Эрин Хантер - Fading Echoes

Mouse!

Nibbling at the juicy roots of a cowslip, it didn’t even flinch as she began to wiggle her hindquarters. Confident, she pounced, but as her front paws left the ground, her back brushed against a thick poppy stem. Red petals flashed and the mouse whisked into the clover, diving under cover so thick that the cat lost sight of its tiny brown body. She plunged in her paws, patting the ground crossly, claws plucking but finding nothing but earth and roots.

Mouse dung!

“Bad luck.”

The apprentice spun around as a deep mew sounded behind her. She blinked at the broad-shouldered tom gazing at her. His muzzle was scarred, and when he lifted a paw to flick away a fly, his long, hooked claws glinted in the sun.

“I-is this your field?” she mewed nervously.

“I visit here, just as you do,” the tom replied. He rested his paw on the ground and cocked his head.

“This is the first time I’ve been here,” she admitted.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve come,” purred the tom. “It gets lonely sometimes.”

“Do you live nearby?”

The tom didn’t answer, but nodded toward the patch of clover where the mouse had disappeared. “Too bad you lost it,” he commented. “I could show you how to pounce without arching your back, if you like.”

She nodded shyly. This tom didn’t smell like a Clan cat, though he was as smooth pelted and tightly muscled as any warrior. His scent was strange and reminded her of walking in the forest at night.

“Watch this.” Crouching, the tom leaped forward, skimming the ground, keeping his back smooth and straight as he landed so that only his flank grazed the overhanging stems without disturbing them.

The apprentice watched wide-eyed.

“You try it.” The tom nodded to a knot of moss. “Aim for that.”

The she-cat nodded and squatted down, ready to pounce. Wriggling her hindquarters, she bunched her muscles and sprang, but she skimmed the ground too closely and came to a skidding halt before her front paws reached the moss.

“Try again,” the tom coaxed.

Again the apprentice pounced, this time keeping farther off the ground, but when she tried to flatten her spine she lost her balance and landed clumsily, stumbling to one side and sending shivers through the grass.

“Again,” came the quiet encouragement.

Thinking hard this time, the apprentice backed up, stared at the moss, and let awareness of every muscle spread through her body. Then she jumped, raking the ground, curving her body to weave around the stems before landing perfectly, the ball of moss falling between her paws as naturally as if StarClan had placed it for her.

“Wow!” She sat up, pleased with herself. “I’ll show my sister that move.”

The tom looked around. “Is she here?”

The apprentice shook her head. “It’s just me.” She frowned, aware how strange it felt to be here alone, without the company of her littermate. “Maybe I can bring her next time.”

The tom looked quizzical. “Don’t you like to do things by yourself?”

The apprentice shook her head. “It’s much more fun with two.”

“Well, there are two of us.” His blue gaze reached intently into hers. “Is that okay?”

She nodded.

“I could show you a stalking technique, if you like,” the tom offered.

“I know all the basic ones,” the she-cat told him.

“I bet you haven’t seen this one.” He crouched down and began to draw himself forward, chin stretched out, whiskers drawn back so that he weaved through the grass like a snake. Suddenly his muzzle darted forward, and he grasped a flower stem in his jaws so quickly that the apprentice gasped.

“That was so fast!”

“Good for catching fish.”

“Fish?”

“Mice too,” the tom added. “Any prey that’s quick.”

“Can I try?”

“Of course.”

As she flattened herself to the ground, the tom sat up and wrapped his bushy tail over his paws.

“What’s your sister like?” he asked.

The apprentice was focusing on a long blade of grass a tail-length ahead. “She’s clever,” she mewed, pulling herself slowly forward. “And funny.” She crept closer to the grass. “And the bravest cat I know.” With a lunge, she snapped at the grass stem, grabbing it in her jaws before spitting it out, coughing. “Yuck! Bitter!”

The tom purred. “I suppose you mean the grass, not your sister.”

“Of course!”

A faint yowl drifted across the meadow. A cat was calling.

The she-cat turned her head. “I’ve got to go now.” She started to pad toward the voice, the grass stroking her back.

The tom called after her, “Don’t you want to know my name?”

The apprentice turned, blinking.

“I’m Hawkfrost.”

“Good-bye, Hawkfrost.” The name felt strange on her tongue.

“Aren’t you going to tell me yours?”

“Oh, yes. It’s Ivypaw.”

Ivypaw shook herself awake, surprised to feel chilly air around her muzzle after the warmth of her dream. Cinderheart was peering through the den entrance. “Ivypaw!” she hissed.

Dovepaw was still asleep, tired after the Gathering, and Cinderheart was clearly trying not to wake her. But Blossompaw’s, Briarpaw’s, and Bumblepaw’s nests were all empty.

Dazed from her dream, Ivypaw hauled herself to her paws. “Coming!” She picked her way on half-numb legs past Dovepaw’s nest and padded out into the damp dawn air. Briarpaw and her littermates were pacing the clearing, Blossompaw mumbling under her breath as though running through answers while Bumblepaw kept stopping to crouch and pounce.

Ivypaw remembered through the haze of her dream that today was their final assessment. Mist hung in the camp, shrouding the dens so they looked eerie and far away. The dawn sky was obscured by thick, dark clouds.

Ivypaw shivered. “What did you want?” she asked Cinderheart.

Her mentor was already halfway across the clearing, heading to where Hazeltail, Mousewhisker, and Thornclaw sat like stones, eyeing their apprentices with anxious interest.

Ivypaw glanced up, past the rocky walls of the hollow and the trees crowding the rim. The clouds were darker than ever. There would be rain before long. Ivypaw shuddered. Why couldn’t she have lingered longer in her dream meadow with Hawkfrost?

“The assessment will be carried out in pairs this time,” Cinderheart told Ivypaw. “We need you to pair up with Blossompaw.”

“No way!” Blossompaw’s horrified mew took Ivypaw by surprise. “She’s not properly trained! Can’t I have Dovepaw? At least she can hunt .”

Ivypaw glared at the tortoiseshell-and-white cat. “I know how to hunt!” Hawkfrost had just taught her two new moves!

“You’ve hardly caught more than a mouse!” Blossompaw complained. “Dovepaw’s brilliant! She can hear prey anywhere!”

Self-conscious and disappointed, Ivypaw felt her shoulders begin to sink.

You’re just as good as your sister.

The words rang in her head. Another voice, not here, though she couldn’t place it. She straightened up and lifted her chin. “I’ll do my best,” she promised. “Besides, you’re the one being assessed, not me.”

“Well said, Ivypaw.” Hazeltail padded through the mist and stood beside her apprentice. “Ivypaw is doing you a favor,” she scolded Blossompaw. “ You should be doing the work, not her.”

The warriors’ den rustled as Dustpelt and Spiderleg padded out. “Are we ready to go?” Spiderleg asked, yawning.

Cinderheart nodded. “You’ll be assessing Bumblepaw with Hazeltail,” she informed him. “I’ll help Mousewhisker with Briarpaw. Dustpelt, you and Thornclaw can assess Blossompaw.”

Hazeltail looked surprised. “So we’re not assessing our own apprentices?”