Yellowfang’s Secret

The low growl came out of the darkness. Yellowpaw and Raggedpelt spun around, looking for the cat who had spoken. A moment later a huge ginger tom paced forward into the light from the den. He was wearing a collar, but his muscles rippled as he walked, and a torn ear showed that he had experienced at least one fight. There was a hostile gleam in his eyes.

Yellowpaw gulped. That’s a kittypet?

Two more cats appeared from the darkness, flanking the ginger tom. One of them was what Yellowpaw had always pictured when she thought of kittypets: a fluffy white she-cat wearing a collar with a bell on it. The other was smaller and scrawny, with a badly groomed russet pelt. The softness of her features showed that she was barely out of kithood.

“You come from the forest, don’t you?” the fluffy cat mewed. Her tone was sharp. “You’re not welcome here.”

Yellowpaw forgot all her plans to ask clever questions. “We’re looking for a tom who might have known a forest cat called Featherstorm,” she blurted out.

The scrawny russet she-cat let out a hiss. “You have no right to ask us about anything!”

“Hang on a moment, Red.” The big ginger tom narrowed his eyes. “Maybe we should let them ask their questions.” His glittering gaze passed from Yellowpaw to Raggedpelt and back again. “That’s the best way to get rid of them. Otherwise, they’ll be back.”

Red looked furious. “Honestly, Marmalade, you’ll be making friends with dogs next! Why don’t we just chase them off with a scratch or two to remember us by?”

“We might not be the only cats to get scratched,” Raggedpelt growled, sliding out his claws.

“That’s enough!” The white she-cat raised her tail. “If we let you ask a question, will you leave?”

Instead of answering, Raggedpelt turned to Yellowpaw. “Is it worth asking?” he mewed.

“Don’t you want to know the truth?” Yellowpaw asked. He can’t give up now; we’ve come this far!

“Are you going to stand there arguing?” Red asked scathingly. “Or are you coming with us?”

“We’re coming,” Yellowpaw decided.

The huge ginger tom leaped onto the fence at the far side of the enclosed space. Joining him, Yellowpaw saw that a narrow alley lay beyond, with a high wall of red stone at the other side. There was a strong smell of crow-food.

As she paused at the top of the fence, the white she-cat gave her a push. “Get a move on.”

Yellowpaw lost her balance and fell ungracefully into the alleyway, barely managing to twist herself in midair so that she landed paws first.

“Well done, Pixie.” Red’s voice was cold as she looked down from the fence. “Show them who’s in charge.”

Marmalade led them along the alley. The wooden fence gave way to another wall of red stone; Yellowpaw’s heart raced; she felt as though she was padding along at the bottom of a crevasse. Eventually the alley led into an open space surrounded by shabby Twoleg dens. The reek of crow-food was joined by other scents: monsters and a smell that reminded Yellowpaw of a blackened stump in the forest that Deerleap told her had been struck by lightning moons ago.

Yellowpaw blinked as she spotted movement and the gleam of eyes in the shadows. There are other cats here!

“Just think!” she whispered, turning to Raggedpelt. “You might be about to meet your father!”

Raggedpelt didn’t reply, but his eyes were troubled, and Yellowpaw could feel his pelt bristling against hers.

The three kittypets crowded around Yellowpaw and Raggedpelt, urging them into the middle of the open space. At the same time, more cats began slinking out from the shadows. Some of them were wearing collars, but others looked more like rogues, with skinny bodies and flea-bitten pelts. Yellowpaw was uncomfortably aware that they were way outnumbered if it came to a fight.

“These are cats from the forest,” Marmalade announced. “They want to ask some questions.”

“Hi.” Yellowpaw felt hot and uncomfortable to be the focus of so many staring eyes. “I’m Yellowpaw, and this is Raggedpelt. We come from ShadowClan,” she ended proudly.

“Never heard of it,” a black she-cat sniffed.

“Are you really from the forest?” A gray tom padded up to Yellowpaw and her Clanmate, sniffing at them. “Yeah, you smell of trees.”

“Get away from them, Boulder,” Pixie snarled, giving the gray tom a shove.

“But I’ve always wondered what it would be like to live beyond the fence,” Boulder protested.

“Sit down and be quiet.” The gray tom was interrupted by a black-and-white she-cat, so old that her muzzle was grizzled and all her teeth had gone. Yellowpaw tried not to stare. She looks even older than our elders! “No one wants to listen to you meowing nonstop about the forest,” the old cat hissed at Boulder.

Boulder sat down, looking annoyed. Yellowpaw guessed that the old cat was some kind of leader, though this collection of cats didn’t look at all like a Clan. Maybe they look up to her because she’s so old.