The Raging Storm

“Hurry up!” Narrowing her eyes against the rain, Twigbranch stopped at the top of the rise and waited for Flypaw to catch up. She wanted to take her apprentice hunting near the farthest ThunderClan border. Finleap and Snappaw were at the bottom of the rise. They’d decided to stay at the training ground and practice battle moves.

“Is Finleap all right?” Flypaw glanced back at the brown tom as she padded toward Twigbranch.

“I guess he misses his kin.” She knew it was more than that, but she didn’t want to talk about Finleap. Especially not with her apprentice. Twigbranch began to follow the trail deeper into ThunderClan territory.

Flypaw bounded after her. “It’s like he’s nervous when he’s around you. Have you had an argument?”

“No.” Twigbranch ducked beneath a branch. There was fresh mouse dung on the other side. Maybe the scent would distract Flypaw from questions.

In the days since SkyClan had left, Finleap had seemed uneasy. They’d talked after the Gathering and he’d decided to stay in ThunderClan. Twigbranch had been relieved. Of course Finleap was upset at losing his kin, and at first she’d tried to be supportive, but it was like he was clinging to the loss. He’d started to act as though he’d made the wrong choice. He’d begun to eat alone and go to his nest early instead of sharing tongues with the Clan. He was acting like an outsider. Frustration itched beneath Twigbranch’s pelt, growing stronger each day. How could Finleap ever feel like part of ThunderClan if he didn’t try to fit in? At least he’d stopped talking about having kits. Had he really accepted that they wouldn’t have kits until they were both ready? Twigbranch wasn’t sure the matter was settled. Part of her wondered if Finleap wished he’d left with SkyClan after all.

Flypaw stopped to sniff the mouse dung. “Shall we hunt here?” she mewed.

“I want to show you somewhere new.” Twigbranch felt a flicker of satisfaction as Flypaw’s eyes flashed excitedly. She’d learned that her apprentice worked better when they were in an unusual part of the forest. Fresh stimulation seemed to keep her focused, and so, whenever she could, Twigbranch challenged Flypaw with tricky battle moves or prey that was hard to catch.

She veered away from the SkyClan border. The rain had almost washed the scent line clean, and the fading scent renewed her longing for Hawkwing and Violetshine. She pushed them from her mind and broke into a run. “Come on,” she called to Flypaw. “I want you to see the very edge of Clan territory. It’s a long way.” She fluffed her fur and followed the winding trail. Her paws slithered on the wet ground as she zigzagged between trees and ducked through gaps in brambles.

By the time they neared the border, Twigbranch was out of breath.

Flypaw raced past her. “Is this the right way?” She disappeared over a rise.

“Slow down!” The path was slippery where the trail had turned to mud. She followed Flypaw over the rise and blinked through the rain at the forest beyond. A damp haze hid the border. Beyond it, the land belonged to loners and Twolegs. Warriors didn’t often come this far, and there would be plenty of prey here.

Flypaw was already sniffing around the roots of a beech. Her wet pelt was spiked with excitement as she circled the trunk. “I smell mouse.” She backed away, crouching.

Twigbranch was impressed. Flypaw had found the scent even through the rain. And she was keeping her distance from her quarry. Twigbranch crouched beside her and followed the young cat’s gaze to the shadow between the roots.

“It’s a hole,” Flypaw whispered. “Should we wait until a mouse comes out or try to dig down?”

“What do you think?” She was testing Flypaw.

Flypaw frowned thoughtfully. “It’s nearly sunhigh. Mice sleep through sunhigh.” Her ears pricked excitedly. “The mouse will be sleepy. We should dig. Even if it tries to run, it will be slow.”

“Let’s try it.” Twigbranch knew that Flypaw would learn more if she experimented for herself. She let the striped tabby start to scrape at the soil in front of the hole, then hopped onto the root beside her and helped. The rain had made the earth soft, and it was easy to dig. Mud squished between Twigbranch’s claws as she hauled out dirt.

“I can smell it!” Flypaw started scrabbling more eagerly at the hole. Suddenly her paw broke through into a tiny cave hollowed out beneath the root. A mouse darted out, slipping past her paw. Flypaw hesitated, then lifted herself onto her haunches and twisted. In a single fluid movement she threw herself at the mouse, catching it nimbly between her forepaws. She tugged it toward her and killed it with a single bite.

Twigbranch shook the mud from her paws. “Great catch.” Her chest swelled with pride.

Flypaw blinked at her happily. “Can we eat it now?”

Twigbranch shook her head. “Save it for the fresh-kill pile.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“So’s your Cla—” Twigbranch broke off. A familiar scent was drifting from the forest beyond the border.