by Erin Hunter
Brackenwing flicked her tail over her paws. “You won’t be tunneling for a while, Palebird.” The ginger queen’s mew sounded ominous.
Tallkit’s gaze flicked anxiously toward his mother. “Why not?”
“My kitting was hard. I lost Finchkit.” Palebird shifted beside him. “It’ll take me a bit longer to recover.”
Tallkit searched her gaze. He could never tell whether his mother was sad or just tired. “Why did Finchkit die? Did you kit her wrong?”
“Hush!”
Brackenwing’s sharp mew surprised him. Had he said something bad? Palebird liked talking about Finchkit. “Did StarClan want her?” he pressed.
Palebird sighed. “I guess they did.”
But not me. Why had StarClan left him with Palebird? Perhaps they wanted him to cheer her up. “What color was Finchkit’s pelt?” Tallkit asked.
Palebird’s gaze clouded. “Ginger, like your father’s.”
“I don’t know why you gave Finchkit a name,” Brackenwing muttered.
“She needed a name,” Palebird answered.
“She only lived for a moment.” Brackenwing frowned. “StarClan would have named her.”
Tallkit felt his mother tremble. Talking about Finchkit didn’t seem to be cheering her up. He pawed at her cheek softly, trying to distract her. “I’ve got sand in my ears.”
“Have you, dear?” Palebird leaned down and began washing his ear fur.
Relieved to feel her soften beside him, Tallkit snuggled closer. He didn’t even remember Finchkit. Am I supposed to?
A shadow darkened the nursery entrance. “Have you calmed him down yet?” Sandgorse stuck his head through the gorse. “The sooner he starts digging again, the better.”
“I’ve just gotten him cleaned up,” Palebird objected.
“We’ll practice some other skills,” Sandgorse promised.
Tallkit ducked out from under his mother’s muzzle. “Are you sure it’s okay?” he mewed, blinking up at her. He didn’t want to leave Palebird if she was still sad, but Sandgorse sounded so eager for him to go.
“Whatever you want, dear.” Her gaze drifted away.
Tallkit felt a jab of disappointment. Didn’t she want him to stay? He stood up. She wants me to train so I can be as strong as Sandgorse. He clambered over the side of the nest. “See you later.”
Palebird didn’t answer. She was staring blankly at the den wall.
“Come on, Tallkit.” Sandgorse brushed his way through the nursery entrance.
Tallkit followed. He was pleased to see his father’s gaze brighten as slithered onto the snowy grass beside him.
“I knew one little fall wouldn’t put you off.” Sandgorse whisked Tallkit forward with his tail. “Let’s practice moving stones. Tunnelers have to learn to move rocks much heavier than themselves.”
“Really?” Tallkit scampered at his side as they crossed the camp.
“It’s an important skill.” Sandgorse nodded toward a row of rocks clustered beside the elders’ den. “Let’s try these. Just small ones to begin with.”
Small ones? Tallkit stared at the stones. They were as big as sparrows.
Sandgorse stopped beside the nearest, and beckoned Tallkit closer with a twitch of his tail. “Grab it with your forepaws, and use your weight to roll it toward you.”
Tallkit swallowed. “Won’t it squash me?”
“The first rule of tunneling is that you’re always stronger than you think,” Sandgorse told him.
Brown fur flashed at the corner of Tallkit’s gaze.
“I touched your tail! You’re the rabbit now!”
“Did not!”
“Did so.”
Shrewkit and Barkkit were chasing each other over the Hunting Stones. Heather sprigs quivered in their wake.
Sandgorse nudged the rock toward Tallkit. “Roll this one.”
Tallkit stared at it.
“Why do I always have to be the rabbit?”
“You don’t!”
Flattening his ears to block out the sound of his denmates playing, Tallkit reached up and rested his forepaws on the rock. With a grunt, he tried to heave it toward him. His belly tightened with the effort, but the stone didn’t move.
“Let’s try a smaller one.” Sandgorse pushed another stone closer.
As Tallkit reached for it, Flailfoot padded out of the elders’ den. His black pelt moved like a shadow against the frosty gorse. “He’s a bit young to be moving rocks.”
Sandgorse sniffed. “It’s never too early to start learning tunneling skills.”
Flailfoot sat down. “I didn’t move my first stone till I was an apprentice.”
Tallkit gritted his teeth. I’m going to move it! Hissing under his breath, he heaved. His claws slipped. His hind legs buckled. With a gasp, he fell backward and landed on his tail.
“Nice move, Wormkit!” Shrewkit called from the Hunting Stones.
Tallkit turned on him, ears flat. “I’m learning!”
“Take no notice,” Sandgorse advised. “Shrewkit thinks like a moor runner. He doesn’t understand patience.”
Tallkit’s heart sank. Would he have to spend the whole day trying to shift this dumb rock while Shrewkit and Barkkit played Rabbit on the Hunting Stones?
Heatherstar’s mew rang through the cold air. “Let all cats old enough to catch prey gather beneath Tallrock.”
Tallkit jerked around. The WindClan leader stood on top of the dark stone in the middle of the Meeting Hollow.
“Wait here,” Sandgorse ordered. He trotted across camp and bounded into the sandy hollow.
Flailfoot brushed past Tallkit. “Try starting with a smaller stone,” he suggested as he headed after Sandgorse.
Tallkit sat back on his haunches and watched his Clanmates streaming toward Tallrock. Aspenfall and Cloudrunner bounded down into the snow-whitened circle, lithe and light-footed. Redclaw and Dawnstripe followed. Meadowslip and Larksplash were already staring up expectantly at Heatherstar. They shifted to let the other moor runners settle beside them.
Sandgorse headed for the opposite end of the hollow, where the tunnelers sat, and stopped beside Woollytail and Hickorynose. Flailfoot jumped stiffly down beside them. Tail high, the old tunneler nodded to Reedfeather. The WindClan deputy, who was sitting at the foot of Tallrock, dipped his head in return.
Barkkit bounced toward Tallkit, eyes bright. “Aren’t you coming?” Shrewkit was already scrambling away across the tussocks.
Tallkit blinked. “But we’re not old enough to catch prey.”
“How do you know?” Barkkit shrugged. “You’ve never tried. Besides, we won’t sit with the warriors. We can watch from over there.” He pointed with his nose to where Shrewkit was threading his way through the long grass that edged the moor runners’ nests. “Come on.”
As Tallkit scampered after Barkkit, the camp entrance shivered. Lilywhisker and Whiteberry hurried in.
“Have they started?” Lilywhisker called to Flailfoot as she limped across camp.
“Not yet.” Flailfoot padded to the edge of the hollow and reached up to steady Lilywhisker as she scrambled down on her three good legs. She joined the tunnelers while Whiteberry headed for the moor runners on the far side of the hollow.
Mistmouse paced the rim, brushing past her mate, Hareflight. The brown tom stood as stiff as the trunk of a gorse bush, as though his claws had taken root. Tallkit paused beside the moor runners’ nests and watched them curiously. Mistmouse’s kits, Ryekit, Stagkit, and Doekit, were standing beside the two warriors.
“In here.” Barkkit nudged Tallkit into the grass beside Shrewkit.
Tallkit pushed through the long stems. “What are they doing at the hollow?” He jerked his nose toward Hareflight’s kits.
“I don’t know.” Barkkit burrowed deeper into the grass and peeped out.
“Hush!” Shrewkit hissed beside them. “I’m trying to hear.” His yellow eyes were fixed on the Meeting Hollow.
Heatherstar sprang down from Tall
rock and weaved past her Clanmates until she reached the center. Mistmouse was fiercely smoothing the fur between Stagkit’s ears. Hareflight nudged Doekit and Ryekit closer to the edge.
“Ryekit, Doekit, and Stagkit!” Heatherstar called.
Tallkit felt Barkkit stiffen beside him. “It’s their apprentice ceremony!”
Tallkit leaned forward.
“Woollytail will get one of them,” Shrewkit guessed.
“But Hareflight’s a moor runner,” Barkkit reminded him.
“So?” Shrewkit whispered. “Woollytail’s been complaining for ages that WindClan needs more tunnelers. And Mistmouse will want at least one of her kits to follow in her paw steps.” He glanced at Tallkit. “I feel sorry for you. Being a tunneler must be awful.”
Tallkit scowled at him. “Sandgorse says it’s the noblest warrior life.”
“Sandgorse would,” Shrewkit scoffed. “He’s had so much mud in his ears it’s probably filled up his head.”
Tallkit unsheathed his claws, anger surging beneath his pelt. “That’s not true!”
Barkkit pressed against him softly. “Just watch the ceremony,” he murmured.
Stagkit was leading his sisters into the hollow. Ryekit’s paws slipped and she slithered down the icy slope. Warm purrs rumbled around her as she straightened and shook out her soft gray fur.
“Ryepaw.” Heatherstar met her gaze. The new apprentice’s eyes widened. “Your mentor will be Larksplash.” Ryepaw purred loudly as Larksplash stepped from among the moor runners and touched her head with her muzzle.
Heatherstar flicked her tail. “Larksplash, share your speed and sharp eyes with Ryepaw so that she too may become a warrior worthy of WindClan.” The WindClan leader turned to Doekit. “Doepaw,” she meowed. “Your mentor will be Aspenfall.”
Aspenfall pricked his ears, blinking, as though surprised.
Doepaw’s pale brown pelt pricked excitedly. She puffed out her chest as Aspenfall crossed the hollow to greet her. “Aspenfall,” Heatherstar meowed. “Share your courage and strength with Doepaw.” Aspenfall dipped his head and touched his nose to Doepaw’s ear.
Behind them, Stagkit gazed at his Clanmates.
He must be trying to guess who his mentor will be. Tallkit held his breath, as excited as if it were his own apprentice ceremony.
“It looks like poor old Stagkit gets Woollytail,” Shrewkit muttered.
“Stagpaw,” Heatherstar began, “your mentor will be Cloudrunner.”
Shrewkit gasped. “Cloudrunner?”
“He’s not a tunneler,” Barkkit breathed.
Tallkit felt a flash of relief for his former denmate. Stagpaw won’t have to train underground! Then guilt pricked him. He should be feeling sorry that Stagpaw would never be the noblest of warriors.
Heatherstar went on. “Cloudrunner, share your hunting skill and agility with your apprentice so he may feed his Clans for many moons to come.”
Yowls of approval rose from the moor runners.
“Stagpaw!”
“Ryepaw!”
“Doepaw!”
On the rim of the hollow, Mistmouse and Hareflight twined their tails together, their eyes shining with pride.
“Cloudrunner?” Woollytail’s mew rose above the cheers. Confusion clouded his yellow gaze.
Hickorynose narrowed his eyes. “Why wasn’t an apprentice given to a tunneler?” he demanded.
“What’s going on?” A mew sounded from the camp entrance. A gray she-cat stared at her Clanmates. Her pelt was dusted with soil.
Mistmouse turned. “Hi, Plumclaw.” She shifted her paws uneasily as she faced her tunneling denmate. “I’m afraid you missed the naming ceremony.”
“Did Woollytail get his apprentice?” The she-cat’s gaze flashed with hope.
Woollytail shook his head. “They’re training as moor runners.”
“All of them?” Plumclaw’s eyes widened.
Heatherstar stepped forward. “Aspenfall, Cloudrunner, and Larksplash are going to mentor Mistmouse’s kits.”
Plumclaw stared at Mistmouse. “Don’t you want any of them to follow in your paw steps?”
Mistmouse dropped her gaze. Hareflight pressed close to his mate. “We’ve decided that we want them all to be moor runners.”
“Tunneling is dangerous work,” Mistmouse pointed out. “Our kits are good runners, like their father. They’ll be better hunting the moors than the tunnels.”
Hickorynose took a step forward, his fur bristling. “But we need more tunneler apprentices.”
Behind him, Sandgorse swished his tail. “At least we’ll have Tallkit in a few moons.”
Tallkit’s belly tightened.
“Lucky little Wormkit,” Shrewkit teased.
Tallkit glared at him. “Shut up!”
Heatherstar padded toward the tunnelers. “I know you’re disappointed, but Mistmouse and Hareflight want their kits to train as moor runners.”
Hickorynose met her gaze. “The Clan needs tunnelers as well, Heatherstar.”
“I understand your disappointment,” Heatherstar answered softly. “But Leafshine’s death is still fresh in our memories.”
Tallkit had heard Palebird and Brackenwing talking about the tunneler killed by the same cave-in that had crippled Lilywhisker.
“I had to respect Mistmouse and Hareflight’s wishes,” the WindClan leader continued.
Hickorynose dipped his head. “I guess.”
Heatherstar went on. “When newleaf comes and the earth is drier, the tunnels will be safer and better for training.”
Woollytail pushed past Hickorynose. “Why didn’t you warn us we weren’t getting an apprentice?”
Reedfeather took a pace forward. “Would you have accepted it any more easily if we had?”
Plumclaw called from the top of the hollow. “We would have known that you still respected us!”
Heatherstar lifted her chin. “Of course WindClan respects its tunnelers,” she insisted. “When leaf-bare brings endless moons of snow, our tunnelers always bring us prey. We value your skills, and we want to help you keep them alive through future moons.”
A growl rumbled in Woollytail’s throat. “How, when you give us no apprentices to train?”
“You will have more apprentices eventually.” Heatherstar flicked her tail. “For now, the ceremony is over.” She turned to Cloudrunner. “Show your apprentices their territory.” She dipped her head to Aspenfall and Larksplash. “Train them well.”
Tallkit felt a flicker of unease as Cloudrunner hopped out of the hollow and led Stagpaw to the camp entrance. Larksplash, Aspenfall, Ryepaw, and Doepaw bounded after them. How would the tunnelers get more apprentices? Tallkit wondered. Shrewkit and Barkkit would be moor runners. Was Tallkit going to have to keep the tunnelers’ skills alive all by himself?
Barkkit pressed close to him. “Sandgorse will make sure that Heatherstar chooses a tunneler mentor when it’s your naming ceremony.”
“Yeah.” Tallkit tried to sound enthusiastic. Did he really want to spend the rest of his moons digging holes and heaving rocks?
“Redclaw, Appledawn, Hareflight!” Reedfeather called to the moor runners. “The prey heap is low. We must hunt.”
Redclaw’s nose twitched. “Rabbit will be easy to scent in this weather.”
Appledawn sprang out of the hollow and headed for the entrance, her pale cream pelt rosy in the low sunshine.
Hareflight raced after her. “Let’s hunt the high outcrops.”
Tallkit watched the muscles ripple beneath Hareflight’s pelt as the pale brown tom reached the camp entrance in three easy bounds. Longing pricked his belly. I want to race on the moors. I want to be pulled by the wind, and chase rabbits beneath the big, blue sky. Would he ever feel the same way about running through tunnels in the dark?
CHAPTER 3
Thick snow smothered the high-moor, but in the camp’s sheltered dip, the heather and grass was tinged green with the promise of newleaf. Tallkit could feel the prick of fresh
stems beneath his paws as he skimmed across the tussocks. Barkkit fled ahead of him, tail whipping as he plunged down into the Meeting Hollow.
Tallkit reached the edge and leaped, sailing fast and high before landing skillfully and racing on without missing a paw step. Barkkit charged ahead, kicking sand in his wake. Excitement pulsed through Tallkit’s paws as he gained ground on his denmate. He’s two moons older and I’m still faster! Tallkit pushed harder as Barkkit reached the far slope of the hollow and scrambled out.
Tallkit jumped easily up the slope, clearing it as Barkkit dived for cover beneath the thick gorse beyond. He slowed to a halt, stopping a whisker from the barrage of thorns. Pelt twitching, he paced along the edge of gorse, swishing his tail. “I know you’re in there, mouse! I’m going to pull your tail!”
“Never!” Barkkit purred.
“Come out and face me, rabbit-heart!”
“Come and get me, buzzard-face!” The gorse rattled as Barkkit scrabbled deeper.
Tallkit ducked and peered under the branches. “I’m coming!”
A paw pressed on his tail. “Going tunneling, Wormkit?” Shrewkit snorted.
Tallkit spun around, bristling. “Will you drop the dumb name?” He squared his shoulders.
“But it suits you.” Shrewkit’s eyes gleamed. “You’re going to spend your life burrowing underground.”
“Ignore him, Tallkit!” Barkkit called from under the gorse. “Let’s finish our game.”
Tallkit held Shrewkit’s gaze. “Why don’t you join us?” Playing was better than arguing.
“I’m too old for kits’ games.”
Tallkit prickled with frustration. “Then why don’t you go hunting with Redclaw?” He leaned closer. “Oh, I forgot! You’re too young to leave camp.”
The gorse trembled as Barkkit pushed his way out. “Stop acting like a ’paw, Shrewkit. You’ve got three moons left before you get your apprentice name.”
Shrewkit puffed out his fur. “I don’t see why I have to wait. I’m nearly as big as Doepaw.”
“No kit can be apprenticed before six moons,” Tallkit reminded him. “Don’t you know the warrior code?”
Shrewkit flicked his tail. “Do tunnelers have a code?”