Yellowfang’s Secret

“You’re too young to leave the camp, let alone start training,” Yellowfang growled as she went to look for some daisy leaves to treat the sprain.

“Am not!” Brownkit squeaked. “I’m nearly three moons old, like Mosspaw when he became Brokenstar’s apprentice. You should see him fighting now! He’s awesome!”

“I’m sure he is, but no more training for you!” Yellowfang warned him.

“You’re not the leader of the Clan!” Brownkit retorted. “Brokenstar is! And if he says I can train, then I will!”

Yellowfang didn’t speak, just prepared the poultice for Brownkit, plastering it on securely with cobweb. “Now go rest in the nursery,” she told him, “and see me again tomorrow.”

As the kit left he passed Runningnose in the entrance to the den. “Fernshade and Badgerkit are doing well,” he told Yellowfang. “She seems to have plenty of milk, thank StarClan!”

Yellowfang acknowledged his news with a nod. “I’m going to speak to Brokenstar,” she meowed. “Apparently he took the kits training this morning.”

Runningnose blinked. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” he pointed out. “It’s good for them to get some exercise away from the nursery, especially when Fernshade needs to rest.”

“Not if they get injured!” Yellowfang retorted. She headed into the clearing, aiming for the leader’s den among the oak roots, but before she reached it Brokenstar appeared and leaped up onto the Clanrock, yowling a summons.

ShadowClan warriors began pushing their way out of their den to gather around the rock. Blackfoot sat at the base, his ears pricked. Flintfang and Tangleburr came to join him. Glancing around at her Clanmates, Yellowfang thought how hungry and skinny they all looked, and nearly every warrior bore a new scar from one border skirmish or another.

Rowanberry and Nutwhisker bounded over to Yellowfang. “What’s this all about?” Nutwhisker mewed.

Yellowfang shrugged. “I have no idea.”

The elders emerged at the entrance to their den, and all the kits—even Brownkit, hobbling bravely on three paws—scrambled out of the nursery and clustered together at the front of the crowd. Their whiskers quivered with anticipation; Yellowfang guessed that they were all hoping to be made apprentices.

“Where is Fernshade?” Brokenstar demanded.

Runningnose, who was sitting beside Yellowfang, rose to his paws and dipped his head politely to his Clan leader. “She’s asleep, Brokenstar,” he meowed. “We shouldn’t wake her.”

Brokenstar hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “Cats of ShadowClan,” he began. “You have fought well in our recent battles. Our Clan has scored victories in ThunderClan and WindClan, and even defeated some kittypets foolish enough to stray into the forest from Twolegplace. But I think the Clan can still be stronger,” he went on, his eyes gleaming.

Blackfoot sprang up from his place at the foot of the Clanrock. “What about battle training every day?” he suggested. “That would really sharpen our skills.”

And how do you suppose we’re going to fill our bellies, mouse-brain?

Yellowfang thought.

“We could patrol at sunhigh as well as dawn and evening,” Russetfur suggested. “Let ThunderClan and WindClan know that we’re always watching.”

“We could even put a permanent patrol across the Thunderpath,” Deerfoot added.

Yellowfang exchanged a glance with Runningnose, and saw her own doubts reflected in his eyes. We don’t have enough time or cats to do all this!

Brokenstar looked at all the cats gathered around the Clanrock, and his gaze rested longest on the elders. “Even our elders have a role to play,” Brokenstar announced, his gaze still firmly fixed on the old cats, who were beginning to look uneasy.

Great StarClan! Yellowfang thought. He’s not going to ask them to train young cats, is he? Or hunt? That’s not fair!

Brokenstar drew one paw over the rock. “I know they would do anything to make us stronger and more powerful. And with that in mind, I have decided that they can best help their Clan by leaving the camp.”

A stunned silence followed. Then yowls of protest rose up from all over the clearing. “You can’t do that!” Rowanberry called out. “It’s against the warrior code!”

“Yes, they’ve earned their place with us,” Wolfstep declared.

For a moment, Yellowfang refused to believe what she was hearing. The elders were just as shocked, turning to one another with looks of indignation and growing fear.

“The elders are no use for fighting or hunting or having kits,” Brokenstar explained, dismissing the cats’ protests with a wave of his tail. “So they can’t take up precious room or prey. They must go.”

To Yellowfang’s horror, she saw that some of the warriors were beginning to convince themselves that Brokenstar was right.

“They might be more comfortable away from the camp,” Deerfoot commented.