The Raging Storm

CHAPTER 8

“Keep your muzzle down.” Twigbranch tugged Flypaw closer to the earth, praying that the young cat would be quiet. A log hid them from a plump chaffinch, which was rummaging through leaf litter for bugs. “Birds are the hardest prey to catch,” she whispered. Her whiskers brushed the damp moss. “They are sensitive to any movement, and they’ll fly away at the slightest noise. You need to be fast.”

“If they’re so hard to catch, why don’t we just hunt mice and squirrels instead?” Flypaw whispered back.

Twigbranch blinked at her. “Because warriors need to be able to catch birds as well.”

“Why?”

Twigbranch swallowed back frustration. “Because we’re warriors!” Flypaw was missing the point again. Twigbranch could hear the chaffinch pecking at the leaves. Her paws itched impatiently. She jerked her nose toward the rise. Flypaw lifted her head above the log to follow her gaze as she went on. “When you stalk a bird, you need to be patient. You must wait until it’s distracted and only pounce when you’re sure you’re—”

Flypaw didn’t wait to hear the rest. With a mrrow of excitement, she scrambled over the log and hurled herself at the chaffinch. Twigbranch stared after her as the chaffinch exploded upward in a flurry of feathers. Flypaw twisted in the air, reaching for the escaping bird, and fell back to earth with a thump.

“What did I tell you?” Anger scorched beneath Twigbranch’s pelt as she leaped the log and marched to where Flypaw was shaking out her ruffled pelt.

Flypaw blinked at her. “You said I had to be fast.”

“I said you had to be patient!” Why did Flypaw always grasp the wrong end of the worm?

“But you said I had to be fast too.” She held up a paw where feathers snagged between her claws. “Look. I nearly got it.”

“Nearly doesn’t feed the Clan! If you’d waited until the chaffinch was focused more on the bugs and less on the forest, you’d have caught it.” Twigbranch’s pelt rippled along her spine. She was following her instinct and being tough on Flypaw, but the young tabby was still messing up. Perhaps it’s me. Doubt pricked in Twigbranch’s belly. I did tell her to be quick. She growled crossly to herself. Why do I need to be so precise all the time? Flypaw was staring at her like a crestfallen kit. Twigbranch’s annoyance hardened. “Why can’t you understand what’s important and what’s not important? Perhaps if you paid more attention, you wouldn’t make so many mistakes.”

“I like to follow my instinct,” Flypaw mewed dejectedly.

“Instinct is not enough!” Twigbranch glared at her. “If it were, kittypets and loners would rule the forest. You need skills that have been learned and honed by cats for generations. Instinct is where you begin. Training is what will make you a warrior.”

“But there’s so much to learn.” Flypaw’s tail drooped.

“You only have to learn it once!” Was that too much to ask? “These moons of training will teach you everything you need to know to be a warrior. Once you’ve learned what you need to, then you can fill your time however you like. But for now, I expect you to put in some effort. I’m not going to be the first mentor in moons to have her apprentice fail their assessment!”

Flypaw’s eyes rounded. “Do you think I’ll fail?”

“You will if you carry on like this!” Exasperated, Twigbranch turned her tail on her apprentice and headed back to camp.

“Aren’t we going to stalk another bird?” Flypaw called after her.

“No.” Twigbranch couldn’t bear to watch Flypaw fail again today. “We’re going home. You can spend the rest of the afternoon practicing your hunting moves in the clearing. You can think about what sort of warrior you want to become. It might make you more attentive tomorrow.”

Twigbranch stalked between the trees, her belly tight with rage. She heard Flypaw trailing after her, keeping a few paw steps behind. Twigbranch didn’t look back. She could feel Flypaw’s hurt in the silence that sat between them. Guilt began to worm beneath her pelt as her anger faded. Flypaw wasn’t a bad cat. She just seemed to find it hard to focus on what was important. Perhaps I should be more patient. Perhaps toughness isn’t enough. Her paws felt heavy with defeat as she reached camp and ducked through the entrance.

Flypaw slid past her, catching her eye. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch the chaffinch,” she mumbled. “I’ll try harder tomorrow.” She hurried away before Twigbranch could respond and scurried across the clearing to where her mother, Cinderheart, was patching the elders’ den. Cinderheart dropped the honeysuckle vine she’d been weaving into the den wall and blinked in surprise as Flypaw pressed against her. Twigbranch’s ears grew hot as Cinderheart looked across the clearing and caught her eye anxiously before wrapping her tail protectively over Flypaw’s spine.

Twigbranch turned away. It must feel good to have a mother to run to for comfort. She pressed back bitterness. Lilyheart had fostered Twigbranch when she’d first been brought to ThunderClan as a kit. Lilyheart had been kind and gentle, but Twigbranch had always been aware that she wasn’t one of Lilyheart’s true kits. What would her life have been like if Pebbleshine had lived? With a real mother to raise her, she might have known where she belonged instead of switching between SkyClan and ThunderClan in search of a home that felt right. And with the tough but gentle love of her own mother, she might have learned how to be a better mentor.

“Do you think Tigerstar will kill him if Puddleshine dies?” Daisy’s mew jerked Twigbranch from her thoughts. The queen was sitting beside Ivypool while the silver-and-white she-cat washed Bristlekit between the ears.

Bristlekit ducked from beneath her mother’s tongue. “Graystripe says that the old Tigerstar murdered Firestar. Perhaps all Tigerstars are murderers.”

“Don’t be silly.” Ivypool tugged the kit closer and carried on washing her. “Tigerstar and Firestar died in the same battle, that’s all,” she mewed between licks. “And this Tigerstar is nothing like the old Tigerstar.”

“How do you know? You never met the old Tigerstar.” Bristlekit blinked up at her. “Graystripe knew him since he was a kit.”

“Graystripe likes to make an adventure out of every story,” Ivypool mewed dismissively, but she glanced uneasily at Daisy.

Who was Tigerstar going to kill? Twigbranch hurried toward the nursery and blinked at the queens as she reached them. “What are you talking about?”

Ivypool shooed Bristlekit away. “Go and play with Thriftkit and Flipkit.” The kit scampered away, and Ivypool met Twigbranch’s gaze solemnly. “Tigerstar brought a patrol to the camp while you were out. They took Puddleshine back to ShadowClan and made Alderheart go with them.”

Twigbranch had known that Puddleshine would have to return to ShadowClan at some point. She supposed it made sense for Alderheart to go with him, to nurse him and provide a medicine cat for the rest of ShadowClan while Puddleshine was sick. “Didn’t Alderheart want to go?”

Daisy’s eyes were wide with worry. “Bramblestar said he volunteered, but you could see Alderheart was scared.”

“But Bramblestar wouldn’t let him go if he thought he was in danger,” Ivypool reasoned.

“It sounds like he had no choice,” Daisy mewed. “Molewhisker said he overheard the whole conversation. Alderheart has been feeding Puddleshine deathberries.”

Ivypool’s tail twitched nervously. “Tigerstar found out and accused Alderheart of trying to poison Puddleshine, and now he’s made him go to ShadowClan to prove the treatment will work.”

Twigbranch glanced toward the camp entrance, her heart quickening as she thought of Alderheart alone in ShadowClan. “And you think Tigerstar will kill him if Puddleshine dies?”

“He said as much,” Daisy breathed.

“He said Alderheart will be punished,” Ivypool corrected. “But there’s no way he can believe Alderheart would really try to hurt Puddleshine. He was just talking like a fox-heart to get Bramblestar to send Alderheart to his camp. They must need a medicine cat there, and Tigerstar’s too much of a ShadowClan cat to ask politely. ShadowClan cats love to feel they’re in charge. They think manners are for rabbits.”

A plaintive mewl sounded from behind the nursery. Flipkit was complaining. “I want to be the hunter this time. I was the prey last time!”

Ivypool got to her paws.

“I’ll go.” Twigbranch flicked her tail to signal to the queen that she should stay where she was. “You relax for a bit. I’ll show them some hunting moves.”

Ivypool blinked at her gratefully. “Don’t let them wear you out.”

“I won’t.” Twigbranch padded around the nursery. The news of Alderheart had been alarming, but it hadn’t pushed her worries about Flypaw away. Perhaps teaching the kits how to stalk would cheer her up. She might discover she wasn’t such a bad mentor after all.

Moonlight seeped through the brambles and pooled around Twigbranch’s nest. Her paws ached from playing with the kits. Her attempt to teach them hunting moves had quickly turned into more exciting games, and she’d spent the afternoon chasing them around the camp or giving them badger rides across the clearing. Perhaps all young cats were easily distracted. Or perhaps I’m just no good at teaching. She tried to push the thought away. If only Finleap were here to talk to. She glanced at his empty nest. He hadn’t come back to camp with Snappaw after training. Snappaw had told her there was something Finleap wanted to do before he returned to camp. Twigbranch had waited for him as the rest of the Clan settled down at dusk to share tongues. She’d saved him a shrew from the fresh-kill pile, and had sat beside the mouse she’d taken for herself, staring hopefully at the entrance, expecting him to walk in at any moment. But he’d never appeared, and she’d eaten her mouse alone and returned the shrew to the pile. Now his nest was empty, and as the other warriors began to snore around her, she wondered where he could be. Worry pricked in her paws. Perhaps he was hurt and couldn’t come home. Should she report his absence to Squirrelflight or Bramblestar? Her chest tightened. What if he was staying out on purpose? Perhaps he wanted to try night hunting. Or he might be on his own secret mission to spy on ShadowClan. Finleap was still quite new to ThunderClan. She didn’t want to get him in trouble.

But if he has gone hunting or spying, why didn’t he tell me? It seemed strange that Finleap would go off alone without asking Twigbranch to join him. They did everything together. He’ll be back soon, she told herself. StarClan will be watching over him.

She pressed her nose between her paws and closed her eyes. Slowly, weariness quieted the anxiety in her belly and she slid into sleep.

Birdsong woke her at dawn.

“Finleap?” She breathed his name before she opened her eyes. Her dreams had been filled with him—some had brought him home safely; others had shown him alone in the forest, danger lurking behind every bush. Pale light glowed at the den entrance as she lifted her head. She turned to his nest, alarm spiking beneath her fur as she saw it was still empty. She sniffed it quickly. Cold! He hadn’t come home. Panic gripped her heart. He’d never stayed out all night before.

Where is he?