Into the Wild

by Erin Hunter

  “But what if Yellowfang won’t come back?” Firepaw meowed.

  “She will, if you ask her.”

  Firepaw felt stunned by Bluestar’s faith in him. The enormity of what she was asking him to do weighed down on him, and he wondered if he had enough courage to carry it through.

  “Go at once!” she ordered. “But be careful; you will be on your own and there may be enemy patrols about. This storm will keep our own warriors in camp for a while.”

  Thunder rolled overhead as Firepaw dashed out into the clearing. Rain hammered down, pelting against his fur like tiny stones. A bolt of lightning lit up the faces of Darkstripe and Longtail as they watched him cross the clearing.

  Firepaw bounded past the nursery. He couldn’t leave without sharing tongues with Spottedleaf. The other cats had run for shelter, abandoning the medicine cat’s body to the downpour while they huddled beneath the dripping ferns, meowing their fear and loss.

  Firepaw buried his nose in Spottedleaf’s wet fur and breathed in her scent one last time. “Good-bye, my sweet Spottedleaf,” he murmured.

  His ears pricked as he overheard the voices of Frostfur and Speckletail talking nearby. He froze, straining to listen.

  “Yellowfang must have had help,” Speckletail growled.

  “Someone from ThunderClan?” came the anxious voice of Frostfur.

  “You’ve heard what Tigerclaw’s been saying about Ravenpaw. Perhaps he had something to do with it. I’ve never felt comfortable with him, myself.”

  The fur on Firepaw’s spine prickled. If Tigerclaw had been spreading his malicious rumors as far as the nursery, Ravenpaw wouldn’t be safe anywhere in the camp.

  Firepaw realized he had to act quickly. He would find Yellowfang first, then deal with Ravenpaw. He raced to the spot where he had last seen Yellowfang. He knew her scent so well that he could even smell it through the rain-soaked leaves. He began to push through the bushes, mouth open, to detect where her trail led.

  “Firepaw!”

  Firepaw jumped and then relaxed as he realized it was Graypaw’s voice.

  “I’ve been looking for you!” mewed his friend as he rushed toward him.

  Firepaw gingerly stepped back out of the ferns.

  Graypaw squinted as rain dripped down his long fur and into his eyes. “Where are you going?” he mewed.

  “To look for Yellowfang,” Firepaw replied.

  “On your own?” Graypaw’s broad gray face showed concern.

  Firepaw thought for a moment and decided to tell Graypaw the truth. “Bluestar asked me to bring Yellowfang back,” he mewed.

  “What?” Graypaw looked shocked. “Why you?”

  “Maybe she thinks I know Yellowfang best, and that I’d find her more easily.”

  “Wouldn’t a party of warriors stand more of a chance?” Graypaw pointed out. “Tigerclaw’s the best tracker in the Clan, and if anyone could bring her back, he could.”

  “Maybe Tigerclaw wouldn’t bring her back,” Firepaw murmured.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tigerclaw’s out for revenge. He would just kill her.”

  “But if she killed Spottedleaf and took the kits . . .”

  “Do you really believe that?” Firepaw asked.

  Graypaw looked at his friend, shaking his head in confusion. “Do you think she’s innocent?” he mewed.

  “I don’t know,” Firepaw admitted. “And neither does Bluestar. She wants to find out the truth. That’s why she’s sending me instead of Tigerclaw.”

  “But if she ordered Tigerclaw to bring her back alive . . .” Graypaw’s words were drowned by a deafening crack of thunder, and a flash of lightning lit up the trees around them.

  In the dazzling light, Firepaw glimpsed Frostfur chasing Ravenpaw away from the nursery. The white queen’s face was twisted with fury as she hissed at the young black cat and lunged forward to give him a warning nip on the hind leg.

  Graypaw turned to Firepaw. “What’s that all about?” he mewed.

  Firepaw stared back at his friend, his mind leaping ahead to a new idea. It looked like Ravenpaw’s time had run out, and Firepaw needed Graypaw’s help. But would his friend believe him? The wind was beginning to roar through the trees above them, and Firepaw had to raise his voice. “Ravenpaw’s in great danger,” he meowed.

  “What?”

  “I have to get him away from ThunderClan. Right now, before anything happens to him.”

  Graypaw looked puzzled. “Why? What about Yellowfang?”

  “There’s no time to explain,” Firepaw mewed urgently. “You’ll just have to trust me. There must be a way we can get Ravenpaw away. Bluestar’s going to keep the warriors in camp till the storm is over, but that doesn’t leave us much time.” He tried to picture the hidden corners of the woods, beyond ThunderClan territory. “We’ll have to take him somewhere Tigerclaw won’t find him, somewhere he can survive without the Clan.”

  Graypaw stared at him for a moment. “What about Barley?”

  “Barley!” Firepaw echoed. “You mean, take Ravenpaw to the Twolegplace?” His ears twitched with excitement. “Yes, that might be the best idea.”

  “Come on, then!” meowed Graypaw. “What are we waiting for?”

  Relief washed over Firepaw. He should have known his old friend would help. He shook the rain from his head, then touched Graypaw’s fur with his nose. “Thank you,” he purred. “Now, let’s get Ravenpaw.”

  They found their friend huddled miserably inside their den. Sandpaw and Dustpaw were in their nests, too, looking tense and scared as the storm crashed overhead.

  “Ravenpaw,” Firepaw hissed through the entrance.

  Ravenpaw looked up. Firepaw flicked his ears and the black cat followed him out into the storm.

  “Come on,” Firepaw whispered. “We’re taking you to Barley.”

  “Barley?” Ravenpaw mewed in bewilderment, narrowing his eyes against the driving rain. “Why?”

  “Because you’ll be safe there,” Firepaw answered, looking the black cat straight in the eye.

  “Did you see what Frostfur did?” mewed Ravenpaw, his voice quavering. “I was only going to check on the kits. . . . ”

  “Come on,” Firepaw interrupted him. “We must hurry!”

  Ravenpaw met his friend’s gaze. “Thanks, Firepaw,” he murmured. Then he turned into the wind and bounded across the clearing.

  The three apprentices rushed toward the camp entrance, their fur flattened by the howling wind. As they entered the gorse tunnel, a voice called them back.

  “You three! Where are you going?”

  It was Tigerclaw.

  Firepaw whirled around, feeling his heart sink. He wondered desperately what he could say, when he spotted Bluestar striding toward them. She frowned for a moment; then her face cleared.

  “Well done, Firepaw,” she meowed. “I see you’ve persuaded your two friends to go with you. ThunderClan has brave apprentices, Tigerclaw, if they are willing to run an errand in weather like this.”

  “Surely this is not a time for errands?” objected Tigerclaw.

  “One of Brindleface’s kits has a cough.” Bluestar’s voice was icily calm. “Firepaw has offered to fetch some coltsfoot for her.”

  “Does he really need his friends to go too?” asked Tigerclaw.

  “In this storm, I think he’s lucky to have the company!” answered Bluestar. She looked deep into Firepaw’s eyes, and he was suddenly aware of the trust she was placing in him. “Off you go, you three,” she meowed.

  Firepaw returned her gaze gratefully. “Thank you,” he purred, dipping his head. With a swift glance at his companions, he led the way along the familiar paths toward Fourtrees. The wind roared through the branches above them and the trees swayed, their trunks creaking and cracking as though they might fall at any moment. The rain poured down through the leaves, soaking the cats to their hides.

  They reached the stream, but the stepping-stones they usually leaped across had completely disappe
ared. The cats stopped on the bank and looked down in dismay at the wide, brown, swirling river.

  “This way,” Firepaw meowed. “There’s a fallen tree up here. We can use it to cross.” He led Graypaw and Ravenpaw upstream to a log that rested only a kittenstep above the rushing water. “Be careful, it’ll be slippery!” Firepaw warned, leaping carefully up onto it. The log’s bark had been stripped away, leaving only smooth, wet wood to balance on. Carefully the three cats walked along the trunk. Firepaw jumped down on the other side and watched his friends until they, too, had landed safely.

  The trees were bigger on the other side, offering some shelter from the storm as they hurried on, side by side.

  “Are you going to tell me exactly why we need to get Ravenpaw away?” panted Graypaw.

  “Because he knows that Tigerclaw killed Redtail,” Firepaw answered.

  “Tigerclaw killed Redtail!” Graypaw echoed in disbelief, stopping dead and staring first at Firepaw and then at Ravenpaw.

  “At the battle with RiverClan,” puffed Ravenpaw. “I saw him.”

  “But why would he do that?” Graypaw protested, setting off again. They started down the slope that led into the clearing at Fourtrees.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he thought Bluestar would make him deputy,” Firepaw suggested, raising his voice against the wind.

  Graypaw didn’t reply, but his face darkened.

  The cats began to climb the steep slope that led up to WindClan territory. As Firepaw leaped upward from rock to rock, he called down to Graypaw behind him. He wanted his friend to understand just how dangerous it was for Ravenpaw in the ThunderClan camp. “I overheard Tigerclaw talking to Darkstripe and Longtail on the night Lionheart was killed,” he yowled. “He wants to get rid of Ravenpaw.”

  “Get rid of him? You mean kill him?” Graypaw sat heavily on a rock.

  Firepaw stopped too. He looked down at his friends. Ravenpaw had halted farther down the slope, his sides heaving as he caught his breath. He looked smaller than ever with his sodden fur clinging to his scrawny body.

  “You saw the way Frostfur went for Ravenpaw today?” Firepaw meowed to Graypaw. “Tigerclaw’s been hinting to everyone that Ravenpaw is a traitor. But he’ll be safe with Barley. Now come on; we must hurry!”

  It was impossible to talk in the open expanse of WindClan territory. The wind howled around them while the thunder and lightning rolled and flashed overhead. The three cats lowered their heads and pushed onward into the heart of the storm.

  Eventually they reached the edge of the plateau that marked the end of WindClan’s territory.

  “We can’t take you any farther, Ravenpaw,” meowed Firepaw through the gale. “We have to get back and find Yellowfang before the storm has passed.”

  Ravenpaw looked up through the battering rain, alarmed. Then he nodded.

  “Will you be able to find Barley alone?” yowled Firepaw.

  “Yes, I remember the way,” answered Ravenpaw.

  “Watch out for those dogs,” warned Graypaw.

  Ravenpaw nodded. “I will!” Suddenly he frowned, “How can you be sure Barley will welcome me?”

  “Just tell him you caught an adder once!” answered Graypaw, affectionately nudging his friend’s rain-soaked shoulder.

  “Go,” Firepaw urged, aware that time was short. He licked Ravenpaw’s skinny chest. “And don’t worry; I’ll make sure everyone knows you didn’t betray ThunderClan.”

  “What if Tigerclaw comes looking for me?” Ravenpaw’s voice was small against the rumbling storm.

  Firepaw met his gaze steadily. “He won’t. I will tell him you are dead.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Firepaw and Graypaw retraced their steps to ThunderClan territory. Both cats were bone-weary and wet through, but Firepaw kept up the pace. The storm was beginning to move away. A ThunderClan patrol would be out soon and on Yellowfang’s trail. They had to find her first.

  The sky was still dark, even though the black thunderclouds were beginning to roll away toward the horizon. Firepaw guessed that it must be nearly sunset.

  “Why don’t we head straight into ShadowClan territory?” suggested Graypaw as they ran down the steep hillside into Fourtrees.

  “We need to pick up Yellowfang’s scent first,” Firepaw explained. “I just hope it won’t lead to the ShadowClan camp.”

  Graypaw glanced sideways at his friend, but didn’t reply.

  They headed back over the stream, into ThunderClan territory. There was no scent of Yellowfang until they crossed into the oak woods close to the camp.

  Now that the rain had finally stopped, the scents around them were beginning to return. Firepaw hoped that the rain had not washed away Yellowfang’s trail completely. He stopped and brushed at a fern with the tip of his nose, and recognized the familiar smell. Yellowfang’s fear-scent prickled in his nostrils. “She came this way!” he meowed.

  He pushed his way through the wet undergrowth. Graypaw followed. The rain was easing, and the thunder was fading into the distance. Time was running out. Firepaw pushed on faster.

  To his dismay, he realized Yellowfang’s scent was indeed leading them straight to ShadowClan territory. His heart sank. Did this mean Tigerclaw’s accusations were true? Firepaw began to hope that each new smell would take them in a different direction, but the trail was unfaltering.

  They arrived at the Thunderpath and halted. Several monsters roared by, throwing up fountains of dirty water. The two cats hung back from the edge of the wide, gray track until there was a gap. Then they raced across the path and into ShadowClan territory.

  The scent markers that lined the border made Firepaw’s paws tingle.

  Graypaw halted and looked around nervously. “I always thought I’d have a few more warriors with me when I finally entered ShadowClan territory,” he confessed.

  “Not afraid, are you?” Firepaw murmured.

  “Aren’t you? My mother warned me about the stench of ShadowClan many times.”

  “My mother never taught me such things,” Firepaw replied. But for the first time he was relieved that his fur was so wet that it clung to his body—Graypaw might not notice the way it was bristling fearfully along his spine.

  The two cats prowled onward, alert to every sight and sound. Graypaw was on the lookout for ShadowClan patrols, and Firepaw for the ThunderClan party he knew must come soon.

  Yellowfang’s scent trail led them steadily into the heart of ShadowClan’s hunting grounds. The woods here were gloomy, the undergrowth crowded with nettles and brambles.

  “I can’t smell her,” complained Graypaw. “It’s too wet.”

  “It’s there,” Firepaw assured him.

  “I can smell that though,” Graypaw spat suddenly.

  “What?” Firepaw hissed. He stopped, alarmed.

  “Kitscent. There’s kit blood here!”

  Firepaw sniffed again, seeking out the smell of ThunderClan offspring. “I smell it too,” he agreed. “And something else!” He flicked his tail down sharply, warning Graypaw to keep quiet. Then, silently, he signaled with his whiskers toward a blackened ash tree up ahead.

  Graypaw twitched his ears questioningly. Firepaw gave him a tiny nod. Yellowfang was sheltering behind the wide, split trunk.

  Instinctively the two cats separated, each moving toward the tree, one on either side. They crept over the soft forest floor, using all the tricks of basic training, stepping lightly, keeping their bodies low.

  Then they leaped.

  Yellowfang yowled with surprise as the two cats landed beside her and pinned her to the ground. She struggled free, spitting, and backed into a sheltered hollow at the base of the trunk. Firepaw and Graypaw moved forward, blocking her way out.

  “I knew ThunderClan would blame me!” she hissed, her eyes flashing with all her old hostility.

  “Where are the kits?” Firepaw demanded.

  “We can smell their blood!” spat Graypaw. “Have you harmed them?”

  “I don’t have them,�
� snarled Yellowfang angrily. “I’ve come to find them and take them back. I stopped because I smelled blood too. But they’re not here.”

  Firepaw and Graypaw looked at one another.

  “I don’t have them!” insisted Yellowfang.

  “Why did you run away, then? Why did you kill Spottedleaf?” Graypaw asked the questions Firepaw couldn’t bring himself to say out loud.

  “Spottedleaf is dead?” There was no mistaking the shock in Yellowfang’s voice.

  Relief washed over Firepaw. “You didn’t know?” he croaked.

  “How could I? I left the camp as soon as I heard the kits were missing.”

  Graypaw looked suspicious, but Firepaw could hear the truth in her voice.

  “I know who has taken the kits,” she continued. “I smelled his scent near the nursery.”

  “Who was it?” Firepaw asked.

  “Clawface—one of Brokenstar’s warriors. And as long as the kits are with ShadowClan, they’re in great danger.”

  “But surely even ShadowClan wouldn’t harm kits!” Firepaw protested.

  “Don’t be so sure,” spat Yellowfang. “Brokenstar intends to use them as warriors.”

  “But they are only three moons old!” Graypaw gasped.

  “That hasn’t stopped him before. He has been training kits as young as three moons since he became leader. At five moons he sends them out as warriors!”

  “Surely they’d be too small to fight!” Firepaw protested. But in his mind’s eye he pictured the undersize ShadowClan apprentices he had seen at the Gathering. They weren’t just small; they were kits!

  Yellowfang hissed scornfully, “Brokenstar doesn’t care about that. He has plenty more kits to spare, and if they run out, he can steal them from other Clans!” Her voice was filled with rage. “After all, we’re talking about a cat who killed kits from his own Clan!”

  Firepaw and Graypaw were stunned.

  “If he killed ShadowClan’s kits, why wasn’t he punished?” Firepaw asked at last.

  “Because he lied,” growled Yellowfang. Bitterness made her voice hard. “He accused me of their murder, and ShadowClan believed him!”