Firestar’s Quest

Trying to shrug off the questions, he pressed on down the riverbank. Even though the sun was sliding down the sky, the sand was still hot against his pads, and the scrubby bushes by the cliff face cast very little shade. He longed for the cool, damp glades of the forest, the thick canopy of leaves, and the small rustlings of prey in the undergrowth. He had stayed here long enough that his paws were hardening from con-stant running on sand and stone, and he was learning how to track prey through the scanty cover that was all the gorge had to offer.

But this isn’t my home, he thought. It never will be.

He clambered over the rock spur, relieved at the sight of the thicker shrubbery beyond. Slithering down the other side, he caught a glimpse of movement and spotted the dark ginger tomcat he had seen before.

“Hey!” he called out. “Wait up!”

The ginger tom cast a glance over his shoulder, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he pushed his way deeper into the undergrowth; Firestar lost sight of him, and didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry.

He picked his way across the pebbles, heading for the nearest clump of bushes, his ears pricked and his jaws open to sense the first traces of prey. Then he paused, puzzled. There was a scent here he couldn’t identify: prey, but so thickly covered by the tang of crushed leaves that he couldn’t be sure what creature it came from. His fur prickled with the sensation that he was being watched.

Trying to shake off the feeling, Firestar slid into the ground cover, brushing through clumps of fern and seeding grasses until he reached the shadow of the bushes. His conviction that he was being watched grew stronger still. Icy claws raked his spine as he pictured a cold, malevolent gaze fixed on him. Something was lurking in the thicket that didn’t welcome cats.

“Who’s there?” Firestar hissed. He spun around, disturbing a thrush that shot up into the nearest tree. Disgusted, he realized that its loud alarm call would have alerted all the prey in the gorge.

He crept under a low growing thornbush and crouched there. Nothing moved; he could see nothing that might explain the evil force that he felt so strongly. His heart thudded, and he dug his claws into the ground as he braced himself to meet an attack.

Gradually the sensation faded. Firestar’s heartbeat slowed, and, feeling slightly foolish, he crawled out from underneath the bush. You’re not a kit, he scolded himself. Haven’t you enough problems without imagining more?

He tried to concentrate on the hunt. Soon he scented a mouse, and spotted it scuffling among the debris underneath a holly bush. Flattening himself to the ground, Firestar began to creep up on it. He was about to pounce when a loud rustling in the undergrowth alerted his prey; the mouse vanished deeper into the thicket with a flick of its tail.

Firestar let out a snarl of frustration and sank his claws into the ground. He was aware of eyes on him again, but this time there was none of the hostility he had felt before.

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of tortoiseshell fur and heard a voice hiss, “Be quiet! He’ll hear us.”

“Get off me, then,” another voice replied. “Stupid furball.”

Firestar heaved a sigh, drawing in kittypet scent. Cherry and Boris! I might have known it. He began slipping through the undergrowth, meaning to come up on them from behind and give them the fright of their lives. Then he hesitated.

So they wanted to spy on me? Okay, I’ll give them something worth watching.

He tasted the air again, and almost at once found another mouse, nibbling on a seed under a beech tree. Dropping into the hunter’s crouch, he crept forward, hardly letting his paws touch the ground. The mouse started to run, but this time Firestar was faster, and he brought it down with one blow from his paw.

From somewhere behind him he heard a gasp of admiration; his whiskers twitched with satisfaction as he scraped earth over his fresh-kill. He wanted to show these kittypets what a Clan cat could do with skills trained by a lifetime of following the warrior code.

A couple of tail-lengths away from the edge of the thicket a blackbird was pecking at the ground. Firestar stalked toward it. StarClan, please don’t let this one fly away! Bunching his muscles, he pushed off with his powerful hind legs and pounced on his prey as it fluttered up from the ground.

“Thank you, StarClan!” he exclaimed aloud, before carrying it back to bury it beside the mouse.