part two
Graypaw pranced through the thorn tunnel into the ThunderClan camp, his thick tail held high and his yellow eyes gleaming with pride. Lionheart appeared next; the golden tabby was rumbling with amusement at his apprentice. The last to enter the sandy hollow was Bluestar who carried herself with the same collected calmness she always appeared with, but her eyes shone brightly as she walked with Lionheart toward her den.
“Ravenpaw!” Graystripe shouted, bounding over to his scrawny friend. “You’ll never guess what happened,” he meowed, trembling with excitement as he plopped to the ground next to the dark apprentice.
“What happened?” Ravenpaw mewed with quiet curiosity at the other tom’s behaviour. “How was your patrol?”
“Well,” he started, puffing out his chest. “We were patrolling the border near Twolegplace and Lionheart asked if I could notice anything unusual, so I scented the air and caught whiff of some cat not from the Clans.”
Ravenpaw nodded, his amber eyes staring intently as he followed Graypaw’s story.
“So I told Lionheart and Bluestar, and they let me follow the scent on my own, and I found this bright orange cat stalking a mouse.” The story continued, Graypaw explained that he told the strange cat to keep off of ThunderClan’s territory and to leave their prey alone. “But he didn’t listen,” he said. “He didn’t leave, so I had no choice but to fight.”
The little black apprentice’s eyes widened: Graypaw had been an apprentice for less than a moon, and his first territory dispute was with a non-Clan cat. Cats outside of the Clans could be dangerous, living without the Warrior Code, Ravenpaw reminded himself.
“At first,” he went on, “I thought this cat was a clumsy, talentless kittypet, but when I fought him, he really proved me wrong. Put up a real good fight.” He hesitated before admitting, “He almost won. But I managed to throw him onto his back, and he knew he wouldn’t last another minute unwounded, so he ran.”
When Ravenpaw responded only with a slow blink, Graypaw added, “Can you believe it! I chased him right off our territory back to his Twoleg nest. Don’t think we’ll be seeing him around anytime soon.”
“Already bragging?”
The amused voice came from behind them; Ravenpaw turned to see Lionheart approaching, a mouse dangling by its tail from between his teeth.
Graypaw glanced down at his paws.
“It’s alright,” he purred, lying down next to the two apprentices. “You should be proud. I’m certainly impressed with your skills so far.”
Lionheart, like his apprentice, had a thick fluffly pelt, broad-shoulders and a gentle gaze that made his bulky build less intimidating and more familiar. However, his pelt was golden-brown and he had a thick mane of fur around his neck and chest unlike any other cat Ravenpaw had met before. He’d heard stories of the ancient LionClan, and assumed it was Lionheart’s mane, so similar to a lion’s, which earned him his name.
A loud yowl across the hollow disrupted his thoughts and his eyes darted to the source: The Clan deputy, a tortoiseshell tom named Redtail, was putting together a patrol. “Bluestar has taken a patrol along a ShadowClan border and Twolegplace. Whitestorm, could you lead Sandpaw and Longtail to scent mark the RiverClan border?”
A massive white tom sitting near the deputy nodded and stood up as the other named cats hurried to gather near him. Together, the three left the hollow on their patrol.
Ravenpaw lay in a patch of sunlight next to Graypaw, the fluffy tom’s fur brushing against him with each movement. He watched Spottedleaf hurry across the clearing from the gorse entrance, mouth stuffed with fresh herbs. Dustpaw reluctantly trailed behind her, having been volunteered by his mentor when the medicine cat requested help. Bluestar sat near the highrock, sharing tongues with Frostfur whose belly was swollen with kits: She spent most of her recent time either around the nursery with the other queens or around Spottedleaf’s den, as the medicine cat had informed her that the kits should be born soon.
Long ago, Frostfur had been an apprentice with Bluestar as her mentor. Their close relationship never faded when she was given her warrior name, Ravenpaw thought, it might even have grown stronger.
He glanced across the clearing to where his own mentor, Tigerclaw, sat—stiff, upright, speaking quietly with his grey and black companion. Ravenpaw wondered if he would ever have such a bond with the dark tabby. He was a formidable warrior with skills anyone would envy. Sometimes he detected a hint of jealousy that he had been given such a great warrior for his mentor. But in training, Tigerclaw never gave more than a word of praise, never showed a hint of pride. He pushed Ravenpaw to do his best, but not with the same encouragement other mentors gave.
The other apprentices, even Graypaw, would say Ravenpaw was just nervous, but he knew they would find Tigerclaw just as intimidating in his position.
There was a frightened yelp from an elder as a pale ginger she-cat crashed through the thorny tunnel into the camp. “RiverClan,” he heard her pant as Redtail, the Clan’s deputy, ran to meet her. “At Sunningrocks.”
“Thank you, Sandpaw,” Redtail said softly before yowling to summon the attention of his Clanmates. “RiverClan is attempting to reclaim Sunningrocks. Mousefur, Tigerclaw, you’ll come with me.”
Ravenpaw looked back toward his mentor who nodded his head for the younger tom to follow. As they left, he caught sight of Dustpaw staring hopefully up at Redtail, his mentor. Redtail shook his head and said that Spottedleaf hadn’t yet dismissed him, promising to take him next time.
As he turned away, Dustpaw bared his teeth at Ravenpaw.
They left the camp, putting distance behind them quickly. Ravenpaw, small even for his age, struggled to keep up. He heard Redtail's screech as he disappeared from Ravenpaw's vision, throwing himself into battle.
Before he could even take in the sight of his first real battle, a smoky black tom leaped toward him, pushing him onto his back easily. Ravenpaw kicked at the tom with all the strength he could gather, but he was trapped. Before he could even manage a paw swipe. Tigerclaw would be unimpressed, he knew.
To his surprise, the weight was removed in a blur as Sandpaw knocked the RiverClan warrior to the ground. The skinny apprentice took this moment to wriggle away and jump back to his feet, scurrying for the cover of the surrounding brush. He had meant to hide within the leaves and wait to attack any unsuspecting RiverClan warrior near enough, but Tigerclaw had already spotted him.
His eyes narrowed suspiciously, he growled, “You’re training to be a ThunderClan warrior. Fight like it.”
Ravenpaw yelped as Tigerclaw shoved him back into the open with his shoulder before rejoining the fight. A spotted golden she-cat hissed as he crashed into her and her current sparring opponent, a huge white ThunderClan warrior. She thrust the white tom backward with her hind feet but he regained his balance easily. The apprentice watched in awe as Whitestorm threw the RiverClan queen onto her back, fear glistening in her eyes until a screech caused him to look up and she took her opportunity to wriggle out from beneath his great paws and head toward the mass of battling cats.
Ravenpaw saw his chance and took it, leaping, claws unsheathed, onto the golden tabby’s back. He felt his claws sink into her fur but she was easily able to shake him off, sending him running with a sharp bite to his foreleg.
The line of ThunderClan cats was thinning—Mousefur was already gone, and Sandpaw nearly knocked Ravenpaw aside in her rush back to safety. Only three warriors remained, and Whitestorm’s thick white pelt was stained with blood, his paw entirely red and sticky. Redtail yelled something at the great warrior; Whitestorm nodded in response and turned back to shelter.
Ravenpaw followed, leaning heavily on one side to keep the weight off his injured leg, but paused when he reached the bracken nearby. A huge noise startled him, and he heard a voice wail, “Oakheart is dead!”
There he remained crouched, listening to Redtail’s call of, “ThunderClan, retreat!” He waited silently for his mentor and deputy to approach the safety of the trees.
It was a long moment before they appeared, and though Tigerclaw walked forward with his usual confidence, Redtail looked tired, defeated. “We’ll get it back,” the tortoiseshell growled with clear determination. “Sunningrocks belongs to ThunderClan.”
But Tigerclaw didn’t appear to have heard: He had stopped for a moment, allowing Redtail to get ahead a short ways without paying any notice. The huge tabby was crouched down, his feet barely skimming the ground below as he crept forward; Ravenpaw thought perhaps he’d scented a mouse nearby.
It was too late by the time he realized any fault in such thinking. Tigerclaw lunged forward with outstretched claws, landing square on Redtail’s back.
The tortoiseshell tom yelped in surprise but the noise was cut short as Tigerclaw clamped his jaw down on the deputy’s neck.
Ravenpaw stood frozen in the bracken. He had to get back to camp before Tigerclaw, he had to escape unnoticed.
The warrior reached down to grab Redtail’s scruff, his amber eyes alight with the heat of battle still. As he hauled the body forward his eyes fixed on someplace near Ravenpaw.
He held his breath and struggled not to shake in fear, but it did no good. He stared straight ahead, petrified, as the tabby's gaze turned to him.