The Apprentice's Quest

Chapter 4

“Alderpaw, will you concentrate!”

Molewhisker gave an irritable lash of his tail.

“Any kit could learn this move.”

The two apprentices were battle training with their mentors in a clearing near the camp.

Molewhisker was teaching them to rear up on their hind paws so they could attack their opponent from above. Sparkpaw had gotten the idea right away, and Alderpaw’s ears were smarting from the blows she had landed on him.

But somehow every time he tried it, he would overbalance, or Sparkpaw would slip aside before his blows could connect.

Alderpaw knew exactly why he couldn’t give all his attention to training. He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling Leafpool’s gaze had given him at the Gathering the night before.

Why was she always staring at him? Until recently, neither of the medicine cats had paid any attention to him, apart from the time he had gotten a thorn in his paw when he was a kit.

Now he felt as if they were aware of him all the time. I don’t like it, he told himself.

“That’s enough battle training for today,” Molewhisker meowed with a sigh. “Cherryfall, why don’t you and Sparkpaw collect your prey from earlier? Alderpaw, you and I will try hunting in another part of the forest.”

“Okay,” Cherryfall agreed. “We might see what else we can catch on the way back. Good luck, Alderpaw.”

She and Sparkpaw headed back toward the camp. Sparkpaw had a bounce in her step; in the earlier hunting session she had caught a fat thrush and a squirrel, and Cherryfall couldn’t praise her highly enough.

“Come on, Alderpaw.” Molewhisker turned to pad deeper into the forest. “Maybe you’ll hunt better without your littermate close by.”

Fat chance, Alderpaw thought gloomily as he followed his mentor. I haven’t caught anything yet. Not just today, but ever.

Sparkpaw catches stuff all the time.

Once again his thoughts drifted back to Leafpool’s steady gaze on him. Medicine cats know things, he reflected. Maybe she knows that there’s something wrong with me, and I’ll never be a good warrior.

He was worrying so much that he didn’t realize Molewhisker had halted and was speaking to him. All he heard was the final words: “…try doing it that way.”

“Sorry,” he mewed. “Would you mind saying that again?”

Molewhisker flexed his claws, and his voice was sharp as he replied. “Alderpaw, you need to pay attention. A cat who can’t hunt is no good to his Clan.”

Alderpaw flinched at the harsh tone.

Molewhisker gazed at him and sighed, shaking his head slightly. He was obviously making a massive effort to regain his patience.

“I want you to focus very intensely on one small area at a time while you’re looking for prey,” he meowed. “Don’t open your ears and nose to all the territory around you.”

“Okay, I’ll try,” Alderpaw responded.

After glancing around, he picked out the undergrowth at the foot of an oak tree and concentrated all his senses on it. Eventually he heard something scratching among the tree roots; tasting the air, he recognized the scent of mouse.

Alderpaw dropped into the hunter’s crouch and crept forward. He remembered everything Molewhisker had taught him: to keep low, his belly fur brushing the ground, and to keep his tail curled against his side.

He set down his paws as lightly as he could, and as he drew closer to the tree, his whole pelt tingled with the thought of victory. This time I’m going to do it… I’m sure of it!

Now he could see the small, gray body of the mouse crouched behind a tuft of long grass.

His jaws were already watering at the anticipated taste of prey. But just as he was readying himself to pounce, a twig cracked underneath his forepaw. With a flicker, the mouse was gone.

Alderpaw halted, letting out a growl of frustration. He didn’t dare look at Molewhisker until his mentor stood right over him.

Molewhisker’s tail-tip was twitching in agitation. “Maybe that’s enough for today,” he meowed, his voice tightly controlled.

He was silent as he led the way back to camp, and Alderpaw followed in a fog of despair. It’s all going wrong! Whoever heard of a warrior who can’t fight and can’t hunt?

As soon as they emerged from the thorn tunnel into the camp, Bramblestar bounded over to them. “Molewhisker, I need a word with you,” he meowed. “Come up to my den.”

“Okay, Bramblestar.” Molewhisker glanced back as he followed his leader toward the tumbled rocks. “Alderpaw, you can get something to eat.”

Alderpaw trudged over to the fresh-kill pile.

Sparkpaw was already there, tucking into the thrush she had caught. “How did it go?” she asked.

“Awful,” Alderpaw replied. “I missed another really easy catch.”