Twigpaw didn’t hang around thinking. When she glanced around again, she saw that the cats who were in sight seemed more concerned with snoozing and recovering their strength than watching what one unimportant apprentice was doing. Sparkpelt and Larksong had both disappeared into the warriors’ den, and Twigpaw couldn’t see Finpaw at all.
However, Thornclaw was on guard at the entrance of the tunnel, sitting there with ears pricked alertly. Twigpaw didn’t want to explain herself to him. It wasn’t forbidden for apprentices to go out of camp on their own, but Thornclaw might ask if she had permission from her mentor, and she didn’t want to lie to a senior warrior.
Instead Twigpaw headed for the dirtplace tunnel, picked her way around the dirtplace with her nose wrinkled, then slid quietly into the undergrowth and away from the camp.
She was beginning to relax, thinking she had gotten away with it, when a cheerful voice behind her mewed, “Where are you creeping off to?”
Twigpaw whirled around to see Finpaw standing a tail-length away, his eyes glinting with anticipation. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Go back to camp, and don’t tell any cat that you saw me.”
Even while she was speaking, Twigpaw realized that Finpaw wasn’t going to listen. The young brown tom scampered around her, his voice squeaking in excitement. “Are you going on an adventure? Can I come?”
Twigpaw sighed. She should have known from the beginning that there would be no getting rid of Finpaw. Besides, she thought, if I bring back prey and look after an apprentice, it’ll prove that I’m a real warrior.
“Okay,” she sighed. “Just stop making that racket. You’ll scare off all the prey in the forest.”
“Is that it?” Finpaw lowered his voice, to Twigpaw’s relief. “Are we going hunting? Cool!”
He padded at Twigpaw’s side as they headed deeper into the forest, taking care to set his paws down lightly. The forest was cool and shady under a covering of cloud, with here and there a brighter patch where the sun was struggling to break through. Twigpaw kept halting to taste the air, alert for prey and also for cat-scent; she didn’t want to risk meeting any of her Clanmates.
Finpaw spotted prey first: a mouse scrabbling around in the debris at the foot of an oak tree. He dropped into the hunter’s crouch and crept up on it, but just before he was close enough to pounce, he put one paw down on a dead leaf. The crackling sound alerted the mouse, which darted toward the shelter of the oak roots.
“Mouse dung!” Finpaw exclaimed.
But Twigpaw had been watching, and was ready. With a massive leap she hurled herself on top of the mouse and slapped a forepaw down on it, cutting off its squeak of terror.
“Thank you, StarClan, for this prey,” she mewed.
“Hey, great catch!” Finpaw padded up and sniffed the mouse. “Sorry I missed it.”
“It’s not a problem.” Twigpaw touched his ear with her nose. “We make a good team.”
The two cats went on hunting. When she had caught another mouse and a shrew, Twigpaw dug a hole and buried her prey, ready for her to collect later. My idea’s working well, she thought. Sparkpelt will be really impressed!
Looking around, she realized that they were close to the WindClan border. “Maybe we should go as far as the stream,” she suggested to Finpaw. “We might even be lucky and find more watermint.”
Finpaw agreed, but before they had gone much farther, Twigpaw spotted a squirrel climbing down the trunk of an ash tree and set off across an open stretch of ground just ahead. It was taking its time, bobbing along for a few paw steps, then stopping to sit upright with its tail curled upward. Clearly it was unaware of the two cats.
Twigpaw angled her ears toward the squirrel. “Stay back and stay quiet,” she murmured to Finpaw.
Eyes bright, Finpaw nodded enthusiastically.
Twigpaw began to follow the squirrel, creeping forward with her belly brushing the grass. The gap between her and the squirrel grew narrower. But before she could reach her prey, the squirrel sat upright. Twigpaw gritted her teeth with annoyance as she realized the breeze had shifted, carrying her scent toward it.
In the next heartbeat the squirrel pelted for the nearest tree, its tail streaming out behind it. With a yowl of frustration, Twigpaw followed. Her muscles bunched and stretched as she tried to force every last scrap of speed out of her legs.
The squirrel reached the tree and fled up the trunk. Twigpaw was running so fast that she couldn’t stop. Her legs carried her on for a few more strides; then suddenly there was nothing under her paws anymore. She let out a screech as she fell into cold water, and the current closed over her head.
For a moment Twigpaw thrashed helplessly, trying to get to her paws as she was bumped along the bottom of the stream. Then her head broke the surface. She couldn’t see much for the water in her eyes, but a green blur loomed up beside her, and she reached out with both forepaws.
Her claws caught in the gritty soil of the bank, and with a massive effort Twigpaw hauled herself out of the water and scrabbled her way upward until she could collapse, choking and gasping, on level ground.
For a moment Twigpaw lay there, eyes closed, catching her breath. Then, at a distance, she heard Finpaw calling, “Twigpaw! Twigpaw!”
“I’m okay . . . ,” she managed to choke out.
Much closer, another voice meowed, “What are you doing here?”
Twigpaw opened her eyes. At first all she could see were paws: gray paws, standing around her in a half circle. Her gaze traveled upward, and her heart lurched as she recognized a WindClan patroclass="underline" Featherpelt with Emberfoot and his apprentice, Smokepaw. All three of them looked hostile, with bristling fur and claws extended.
Oh, StarClan! I’ve come out on WindClan territory!
“What are you doing here?” Featherpelt repeated.
“I’m sorry,” Twigpaw gasped. “I didn’t mean to be here.”
She staggered to her paws and wanted to shake the water out of her pelt, but she realized in time that if she did that she would shower the WindClan patrol. And I don’t suppose they’d be pleased with me, she thought, frustrated at having to put up with her wet pelt.
“Your clumsiness cost us prey,” Emberfoot hissed. “We were stalking a pigeon, but when you made all that noise falling in, it flew away.”
I’ll try to fall in quietly next time, Twigpaw thought, but all she dared to say aloud was “Sorry.”
“‘Sorry’ fills no bellies,” Featherpelt snapped. “And what are two apprentices doing out here anyway, so far from camp and without your mentors?”
Twigpaw glanced across the stream to see Finpaw standing there, his eyes huge and worried. She wished he had hidden himself in the undergrowth, so that he wouldn’t be in trouble too.
At first she wasn’t sure how to answer Featherpelt’s question. She wasn’t sure if she ought to admit that she and Finpaw were hunting, but also she didn’t want to suggest that ThunderClan mentors were so careless that apprentices could just wander off without them knowing. It makes ThunderClan look so bad. . . . It’s not the way for me to earn my warrior name.
“Uh, we . . . we just went out for a bit and got distracted,” she stammered at last.
Even while she spoke, she felt a stab of fury at looking like a dumb apprentice in the hope that the WindClan cats would let them go.
But at least her tactic seemed to work. Featherpelt’s claws slid back, and her fur smoothed out. Emberfoot and Smokepaw both took a pace back, though they kept a wary gaze on Twigpaw.