“It sounds like you’re close to making your minds up,” Needlepaw purred to Rain.
The big gray tom loomed over her. “It’s rude to eavesdrop,” he hissed.
“I hardly had a choice.” Needlepaw was not at all intimidated; her voice was even playful.
“You’re not exactly subtle in how you go about your plotting.”
Rain muttered something in reply, but because he turned to walk away, Alderpaw couldn’t make out the words.
Needlepaw pattered alongside the SkyClan cat, and without knowing why, Alderpaw emerged from the den and followed them as they headed upstream toward the rock pile.
Although he kept his distance, he could still hear Needlepaw’s teasing purr.
“Life in the other Clans is different, Rain.
There are… rules. You and Darktail and the others will have to learn them if you want to fit in.”
“Everything will work out,” Rain responded.
“Just the way it’s meant to.”
Alderpaw couldn’t decide whether the big tom’s voice was hopeful or amused, but either way, he wasn’t sure he liked it. I’ve heard enough, he thought, turning back toward the den.
But as he turned, his paw dislodged a pebble that clinked against another. Needlepaw and Rain both swiveled around to stare at him.
“Who’s that?” Rain asked sharply.
“Only me,” Alderpaw mumbled. “I… er… I just came out to make dirt.”
Not waiting for any comment, he scampered off into the darkness, panting hard as he reached the den where his Clanmates still slept peacefully. His hopeful feelings had evaporated, the flutter in his chest replaced by a heavy weight that seemed to be pushing from the inside, trying to force him to the ground.
Chapter 17
Alderpaw crawled out of the den the next morning feeling so exhausted that he could hardly put one paw in front of another.
Pondering how he could return the SkyClan cats to Clan life, when they obviously had no idea what it meant to be a warrior, had kept him awake all night, and so had the ache in his chest after he’d heard Needlepaw talking to Rain.
“I think we should hunt,” Molewhisker announced when all the questing cats had emerged from the den and sat grooming themselves at the waterside. “It’s no use expecting to eat with the SkyClan cats.”
“Let’s do that,” Cherryfall agreed. “I can’t wait to get out of this StarClan-forsaken gorge.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Needlepaw yawned, showing a mouthful of spiky teeth. “It’s not so bad when you get used to it.”
“You stay, then,” Sparkpaw snapped, and added under her breath, “No cat asked you to come with us anyway.”
“That’s enough,” Molewhisker meowed, rising to his paws and speaking with authority.
“Needlepaw, you can do what you want. The rest of us are going to hunt.”
“It looks like there’s thicker forest on the other side of the river,” Cherryfall pointed out.
“Let’s go that way.”
Few of the SkyClan cats were around, and none of them tried to stop the ThunderClan cats as Molewhisker led the way across the pile of rocks. Alderpaw stumbled along in the rear, convinced that he would be even worse at hunting when he could scarcely keep his eyes open.
But when he found himself under the trees, Alderpaw revived a little. It felt good to have damp earth and leaf mold beneath his paws again, and to catch glimpses of sky between crisscrossing branches. The leaves were beginning to turn brown and gold, and for the first time Alderpaw realized that leaf-fall was almost upon them.
Cherryfall and Sparkpaw headed off together, while
Molewhisker turned to Alderpaw. “Do you want to hunt with me?” he asked.
Alderpaw shook his head. “Er… no, thanks.” He couldn’t bear having his former mentor watch him fail again. “I’ll just practice on my own.”
“Okay. I’ll see you back in camp.”
Molewhisker pushed his way through a clump of bracken and vanished.
Once his sound and scent had died away, Alderpaw slid deeper into the forest, his ears pricked and his jaws parted to pick up the first traces of prey. Soon he heard a chirping sound from above, along with the rustling of leaves and the flutter of wings. Looking up, he spotted a thrush perched on the branch of a nearby tree.
Alderpaw’s belly rumbled, and he realized how hungry he was. He had barely eaten anything since he and his friends had arrived in the gorge two days before. He wondered if he would be in trouble if he caught the bird for himself instead of taking it back to camp, then reminded himself that he wasn’t in ThunderClan now. I’m not going to eat with SkyClan, the way they shove the kits and elders around.
He stalked the thrush as it fluttered deeper into the forest; then, keeping two trees back, he scrambled up the trunk of a beech tree and out onto a branch. He tried to remember everything he had been taught before he’d been told he was a terrible hunter and would be much better off as a medicine cat.
Best not to think about that, he decided.
It’s just a small bird. I can do this.
Creeping forward stealthily, Alderpaw managed to cross into the tree where the thrush was perching. It seemed to be unaware of him.
He was bunching his muscles to pounce when another cat exploded upward from the forest floor in a massive leap. Its forepaws were outstretched to grab the bird, but it missed by a mouse-length. With a yowl of rage the cat fell backward, tumbling back to the ground. The thrush, startled, flew away.
“Fox dung!” Alderpaw hissed.
The strange cat—a ragged, skinny gray tom—scrambled to his paws and glared up at Alderpaw. “It’s your fault I missed it!” he snarled. “Didn’t you see I was already stalking it? You made me rush.”
But Alderpaw had forgotten all about the thrush. Now that he got a clear sight of the newcomer, he was too stunned to do anything but stare. This is one of the cats from my vision!
He remembered seeing the gray tom in the circle of cats who had watched the ceremony when Leafstar had made a new warrior. But then he had been a healthy Clan cat with a glossy pelt. Now he looked just like a mangy rogue, all his ribs showing through matted fur.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“My name’s Mistfeather,” the cat replied roughly. “What’s it to you?”
Cautiously, never taking his gaze from the gray tom, Alderpaw climbed down the tree trunk. Keeping his distance so that Mistfeather wouldn’t think he was looking for a fight, he dipped his head politely.
“Greetings,” he mewed. “I’m sorry about the thrush. My name is Alderpaw, and I come from ThunderClan.”
The gray tom’s eyes widened in a mixture of wonder and disbelief. “ThunderClan!” he exclaimed. “Then you must know Firestar. I wasn’t born when he came to restore my Clan, but his story was told at every full moon upon the Skyrock. We honored him above all cats.”
Alderpaw felt as if every hair on his pelt was rising in excitement. He opened his jaws to tell Mistfeather that Firestar was dead, then decided this wasn’t the moment. Instead he asked, “Were you exiled from your Clan?”
The gray tom stared back at him. “Was I exiled?” he asked, bitterness invading his tone.
“No, I wasn’t. It was the whole Clan!”
“What do you mean?” Alderpaw asked, staring at him incredulously.
Mistfeather beckoned him nearer with a twitch of his tail. Alderpaw sat among the roots of the tree where he had stalked the thrush, and the gray tom crouched close beside him.