Into the Wild

by Erin Hunter

“So what does a badger look like?” Firepaw asked as they prowled along, sniffing to either side.

  “Black and white, short legs. You’ll know one when you meet one. They’re bad-tempered, lumbering animals. They’re less likely to raid the nursery than a fox, but they have a vicious bite. How do you think old Halftail earned his name? He hasn’t been able to climb a tree since a badger bit his tail off!”

  “Why not?”

  “Scared of falling. A cat needs his tail if he wants to land on his feet. It helps him spin in midair.”

  Firepaw nodded in understanding.

  As Firepaw had predicted, hunting was good that day. Before long, Graypaw had pounced on a small mouse and Firepaw had caught a thrush. He quickly took its life. No time to practice killing techniques today; there were too many hungry mouths waiting back at camp. Firepaw kicked earth over the prey, so that it would be safe from predators until he came back for it.

  Suddenly a squirrel broke cover.

  Firepaw burst into action. “After it!” he called, pelting at full stretch over the springy woodland floor with Graypaw at his heels.

  They slid to a halt as the squirrel scampered upward into a birch.

  “Lost it!” Graypaw growled in disappointment.

  Panting, the two cats stopped to catch their breath. The acrid stench that hit their mouths and noses surprised them.

  “The Thunderpath,” Firepaw mewed. “I didn’t realize we’d come so far.”

  The two cats edged forward to peer out of the forest at the great, dark path. It was the first time they had been here alone. A trail of noisy creatures growled along the hard surface, their dead eyes staring straight ahead.

  “Yuck!” Graypaw snorted. “Those monsters really stink!”

  Firepaw twitched his ears in agreement. The choking smells made his throat sting. “Have you ever been across the Thunderpath?” he mewed.

  Graypaw shook his head.

  Firepaw took a step out of the cover of the forest. A border of oily grass lay between the trees and the Thunderpath. He crept slowly out onto it, and then shrank back as a stinking monster hurtled past.

  “Hey! Where are you going?” Graypaw mewed.

  Firepaw didn’t reply. He waited till there were no monsters in sight. Then he edged forward again, across the grass, right to the edge of the path. Cautiously, he reached out a paw to touch it. It felt warm, almost sticky, heated by the sun. He looked up, staring across the Thunderpath. Was that a pair of eyes glinting out of the forest on the other side? He sniffed the air, but smelled nothing except the stench of the great gray path. The eyes on the other side were still shining in the shadows. Then they blinked, slowly.

  Firepaw was sure now. It was a ShadowClan warrior, and it was staring straight at him.

  “Firepaw!” Graypaw’s voice made Firepaw jump, just as a huge monster, taller than a tree, roared past his nose. The wind from it almost toppled him over. Firepaw turned and ran as fast as he could back into the safety of the forest.

  “You mouse-brained fool!” spat Graypaw. His whiskers trembled with fear and anger. “What were you doing?”

  “I just wondered what the Thunderpath felt like,” Firepaw muttered. His whiskers were trembling too.

  “Come on,” hissed Graypaw edgily. “Let’s get out of here!”

  Firepaw followed Graypaw as he leaped away back into the forest. Once they were a safe distance from the Thunderpath, Graypaw stopped to catch his breath.

  Firepaw sat down and began to lick his ruffled fur. “I think I saw a ShadowClan warrior,” he mewed between licks. “In the forest on the other side of the Thunderpath.”

  “A ShadowClan warrior!” echoed Graypaw, his eyes wide. “Really?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing that monster came past when it did,” retorted Graypaw. “Where there’s one ShadowClan warrior, there’s more, and we’re no match for them yet. We’d better get out of here.” He looked up at the sun, which was almost directly overhead. “I’d better get a move on if I want to meet that patrol on time,” he mewed. “See you later.” He sprang away into the undergrowth, calling as he went, “You never know; Lionheart might let me come and help you with the hunting once I’ve delivered this message.”

  Firepaw watched him go. He envied Graypaw, wishing he were off to join a warrior patrol. But at least he’d have something to tell Dustpaw and Sandpaw when he returned to camp. Today he had seen his first ShadowClan warrior.

  CHAPTER 7

  Firepaw retraced his steps and headed back toward the stream. He thought of those eyes burning from the darkness of the ShadowClan territory.

  Suddenly he caught a faint smell on the breeze.

  A stranger! Perhaps that ShadowClan warrior . . .

  Instantly a growl rumbled in Firepaw’s throat. The scent message told him many things. The stranger was a she-cat, not young and definitely not from ThunderClan. She carried no distinct scent from any of the Clans, but Firepaw could tell she was tired, hungry, and sick, and she was in an ugly mood.

  Dropping low, Firepaw moved forward, heading toward the scent. Then he paused in puzzlement. The warrior scent was fainter now. He sniffed again.

  Suddenly, with a lightning movement, a snarling ball of fur burst from the bushes behind him.

  Firepaw screeched in shock as the she-cat slammed into him, knocking him sideways. Two heavy paws clamped down onto his shoulders, and iron jaws closed around the back of his neck. “Murr-oww!” he grunted, already thinking fast. If the other cat were to sink its fangs too deep, it would all be over.

  He forced himself to go limp, relaxing his muscles as if in submission, and let out a pretend howl of alarm.

  The she-cat opened her mouth to give a triumphant yowl. “Ah, a puny apprentice. Easy prey for Yellowfang,” she hissed.

  At the insult, Firepaw felt a surge of fury. Just wait. He’d show this coughed-up furball what kind of warrior he was! But not yet, he told himself. Wait until you feel her teeth again.

  Yellowfang bit down. Firepaw surged upward with all the strength in his powerful young body. The she-cat gave a snarl of surprise as she was thrown clear. She tumbled backward into a gorse bush.

  Firepaw shook himself. “Not such easy prey, huh?”

  Yellowfang hissed defiance as she tore herself free from the clinging branches. “Not bad, young apprentice,” she spat back. “But you’ll need to do a lot better!”

  Firepaw blinked when he saw his opponent clearly for the first time. The she-cat had a broad, almost flat face, and round orange eyes. Her dark gray fur was long and matted into smelly clumps. Her ears were torn and ragged, and her muzzle was traced with the scars of many old battles.

  Firepaw stood his ground. He puffed out his chest and glared a challenge into the intruder’s face. “You’re in ThunderClan’s hunting ground. Move on!”

  “Who’s going to make me?” Yellowfang drew back her lip defiantly, exposing stained and broken teeth. “I will hunt. Then I will leave. Or maybe I’ll just stay awhile. . . . ”

  “Enough talk,” Firepaw spat, feeling the stir of ancient cat spirits deep inside him. There was no trace of the house cat in him now. His warrior blood was up. He was itching to fight, to defend his territory and protect his Clan.

  Yellowfang seemed to sense the change in him. Her fierce orange eyes sparked with new respect. Dipping her head and breaking eye contact, she started to back off. “No need to be hasty, now,” she purred in a silky tone.

  Firepaw wasn’t fooled by her trickery. Claws extended and fur on end, he leaped forward, his war cry ringing out: “Grr-aaar!”

  With a hiss of rage the other cat responded. Snarling and spitting, young cat and old locked together. They rolled over and over, teeth and claws flashing. Ears pressed flat to his head, Firepaw fought to get a grip. But the she-cat’s clumpy fur snagged in his claws, and he couldn’t break through to skin.

  Then Yellowfang reared up on her back legs. With her filthy tail bristling,
she looked even bigger.

  Firepaw sensed Yellowfang’s huge jaws lunging toward him. He leaned backward, just in time. Snap! Bared teeth closed on the air next to his ear.

  Instinctively Firepaw lashed out with a backswipe. His paw caught the side of Yellowfang’s head. The force of it sent shock waves up his front leg.

  “Yee-ow!” Stunned, Yellowfang dropped onto four paws. She shook her head to clear it.

  In the single heartbeat before the she-cat recovered, Firepaw saw his chance. He threw himself forward, crouching low, and clamped his jaws tight on Yellowfang’s back leg. “Mur-ugh!” The taste of the matted fur was horrible, but he chomped down hard.

  “Reow-ow-wow!” Yellowfang screamed in agony and whipped around to snap at Firepaw’s tail.

  Her teeth connected and pain lanced up Firepaw’s spine, but it only made him angrier. He ripped his tail from his opponent’s grip, and lashed it back and forth in rage.

  Yellowfang crouched, ready for a fresh attack. Her breath seemed to wheeze up from her foul-smelling lungs. The scent blasted Firepaw’s nose. Up close, the message of desperation and weakness, and the aching void of the she-cat’s hunger, was almost painful.

  Something stirred inside him, an unwarriorlike feeling he didn’t want: pity. He tried not to dwell on this instinct—he knew his loyalty must be to his Clan—but he couldn’t shake free of it. “You speak from your heart, young Firepaw.” Lionheart’s words echoed in his head once more. “This will make you a stronger warrior one day.” Then Tigerclaw’s warning rang in his ears: “Or it might make him give in to kittypet weakness right at the moment of attack.”

  Yellowfang lunged forward and Firepaw jerked instantly back into aggression. The bigger cat tried to reach up onto his shoulders and get a killing grip, but this time she was hampered by her wounded leg.

  “Gar-off!” Firepaw arched his spine, but Yellowfang managed to dig in her claws and hung on tight. The bigger cat’s weight forced him to the ground.

  Firepaw tasted earth on his tongue and spat out a mouthful of grit. “Pah!”

  He twisted nimbly to avoid Yellowfang’s thrashing back legs and the thorn-sharp claws that were trying to rake at his soft underbelly. Over and over they rolled, biting and snapping.

  Moments later they broke apart. Firepaw was gasping for breath now. But he sensed that Yellowfang was weakening. The she-cat was badly wounded, and her back legs could barely support her scrawny body.

  “Had enough yet?” Firepaw growled. If the intruder gave way, he’d let her go with just a warning bite to remember him by.

  “Never!” Yellowfang hissed back bravely. But her injured leg gave way and she slumped to the ground. She tried to get up and failed. Her eyes were dull as she hissed up at Firepaw, “If I weren’t so hungry and tired, I’d have shredded you into mouse-dust.” The she-cat’s mouth twisted in pain and defiance. “Finish me off. I won’t stop you.”

  Firepaw hesitated. He’d never killed another cat before. Perhaps, in the heat of battle, he would, but a mercy killing, in cold blood? This was something very different.

  “What are you waiting for?” Yellowfang taunted. “You’re dithering like a kittypet!”

  Firepaw smarted at the she-cat’s words. Could she smell the scent of Twolegs on him, even now, after all this time?

  “I’m an apprentice warrior of ThunderClan!” he snapped.

  Yellowfang narrowed her eyes. She’d seen Firepaw flinch at her words and she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Ha,” she snorted. “Don’t tell me ThunderClan is so desperate they have to recruit kittypets now?”

  “ThunderClan is not desperate!” hissed Firepaw.

  “Prove it then! Act like a warrior and finish me off. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

  Firepaw stared at her. He would not be goaded into killing this miserable creature. He felt his muscles relax as curiosity pricked him. How had a Clan cat gotten in such a state? ThunderClan elders were looked after better than kits! “You seem in an awful hurry to die,” he meowed.

  “Yeah? Well, that’s my business, mouse-fodder,” Yellowfang snapped. “What’s your problem, kitty? Are you trying to talk me to death?”

  Her words were brave, but Firepaw could smell the hunger and sickness that were coming off the other cat in waves. She was going to die anyway if she didn’t eat soon. And since she could hardly hunt for herself, perhaps he should kill her now. The two cats looked at each other, uncertainty in both their gazes.

  “Wait here,” Firepaw ordered at last.

  Yellowfang seemed to deflate. Her hackles smoothed out and her tail lost its gorse-bush stiffness. “Are you kidding, kitty? I’m going nowhere.” She grunted, limping painfully toward a patch of soft heather. She flopped down and began licking her leg wound.

  Firepaw glanced briefly over his shoulder at her and hissed quietly in exasperation before heading for the trees.

  As he padded silently through the ferns, sun-warmed odors filled his nose, and he caught the sour reek of a long-dead rat. He heard the scratching of insects beneath bark, the rustle of furry things scurrying over leaves. His first thought had been to go and dig up the thrush he had killed earlier, but that would take too long.

  Maybe he should go and scoop up the rat carcass. Easy meat, but a starving cat needed fresh-kill. Only when times were very hard would a warrior eat crow-food.

  Just then he paused, scenting a young rabbit ahead. A few more steps and he saw it. Flattening himself down, he stalked the creature. He was barely a mouse-length away before it detected him. By then it was too late. The white bobtail darting away sent the thrill of the chase surging through Firepaw’s veins. A rush of speed, a flash of claws, and he had it.

  He held the wriggling body fast and finished it off quickly.

  Yellowfang looked up tiredly as Firepaw dropped the rabbit on the ground beside her. Her grizzled jaw dropped. “Well, hello again, kitty! I thought you’d gone to fetch your little warrior friends.”

  “Yeah? Well, I might still do that. And don’t call me kitty.” Firepaw growled, shoving the rabbit nearer with his nose. He felt embarrassed by his kindness. “Look, if you don’t want this . . .”

  “Ah—no,” Yellowfang meowed hastily. “I do want it.”

  Firepaw watched the she-cat rip open the prey and start to swallow it down. His own hunger rose up and his mouth filled with water. He knew he shouldn’t even be thinking about eating. He still had to take back enough prey for the Clan, but the fresh-kill smelled delicious.

  “Mmm-mm.” A few minutes later, Yellowfang gave a huge sigh and flopped onto her side. “First fresh-kill I’ve had for days.” She licked her muzzle clean and settled down to give herself a thorough wash.

  As if one wash is going to make much difference, Firepaw thought, his nose twitching. She was the arch-cat of stench.

  He eyed the tattered remnants of the prey. There wasn’t much left to line a growing cat’s belly, but his fight with Yellowfang had sharpened his appetite even more; he gave in to his hunger and gulped down the scraps. It was delicious. He licked his lips, savoring every last taste, tingling from head to paw.

  Yellowfang watched him closely, showing her stained teeth. “Better than the muck Twolegs feed some of our brothers, isn’t it?” she mewed slyly. Knowing she had found his sore spot, she was trying to antagonize him.

  Firepaw ignored her and began to wash.

  “It’s poison,” Yellowfang went on. “Rat droppings! Only a spineless bag of fur would accept such disgusting frogspawn—” She broke off and tensed. “Shhh . . . warriors coming.”

  Firepaw was also aware of cats approaching. He could hear their soft paw-fall on the leaf litter and the sound of fur swishing through branches. He smelled the wind brushing against their coats. Familiar smells. These were ThunderClan warriors, confident enough in their own territory not to care about the noise they made.

  Firepaw licked his lips guiltily, hoping to wash away any traces of the scraps he’d just swallowed. Then he looked at Yell
owfang and the fresh pile of rabbit bones that lay beside her. “The Clan must be fed first!” Lionheart’s voice rang though his head once more. But surely he would understand why Firepaw had fed this wretched creature. His mind reeled, suddenly fearful of what would happen to him. His first apprentice task, and he had ended up breaking the warrior code!

  CHAPTER 8

  Yellowfang growled in defiance at the approaching pawsteps, but Firepaw could sense her panic. The she-cat struggled to her feet. “So long. Thanks for the meal.” She tried to limp away on three legs and then winced in pain. “Nuh! This leg’s stiffened up while I’ve been resting.”

  Now it was too late for her to run. Silent shadows slipped out of the trees, and in a heartbeat the ThunderClan patrol had encircled Firepaw and Yellowfang. Firepaw recognized them: Tigerclaw, Darkstripe, Willowpelt, and Bluestar, all of them lean and hard-muscled. Firepaw smelled Yellowfang’s fear at the sight of them.

  Graypaw followed close behind. He bounded out of the bushes and stood beside the warrior patrol.

  Firepaw mewed a hasty greeting to his Clan. But only Graypaw returned it. “Hi, Firepaw!” he called out.

  “Silence!” Tigerclaw growled.

  Firepaw glanced at Yellowfang and groaned inwardly; he could still smell the fear-scent on her, but instead of cowering in submission, the scruffy creature was glaring in defiance.

  “Firepaw?” Bluestar’s question was cool and measured. “What have we here? An enemy warrior—and recently fed, by the smell of you both.” Her eyes burned into him, and Firepaw dropped his head.

  “She was weak and hungry . . .” he began.

  “And what about you? Was your hunger so bad that you had to feed yourself before you had gathered prey for your Clan?” Bluestar went on. “I assume that you have a very good reason for breaking the warrior code?”

  Firepaw was not fooled by the leader’s soft tone. Bluestar was furious—and rightly so. He crouched lower to the ground.

  Before he could speak there was a loud hiss from Tigerclaw. “Once a kittypet, always a kittypet!”