Warriors: Power Of Three 4 - Eclipse (3 page)

Stormfur licked his ear. “Look after your brother and sister,” he murmured.

“Bye, Stormfur.” Jaypaw’s throat tightened. “Good-bye, Brook.” He remembered the times when Brook had comforted and encouraged him. She had always seemed to understand what it felt like to be different. And Stormfur had never patronized him, but treated him with the same warmth and strictness as he had the other apprentices. He would miss them.

Lionpaw pushed in front of him. “Good-bye, Stormfur.

Show those invaders that a Clan cat is never beaten.”

“Good-bye, Lionpaw,” Stormfur meowed. “Remember that even though our experiences change us, we have to carry on.”

A rush of warmth seemed to flood between the warrior and apprentice, and Jaypaw realized with surprise that his brother shared a special bond with Stormfur, one he had not detected before. He stood wondering about it as his Clanmates began to head off down the slope, not moving when Stormfur picked up the freshly caught prey and started uphill after his mate.

“Stop dawdling!” Crowfeather nudged Jaypaw with his nose, steering him down a smooth rocky slope onto the grassy hillside.

Jaypaw bristled. “I don’t need help!”

“Please yourself,” Crowfeather hissed. “But don’t blame me if you get left behind.” He pounded ahead, his paws thrumming on the ground.

Imagine having such a sour-tongued warrior for a father. I’m glad I’m not Breezepaw!

“Hurry up, Jaypaw!” Lionpaw was calling.

Jaypaw sniffed the air. On this exposed slope it was easy to tell where the other cats were. Brambleclaw led the way down-hill, Breezepaw at his heels, while Crowfeather had already caught up and was f lanking Tawnypelt, keeping to the outside of the group. Squirrelf light padded alone, while Hollypaw and Lionpaw trotted behind.

Jaypaw raced after them. The grass was smooth and soft beneath his paws. “It feels strange leaving them behind,” he panted.

“They chose to stay,” Crowfeather pointed out.

“Do you think we’ll ever see them or the Tribe again?”

Tawnypelt wondered.

“I hope not,” Crowfeather answered. “I don’t want to see those mountains once more as long as I live.”

“They might visit the lake,” Hollypaw suggested.

A howl echoed eerily around the crags far behind them.

“They have to get home safely first,” Lionpaw murmured.

“They will,” Brambleclaw assured him. “They know their territory as well as any other Tribe cat.”

Padding beside his littermates, Jaypaw caught the musty scent of forest ahead. Before long the ground beneath his paws turned from grass to crushed leaves. The wind ceased tugging at his fur as trees shielded him on every side. Hollypaw hurried ahead as though she already scented the lake beyond, but for a moment Jaypaw wished he were back on the open slopes of the foothills. At least there, scents and sounds were not muff led by the enclosing trees, and there was no undergrowth to trip him up. He felt blinder here in this unfamiliar forest than he ever had.

“Watch out!” Lionpaw’s warning came too late, and Jaypaw found his paws tangled in a bramble.

“Mouse dung!” He fought to free himself, but the bramble seemed to twist around his legs as if it meant to ensnare him.

“Stand still!” Hollypaw was racing back to help. Jaypaw froze, swallowing his frustration, and allowed Lionpaw to drag the tendrils from around his paws while Hollypaw gently guided him away from the prickly bush.

“Dumb brambles!” Jaypaw lifted his chin and padded forward, more unsure than ever of the terrain but trying desperately not to show it.

Wordlessly, Hollypaw and Lionpaw fell into step on either side of him. With the lightest touch of her whiskers Hollypaw guided him around a clump of nettles and, when a fallen tree blocked their path, Lionpaw warned him with a flick of his tail to stop and wait while he led the way up and over the trunk.

As Jaypaw scrabbled over the crumbling bark he couldn’t help wondering: Is the prophecy real y meant for a cat who can’t see?

Lionpaw twitched in his sleep. He was dreaming.

Standing on a craggy peak, he felt the mountain breeze tug at his fur. Above, a starless sky stretched black as a raven’s wing to the distant horizon. In front of him ridge upon ridge lay like ripples on a wind-ruffled lake. Though no moon shone, the mountaintops glowed like moonstone. All this is mine! Exhilarated, Lionpaw bounded forward, his powerful hind paws sending stones cracking into the shadowy valleys below. He cleared the gorge in one easy jump, landing on the ridge beyond. His claws scraped the rock, holding his paws firm. He leaped again, light as air, the breath hardly stirring in his chest. His tail seemed to brush the pelt-soft sky and, with the blood rushing in his ears, he lifted his chin and yowled, his voice echoing like thunder around the empty mountains . I have the power of the stars in my paws!

“Lionpaw!” Ashfur’s call jolted Lionpaw awake. “Hunting patrol!”

Lionpaw blinked open his eyes. Sunshine pierced the branches of the den, yellow sunbeams spearing straight downward. The other nests were empty. It’s sunhigh already! Lionpaw clambered groggily to his paws. And then he remembered: They hadn’t reached camp until well past moonhigh. Surely Ashfur wouldn’t be angry with him for sleeping late today?

Arching his back in a trembling stretch, he yawned. His paws still ached from the long trek from the mountains, and he licked gingerly at a forepaw to check whether the grazing had begun to heal. No taste of blood. The scabs were hard.

The soft forest floor would be no problem.

“Lionpaw!” Ashfur called again, more sharply. Lionpaw stumbled out of the den. Surely he deserved some rest! Heavy-pawed, he padded into the clearing, narrowing his eyes against the greenleaf sun. It flooded the camp and warmed his pelt. A light breeze stirred the trees encircling the top of the hollow.

In the mountains, the only shelter from the wind had been in the damp and chilly cave behind the waterfall. How in the name of StarClan did the Tribe survive leaf-bare? Greenleaf had been cold enough!

“Awake at last!” Ashfur greeted him. “The prey’s probably grown old and died while we’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then it’ll be easier to catch,” Lionpaw grumbled.

“I know you’re tired,” Ashfur conceded. “But Icepaw is itching to get out into the forest, and I promised Whitewing we’d go with them.”

Lionpaw noticed Icepaw for the first time. The young apprentice was bouncing around the clearing like a newleaf hare, leaping and twisting as she darted at invisible prey. Her prey might have been invisible, but Icepaw, with her sleek white pelt and bright blue eyes, certainly wasn’t. Perhaps that was why Firestar had made Whitewing her mentor. The white she-cat knew what it was like to stand out like snow in greenleaf.

She’d be able to teach Icepaw a few special stalking techniques.

And she clearly needed to learn. As he watched Icepaw darting clumsily about, Lionpaw stifled a purr, remembering how excited he had been when he had started his training.

Whitewing padded across the clearing, one eye on her apprentice. “Can we go now?”

Lionpaw noticed her tail tip twitching. Icepaw was Whitewing’s first apprentice. Was she worried how to manage such a bundle of energy? Or did she think their matching snow-colored pelts would scare away all the prey as soon as they set foot under the trees?

“Where do you want to start?” Ashfur asked.

Whitewing eyed Icepaw thoughtfully as the little white cat hurled herself awkwardly at a pile of leaves, sending them scattering in all directions. “Do you think Icepaw would do better by the Ancient Oak or the Old Thunderpath?”

Lionpaw’s belly rumbled. He gazed at the fresh-kill pile; a plump mouse was lying on top. But the Clan had to be fed before he could eat. It was the first rule apprentices had to learn, and the hardest. “There’s usually more prey around the Oak,” he suggested.

Ignoring Lionpaw, Ashfur dipped his head to Whitewing.

“It’s your decision.”

Lionpaw felt a prickle of annoyance. Why bother waking him up at all? They clearly weren’t interested in his opin-ion. And neither of them had asked about his journey to the mountains. He stared angrily around the camp. No cat seemed the slightest bit interested in his return. Mousefur was sunning herself outside the elders’ nest. Ferncloud and Sorreltail were sharing a pigeon beneath Highledge, their hunting clearly finished for the day. Leafpool was disappearing into the nursery, holding leaves between her jaws. Weren’t any of them curious about the mountains or his adventure?

“Hey, Lionpaw!” Icepaw called to him. “Am I doing this right?” She was creeping forward in a hunting crouch, her tail lashing.

“Yeah,” Lionpaw mewed absently. Doesn’t anyone care about me?

“You need to keep your tail still, Icepaw,” Ashfur advised.

Lionpaw looked at his mentor in surprise. I thought you weren’t interested in apprentices.

Ashfur met his gaze, eyes narrowed, then turned pointedly back to Icepaw. “If you stir up the leaves, the prey will know you’re coming.” Clearly he thought that Lionpaw should have pointed out Icepaw’s mistake.

Lionpaw’s fur bristled. Why did Ashfur expect him to mentor another cat’s apprentice? That was Whitewing’s duty.

Then, with a flash of remorse, he remembered how grateful he’d been when Stormfur or Graystripe had gently pointed out his mistakes.

He padded over to the younger cat. “I’ll show you what he means.” He crouched beside her. “Keep your back down like this. The flatter you are, the less visible you’ll be.”

“Like this?” Icepaw squashed herself against the ground.

“Exactly.”

Icepaw blinked up at him, her eyes like pools of sky. “Thanks, Lionpaw. I’m very nervous about hunting, actually.”

Lionpaw brushed the tip of his tail over her back. “You’ll be fine,” he promised. “Just copy our mentors, and don’t expect to make a catch on your first try. It took me ages to get it right,”

he added. Icepaw nodded, looking very earnest, and Lionpaw gave her ear a lick. Was this how it felt being a mentor? He liked the idea of teaching a young cat everything he knew about hunting and fighting, and watching them grow from a tumbling kit to a strong, quick-pawed warrior.

But what if the prophecy took him on a path away from being a normal warrior, mentoring apprentices and carrying out regular Clan duties? Looking down at Icepaw’s glowing eyes, Lionpaw felt as if he were being asked to give up an entire way of life—and one that suited him very well.

“Can we hunt here?” Icepaw asked again. She’d wanted to hunt in every small clearing they’d passed on their way to the Ancient Oak. Now the great tree towered above them, the ground beneath littered with leaves and acorn cups. At the edge of the glade, ferns clustered together in pools of light filtering through the branches.

Whitewing glanced at Ashfur. “Should we keep going to the lake?” she asked. “There might be prey near the shore.”

Ashfur gazed back at her, but didn’t reply.

Why isn’t he helping her? Lionpaw tried to catch his mentor’s eye.

Whitewing scanned the clearing. “Here is fine,” she decided. “Perhaps that clump of ferns?”

Lionpaw noticed her tail twitching again. If Ashfur wasn’t going to help her, perhaps he could. “There’s a bramble—”

His suggestion was silenced by Ashfur’s tail flicking across his mouth. The warrior nodded at Whitewing. “Trust your instinct.”

“Ferns.” Whitewing led her apprentice toward a leafy thicket.

Ashfur murmured into Lionpaw’s ear, “I know you’re trying to help, but Whitewing needs to build her confidence on her own.” They watched as Whitewing nudged Icepaw into a crouch and adjusted her stance with a touch of her muzzle.

“She’s doing fine.”

The ferns quivered. The pale green stems trembled from the roots rather than the tips; it couldn’t be the wind stirring them. Icepaw crouched and began to waggle her hindquar-ters, kneading the ground with her paws. Gently, Whitewing laid her tail over the apprentice’s back until Icepaw grew still.

Leaning forward, she whispered into Icepaw’s ear, then sat back. It was up to Icepaw now.

Lionpaw watched as Icepaw darted forward and flung herself into the ferns.

A squeal from behind the fronds was quickly silenced, and Icepaw bounced out, a small vole dangling from her teeth.

Her eyes shone with happiness.

Ashfur padded forward. “Well done!”

Whitewing fluffed out her chest proudly. “That was great, Icepaw!”

“Nice kill,” Ashfur added.

So much excitement over a tiny vole! It was probably too young to run away even if it wanted to. Lionpaw’s thoughts flicked back to the battle in the mountains. He was glad Icepaw had made her first kill so quickly, but what would they have said if they’d seen him fighting the mountain cats?

Catching a bite of prey didn’t compare to defeating a whole Clan single-pawed.

“Thrush!”

Hearing Ashfur’s whispered alert, Lionpaw glanced over his shoulder, following his mentor’s gaze. A fat thrush was pecking among the leaves beyond the wide trunk of the oak.

Silent as a snake, Lionpaw slithered around until he was behind it. Crouching onto his belly, he began to steal toward the thrush, tail lifted slightly so it didn’t stir the leaves. The thrush was searching for insects, unaware of the danger. Lionpaw felt a glimmer of satisfaction. Such a dumb bird deserved to be fresh-kill. He paused, judged the distance, then jumped.

His massive leap cleared the tree roots and carried him three foxtails across the forest floor. The thrush spread its wings in panic, struggling to take flight, but it was too late. Lionpaw landed with deadly precision, f lattening the bird with its wings outstretched, and killed it with a sharp nip to the spine.

“That was fantastic!” Icepaw was staring at him from the other side of the tree, her eyes wide with awe.

Whitewing’s ears were pressed back in surprise.

Lionpaw felt something tickling his nose. One of the thrush’s soft feathers had stuck to his muzzle. He swiped it away, feeling self-conscious.

Ashfur nodded. “Impressive.”

“That was a huge leap!” Whitewing meowed. “You could have easily missed.”