firepaw glanced over at the small tom who squatted near Redtail’s body, staring unseeing at the ground. Firepaw looked past him to the Clan leader. “How long will Bluestar sit with him?” he asked.

  “Probably the whole night,” replied Graypaw. “Redtail was her deputy for many, many moons. She won’t want to let him go too quickly. He was one of the best warriors. Not as big and powerful as Tigerclaw or Lionheart, but quick and clever.”

  Firepaw looked at Tigerclaw, admiring the strength that swelled in his powerful muscles and broad head. His massive body showed signs of his warrior life. One of his ears was split into a deep vee shape, and a thick scar sliced the bridge of his nose.

  Suddenly Tigerclaw stood up and stalked over to Ravenpaw. Spottedleaf was crouching beside Tigerclaw’s wounded apprentice, using her teeth and front paws to press wads of cobweb onto his shoulder wound.

  Firepaw leaned toward Graypaw and asked, “What’s Spottedleaf doing?”

  “Stopping the bleeding. It looked like a nasty cut. And Ravenpaw seemed really shaken up. He’s always been a bit jumpy, but I’ve never seen him this bad before. Let’s go and see if he’s woken up yet.”

  They made their way through the grieving cats toward the spot where Ravenpaw lay and settled themselves a respectful distance away to wait until Tigerclaw had finished speaking.

  “So, Spottedleaf.” Tigerclaw addressed the tortoiseshell with a confident meow. “How is he? Do you think you can save him? I’ve spent a lot of time training him up, and I don’t want my efforts to be wasted at the first battle.”

  Spottedleaf didn’t look up from her patient as she replied, “Yes, a pity if, after all your valuable training, he dies in his first fight, eh?” Firepaw could hear a teasing purr in her soft mew.

  “Will he live?” Tigerclaw demanded.

  “Of course. He just needs to rest.”

  Tigerclaw snorted and looked down at the motionless black shape. He jabbed Ravenpaw with one of his front claws. “Come on, then! Get up!”

  Ravenpaw didn’t move.

  “Look at the length of that claw!” Firepaw hissed.

  “Too right!” replied Graypaw with feeling. “I know I wouldn’t want to get into a fight with him!”

  “Not so fast, Tigerclaw!” Spottedleaf placed her paw over Tigerclaw’s sharp talon and gently moved it away. “This apprentice needs to keep as still as possible until the cut has healed. We don’t want him opening his wound by jumping about trying to please you. Leave him alone.”

  Firepaw found himself holding his breath as he waited for Tigerclaw’s reaction. He guessed that few cats dared to give orders to the warrior like that. The big tabby stiffened, and seemed about to speak when Spottedleaf mewed teasingly, “Even you know better than to argue with a medicine cat, Tigerclaw.”

  Tigerclaw’s eyes flashed at the little tortoiseshell’s words. “I wouldn’t dare argue with you, dear Spottedleaf,” he purred. He turned to leave and caught sight of Graypaw and Firepaw. “Who’s this?” he asked Graypaw, towering above them.

  “He’s the new apprentice,” Graypaw mewed.

  “He smells like a kittypet!” snorted the warrior.

  “I was a house cat,” Firepaw meowed boldly, “but I am going to train to be a warrior.”

  Tigerclaw looked at him with sudden interest. “Ah, yes. Now I remember. Bluestar mentioned that she had stumbled across some stray kittypet. So she’s actually going to try you out, is she?”

  Firepaw sat up very straight, anxious to impress this distinguished Clan warrior. “That’s right,” he mewed respectfully.

  Tigerclaw eyed him thoughtfully. “Then I shall watch your progress with interest.”

  Firepaw puffed his chest out proudly as Tigerclaw stalked away. “Do you think he liked me?”

  “I don’t think Tigerclaw likes any apprentices!” whispered Graypaw.

  Just then Ravenpaw stirred and twitched his ears. “Has he gone?” he mumbled.

  “Who? Tigerclaw?” replied Graypaw, trotting toward him. “Yep, he’s gone.”

  “Hi, there,” Firepaw began, about to introduce himself.

  “Go away, both of you!” Spottedleaf protested. “How am I meant to help this cat with all these interruptions!” She impatiently flicked her tail at Graypaw and Firepaw and pushed her way between them and her patient.

  Firepaw realized she was serious, despite the lively glimmer in her warm amber eyes.

  “Come on then, Firepaw,” mewed Graypaw. “I’ll show you around. See you later, Ravenpaw.”

  The two cats left Spottedleaf with Ravenpaw and walked across the clearing.

  Graypaw looked thoughtful. He was clearly taking his duties as a guide very seriously. “You know the Highrock already,” he began, flicking his tail toward the big, smooth rock. “Bluestar always addresses the Clan from there. Her den is down there.” He lifted his nose toward a hollow in the side of the Highrock. “Her den was carved out many moons ago by an ancient stream.” Hanging lichen draped the entrance, sheltering the leader’s nest from wind and rain.

  “The warriors sleep over here,” Graypaw went on.

  Firepaw followed him to a large bush a few paces away from the Highrock. There was a clear view from here right down to the gorse entrance into the camp. The branches of the bush hung low, but Firepaw could see a sheltered space inside where the warriors made their nests.

  “The senior warriors sleep nearest the center, where it’s warmest,” explained Graypaw. “They usually share their fresh-kill together over by that clump of nettles. The younger warriors eat nearby. Sometimes they are invited to join the senior warriors for eating, which is a big honor.”

  “What about the other Clan cats?” Firepaw asked, fascinated but feeling rather overwhelmed by all the traditions and rituals of Clan life.

  “Well, the queens share warrior quarters when they work as warriors, but when they are expecting kits, or nursing them, they stay in a nest near the nursery. The elders have their own place on the other side of the clearing. Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Firepaw trotted after Graypaw, across the clearing, and past the shadowy corner where Spottedleaf had her den. They stopped beside a fallen tree that sheltered a patch of lush grass. Crouched among the soft greenery were four elderly cats tucking into a plump young rabbit.

  “Dustpaw and Sandpaw would have brought them that,” whispered Graypaw. “One of the apprentices’ duties is catching fresh-kill for the elders.”

  “Hello, youngster,” one of the elders greeted Graypaw.

  “Hello, Smallear,” mewed Graypaw, nodding respectfully.

  “This must be our new apprentice. Firepaw, isn’t it?” meowed a second tom. His patchy fur was dark brown, and there was only a stump where his tail should have been.

  “That’s right,” Firepaw replied, copying Graypaw’s polite nod.

  “I’m Halftail,” purred the brown tom. “Welcome to the Clan.”

  “Have you two eaten?” meowed Smallear.

  Firepaw and Graypaw both shook their heads.

  “Well, there’s enough here. Dustpaw and Sandpaw are turning into fine hunters. Would you mind if these youngsters shared a mouse, One-eye?”

  The pale gray queen who lay beside him shook her head. Firepaw noticed one of her eyes was clouded and sightless.

  “What a
bout you, Dappletail?”

  The other elder, a tortoiseshell she-cat with a gray muzzle, meowed in a voice cracked with age, “Of course not.”

  “Thank you,” mewed Graypaw eagerly. He stepped forward and took a large mouse from the pile of prey, then dropped it at Firepaw’s feet. “You still haven’t tasted mouse?” he asked.

  “No,” Firepaw admitted. He suddenly felt excited by the warm smells that were rising from this piece of fresh-kill. His whole body quivered at the thought of sharing his first real food as a Clan member.

  “In that case, you can have first bite. Just save me some!” Graypaw dipped his head and stood back to give Firepaw room.

  Firepaw crouched down and took a large bite from the mouse. It was juicy and tender, and sang with the flavors of the forest.

  “What do you think?” asked Graypaw.

  “Fantastic!” mumbled Firepaw, his mouth still full.

  “Move over then,” mewed Graypaw, stepping forward and bending his head to take a bite.

  As the two apprentices shared the mouse, they listened to the elders talk among themselves.

  “How long before Bluestar appoints a new deputy?” asked Smallear.

  “What did you say, Smallear?” mewed One-eye.

  “I think your hearing has become as poor as your eyesight!” snapped Smallear impatiently. “I said, how long before Bluestar appoints a new deputy?”

  One-eye ignored Smallear’s irritated reply and spoke instead to the tortoiseshell queen. “Dappletail, do you remember the day many moons ago when Bluestar herself was appointed deputy?”

  Dappletail mewed earnestly, “Oh, yes! It was not long after she lost her kits.”

  “She’ll not be happy to be appointing a new deputy,” Smallear observed. “Redtail served her long and well. But she’ll need to make up her mind quickly. According to Clan custom, the choice has to be made before moonhigh after the death of the old deputy.”

  “At least this time the choice is obvious,” meowed Halftail.

  Firepaw raised his head and looked around the clearing. Who could Halftail mean? To Firepaw, all the warriors looked worthy of becoming deputy. Perhaps he meant Tigerclaw; after all, he had avenged Redtail’s death.