Yellowfang’s Secret

Yellowpaw joined in somewhat reluctantly. I still feel bruised all over from being thrown out of the way as if I was a troublesome kit. She noticed Scorchpaw looking furious that he hadn’t been made a warrior along with his brother, and felt a stab of sympathy. It must be tough, falling behind your littermate.

As the yowls died away, Yellowpaw was surprised to see Raggedpelt padding across the clearing toward her. He halted in front of her and dipped his head. “Yellowpaw, I’m sorry I pushed you aside in the battle,” he mewed. “It’s not that I think you can’t fight, but that WindClan cat was too strong for you.”

Yellowpaw opened her jaws for a stinging retort, then stopped herself. Remembering the huge WindClan tom, she had to admit he was right. I’d be licking my wounds in Sagewhisker’s den right now, if it wasn’t for Raggedpelt. “It’s okay,” she muttered.

Raggedpelt let out a brief purr. “I’m looking forward to joining you on patrols when you’re a warrior,” he told her, then dipped his head again and padded off to join the other warriors.

Rowanpaw leaned closer to Yellowpaw, a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Raggedpelt likes you,” she teased.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Yellowpaw retorted. “He’s just a Clanmate, that’s all.”

But as she watched Raggedpelt join Brackenfoot and Featherstorm outside the warriors’ den, Yellowpaw felt a warm glow spreading through her from ears to tail-tip.

Raggedpelt came looking for me. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m a troublesome kit anymore!

Chapter 7

A full moon floated in the sky, shedding silver light over the four great oaks of Fourtrees. With her Clanmates all around her, Yellowpaw followed Cedarstar as he wound around clumps of fern toward the bottom of the hollow. The ShadowClan cats were the last to arrive, and the slopes were already crowded with the cats of the other three Clans.

It was only Yellowpaw’s second Gathering, and she was still daunted by the number of eyes gleaming from the shadows, and the unfamiliar scents. The yowls of the assembled warriors echoed around the hollow, with the four trees looming above them all.

“You’ll be fine,” Brightflower murmured, slipping to her side as they reached the base of the slope.

“Of course you will,” Brackenfoot agreed. “I used to get nervous when I first went to Gatherings. Look, sit here.” He waved his tail to a spot sheltered by overarching fronds of bracken. “You’ll get a good view, but you won’t be seen easily, and the ferns will keep other cats from crowding you too much.”

Yellowpaw touched her father’s shoulder with her nose, grateful for his understanding, then settled down in the spot he had pointed out. She watched as Archeye, Featherstorm, and Toadskip padded past her, and the rest of her Clan found spaces for themselves.

“Who are those cats?” she asked Brackenfoot, angling her ears toward two sleek, well-fed warriors. “I don’t remember seeing them last time. They look… different somehow.”

“That’s Oakheart and Timberfur from RiverClan,” her father replied. “We don’t see much of them because we don’t have a border with them.”

“The reason they look plump and shiny is because they eat fish from the river,” Brightflower added. “But they’re just warriors like the rest of us.”

Yellowpaw wrinkled her nose. She had caught a minnow once, in one of the streams that ran through ShadowClan territory, and she hadn’t much liked it. I’m glad I’m not a RiverClan cat.

She couldn’t ask any more questions because Cedarstar leaped onto the Great Rock to join the other three leaders. Yellowpaw’s nervousness ebbed, and she felt a prickle of curiosity. What news will the other leaders tell us tonight?

Then she suppressed a sigh as Foxpaw bounced into sight, pushing her way through the undergrowth to Raggedpelt’s side.

“Raggedpelt!” she panted. “There are some RiverClan apprentices over here, and I’ve been telling them how you fought off the WindClan warriors. Come and meet them.”

Raggedpelt shook his head.

“Come on!” Foxpaw nudged him impatiently. “They want to see your fighting moves.”

Yellowpaw spotted a glint of anger in Raggedpelt’s eyes. “No,” he meowed. “The Gathering is a time of peace. There’s no fighting allowed—and you shouldn’t be stirring up trouble by talking about battles between the Clans.”

Foxpaw glared at him. “You think you know everything, just because you’re a warrior now!” Spinning around, she stormed off.

Raggedpelt shrugged and started looking for a place to sit. Still feeling slightly in awe of his new warrior status, Yellowpaw stood up and went over to him.

“Foxpaw is a stupid furball,” she muttered. “You were right not to—”