“They won’t be kits much longer,” Squirrelflight told Daisy, sweeping more leaves to her side with her long tail.
The brittle rustling noise reminded Jaykit of his dream.
“All the more reason to let them enjoy themselves now,” Daisy replied.
Jaykit felt a wave of affection for the milky white she-cat.
Though Squirrelflight was his mother, it had been Daisy who had warmed and washed him alongside Ferncloud when Clan duties had kept his mother away from the nursery.
Squirrelflight had returned to her warrior duties soon after her kits had been born. Though she still had a nest in the nursery, she used it less and less, preferring to sleep in the warriors’ den, where she wouldn’t disturb the kits and nursing queens when she left on early patrols.
“Can you feel the draft now, Ferncloud?” Squirrelflight called through the nursery wall.
“No.” Ferncloud’s voice drifted out through the tangle of branches. “We’re warm as fox cubs in here.”
“Good,” Squirrelflight meowed. “Can you clear up here, Daisy? I promised Brambleclaw I’d help him check for loose rocks around the hollow.”
“Loose rocks?” Daisy gasped.
“It’s good to have such solid defenses.” Squirrelflight’s voice echoed a little as she gazed at the sheer stone cliffs that enclosed the camp on almost every side. “But the frost might have loosened stones, and we don’t want them falling into the camp.”
Jaykit’s attention was distracted by the bitter stench of mouse bile that came from the elders’ den. Leafpool must be removing a tick from Longtail or Mousefur. A much nicer odor heralded the return of two of Daisy’s kits—Mousepaw and Hazelpaw were bringing fresh-kill back from a hunting expedition. They hurried excitedly into the camp, Mousepaw carrying two mice and Hazelpaw with a large thrush in her jaws. They dropped them at the fresh-kill pile.
Dustpelt padded over to greet them. “Looks like you did well, Hazelpaw!” he praised his apprentice. “You both did.”
The apprentices purred, and Jaykit noticed how much they sounded like their mother, as though their purrs were muffled by their thick, soft pelts.
A sudden rush of wind and fur knocked Jaykit off his paws.
“Are you playing with us or not?” Hollykit demanded.
Jaykit leaped up, shaking himself. “Of course I am!”
“Well, Lionkit’s got the mouse, and he won’t let me have it!” Hollykit complained.
“Let’s get him then!” Jaykit hared across the clearing toward his brother. He bundled into Lionkit and pressed him to the frosty earth while Hollykit dragged the mouse from Lionkit’s claws.
“Unfair!” Lionkit protested.
“We don’t have to be fair,” Hollykit squeaked triumphantly. “We’re not in StarClan yet!”
“And you never will be if you keep playing with food that way!” Stormfur had paused beside them on his way to the warriors’ den. His words were stern, though his voice was warm. “It’s leaf-bare. We should thank StarClan for every morsel.”
Lionkit wriggled out from underneath Jaykit. “We’re just practicing our hunting skills!”
“We have to practice,” Jaykit added, sitting up. “We’ll be apprentices soon.”
Stormfur was silent for a moment; then he stretched forward and gave Jaykit a quick lick between the ears. “Of course,” he murmured. “I was forgetting.”
Frustration flared in Jaykit’s belly. Why did the whole Clan treat him like a newborn kit when he was nearly six moons old? He shook his head crossly. Stormfur wasn’t even a proper ThunderClan cat! His father, Graystripe, had once been ThunderClan’s deputy, but Stormfur had grown up with his mother’s Clanmates in RiverClan, and his mate, Brook, had come from far away in the mountains. What right did he have to act superior?
Hollykit’s belly rumbled. “How about we eat this mouse instead of playing with it?”
“You two share it,” Lionkit offered. “I’ll get something from the fresh-kill pile.”
Jaykit turned toward the heap of prey caught by the warriors that morning. A faint odor disturbed him. He took in a deeper breath, opening his jaws to draw the scents into his mouth: he could smell Hazelpaw’s freshly killed thrush and Mousepaw’s mice, their blood still warm. But below there was a sour smell that made his tongue curl. He padded past his brother, his tail held stiffly behind him.
“What are you doing?” Lionkit asked.
Jaykit didn’t answer. He nosed his way in among the small dead bodies, caught hold of a wren, and pulled it free. “Look!” he mewed, rolling the bird over with his paw. The creature’s belly was alive with maggots.
“Ugh!” Hollykit squealed.
Leafpool emerged from the elders’ den, a wad of moss in her jaws. Jaykit could smell the mouse bile on it even over the stench of the rotten wren. She paused by the three kits. “Well spotted,” she praised them, dropping the bile-soaked moss at her paws. “I know prey is scarce at the moment, but better to eat nothing than to eat something that will hurt your belly.”
“Jaykit found it,” Hollykit told her.
“Well, he’s saved me a patient,” Leafpool meowed. “I’m busy enough as it is. Brackenfur and Birchfall have whitecough.”
“Do you want help gathering herbs?” Jaykit offered. He had never been out of the camp, and he was desperate to explore the forest. He wanted to smell the boundary markers; up till now he had tasted only the weak scents of ShadowClan and WindClan carried from the borders on the pelts of ThunderClan patrols. He wanted to feel the breeze fresh off the lake, untainted by the scents of the forest. He wanted to learn where the markers were along each boundary so that he could defend every pawstep of his Clan’s territory.
“You could gather far more herbs with us to carry them back to camp!” Lionkit put in.
“You know you’re not meant to leave the camp until you’re apprentices,” Leafpool reminded them.
“But you’ll need help if there are sick cats… ,” Jaykit insisted.
Leafpool silenced him by flicking the tip of her tail over his mouth. “I’m sorry, Jaykit,” she meowed. “It won’t be long until Firestar gives you your apprentice names. But until then, you’ll have to wait like any other kits.”
Jaykit understood her meaning. Their father was the Clan deputy, and their mother was Firestar’s daughter; Leafpool was reminding them yet again that it did not entitle them to special treatment. His tail twitched crossly. Sometimes it felt like the rest of the Clan went out of their way to make sure he and his littermates never got special treatment. It wasn’t fair!
“I’m sorry,” Leafpool meowed. “But that’s just the way it is.” She picked up the foul-smelling moss and padded back to the medicine den.
“Nice try,” Lionkit whispered in Jaykit’s ear. “But it looks like we’re stuck in the camp for a while longer.”
“Leafpool always thinks she can win us over just because she brings wool for our nests from the moorland,” Jaykit hissed. “Or pieces of honeycomb to lick. Why can’t she just give us what we really want—a chance to explore outside the camp?”
Hollykit swished her tail over the frozen ground. Jaykit knew she wanted to explore beyond the camp walls as much as he and Lionkit did. “But she’s right,” she mewed grudgingly. “We must stick to the warrior code.”
They ate, sharing the mouse and a vole between them. As Jaykit washed his face afterward, drawing his paws over his ears to give them a thorough cleaning, he noticed Brook emerging from the warriors’ den to join Cloudtail and Brightheart in the sun. She carried a different scent from the other warriors, the scent of mountains and tumbling water. It seemed to make her the strangest of all the cats who were not Clanborn. Was it just her scent, Jaykit wondered, or was it something more he sensed in the mountain she-cat—some wariness that had never left her? He could not quite put his whisker on it, but he was sure that Brook felt out of place here in the forest.