The Raging Storm

Twigbranch swallowed back frustration. “Because we’re warriors!” Flypaw was missing the point again. Twigbranch could hear the chaffinch pecking at the leaves. Her paws itched impatiently. She jerked her nose toward the rise. Flypaw lifted her head above the log to follow her gaze as she went on. “When you stalk a bird, you need to be patient. You must wait until it’s distracted and only pounce when you’re sure you’re—”

Flypaw didn’t wait to hear the rest. With a mrrow of excitement, she scrambled over the log and hurled herself at the chaffinch. Twigbranch stared after her as the chaffinch exploded upward in a flurry of feathers. Flypaw twisted in the air, reaching for the escaping bird, and fell back to earth with a thump.

“What did I tell you?” Anger scorched beneath Twigbranch’s pelt as she leaped the log and marched to where Flypaw was shaking out her ruffled pelt.

Flypaw blinked at her. “You said I had to be fast.”

“I said you had to be patient!” Why did Flypaw always grasp the wrong end of the worm?

“But you said I had to be fast too.” She held up a paw where feathers snagged between her claws. “Look. I nearly got it.”

“Nearly doesn’t feed the Clan! If you’d waited until the chaffinch was focused more on the bugs and less on the forest, you’d have caught it.” Twigbranch’s pelt rippled along her spine. She was following her instinct and being tough on Flypaw, but the young tabby was still messing up. Perhaps it’s me. Doubt pricked in Twigbranch’s belly. I did tell her to be quick. She growled crossly to herself. Why do I need to be so precise all the time? Flypaw was staring at her like a crestfallen kit. Twigbranch’s annoyance hardened. “Why can’t you understand what’s important and what’s not important? Perhaps if you paid more attention, you wouldn’t make so many mistakes.”

“I like to follow my instinct,” Flypaw mewed dejectedly.

“Instinct is not enough!” Twigbranch glared at her. “If it were, kittypets and loners would rule the forest. You need skills that have been learned and honed by cats for generations. Instinct is where you begin. Training is what will make you a warrior.”

“But there’s so much to learn.” Flypaw’s tail drooped.

“You only have to learn it once!” Was that too much to ask? “These moons of training will teach you everything you need to know to be a warrior. Once you’ve learned what you need to, then you can fill your time however you like. But for now, I expect you to put in some effort. I’m not going to be the first mentor in moons to have her apprentice fail their assessment!”

Flypaw’s eyes rounded. “Do you think I’ll fail?”

“You will if you carry on like this!” Exasperated, Twigbranch turned her tail on her apprentice and headed back to camp.

“Aren’t we going to stalk another bird?” Flypaw called after her.

“No.” Twigbranch couldn’t bear to watch Flypaw fail again today. “We’re going home. You can spend the rest of the afternoon practicing your hunting moves in the clearing. You can think about what sort of warrior you want to become. It might make you more attentive tomorrow.”

Twigbranch stalked between the trees, her belly tight with rage. She heard Flypaw trailing after her, keeping a few paw steps behind. Twigbranch didn’t look back. She could feel Flypaw’s hurt in the silence that sat between them. Guilt began to worm beneath her pelt as her anger faded. Flypaw wasn’t a bad cat. She just seemed to find it hard to focus on what was important. Perhaps I should be more patient. Perhaps toughness isn’t enough. Her paws felt heavy with defeat as she reached camp and ducked through the entrance.

Flypaw slid past her, catching her eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch the chaffinch,” she mumbled. “I’ll try harder tomorrow.” She hurried away before Twigbranch could respond and scurried across the clearing to where her mother, Cinderheart, was patching the elders’ den. Cinderheart dropped the honeysuckle vine she’d been weaving into the den wall and blinked in surprise as Flypaw pressed against her. Twigbranch’s ears grew hot as Cinderheart looked across the clearing and caught her eye anxiously before wrapping her tail protectively over Flypaw’s spine.

Twigbranch turned away. It must feel good to have a mother to run to for comfort. She pressed back bitterness. Lilyheart had fostered Twigbranch when she’d first been brought to ThunderClan as a kit. Lilyheart had been kind and gentle, but Twigbranch had always been aware that she wasn’t one of Lilyheart’s true kits. What would her life have been like if Pebbleshine had lived? With a real mother to raise her, she might have known where she belonged instead of switching between SkyClan and ThunderClan in search of a home that felt right. And with the tough but gentle love of her own mother, she might have learned how to be a better mentor.