Stormkit shook off her warm, soft tail and sat up. He poked Oakkit with a paw.
“What is it?” Oakkit grumbled, his eyes tightly shut.
“Let’s go explore.”
“Remember to stay in camp,” Rainflower murmured sleepily.
“Of course,” Stormkit promised. He poked Oakkit again.
Oakkit hid his nose under a paw. “Don’t you ever sleep?”
“We’ve been asleep all night. The dawn patrol left ages ago.”
In Echomist’s nest, Beetlekit struggled to his paws, his black pelt rumpled. “Is it time to eat?”
Volekit opened his eyes. “Yeah, I’m hungry.”
Petalkit was already sitting up and washing. “The hunting patrol will bring something back for us.” She leaned forward to lick Beetlekit’s head, smoothing the fur tufted between his ears. Echomist rolled over and began to snore gently.
Stormkit hopped out of his nest and stretched. “We’re going to catch our own prey.”
Oakkit sat up. “Are we?”
Rainflower lifted her head. “I hope you’re not going to get your brother in trouble again, Stormkit.”
“Why are you blaming me?” Yesterday they’d made it as far as the stepping-stones before being spotted and escorted back to camp by a very cross Mudfur. “It’s not my fault Oakkit followed the patrol.”
“He wasn’t following the patrol,” Rainflower reminded him. “He was following you.”
“He was?”
As Stormkit blinked at her innocently, she flicked his ear with her tail-tip. “I suppose I’m lucky to have such a brave, handsome kit.” She rested her chin on her paws.
“I’m brave, too.” Oakkit leaped out of the nest and headed for the entrance.
“Wait for me!” Stormkit caught up and slid past him out of the nursery.
The clearing was already warm and bright, though the sun was barely higher than the ancient willow. Hailstar and Shellheart sat beside the fallen tree, their heads dipped in quiet conversation. Troutclaw, Birdsong, and Tanglewhisker were sunning themselves on the smooth earth outside the elders’ den. Timberfur and Ottersplash were poking among the reeds at the edge of the river, their ears pricked, tails twitching, clearly hoping to find a minnow among the watery stems.
Brambleberry was laying out limp leaves in the sun, her snowy paws tinged with green sap.
“What are those for?” Stormkit crossed the clearing and sniffed the leaves. He screwed up his face. They smelled sour.
“They’re coltsfoot leaves,” Brambleberry told him. “Good for coughs.”
Stormkit nudged a leaf with his front paw. “How?”
“You have to chew them to get the juice out.” Brambleberry smoothed another leaf out on the warm earth. “Then you swallow the juice and spit out the leaf.”
Oakkit skidded to a halt beside them. “Where’d they come from?”
“I picked them beside the falls,” Brambleberry meowed.
“Can we come with you to pick more?” Stormkit asked hopefully.
Brambleberry’s whiskers twitched. “Perhaps in two moons’ time, when you’re ’paws.”
“I’m sure Hailstar will let us go now if he knows we’re with you,” Stormkit pleaded.
Brambleberry glanced at the RiverClan leader. “Why don’t you go and ask him?”
Stormkit scowled. “Maybe later.” He’d asked Hailstar if they could leave the camp before: once if they could help Shellheart hunt, twice if they could shadow Rippleclaw’s patrol, but the answer had always been the same: “Wait until you’re apprentices.”
Stormkit stared enviously at the apprentices’ den, tasting the air. There was no warm scent of sleep drifting from it. Softpaw and Whitepaw must have left with the dawn patrol. “Lucky furballs,” he muttered.
Oakkit shrugged. “I thought we were going hunting.”
“We are.”
“Where?” Oakkit scanned the camp. “In the sedges?”
Stormkit fluffed out his fur. “I want to catch more than butterflies!”
“We could try hunting for minnows with Ottersplash and Timberfur,” Oakkit suggested.
Stormkit rolled his eyes. “Minnows?”
“What’s wrong with minnows?”
“Do you want to stay in camp?”
“We have to.”
“Oh, come on.” Stormkit butted his brother with his head. “Let’s sneak out and hunt like real warriors.”
“What if we get caught again?” Oakkit lowered his voice. “Hailstar said he’d make us wait an extra moon to get our apprentice names if we got into any more trouble.”
“He didn’t mean it!” Stormkit scoffed. “RiverClan needs warriors. Hailstar’s not a frog-brain. The sooner we’re out patrolling and fighting, the better it’ll be for the Clan.” He flicked his tail. “When I’m leader I’ll let kits go out of camp whenever they want.”
Stormstar. What a great name!
“Hey!” Oakkit jabbed him with a paw. “Rainflower says I was born first so I get to be leader.”
“You? Leader?” Stormkit ruffled his brother’s ears. “You wanted to hunt minnows!” he scoffed, then added kindly, “I’ll make you deputy when I’m leader.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Come on! Let’s go and hunt.”
Before Oakkit could answer, mewling filled the clearing. Volekit and Beetlekit were tumbling noisily out of the nursery.
“Wait for me!” Petalkit scrambled after them, pawing at their tails as they scooted across the clearing and skittered to a halt by the reed bed.
Beetlekit thrust his nose into the stalks beside Ottersplash, making the reeds tremble. “Have you seen any fish?”
“Don’t scare them off!” Ottersplash grumbled, not taking his eyes from the patch of water beneath his nose.
Stormkit nudged Oakkit. “Come on, before Beetlekit starts asking us questions.”
“Which way?” Oakkit asked. “We can’t just walk through the entrance tunnel.”
“Dirtplace. Then we can squeeze through the sedges out on to the marsh.”
Stormkit headed toward dirtplace. He ducked through the fronds, Oakkit on his tail. Through the gap lay a sandy clearing, clumped in places and stinking. Oakkit poked his paw through a clump of sedge. “Through here?”
“Let me see.” Stormkit pushed past and nosed his way through the stems. They were sharp and grazed his nose but he pushed on, eyes half-closed, until he broke out into sunshine. A wide marshy plain stretched ahead of him, grassy and lush, filled with patches of reed and sedge and white billowing flowers.
“It’s huge!” Oakkit slid out behind Stormkit and stared at the green wetland. It stretched far along the riverbank and sloped up toward a smooth meadow where horses grazed.
“Let’s head for the river,” Oakkit suggested.
Stormkit tilted his head on one side. “Don’t you want to cross the marsh?”
“I thought we were going to find prey,” Oakkit reminded him. “What lives in the marsh?”
“Frogs?” Stormkit guessed.
“If you want to spend your morning hopping after a frog, then go ahead, Stormstar.” Oakkit padded away. “I’m heading for the river.”
“Okay!” Stormkit’s paws sank into watery moss, cool and springy beneath his pads. He bounced along behind Oakkit, following the sedge wall.
“Wait!” Oakkit halted.
Stormkit stumbled into him. “What?”
“We’re near the camp entrance,” Oakkit whispered.
Stormkit recognized the well-trod grass track that led out from the sedges and weaved between the thick bushes and grasses that swathed the riverbank.
“Follow me.” Stormkit slid ahead, and pushed his way into the rich greenery at the side of the path. Nosing his way through the soft leaves, he kept to the bushes. Where water puddled the path, he crossed deliberately through it, hoping the mud would disguise their scent. Then, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Oakkit was following, he plunged into the long grass on the other side of the path. The ground fell away from beneath his paws and he tumbled down the bank.