Into The Wild

The cats separated and began to move around the camp, assessing damage and forming work groups.

“Ravenpaw!” Firepaw called, still shocked by Tigerclaw’s dark hint that his own apprentice had betrayed the Clan. But Ravenpaw had already bounded away. Firepaw could see him offering to help Halftail and Whitestorm, before rushing off to collect twigs so they could patch the holes in the boundary wall. Ravenpaw clearly didn’t want to talk.

“Let’s go and help him,” suggested Graypaw. His voice was flat and exhausted, and his eyes were dull.

“You go. I’ll be there in a moment,” Firepaw answered. “First I want to check on Yellowfang, see if she’s okay after her fight with Blackfoot.”

He looked for Yellowfang in her nest by the fallen tree. She was stretched out in the shadows, her eyes thoughtful.

“Firepaw,” she purred when she saw him. “I’m glad you have come.”

“I wanted to check that you were all right,” Firepaw mewed.

“Old habits stay longer than old scents, eh?” meowed Yellowfang with a flash of her old spirit.

“I suppose so,” Firepaw confessed. “How are you feeling?”

“This old leg injury is playing up again, but I’ll be fine,” Yellowfang told him.

“How did you manage to fight Blackfoot off?” Firepaw asked, unable to keep the admiration out of his voice.

“Blackfoot’s strong, but he’s not a clever fighter. Fighting you was more of a challenge.”

Firepaw looked for the flicker of humor in the old cat’s eyes, but there was none.

She continued, “I’ve known him since he was a kit. He hasn’t changed-a bully, but no brains.”

Firepaw sat down beside her. “I’m not surprised Bluestar asked you to join the Clan,” he purred. “You certainly showed your loyalty last night.”

Yellowfang twitched her tail. “Perhaps a truly loyal cat would have fought at the side of the Clan that raised her.”

“But then I’d be fighting for my Twolegs!” Firepaw pointed out.

Yellowfang shot him an admiring glance. “Well said, youngster. But then, you have always been a thinker.”

Sorrow pierced Firepaw’s heart as he remembered these were Lionheart’s words too. “Do you miss ShadowClan?” he asked Yellowfang.

Yellowfang blinked slowly. “I miss the old ShadowClan,” she meowed at last. “The way it used to be.”

“Until Brokenstar became leader?” Firepaw was curious.

“Yes,” Yellowfang admitted softly. “He changed the Clan.” She gave a wheezy laugh. “He always knew how to give a good speech. He could make you believe a mouse was a rabbit if he set his mind to it. Perhaps that is why I was so blind to his faults.” The old she-cat stared into the distance, lost in memories.

“Bet you can’t guess who the new ShadowClan medicine cat is?” Firepaw mewed, suddenly remembering what he had learned at the Gathering. It felt like moons ago now.

His words seemed to shake Yellowfang back into the present. “Not Runningnose?” she meowed.

“Yep!”

Yellowfang shook her head. “But he can’t even cure his own cold!”

“That’s what Graypaw said!” They purred together for a moment, amused. Firepaw got to his paws. “I’ll leave you to rest now. Call me if you need anything else today.”

Yellowfang lifted her head. “Before you go, Firepaw, I hear you were in a rat fight. Did they draw blood?”

“It’s okay, Spottedleaf has treated my wounds with marigold.”

“Sometimes marigold is not strong enough for rat bites. Go and find a patch of wild garlic to roll in. I think there’s some not far from the camp entrance. That will draw out any poisons the rats may have left. Although,” she added dryly, “your den mates might not thank me for my advice!”

“Well, I do. Thanks, Yellowfang!” Firepaw purred.

“Go carefully, young one.” Yellowfang held his gaze for a moment, then let her chin rest on her front paws and closed her eyes.

Firepaw slipped under the branches around Yellowfang’s nest and headed for the gorse tunnel, in search of the wild garlic. The sun was setting now, and he could hear the queens settling their kits for the night.

“Where do you think you’re going?” growled a voice from the shadows. It was Darkstripe.

“Yellowfang told me to go out and-”

“You don’t take orders from that rogue!” hissed the warrior. “Go and help with the repairs. No cat is to leave the camp tonight!” He lashed his tail from side to side.

“Yes, Darkstripe,” Firepaw mewed, dipping his head submissively. He turned and muttered “Dirtstripe!” under his breath, then headed toward the camp boundary, where he could see Graypaw and Ravenpaw busily patching a large hole in the wall of greenery.

“How’s Yellowfang?” asked Graypaw as Firepaw trotted up.

“She’s fine. She said wild garlic would be good for my rat bites. I was on my way to find some, but Darkstripe ordered me to stay in camp,” Firepaw told him.

“Wild garlic?” mewed Graypaw. “I wouldn’t mind trying that. My leg still stings.”

“I could sneak out and get some,” Firepaw offered. He had resented Darkstripe’s offhand treatment and welcomed the chance to outwit him. “No one would notice if I slipped out of this hole here. It’d only take a couple of rabbit hops.”