The tabby slid from under the bush and straightened up. He was even bigger than Dapplepaw. Bluekit took a step back.
“I’m Stonepelt,” meowed the gray tom. “Are you looking for Stormtail?”
Snowkit glanced up eagerly. “Is he here?”
“He’s out hunting.”
“We weren’t looking for him, actually,” Bluekit told the warrior, even though she would have liked to see her father now that her eyes had opened. “We were hiding from Patchkit and Leopardkit.”
“Hide-and-seek, I suppose.” Stonepelt sighed.
“No,” Bluekit corrected him. “They were trying to show us around the camp, but we wanted to explore it for ourselves.”
Stonepelt flicked his tail. “A good warrior learns from his Clanmates.”
“W-we thought it would be more fun on our own,” Snowkit blurted out.
The warrior’s pelt bristled. “Well, it’s no fun being woken from a well-earned rest by a stampede of kits.”
“We’re sorry,” Snowkit apologized. “We didn’t realize.”
“That’s what happens when kits are left to wander around by themselves.” Stonepelt snorted and turned his gaze toward the fresh-kill pile. “Now that I’m awake, I might as well eat.” With a flick of his tail, the warrior headed across the clearing, leaving the two kits alone.
Snowkit turned on Bluekit. “Did you have to pick the warriors’ den to hide in?” she mewed crossly.
“How was I supposed to know?” Bluekit snapped back.
“We would have known if we’d stayed with Patchkit!”
Bluekit flicked her ears. Now they knew where the apprentices’ den was, and the warriors’. They had wanted to explore the camp, hadn’t they? She gazed across the clearing, waiting for her eyes to stop being blurry. She hadn’t tried to see this far away yet. As the rock at the opposite end of the clearing came into focus, she noticed scuffed earth around the base. Paw prints led into the shadows and disappeared where a patch of lichen hung at one side. Where did they lead?
Forgetting that she was cross with Snowkit, Bluekit meowed, “Follow me!” She ran over to the lichen, then reached out and prodded it with her paw. It swung under her touch and then gave way. Her paw sank through the brush and into empty space.
“There’s a gap!” Excited, Bluekit pushed her way through and found herself in a quiet cove. Its floor and walls were smooth and, although no cat was there, a nest of moss lay at one side. “It’s a den,” she hissed back through the lichen to Snowkit.
“It’s Pinestar’s den,” replied a voice that wasn’t her sister’s.
Bluekit froze for a moment, then backed cautiously out of the cave. Was she in trouble again?
A pale silver tom with bright amber eyes was sitting beside Snowkit.
“Hello, Bluekit.”
Bluekit tilted her head. “How do you know my name?” she asked.
“I was at your kitting,” the tom told her. “I’m Featherwhisker, the medicine cat’s apprentice.” He nodded toward Pinestar’s den. “You shouldn’t go in there unless you’ve been invited.” His mew was soft but grave.
“I didn’t realize it was his den. I just wondered what was behind the lichen.” Bluekit looked down at her paws. “Are you going to tell Pinestar?”
“Yes.”
Bluekit’s heart lurched.
“It’s better that I tell him. He’ll smell your scent anyway,” Featherwhisker explained.
Bluekit looked up at him anxiously. Would Pinestar say she couldn’t be a warrior now?
“Don’t worry,” Featherwhisker reassured her. “He won’t be angry. He’ll probably admire your curiosity.”
“Can I go and look too, then?” Snowkit mewed.
Featherwhisker purred. “One kit’s scent will smell like curiosity,” he told her. “Two kits’ scents will smell like nosiness.”
Snowkit’s tail drooped.
“I’m sure you’ll get a chance to see inside one day,” Featherwhisker promised. “Why don’t I take you to meet the elders instead? They like meeting the new kits.”
Again they were to be shown around! Annoyance prickled in Bluekit’s pelt, but she reminded herself what Stonepelt had said: A good warrior learns from her Clanmates.
Featherwhisker led them to the fallen tree and squeezed under a jutting branch. Bluekit trotted after, Snowkit at her heels.
Grass, ferns, and moss sprouted from every crevice in the tangle of wood, turning the decaying bark green with newleaf freshness. Bluekit followed Featherwhisker as he weaved his way through a maze of twigs until he reached an open space among the tangled branches.
A mangy brown tom was lying with his back to the fallen trunk, while a tortoiseshell she-cat groomed his ears with her tongue. A second tom, his orange pelt flecked with white, was eating a mouse at the other end of the den.
The tortoiseshell looked up as Featherwhisker entered. “Have you brought mouse bile?” She looked hopeful. “Mumblefoot’s got another tick.”
“He insists on hunting every day,” the orange tom commented. “He’s bound to get ticks.”
“The day I stop hunting, Weedwhisker, is the day you can sit vigil for me,” meowed Mumblefoot.
Weedwhisker took another bite of his mouse. “I’ll never stop hunting, either,” he muttered with his mouth full. “There aren’t enough apprentices to keep us fed these days.”
“Patchkit and Leopardkit will be starting their training soon,” Featherwhisker reminded them. “And we’ve got another pair on the way to becoming apprentices.” He stepped aside, revealing Bluekit and Snowkit.
Weedwhisker looked up from his mouse. Mumblefoot sat up, pricking his ears.
“Kits!” The tortoiseshell she-cat’s eyes brightened, and she hurried forward and gave Bluekit a soggy lick on her cheek. Bluekit ducked away, rubbing her wet face with her paw, then stifled a purr as Snowkit received the same welcome.
“It’s their first time out of the nursery, Larksong,” Featherwhisker explained. “I caught them trying to make a nest in Pinestar’s den.”
“We were not—” Bluekit started to object.
“Don’t take any notice of Featherwhisker,” Larksong interrupted. “He teases all the cats. It’s one of the privileges of being medicine cat.”
“Medicine cat apprentice,” Featherwhisker corrected her.
“Huh!” Mumblefoot wrapped his tail over his paws. “Which means you do all of Goosefeather’s duties while that lazy old badger pretends to look for herbs.”
“Hush!” Larksong looked sternly at her denmate. “Goosefeather does his best.”
Mumblefoot snorted. “What herb was he supposedly collecting this morning?” he asked Featherwhisker.
The medicine cat apprentice twitched his ears. “Comfrey.”
“Well, I saw him sunning himself by the Owl Tree, fast asleep. His snoring was scaring the prey.” He flicked his tail toward the morsel that Weedwhisker was enjoying. “It took me an age to find that.”
“Goosefeather has taught me a lot,” Featherwhisker said in defense of his mentor. “And there’s no herb in the forest he doesn’t know how to use.”
“If he can be bothered to pick them,” Mumblefoot muttered.
Featherwhisker glanced at Bluekit and Leopardkit. “Take no notice,” he meowed. “Goosefeather and Mumblefoot have never seen eye to eye.”
“And you shouldn’t be saying such things, Mumblefoot,” Larksong scolded. “You know Goosefeather is their kin.”
“He is?” Bluekit blinked at the tortoiseshell.
“He was your mother’s littermate,” Larksong explained. She swept Bluekit and Snowkit forward with her tail. “Come and tell us all about yourselves.”
“My name is Bluekit, and this is my sister, Snowkit. Our mother is Moonflower and our father is Stormtail,” Bluekit chirped. “And today is the first time we’ve been out of the nursery!”