Yellowfang’s Secret

She spotted a black she-cat rolling her eyes, and heard her whisper to Boulder, “Don’t let Jay worry you. She’s just a bossy old furball.”

“Questions, you said?” the old cat, Jay, rasped. “All right, you can ask one. Let’s hear it.”

Raggedpelt nudged Yellowpaw. “I told you this was a dumb idea. Let’s go.”

“No!” Yellowpaw gave Raggedpelt a furious glare. “One question is all it will take. We’re looking for a cat who knew a forest cat called Featherstorm,” she continued. “We—”

“Speak up, can’t you?” Jay twitched her tail irritably. “I don’t know what’s the matter with you young cats. You all mumble into your fur.”

“Sorry.” Yellowpaw raised her voice. “A cat who knew Featherstorm?”

A small tabby-and-white she-cat flinched as Yellowpaw spoke the name, but she didn’t say anything. Jay shook her head, and all the other cats did the same.

Raggedpelt looked discouraged. “I guess that’s it, then,” he mewed.

Marmalade stepped forward. “You got your answer. You can leave now.”

Pixie and Red padded up to join them again.

“We don’t need an escort,” Raggedpelt snapped.

“We aren’t offering one.” Marmalade slid out his claws. “I said now.”

The other Twolegplace cats were gathering behind Marmalade. Yellowpaw could see the hostility in their eyes and the anger in their bristling fur. “It’s time we went,” she muttered.

Raggedpelt’s fur was bristling too, and he drew back his lips in a snarl. “No kittypet tells me what to do.”

“Mouse-brain! There’s no point in spilling their blood.” Yellowpaw shoved his shoulder hard. “What are you going to prove by fighting kittypets? Run!”

To her relief, Raggedpelt spun around and raced back down the alley, the way they had come. Yellowpaw followed; glancing back she saw Marmalade and more of the Twolegplace cats hard on their paws.

“Faster!” she gasped.

But as they came into sight of the first Twoleg fence, Marmalade and the others dropped back. “Stay away in the future!” Marmalade yowled after them.

Just as Yellowpaw bunched her muscles to leap up onto the fence, a voice from the shadows called, “Wait!”

Yellowpaw turned to see the small she-cat who had flinched at the mention of Featherstorm’s name. She was beckoning with one paw, her green eyes wide and nervous.

“What do you want?” Raggedpelt growled.

“There is a cat you need to speak to,” the she-cat replied. “Follow me.”

Raggedpelt exchanged a glance with Yellowpaw. “It might be a trap,” he murmured. “Why should she help us?”

“So that you’ll stay away,” the she-cat replied. “We want nothing to do with wild cats like you.”

“We have to risk it,” Yellowpaw insisted. “We have to know the truth!”

Raggedpelt hesitated a moment more, then shrugged. “Okay. But I still think we both have bees in our brain.”

The she-cat led the way around a corner and down another alley. “There was a forest cat hanging around here a while ago,” she meowed. “Her name might have been Featherstorm. I haven’t seen her for ages, though.”

Frustrated at coming so close to the information she needed, Yellowpaw slid out her claws. She didn’t mean to be threatening, but the she-cat gave her a glance of alarm.

“That cat had nothing to do with me,” she mewed defensively. She nodded toward the shadows between two Twoleg dens. “Hal knew her better than any of us. Ask him.”

Yellowpaw turned to see a pair of amber eyes gleaming in the darkness. She beckoned with her tail to Raggedpelt, who padded over to her. Meanwhile the small she-cat darted away, scrambled over a wall, and was gone.

Hal blinked as Yellowpaw and Raggedpelt approached. It was so dark, it was impossible to tell what color he was. “I heard what she said,” he began, before they asked him anything. “I never knew a cat called Featherstorm. I have nothing to do with forest cats.”

Yellowpaw could see that Hal was a kittypet; his collar gleamed as he shifted in the shadows.

“Okay, sorry we bothered you,” Raggedpelt responded, turning away.

Yellowpaw was following when instinct told her to glance back. Hal had emerged from the shadows and was slinking away along the line of Twoleg dens. Yellowpaw froze. The kittypet was a dark brown tabby, and except for the fact that his shoulders were broader and his muscles more filled out, he was the exact image of Raggedpelt.

“Wait!” Yellowpaw yowled, running after him. “You must have known Featherstorm! Look—this is your son!”

Hal turned back, his amber eyes growing cold. For a heartbeat he looked Raggedpelt up and down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snarled. “I have no son.”

“But just look at him—” Yellowpaw began, waving her tail at Raggedpelt. Hal simply spun around and began padding away.

“We have to go,” Raggedpelt interrupted. His voice was like ice. “This was a mouse-brained idea. We should never have come here.”

Chapter 8

“Yellowpaw! Yellowpaw!”