Yellowfang’s Secret

She was worried that the warrior was too deeply asleep to hear her, but to her relief, Raggedpelt stirred and raised his head, looking around as if he thought the voice had come from inside the den.

“Here—outside!” Yellowpaw hissed. “It’s me, Yellowpaw.”

Raggedpelt peered at her through the branches. “What do you want?”

“Come here. I have to tell you something.”

The tabby tom hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Wait.”

Yellowpaw flexed her claws until she saw Raggedpelt emerging from the den. He padded up to her, yawning and bleary-eyed.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“I can’t tell you here,” Yellowpaw replied. “We have to go outside the camp.”

Raggedpelt blinked in surprise, then seemed to decide that it wasn’t worth arguing.

“We can’t let Nettlespot see us,” Yellowpaw went on. “Follow me. We’ll use the dirtplace tunnel.”

She padded to the narrow gap behind the warriors’ den and breathed a sigh of relief once they were well away from the camp. The air was still, and Yellowpaw sniffed deeply at the fresh scents of growing things. Not far away she could hear the gentle gurgling of a stream, and closer still the scuffling of small prey in the undergrowth, but this was no time for hunting.

“What’s going on?” Raggedpelt growled, pacing alongside her. “Why have you brought me out here?”

Yellowpaw turned to him triumphantly. “We’re going to find your father.”

Raggedpelt halted. For a moment his eyes blazed with anger. “That’s a terrible idea!”

“Why?” Yellowpaw challenged him. “You want to know who he is, and Featherstorm won’t tell you, so all you can do is find out for yourself.”

Raggedpelt shook his head. “We’d have to search the whole of Twolegplace,” he objected. “We’d have to check out all the rogues and loners… and kittypets,” he admitted reluctantly. “And we still wouldn’t be certain of finding him.”

“I know we can’t be certain,” Yellowpaw mewed. “But it’s worth a try, isn’t it? Or have you forgotten how much you need to know the truth?”

Raggedpelt sighed. “Okay, let’s do it. I can see what you’re thinking, Yellowpaw,” he added. “You’ll go to Twolegplace by yourself if I don’t come with you, and StarClan knows what sort of trouble you’ll get into.”

Yellowpaw bounced on her paws with satisfaction. She set off again toward the sycamore, picking up the pace until she was pelting through the forest with the grass brushing her belly fur, the moonwashed undergrowth whirling past her. Raggedpelt raced along at her shoulder.

At last Yellowpaw halted, panting, under the bare branches of the sycamore. The walls of the Twolegplace reared up in front of her. As she gazed over the border a cloud drifted across the moon, leaving the forest around her so dark that she could barely see her own paws. The cold yellow lights of the Twolegplace seemed harsher by contrast, glaring down from thin trees made of some weird Twoleg stuff.

“What now?” Raggedpelt prompted.

“We go into Twolegplace and start asking questions, I guess,” Yellowpaw meowed, with a stab of uncertainty. “Let’s say one of our warriors—Amberleaf, maybe—has gone missing. We could ask the Twolegplace cats if they’ve seen her.”

“Sounds mouse-brained to me,” Raggedpelt argued. “Why would one of our Clanmates go missing in Twolegplace?”

Yellowpaw gave an exasperated sigh. “Stop being so logical! The Twolegplace cats won’t know that, will they? And we have to start somewhere.”

Raggedpelt nodded slowly; Yellowpaw thought maybe he was starting to get excited. “Let’s go.”

Side by side they left the pine trees behind and scrambled up a Twoleg fence. Balancing on the top, Yellowpaw looked down on a small square of grass with strong-smelling plants growing around the edges. Yellow light shone from the Twoleg den beyond. Everything was quiet.

But as soon as Yellowpaw and Raggedpelt dropped down onto the grass a flurry of barking split the silence. A door opened in the den and a small white dog shot out, still barking. A Twoleg appeared behind it, yowling at the dog as it raced toward the two cats. As if they shared the same thought, Raggedpelt and Yellowpaw split up, pelting in opposite directions. The dog skidded to a halt, not knowing which cat to chase first. By the time it plunged after Raggedpelt, the tabby tom had already reached the fence that separated this den from the next. He stood poised with his claws digging into the top of the fence, while the dog tried to jump up at him, whining in frustration.

Seeing that her Clanmate was safe, Yellowpaw bounded in a wide circle around the outside of the grass plot and scrambled up onto the fence a couple of fox-lengths farther along. Raggedpelt spotted her and gave her a nod.

“Shove off, flea-pelt,” he spat at the dog, then dropped down onto the next square of grass.

Yellowpaw joined him, hearing more yowling from the Twoleg as she leaped, and the two cats stopped, panting.

“What are you doing here, strangers?”