Tallkit felt Brackenwing tug his scruff with her teeth. He scrabbled at the nest, snagging wool in his claws as she lifted him out. His fur spiked. It’s not fair!
Brackenwing lowered him gently to the floor. “Let Palebird rest.” She nosed him toward the entrance. Numbly Tallkit stumbled forward. Behind him, Brackenwing was tucking wool around his mother. “You get some sleep, dear,” she whispered as Palebird tucked her nose under her paw and closed her eyes.
With a pang of sadness, Tallkit slid from the den. He landed on the damp grass and fluffed his fur against the chill. Wool was tufted beneath his claws. He shook it out crossly and stared across the camp. The prey heap was stacked high. He could see a rabbit near the bottom with small, brown mouse bodies piled on top. Belly growling, he stomped toward the heap. As he reached it, he sniffed warily. Rich scents swamped his tongue. He drew back, wrinkling his nose.
“First time?” Plumclaw’s mew made him jump. The dark gray she-cat nosed in beside him. “Try a mouse first. It’s not too strong and it’s easy to chew.” She tugged one of the little, brown bodies from the heap and dropped it at his paws. “Be careful of the bones.” She tapped the haunches of the mouse with her soft, gray foot. “Take a bite there.”
Tallkit leaned down, trying not to breathe in the prey scent. I want milk! Closing his eyes, he sank his teeth into the soft flesh. Flavor flooded his tongue, pungent and warm.
“Not bad, eh?” Plumclaw purred.
Tallkit wasn’t sure. He ripped a small chunk from the mouse and looked at her. The juicy meat was strange, but not horrible. He began to chew.
“There you go!” Plumclaw’s eyes glowed. She hooked a bird from the pile with a claw and pointed to a patch of grass beside the heather wall of the camp. “Let’s take our meal over there and stop crowding the prey heap.” Grabbing the bird between her teeth, she padded across the grass.
Tallkit picked up the mouse and followed. He puffed out his chest proudly as it swung from his jaws. He felt like a moor runner bringing prey home to the Clan! He settled beside Plumclaw as she took a bite of her bird. “This is a thrush,” she explained, her mouth full. “It tastes a bit woody.” She swallowed. “I prefer lapwing, but we only hunt them after the breeding season.”
Tallkit took another bite of mouse. He knew what to expect this time and began to relish the chewy meat.
“You’ll be an apprentice soon and then you can catch your own prey,” Plumclaw told him.
Catch my own prey! Tallkit wondered what tunnel-hunting was like. Chasing rabbits in the dark couldn’t be as much fun as chasing rabbits on the moor. “Did you like being an apprentice?” he asked Plumclaw.
“It was great.” Plumclaw tore another mouthful from her thrush.
Tallkit glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Were you glad you were going to be a tunneler?” Could any cat be glad to be told they would spend their life underground?
“Of course!” Plumclaw shook a feather from her muzzle. “Both my parents were tunnelers. And I knew I’d be good at it because I’m small, and my paws are wide and strong.” She held one up. Tallkit could see mud trapped beneath her claws even though the rest of her pelt was washed clean.
“Do you like being underground?” Tallkit tried to sound unconcerned. He didn’t want her to guess he was having second thoughts about becoming a tunneler. What if she told Sandgorse?
“I love it,” she told him. “It feels like a secret world. Above me, prey runs, warriors patrol, clouds move over the moor, and no one except my tunnelmates know where we are.”
“Don’t you miss the wind in your pelt?”
“No.” Plumclaw looked at him, surprised. “It’s snug underground. I feel safe with the earth pressing against my fur.”
Tallkit swallowed. “You sound like you’re half mole!”
“Maybe I am.” As Plumclaw purred with amusement, Barkkit scrambled out of the Meeting Hollow. Tallkit sat up as his denmate bounced toward him.
“Heatherstar said yes!” Barkkit stopped in front of him. “I can be Hawkheart’s apprentice!”
“I didn’t know you wanted to be a medicine apprentice,” Plumclaw purred. “Congratulations!”
“Yeah.” Tallkit licked blood from his lips. “Congratulations.” He couldn’t help feeling a pang of envy. You’ll be doing what you want while I spend all day digging holes.
“Tallkit?” Barkkit was frowning at him. “What’s wrong?”
Tallkit lifted his chin. He wasn’t being fair to his friend. “Nothing. I’m really happy for you!”
Barkkit noticed his mouse. “You’re eating prey!”
Tallkit puffed out his fur proudly. “It’s good.”
“I like shrew best,” Barkkit told him. “It tastes heathery.” He glanced over his shoulder at the grassy clearing. “Do you want to play Rabbit?”
Tallkit took a quick bite of mouse and pushed the rest toward Plumclaw. “Here.”
“Thanks,” she meowed. “Are you sure you’ve had enough?”
“Plenty.” Tallkit jumped to his paws. “Shall I be rabbit this time?” he asked Barkkit.
Barkkit flicked his stubby tail. “Yes.”
“Okay,” Tallkit mewed. “But I’m not hiding under any gorse bushes. They’re way too prickly.”
“Don’t worry,” Barkkit reassured him. “If you step on another thorn, I can always pull it out.”
CHAPTER 5
“Let all cats old enough to hunt gather at Tallrock.” Blue sky framed Heatherstar as she called from the top. Behind her, the distant moor rolled wide and green, rippling with heather not quite in bloom.
A soft breeze tugged at Tallkit’s pelt as he sat on the rim of the Meeting Hollow. His Clanmates swarmed around him, streaming down into the sandy dip. A warm newleaf had brought rich prey and now, as greenleaf set in, the Clan’s warriors were plump and sleek. Tallkit glanced at the tunnelers as they clustered at one end of the hollow. Woollytail’s eyes were bright and Hickorynose paced impatiently around him while Plumclaw’s tail-tip flicked with excitement. Hawkheart and Reedfeather sat still as stone at the foot of Tallrock while the moor runners filled up the rest of the hollow.
“Sit down and stop fidgeting.” Cloudrunner beckoned Stagpaw with a flick of his tail. Doepaw was already waiting between Aspenfall and Ryepaw.
The elders clambered stiffly into the hollow, Flamepelt leading the way. Whiteberry pressed close to Lilywhisker as she dragged her leg behind her. Flailfoot followed. “This is the ceremony I’ve been looking forward to,” he rasped.
Tallkit’s heart leaped like a rabbit in his chest.
Sandgorse stood beside him. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Tallkit glanced at Palebird. Her round eyes, which had been dull for so long, were bright and focused.
She leaned forward and began lapping the fur on Tallkit’s shoulders. “I want you looking your best,” she purred.
Brown fur flashed at the entrance to the medicine den as Barkpaw hurried out. The young apprentice scrambled into the hollow and took his place beside Hawkheart. The medicine cat flashed him a reproachful look.
“Sorry, Hawkheart.” Tallkit heard Barkpaw’s hushed apology. “I was sorting the comfrey leaves.”
Shrewpaw caught Tallkit’s eye. He was sitting beside his mentor, Hareflight. Tallkit could guess what he was thinking. You’re going to be Wormpaw now. Tallkit looked away. I’ll be an apprentice, he told himself. It doesn’t matter whether I’m a tunneler or a moor runner.
Heatherstar leaped down from Tallrock and crossed the hollow. She stopped in the middle and surveyed her Clan until her gaze rested on Tallkit. His pelt burned. “Tallkit!” Heatherstar called.
Palebird nudged him forward. Paws slipping on the dry sand, Tallkit scrambled down into the hollow and stopped in front of Heatherstar.
“It is rare that I give an apprentice name to only one cat.” Heatherstar’s blue eyes bored into him. “Let us remember your littermate, Finchkit.” She glanced up at Palebird. “WindClan
mourns the loss of one so young, but she is at peace, safe with StarClan.”
Tallkit wondered if his littermate was watching his ceremony. Would she be jealous that she never got the chance to have her apprentice name? Perhaps StarClan would grant her one.
“Tallpaw.” Heatherstar’s mew jerked his thoughts back. “I have thought long and hard about who should mentor you.”
Tallpaw heard murmurs of excitement from the tunnelers. “She’ll choose Woollytail, surely?” Plumclaw’s whisper hissed across the hollow.
Heatherstar’s gaze didn’t waver. “I have chosen Dawnstripe.” She turned her head toward the moor runners. “Come forward, Dawnstripe.”
Tallpaw gripped the earth as the ground seemed to sway beneath him. But I’m supposed to be a tunneler. He looked at Sandgorse, sitting above the hollow. His father’s eyes glittered with outrage.
Tallpaw swallowed as Dawnstripe padded toward him. I’m not going underground. Relief fluttered deep in his belly.
“Heatherstar!” Woollytail’s sharp mew cut across the hollow. “You promised us a tunneler!”
Paws thumped onto the earth behind Tallpaw. He spun around, heart lurching. Sandgorse had jumped into the clearing. “You’ve made a mistake, Heatherstar.”
Heatherstar shook her head. “No, I haven’t, Sandgorse.”
“But I’m a tunneler. Palebird’s a tunneler. We want Tallpaw to follow in our paw steps.”
Heatherstar dipped her head. “I know,” she meowed quietly. “But I have watched Tallpaw. He doesn’t have a tunneler’s nature or physique.”
“That’s not true!” Sandgorse snapped. “Look at this tail. It’s easily long enough to pull him out of a cave-in. And he has strong paws and short fur, to keep the sand out.”
Heatherstar held Sandgorse’s gaze. “He can run like the wind and leap like a hare. He chases imaginary prey when he thinks no one is watching.”
Palebird jumped down beside her mate. “He can chase real prey in the tunnels!” she hissed.
Heatherstar didn’t flinch. “I’ve seen him when the wind’s up. It gets into his fur so he can’t sit still. He needs to be aboveground. He needs be true to his nature.”
“True to his nature?” Woollytail spat. “What kit doesn’t run and jump?”
Hickorynose snorted. “In leaf-bare, you said that the tunnels were too dangerous. Now you say a kit likes the wind in his fur. What excuse will you use next time you give the moor runners an apprentice?”
Sandgorse took a step closer to Heatherstar, his pelt bristling. “Tunneling is in his nature,” he growled. “How could it not be? His kin are tunnelers stretching back for moons.”
Heatherstar’s tail twitched. “If Tallpaw wants to train as a tunneler later, he can. But I want him to train as a moor runner first.”
Tallpaw flinched as he saw Palebird’s tail droop. She clambered out of the hollow and padded, head down, back to the nursery. Should I tell Heatherstar that I want to be a tunneling apprentice? Tallpaw looked desperately from the WindClan leader to his father.
“He’s my son,” Sandgorse snarled. “I’ll decide his future.”
Heatherstar stiffened. “I decide the future of my warriors.” She turned to Dawnstripe. “Share your speed and courage with Tallpaw. Make him a warrior the whole of WindClan can be proud of.”
Tallpaw’s heart thumped like rabbit paws on hollow earth. Dawnstripe was one of WindClan’s fastest runners and had never backed down in a fight. He could learn so much from her. I will make WindClan proud.
He fought to stop himself from trembling as Dawnstripe touched her muzzle to his head, and he pricked his ears, listening for his Clanmates’ cheers. Paws shifted on the sand around him. No cat called his apprentice name. Nervously Tallpaw glanced over his shoulder. Sandgorse had turned his tail on the ceremony. The tunnelers stared in stony silence.
“Tallpaw!” Cloudrunner was the first to call his name.
Hareflight joined in “Tallpaw!”
“Tallpaw!” Dawnstripe raised her voice above the others and led the chant, challenging the other moor runners to join in with a glare.
As more cats began to call his name, Dawnstripe nosed Tallpaw toward Stagpaw and Doepaw. “Come on,” she murmured. “Greet your new denmates.”
“Tallpaw! Tallpaw!” Ryepaw pummeled the ground.
Stagpaw’s eyes shone as Tallpaw approached. “Congratulations.”
Tallpaw’s tongue felt dry. Stagpaw had never spoken to him as an equal before.
As the chanting died away, Ryepaw and Doepaw clustered around him. “The first time you see the moor is the best,” Doepaw told him breathlessly.
“You won’t believe how big it is!” Ryepaw fluffed out her gray fur.
Barkpaw raced to Tallpaw’s side. “Congratulations!” he mewed. Tallpaw blinked gratefully at his friend. He still didn’t know how to feel. He wanted to be a moor runner, but not if it made his mother and father so angry.
“You may think you’ve been given an easier path.” Tallpaw turned as a gruff mew sounded in his ear. Hawkheart was standing beside him. The gray-brown medicine cat narrowed his eyes. “But it’s a path that leads away from your kin. Be careful not to lose your way.”
Tallpaw shook his head. “I won’t; I promise!”
Barkpaw puffed out his chest. “Of course he won’t!”
“Heatherstar must be crazy.” Shrewpaw barged past his brother. “You should be underground, Wormkit!”
Tallpaw sniffed. “I’m not a kit. Or a worm. I’m going to be a moor runner, just like you.”
Larksplash’s whiskers twitched. “It’ll be good to have a new apprentice in the den.” She glanced at Ryepaw, her gaze warm. “A certain litter isn’t too good at being ready in time for dawn patrol.”
Aspenfall purred, weaving past Dawnstripe. “I bet you’re an early riser, if you’re anything like your father.” He looked at Sandgorse. The pale ginger tunneler sat with his back to the hollow.
Tallpaw’s heart twisted. He dipped his head to the moor runners crowding around him. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “I must go speak with Sandgorse.” He nosed his way past Dawnstripe and Stagpaw, and jumped out of the hollow. Following the rim, he headed for his father. “Sandgorse?”
The tunneler’s fur looked dull and patchy, worn thin by countless moons working underground.
Tallpaw stopped in front of his father. “Do you want me to tell Heatherstar I’d rather be a tunneler?”
Sandgorse lifted his gaze. “Is that what you want?”
Tallpaw swallowed.
Sandgorse’s gaze hardened. “Is it?”
Tallpaw shifted his paws. “No,” he mewed quietly.
“Then don’t,” Sandgorse snapped.
“I’m sorry,” Tallpaw mewed. “But if Heatherstar had made me a tunneler, I would have trained just as hard.”
“I had such plans.” Sandgorse’s gaze drifted toward the nursery, where Palebird was hiding.
“I know.” Tallpaw tried to ignore the guilt pricking his heart. “You and me and Palebird were going to patrol together. But I promise, even though I’m training to be a moor runner, I’ll be the best warrior I can be.”
“You were born to be a tunneler.” Sandgorse flashed an angry glance at Heatherstar as she sat, head bowed, beside Reedfeather in the hollow. “You can’t change that, no matter what any other cat tells you!” Lashing his tail, he marched away.
Tallpaw watched him go, grief rising in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Warm breath brushed his ear. Dawnstripe. Tallpaw recognized her scent. “There’s nothing you can do,” she meowed. “Leave him. He’ll get used to it.”
Tallpaw looked up hopefully at her. “Will he?”
Dawnstripe didn’t answer. Instead she nodded toward the camp entrance. “Come on. I bet you’re desperate to see what’s outside.” She bounded across the grass, clearing the tussocks easily.
Tallpaw raced after her, zigzagging between them. He’d jump them one day soon,
when his legs were stronger from training. As a moor runner! I’m going to be a moor runner! He stopped at the camp entrance and watched Dawnstripe’s gold-banded tail disappearing through the narrow gap in the heather that marked the entrance to the camp. For the first time in his life, Tallpaw was going to see what lay beyond the heather walls.
He pushed his way through the gap. Heather fronds swished over his pelt and he half closed his eyes as they flicked his muzzle. As soon as he cleared the branches, wind swept over his face. Opening his eyes wide, Tallpaw emerged onto a patch of windswept grass and stared at the wide heath stretching out before him.
Gray clouds massed on the horizon beyond a sea of wind-whisked heather. The moor rolled away on all sides, sloping up beyond the camp and dropping below where they stood. Gorse sprouted here and there, yellow against the green heather, clumping in thick swathes like patches of sunshine. Now that he was outside, Tallpaw could see that the WindClan camp was nestled in a natural hollow, its grassy clearing hidden by the thick, leafy walls.
“What do you think?” Muzzle high, Dawnstripe stood on a grassy hillock a few tail-lengths away and looked down at him.
“It’s huge!” Tallpaw whispered. He dug his claws into the grass to steady himself against the buffeting wind. He felt an urge to charge into the heather and run as far as he could, but fear rooted his paws to the spot. What if he ran all the way out of the territory? What if he couldn’t find his way back to camp?
“Look!” Dawnstripe flicked her tail to the slope on the far side of the camp. Birds were swooping low to the heather, then lifting high into the sky before turning for another dive. “Lapwings,” Dawnstripe explained. “They’re defending their young. There must be a weasel nearby.”
“A weasel?” Tallpaw blinked at her. He’d never seen one of those on the fresh-kill pile. Were weasels dangerous? He glanced around nervously.
“Stay clear of them until you’ve learned some fighting moves,” Dawnstripe instructed. “They’re fast and vicious and their bites carry infection. And they taste dreadful, so don’t bother trying to catch one to eat.”