Into the Wild: Chapters 6–9

Suddenly his whiskers prickled as he homed in on the warm blood-beat of prey—a water vole busy about its nest.

He could see the ferns moving, but the fronds still hid the enemy from view.

Firepaw looked at his crestfallen friend. “That’s okay. You didn’t know,” he purred.

“I bet Dustpaw and Sandpaw used to swallow a shrew or two when they were on hunting duty,” snorted Graypaw.

The acrid stench that hit their mouths and noses surprised them.

Her teeth connected and pain lanced up Firepaw’s spine, but it only made him angrier.

The bigger cat tried to reach up onto his shoulders and get a killing grip, but this time she was hampered by her wounded leg.

“What are you waiting for?” Yellowfang taunted. “You’re dithering like a kittypet!”

He would not be goaded into killing this miserable creature.

“Are you kidding, kitty? I’m going nowhere.” She grunted, limping painfully toward a patch of soft heather.

Firepaw glanced briefly over his shoulder at her and hissed quietly in exasperation before heading for the trees.

Yellowfang looked up tiredly as Firepaw dropped the rabbit on the ground beside her. Her grizzled jaw dropped.

Firepaw glanced at Yellowfang and groaned inwardly; he could still smell the fear-scent on her, but instead of cowering in submission, the scruffy creature was glaring in defiance.

As the patrol passed the sentries who guarded the camp entrance, the rest of ThunderClan came running to welcome their warriors home.

There were muffled meows from the other warriors as they grudgingly recognized the enemy warrior’s fighting spirit.

Firepaw looked down at the ground, feeling resentment burn inside him. It was bad enough that members of his own Clan still viewed him as an outsider. He certainly didn’t have to answer to this foul-tempered prisoner.

Firepaw carried on fiercely: “You’re just going to have to get used to being cared for until you are well enough to look after yourself, you spiteful old bone bag!”

“You have spirit, kittypet,” Yellowfang croaked, stopping at last. “Now, I’m tired and my leg hurts. I need sleep and something to put on this wound. Go and find that pretty little medicine cat of yours and ask her for some herbs. I think you’ll find a goldenrod poultice would help. And, while you’re at it, I wouldn’t mind a few poppy seeds to chew on. The pain is killing me!”

He strained his eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of her inside. But the den was too dark to see anything; he could only hear the sound of rustling and smell the heady scents of unfamiliar herbs.

“Another day looking after that mangy old fleabag, eh, Firepaw?” mewed Dustpaw.

They were mauling each other and play-fighting, sometimes quite viciously.

“Anyway”—her voice suddenly lowered, and she sounded almost wistful—“accidents seem to happen to kits when I’m around them.”

“I want to be prepared for any casualties,” Spottedleaf murmured, glancing up at him with her clear amber eyes.

Spottedleaf bounded into her den and brought something out. She held it gingerly in her mouth.

Graypaw slunk uncomfortably back to Firepaw and Ravenpaw.