For the first time, Bluepaw felt like a real apprentice. She purred. “Thanks, Leopardpaw.”
“Denmates share,” the black cat answered.
Cheerfully Bluepaw took a bite of the thrush. The foresty flavor sang on her tongue, and she hardly noticed the paw steps heading toward her.
“I’ll take you hunting tomorrow.”
Surprised, Bluepaw looked up and saw Stonepelt standing over her. She swallowed. “Really?”
“We’ll leave at sunhigh. Let’s see if you can use what you’ve learned today on real prey.”
Bluepaw stared after Stonepelt as he padded away to join Adderfang and Tawnyspots by the nettle patch. She felt dizzy with happiness. She couldn’t wait till Snowpaw returned so she could tell her sister how much she’d learned. Being a ThunderClan apprentice was the best feeling in the world.
Chapter 5
I’m going hunting!
Bluepaw could hardly keep her paws still as she waited beside the gorse barrier. She looked up at the sky again. Was it sunhigh yet? Where was Stonepelt? Had he forgotten his promise? What about the extra bracken for Weedwhisker’s nest? Had he forgotten that promise, too? Did he always forget promises?
“Guess what!” Snowpaw was sprinting across the clearing toward her. “Sparrowpelt told me we’re coming hunting with you and Stonepelt.”
“Where is Stonepelt?”
“He’s putting fresh bracken in the elders’ den.”
Should I be helping?
Bluepaw hurried to meet Stonepelt. As she reached the fallen tree, he was nosing his way out of the tangle of branches. Stalks of bracken poked from his pelt. He shook them out and padded toward the barrier.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I should’ve been helping—”
“No need,” he cut her off. “I wanted you fresh for your first day of hunting.”
“We’re really going?” she breathed.
Stonepelt nodded. “Of course.”
“At last!” Snowpaw plucked at the ground. “I thought after spending yesterday wandering around the borders, I was never going to get to do anything exciting.”
“But you saw Fourtrees!” Bluepaw still wished she could have explored ThunderClan’s territory instead of gathering clean bedding.
“Fourtrees!” Snowpaw scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I saw more trees than I’ve got claws! But I wasn’t allowed to climb one or to look under the roots for prey.” She dropped her voice to a growly mew so that she sounded like Sparrowpelt. “And here’s the border with RiverClan. Be sure to notice how their scent smells.” Flicking her tail, she returned to her normal mew. “Like I’d miss that fishy stench!”
“Ready to go?”
Sparrowpelt’s mew made Snowpaw spin around.
“I’ve been ready for ages!” Snowpaw mewed.
Sparrowpelt was already heading out through the tunnel. “Come on, then.”
Bluepaw shot after him, ducking ahead of Snowpaw and racing to be first to the bottom of the ravine. She gazed up the slope, her paws prickling as she saw branches swaying like tails, beckoning her into the forest.
“Don’t expect too much on your first hunt,” Stonepelt warned, padding up beside her. “There’s a lot for you to learn.”
I’m ready! Bluepaw unsheathed her claws for the climb.
Fat white clouds raced across the blue sky as Stonepelt led the way up the ravine. As they crested the ridge, wind ruffled Bluepaw’s fur and a feeling of fierce joy welled up inside her.
Stonepelt glanced at Sparrowpelt. “The Owl Tree?”
“The Great Sycamore might be better for prey,” Sparrowpelt suggested.
“Because of the owl?” Bluepaw guessed.
Stonepelt nodded. “Even mice know better than to share dens with an owl.” He headed into the trees. Following on his heels, Bluepaw gazed up at the towering trunks. Branches with just a few wrinkled leaves clinging to them crisscrossed the sky, clattering as the breeze shook them.
Padding through the forest, she noticed how many small trails weaved through the undergrowth. Stonepelt led them beneath the arching fronds of a fern where Leopardpaw’s scent still clung. They skirted around bramble that smelled of Sunfall, and Bluepaw could see tiny orange tufts of fur caught on its barbs. Stonepelt kept going as the forest sloped steadily upward.
“How much farther?” Bluepaw glanced over her shoulder, trying to memorize the route they’d come. Would she ever find the way by herself?
“Not much,” Sparrowpelt promised.
All the trees and bushes looked the same. Every dip gave way to another rise, every rise to another dip.
Stonepelt finally halted. “Here we are.”
Sparrowpelt weaved in front of them and lifted his chin. Ahead, a gigantic tree towered above the others, its crown stretching beyond the canopy that shielded the sky.
The Great Sycamore.
Its roots, some thick as branches, twisted through dense layers of leaves around its base and burrowed into the earth.
Bluepaw’s pelt tingled. She could smell prey. Birds chattered in the branches above her head. Fallen leaves rustled at the base of the sycamore, stirred by wind or small creatures. Bluepaw longed to slide her paws deep into the great golden drifts.
“The first lesson of hunting,” Stonepelt began, “is patience.”
Sparrowpelt nodded. “The greatest hunter is the one who knows how to wait.”
“Can’t we just sift through the leaves till we find something?” Bluepaw asked hopefully.
Stonepelt shook his head. “You’ll scare everything back to its burrow.” He padded away toward a bush three fox-lengths from the base of the tree. It was still thick with leaves, and he disappeared behind it. Sparrowpelt followed, beckoning the apprentices with his tail.
“Is there prey behind there?” Snowpaw asked, wide-eyed.
“Not if they’ve got any sense,” Sparrowpelt meowed.
Stonepelt was already crouching behind the bush, his belly flat to the earth, peering through the low branches toward the roots of the sycamore.
“Get down,” he whispered.
Bluepaw crouched next to him, with Snowpaw and Sparrowpelt beside her. She squinted through the bush, wondering what she was supposed to be looking for.
“Don’t move till you see your prey,” Stonepelt advised.
“Will prey come out into the open?” Snowpaw asked.
“Now that we’re downwind, some might,” Sparrowpelt told her. “Do you see the sycamore pods?” Bluepaw scanned the ground and noticed some little wing shapes among the leaves, like tiny moths littering the ground.
“Where there are pods there are bugs,” Sparrowpelt meowed.
“And where there are bugs there’s prey,” Stonepelt finished. The gray warrior stiffened and his ears pricked. Bluepaw followed his gaze. A small, furry shape was skittering along one of the roots.
Mouse!
The fur rippled along her spine, and she unsheathed her claws. “When do we pounce?” she hissed to Stonepelt.
“Not ye—”
Before he could finish, Snowpaw shot forward, rattling through the bush and throwing up leaves as she tore across the forest floor. She leaped for the mouse, but it had disappeared, and she sat down with a thud, her tail thrashing through the leaves, shoulders back and ears flattened in disgust.
“Mouse dung!”
She turned and stalked back to her Clanmates. Sparrowpelt was shaking his head as she appeared behind the bush. “I like your enthusiasm,” he meowed. “But your technique could use a little work.”
There was a teasing lightness in his tone that made Bluepaw’s whiskers twitch and a purr of amusement rose in her throat.