Эрин Хантер - Path Of A Warrior

Redpaw flexed his claws, imagining the squirm of a mouse beneath his paws. He felt like he might burst with pride whenever he saw his Clan eating prey he had caught. Sparrowpelt had said just the other day that Redpaw’s hunting skills were coming on nicely, and the memory filled Redpaw with a warm rush of pride.

“I’m going to be the best hunter in ThunderClan,” he announced.

Willowpaw flicked her pale gray tail. “Even better than Tigerclaw?” she mewed teasingly. “ No cat is better than Tigerclaw. At least that’s what he thinks.”

A shadow fell across the entrance to the den, and Poppydawn, Willowpaw’s mentor, thrust her broad red face through the opening.

“Sounds like there’s a lot more chattering than working going on in here,” she meowed briskly. “Willowpaw, put some more moss in that corner. I don’t want to be sleeping on rocks.”

“Yes, Poppydawn,” Willowpaw mewed, dipping her head respectfully.

“And Redpaw, why don’t you go get some feathers?” Poppydawn went on. “Those would make the nests nice and soft.”

“There aren’t any good feathers on the fresh-kill pile,” Redpaw replied, a little less respectfully. Poppydawn wasn’t his mentor.

“There will be now,” Poppydawn told him. “Sparrowpelt’s patrol is just getting back, and it looks like they have a couple of nice starlings.”

“They’re back?” Redpaw rushed past Poppydawn out of the warriors’ den, Willowpaw close behind.

“Don’t forget to finish that job,” Poppydawn called sternly after them.

Outside the cozy warmth of the warriors’ den, Redpaw shivered as the chill of leaf-fall seeped into his fur. But the sun was still shining brightly: They had some time left before the bitter cold of leaf-bare. In a patch of warm sunlight in the center of camp, the two older apprentices, Frostpaw and Brindlepaw, paused in their grooming of the elders beside them.

“Looks like it was a good hunt,” Frostpaw mewed cheerfully. Beside her, Larksong arched her back in annoyance.

“Are you gossiping or getting rid of my ticks?” she asked grouchily. Frostpaw rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the old she-cat’s pelt. Redpaw suppressed a purr of amusement and looked up at the returning hunters.

Sparrowpelt was already beside the fresh-kill pile; the starlings Poppydawn had mentioned were on the ground at his paws. Despite his good catch, Sparrowpelt’s face was dark with anger. Redpaw hesitated, glancing back toward the camp entrance at the rest of the hunting patrol coming in.

Speckletail was striding across the clearing toward the fresh-kill pile, a squirrel dangling from her jaws and a stormy expression in her amber eyes. Redpaw craned his neck to see past her. Tigerclaw was just pushing his broad shoulders through the gorse tunnel. He looked angry, too, but Redpaw was distracted by the prey that hung from his mouth. A fat rabbit and two juicy voles! So much prey that Redpaw wondered how the big warrior was managing to carry it all.

“Wow,” Redpaw breathed to his littermate. “You’re right. Tigerclaw’s the best hunter in camp.”

Willowpaw flipped her tail. “He’s still an arrogant furball, though,” she mewed softly. “ We know that.”

“Yeah … maybe,” Redpaw agreed, his eyes following Tigerclaw as he crossed the clearing behind Speckletail. “He’s changed a lot since he became a warrior, though.”

When Tigerclaw had been the oldest of the apprentices, he had taken every opportunity to make it clear that he was the best fighter and the best hunter among the apprentices and that Redpaw, Willowpaw, and Spottedpaw, who were the youngest of the apprentices, were far, far beneath him. Redpaw hadn’t forgotten that.

But ever since Tigerclaw had gotten his warrior name, he’d stopped bullying the apprentices. Instead he seemed to be intensely focused on becoming the best warrior in the Clan. Someday he’ll probably be leader, Redpaw thought, looking admiringly at the dark brown tabby’s broad shoulders and huge paws.

All three cats who had been on the patrol had dropped their prey on the fresh-kill pile now and were gathered together in the clearing, their faces dark with fury. “I wonder what happened,” Willowpaw meowed softly.

Curious, Redpaw moved closer, approaching Sparrowpelt. “Um, how was the hunt?” he asked his mentor, feeling awkward. “Did you have to sneak up on those starlings, or did you jump—”

“Not now, Redpaw,” Sparrowpelt interrupted, turning away. “We have to report to Sunstar.” He hurried toward the leader’s den, Speckletail and Tigerclaw following close behind.

“We’d better get back to work,” Willowpaw mewed, glancing nervously across the clearing at Poppydawn. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Redpaw hesitated, watching Tigerclaw disappear into Sunstar’s den at the bottom of the Highrock. After a few moments, Sunstar’s long-furred ginger face pushed through the lichen that covered the entrance. “Tawnyspots!” he called, and the Clan’s deputy hurried to join the others in the leader’s den.

Something bad must have happened, Redpaw thought, the fur rising along his spine. He glanced around. Maybe they’d seen something scary in the forest, like badgers or foxes. Or maybe Twolegs and their dogs were nearby. Redpaw shivered.

From opposite sides of the clearing, Bluefur and Thistleclaw had raised their heads to gaze thoughtfully toward Sunstar’s den. Every cat thought that Sunstar would pick one of them to be his next deputy when Tawnyspots retired to the elders’ den, and they each paid close attention to what happened between ThunderClan and the other Clans, as if they were preparing themselves.

While a few other faces were also turned with interest toward the Highrock, no cat was watching Redpaw. Willowpaw was dutifully heading back toward the warriors’ den, while Frostpaw and Brindlepaw were busily grooming the elders. Poppydawn was sharing a vole with Rosetail, their heads close together in conversation. She won’t notice if I don’t go straight back to changing bedding, he decided.

Trying to look like he wasn’t eavesdropping, Redpaw strolled closer to Sunstar’s den, his ears pricked up.

“This is the third time, Sunstar!” Sparrowpelt was yowling.

“You actually caught the RiverClan patrol marking Sunningrocks?” Sunstar demanded, his voice a deep growl.

“It was Owlfur, Softwing, and Ottersplash,” Speckletail confirmed. “We tried to chase them off, but we didn’t want to leave the prey we were carrying.”

“We should have taught them a lesson they wouldn’t forget,” Tigerclaw hissed angrily. “It would be worth it to lose a little prey.”

“We thought that Hailstar listened when we warned him away from Sunningrocks,” Tawnyspots meowed. His mew sounded tired, and Redpaw shifted uncomfortably. The deputy looked sicker every day, ribs showing through his thin, dry coat. “Maybe we should talk to him again. His warriors might be acting without his approval.”

“Enough is enough,” Tigerclaw growled. “We need to stop just talking and show RiverClan that they can’t get away with this.”

“What are you suggesting, Tigerclaw?” Sunstar asked calmly. Redpaw could almost see his leader’s level gaze as he carefully considered each cat’s words.

“We need to fight ,” Tigerclaw hissed. There was a scraping sound inside the den, and Redpaw pictured Tigerclaw’s paws flexing, his long, sharp front claws extending and retracting with the big tabby’s anger. “We should attack RiverClan’s camp. Teach them what happens when they mess with ThunderClan.”

“I’m not sure fighting is the best choice,” Tawnyspots argued. “RiverClan has more warriors than we do right now. Do we want to start something on their own territory, knowing we’ll be outnumbered?”