He was well aware that Squirrelpaw would not take kindly to orders coming from him.
“Okay, Dustpelt,” he meowed. “I’ll do my best.”
When Brambleclaw emerged from the nursery he saw that more cats had appeared in the clearing. Brightheart, a pretty white she-cat with ginger patches on her fur like fallen leaves, had just chosen a piece of fresh-kill from the remains of the pile and was taking it across to where Cloudtail still sat by the nettle patch. The uninjured side of her face was turned to Brambleclaw, so that he could almost forget the disfiguring wounds she had received when the dog pack roamed the forest.
One side of her face was seamed with scars, and her ear had been shredded; there was only a gouge mark where her eye should be. Even though she survived the vicious attack, the Clan had feared that she would never be a warrior. It was Cloudtail who had trained with her and worked out ways of making up for her blindness on that side, even turning it into a strength, so that now she could fight and hunt as well as any cat.
Cloudtail greeted her with a flick of his tail and she sat beside him to eat.
“Brambleclaw! There you are!”
Brambleclaw turned and saw a long-legged ginger warrior heading toward him from the direction of the warriors’ den.
He padded over to meet him. “Hi, Brackenfur. Graystripe said you’re organizing hunting patrols.”
“That’s right,” Brackenfur meowed. “Will you go out with Squirrelpaw this morning, please?”
He angled his ears toward the apprentices’ den, and Brambleclaw noticed for the first time that Squirrelpaw was half-concealed in the shade of the ferns. She sat tall, her tail curled around her paws, her green eyes following a bright-winged butterfly. When Brackenfur beckoned her with his tail, she got up and strolled across the clearing, her tail straight up and her dark ginger fur gleaming in the sunlight.
“Hunting patrol,” Brackenfur explained briefly. “Dustpelt is busy, so you can go with Brambleclaw. Can you find another cat to go with you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he hurried off toward Sandstorm and Sorrelpaw.
Squirrelpaw yawned and stretched. “Well,” she meowed.
“Where shall we go?”
“I thought Sunningrocks,” Brambleclaw began. “Then we can—”
“Sunningrocks?” Squirrelpaw interrupted, her eyes stretching wide in disbelief. “Are you mouse-brained? On a day as hot as this, all the prey will be hiding down cracks. We won’t catch so much as a whisker.”
“It’s still early,” Brambleclaw replied crossly. “The prey will be out for a while yet.”
Squirrelpaw let out a heavy sigh. “Honestly, Brambleclaw, you always think you know better than anyone else.”
“Well, I am a warrior,” Brambleclaw pointed out, and knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say.
Squirrelpaw bowed her head in deep and exaggerated respect. “Yes, O Great One,” she meowed. “I shall do exactly what you say. And when we come back empty-pawed, maybe you’ll admit that I was right.”
“Well, then,” Brambleclaw mewed, “if you’re so clever, where do you think we should hunt?”
“Up toward Fourtrees, by the stream,” Squirrelpaw replied promptly. “That’s a much better place.”
Brambleclaw was even more annoyed when he realized that she might be right. In spite of the endless hot days that had lasted all greenleaf, the stream there still ran cool and deep, with thick clumps of reeds where prey could hide. He hesitated, wondering how he could change his mind without losing face in front of the apprentice.
“Squirrelpaw.” A new voice rescued him, and Brambleclaw realized that Sandstorm, Squirrelpaw’s mother, had padded over to join them. “Stop ruffling Brambleclaw’s fur. You chatter as much as a nest of jackdaws.” Her annoyed green gaze turned on Brambleclaw and she added, “And you’re just as bad.
The pair of you are always squabbling; you can’t be trusted to hunt together if you can’t even get out of the clearing without scaring half the prey between here and Fourtrees.”
“Sorry,” Brambleclaw muttered, embarrassment sweeping through his fur from ears to tail-tip.
“You’re a warrior; you should know better. Go and ask Cloudtail if you can hunt with him. And as for you,” Sandstorm meowed to her daughter, “you can come and hunt with me and Sorrelpaw. Brackenfur won’t mind. And you’ll do as you’re told, or I’ll know the reason why.”
Without looking back, she headed straight for the gorse tunnel that led out of the camp. Squirrelpaw stood still for a moment, a sulky look in her green eyes, and scuffed the ground with her forepaws.
Sorrelpaw came up and gave her a friendly nudge. “Come on,” she urged. “This is my last hunt as an apprentice. Let’s make it a good one.”
Reluctantly Squirrelpaw nodded, and the two cats set off together after Sandstorm; the dark ginger apprentice shot a last glare at Brambleclaw as she passed him.
Brambleclaw shrugged. Squirrelpaw would get more experienced mentoring from Sandstorm than she would from him, so he wasn’t letting Dustpelt down even though the warrior had asked him to keep an eye on her. And he wouldn’t have to listen all morning to her annoying chatter, so he wasn’t sure why he felt slightly disappointed at being set on a different patrol.
Pushing off the feeling, he bounded over to the nettle patch where Cloudtail and Brightheart were finishing their prey. Their single kit, Whitepaw, had just padded across to join them; as Brambleclaw came up he heard her say, “Are you going hunting? Please can I come with you?”
Cloudtail flicked his tail. “No.” Whitepaw had begun to look disappointed when he added, “Brackenfur said he’d take you. He is your mentor, after all.”
“He told me he’s really proud of you,” Brightheart purred.
Whitepaw brightened up. “Great! I’ll go find him.”
Cloudtail gave her an affectionate cuff over the ear with one paw before she dashed off, her tail waving excitedly.
Brambleclaw hoped that didn’t mean that Cloudtail and Brightheart wanted to go out alone. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked.
“Sure, you can come,” Cloudtail replied. He jumped up and nodded to Brightheart, then the three cats trotted together across the clearing toward the gorse tunnel.
Just before he headed into the close-growing thorns, Brambleclaw glanced over his shoulder at the quiet activity going on in the camp. Every cat looked well fed, sleek furred, and confident that their territory was safe. Bluestar’s message came back to echo in his mind. Could it be true that some great trouble was coming upon the forest? Brambleclaw felt his fur prickle with foreboding. He decided that he would not tell any cat about the dream. That seemed like the only way he could convince himself that it meant nothing, and there was no new prophecy coming to disrupt life in the forest as they knew it.
The sun was setting in a ball of fire, turning the tops of the trees to flame and sending long shadows across the clearing. Brambleclaw stretched and sighed with satisfaction. He was tired after the long day’s hunting, but his stomach was comfortably full. All the Clan had fed too, and there was an ample pile of fresh-kill. Greenleaf had been longer and hotter than any cat could remember, but the forest was still full of prey, and there was plenty of water in the stream close to Fourtrees.
A good day, Brambleclaw thought contentedly. This is how life should be.
The rest of the Clan was beginning to slip out into the clearing and gather around the Highrock, and Brambleclaw realized it was time for Sorrelpaw’s warrior ceremony.
He padded closer to the Highrock and sat down close to Ferncloud’s brother, Ashfur, who gave him a friendly nod.
Graystripe was already sitting at the base of the rock, looking as proud as if his own apprentice were about to be made a warrior. Graystripe had fathered two kits, but they had grown up in RiverClan, where their mother had been born. He had no kits in ThunderClan, but liked to keep an eye on the progress of all the young cats.