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 the 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.