Path Of A Warrior

Near them, Spottedpaw was quivering with excitement. She wouldn’t get her own name for a while—she had a lot to learn before she would be ready to become a full medicine cat—but she seemed as proud and happy for her littermates as if everyone were calling her new name, too.

At the back of the crowd of cats, Redtail caught sight of Tigerclaw. The big cat wasn’t cheering or purring like the rest, just watching, his expression unreadable.

Does he think I’m not ready to be a warrior? Redtail thought anxiously. He hadn’t forgotten how Tigerclaw had saved him from the hawk moons before, or that he himself had ruined the battle with RiverClan.

No cat in ThunderClan had seemed to hold it against him: Sunstar hadn’t even scolded him, just praised Tigerclaw for driving off the hawk. But Redtail blamed himself, and he knew that Tigerclaw remembered, too.

“I can’t believe we’re finally warriors!” Willowpelt said excitedly. “I’ve been waiting for this moment forever!” Beside her, their mother, Swiftbreeze, nuzzled her cheek.

“My kits are so grown-up,” she mewed.

Redtail pulled his gaze away from Tigerclaw’s and looked at his sister affectionately. “Yeah. You’re going to be a terrific warrior,” he said, and Swiftbreeze purred in agreement.

Willowpelt puffed out her chest a little, her head high. “Do you think so? I know you will, too,” she added.

I hope so. Redtail’s eyes caught Tigerclaw’s again. After Redtail had made that terrible mistake back in leaf-fall, he had tried hard to make up for it. He’d worked through leaf-bare without a word of complaint, bringing back prey even when the snows had reached above shoulder height and the forest seemed empty of life.

It had been a long, hard leaf-bare. Bluefur and Thrushpelt’s young kits had been killed by a fox, to the whole Clan’s horror, and Tawnyspots, the faithful and well-liked deputy, had died a slow, painful death from the illness he had suffered for so long. Bluefur was deputy now, more solemn and efficient than ever. Since she’d lost her kits, she seemed to think of nothing but the good of ThunderClan.

Now that newleaf was finally arriving, pale sunshine lingered longer every day, and tiny plants sprouted in the damp soil of the forest. It had been a long time since Redtail had cost the Clan that battle. Surely Tigerclaw didn’t think of him as that timid ’paw anymore?

Determined to find out what was behind the other warrior’s thoughtful gaze, Redtail stiffened his shoulders and headed toward him. I’m one of the best hunters in ThunderClan already, he thought. If Tigerclaw challenged him, he would tell that to the older warrior. Every cat makes mistakes sometime. I can’t feel bad about it forever.

When he reached Tigerclaw, he wasn’t sure what to say. I’m not an apprentice anymore seemed too obvious.

“Redtail,” Tigerclaw purred in greeting, “I was going to go hunting. I could use a strong warrior to go with me. Can you think of one?”

Does he mean … ? A jolt of happiness shot through Redtail. He’d been worrying for nothing. Tigerclaw had called him a strong warrior. “I’d love to!” he meowed cheerfully.

He glanced quickly back at Sparrowpelt, who was purring with laughter as he tumbled Runningkit over with one paw. Then he realized: He didn’t have to ask his mentor for permission to leave camp anymore. He didn’t have to ask any cat. He was a warrior. Holding his head high, he followed Tigerclaw through the gorse tunnel out of camp.

They headed toward the border with Fourtrees, passing the sandy hollow where Redtail had spent so much time learning battle moves from Sparrowpelt and practicing with the other apprentices. Already that seemed like a long time ago.

As they walked beneath the trees, Redtail scented the air, his ears pricked for any sounds. The newleaf forest was rich with the scents of prey and of moist soil and fresh growing plants, so different from the cold, lifeless scents of leaf-bare.

A faint rustling came from the bracken beneath an alder tree, and Redtail tensed, dropping into a hunting crouch.

He scented the air, his mouth watering. A vole. He could hear the little distinct rustles of it moving through the bracken. He crept closer, moving silently, his tail held low and stiff. He could feel Tigerclaw watching him.

The soft sounds of movement in the bracken ceased as the little animal froze: The vole must have sensed them at last. But Redtail could still hear the pounding of its tiny heart, knew exactly where it was hiding. Breaking into a run, he crashed through the bracken and pounced before the prey could try to escape. He bit down on the back of the vole’s neck, and the warm body stilled beneath his paws.

“Nicely done,” Tigerclaw meowed approvingly as Redtail backed out of the bracken, the vole dangling from his jaws.