“Bad luck!” Fish Leap meowed cheerfully behind him. Jaypaw opened his eyes and turned to see that the other cat was dragging a squirrel between his front paws. Dawn River stood behind him, a mouse clamped in her jaws.
“Haven’t you caught anything yet?” Fish Leap teased. “I thought sharpclaws were better than that.”
“I… er… I was looking for the horsetail that Running Horse mentioned,” Jaypaw mewed, improvising wildly. “He says it’s good for sore pads.”
Dawn River nodded. “It must be hard for you to hunt when your pads aren’t healed yet.”
“All the same, you’d better catch something,” Fish Leap told him. “Unless you want to go hungry.”
Jaypaw wasn’t surprised. He had already guessed that these cats had to hunt for themselves, even before they were sharpclaws; they didn’t have patrols, and he hadn’t seen any sign of a fresh-kill pile. “Should we catch something for the elders?” he suggested.
Fish Leap shrugged. “If we find something extra.”
Jaypaw felt a pang of homesickness for ThunderClan, where every cat was fed, even those who didn’t have the time or skill to hunt for themselves.
“I’m going to try down by the stream,” Dawn River declared.
“I could just eat a yummy vole.”
“I’ll see you later,” Fish Leap meowed. “Good hunting!”
He bounded off in the direction of the ShadowClan border.
Keeping his eyes open in an attempt to get used to seeing, he headed toward the stone hollow. Fear drew icy claws down his spine.
Before many heartbeats had passed, the harsh tang of a Thunderpath crept into Jaypaw’s nostrils. He paused, bewildered.
He pressed himself closer to the ground, creeping forward and taking advantage of what little cover there was. Eventually he came out beside the Thunderpath, its hard black surface snaking through the trees. Pricking his ears, he listened for the sound of monsters, but nothing disturbed the gentle rustling of the breeze among the branches.
Glancing up and down, Jaypaw spotted the walls of a
Twoleg nest among the trees; more cautiously than ever he crept toward it, alert for the scent and sound of Twolegs or dogs. But everything was silent. The door of the nest was tight shut, and the shiny stuff in the windows was broken and scattered.
Jaypaw blinked in sudden understanding.
He trotted along beside the Thunderpath, still wary of monsters, though none of the smelly, roaring creatures appeared. Just as he knew it would, it led him to the entrance to the hollow.
Jaypaw stopped and looked around. Walls of stone stretched up around him, low near the entrance and rising to a height of many fox-lengths opposite him. There was a trace of Twoleg scent, but it was faint and stale. His gaze traveled around the hollow as he tried to imagine where the dens would be. It was hard to picture them because there was no undergrowth yet, no brambles, bracken, or hazel to soften the harsh lines of the walls. Only a few stems of willowherb had pushed their way through the earth, their feathery tops stirred by the breeze.
Jaypaw thought he recognized the Highledge with the cave behind it where Firestar had his den, but there was no sign of the tumbled rocks that made a path up to it.
“Jay’s Wing!”
Jaypaw jumped, startled, and whirled around to see the white she-cat, Half Moon, staring at him with scared green eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she gasped. “The badgers will get you. Quick!”
She bounded away through the trees and up the side of the hollow, heading for the entrance to the underground tunnels.