The Apprentice's Quest

Bramblestar dipped his head in agreement. “I know you both have so much to give your Clan.” He stepped back as he finished speaking, and waved his tail to draw Molewhisker and Cherryfall closer. “Listen to your mentors,” he told the two new apprentices. “I’m looking forward to hearing good things about your progress.”

With an affectionate nuzzle he turned away and headed toward his den. Squirrelflight too gave her kits a quick cuddle, and then she followed him. Alderpaw and Sparkpaw were left alone with Molewhisker and Cherryfall.

Molewhisker faced Alderpaw, blinking solemnly. “It’s a big responsibility, being an apprentice,” he meowed. “You must pay close attention to everything you’re taught, because one day your Clan may depend on your fighting or hunting skills.”

Alderpaw nodded solemnly.

“You’ll have to work hard to prove you have what it takes to be a warrior,” Molewhisker went on.

His head held high, Alderpaw tried to look worthy, but was afraid he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Hearing Cherryfall talking to Sparkpaw just behind him didn’t help at all.

“…and we’ll have such fun exploring the territory!” the ginger she-cat mewed enthusiastically. “And now you’ll get to go to Gatherings.”

Alderpaw couldn’t help wishing that his own mentor were a little more enthusiastic, like his littermate’s.

“Can we start learning to hunt now?” Sparkpaw asked eagerly.

It was Molewhisker who replied. “Not right now. In addition to learning how to be warriors, apprentices have special duties for the well-being of the whole Clan.”

“What do we have to do?” Alderpaw asked, hoping to impress on his mentor that he was ready for anything.

There was a guilty look on Cherryfall’s face as she meowed, “Today you’re going to make the elders more comfortable by getting rid of their ticks.”

Molewhisker waved his tail in the direction of the medicine cats’ den. “Go and ask Leafpool or Jayfeather for some mouse bile. They’ll tell you how to use it.”

“Mouse bile!” Sparkpaw wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Yuck!”

Alderpaw’s heart sank further. If this is being an apprentice, I’m not sure I’m going to like it.

Sunlight shone into the den beneath the hazel bushes where the elders lived. Alderpaw wished that he could curl up in the warmth and take a nap. Instead he combed his claws painstakingly through Graystripe’s long pelt, searching for ticks. Sparkpaw was doing the same for Purdy, while Sandstorm and Millie looked on, patiently waiting their turn.

“Wow, there’s a massive tick here!” Sparkpaw exclaimed. “Hold still, Purdy, and I’ll get it off.”

With clenched teeth she picked up the twig Jayfeather had given her, which had a ball of moss soaked in mouse bile stuck on one end, and awkwardly maneuvered it until she could dab the moss onto Purdy’s tick.

The old tabby shook his pelt and sighed with relief as the tick fell off. “That’s much better, young ’un,” he purred.

“But this stuff smells horrible!” Sparkpaw mumbled around the twig. “I don’t know how you elders can stand it.” Suppressing a sigh, she began parting Purdy’s clumped, untidy fur in search of more ticks.

“Now you listen to me, youngster,” Purdy meowed. “There’s not a cat in ThunderClan who wasn’t an apprentice once, takin’ off ticks, just like you.”

“Even Bramblestar?” Alderpaw asked, pausing with one paw sunk deep in Graystripe’s pelt.

“Even Firestar,” Graystripe responded. “He and I were apprentices together, and I’ve lost count of the number of ticks we pulled. Hey!” he added, giving Alderpaw a prod. “Watch what you’re doing. Your claws are digging in my shoulder!”

“Sorry!” Alderpaw replied.

In spite of being scolded, he felt quite content. Cleaning off ticks was a messy job, but there were worse things than sitting in a shaft of sunlight and listening to the elders. He looked up briefly to see Sandstorm’s green gaze resting lovingly on him and his sister as she settled herself more comfortably in the bracken of her nest.

“I remember when your mother was first made an apprentice,” she mewed. “Dustpelt was her mentor. You never knew him—he died in the Great Storm—but he was one of our best warriors, and he didn’t put up with any nonsense. Even so, Squirrelflight was a match for him!”

“What did she do?” Alderpaw asked, intrigued to think of his serious, businesslike mother as a difficult young apprentice. “Go on, tell us!”

Sandstorm sighed. “What didn’t she do? Slipping out of camp to hunt on her own… getting stuck in bushes, falling into streams… I remember Dustpelt saying to me once, ‘If that kit of yours doesn’t shape up, I’m going to claw her pelt off and hang it on a bush to frighten the foxes!’”

Sparkpaw stared at Sandstorm with her mouth gaping. “He wouldn’t have!”

“No, of course not,” Sandstorm responded, her green eyes alight with amusement, “but Dustpelt had to be tough with her. He saw how much she had to offer her Clan, but he knew she wouldn’t live up to her potential unless she learned discipline.”