The Darkest Moons (Warrior Cats)

38. Begrudgingly Helping

Confusion and agitation had kept Palepaw up all night, and when he had finally managed to fall asleep, it was dawn. He hardly received any rest before he was woken by Shadowclaw. His confusion and agitation lingered onward, making his fur stand on edge. He felt envious of Scorchpaw, who had slept soundly upon returning. Palepaw pushed it away from his thoughts. Other things — more important things — plagued him.

There's an upcoming battle, and the Clan doesn't even know. Palepaw shook his head as he walked behind Shadowclaw. And Scorchpaw has been sneaking off with a rogue! Guilt prodded him. But I've been meeting with a WaterClan cat. Two, really! But they're my friends, and I know that for sure. But do I really have any right to be so angry at Scorchpaw?

"Palepaw!" Shadowclaw hissed quietly.

"What?" He answered.

The deputy huffed. "There's a mouse ahead. I want you to catch it."

Palepaw dipped his head and crouched, stalking forward. He could see the rodent by a tree root, nibbling on a sliver of grass. He walked slowly, taking light steps. When he was close, he readied himself to lunge. The mouse had no time to react after he jumped, and he bit into its neck to swiftly kill it.

"Well done," Shadowclaw praised. "Bury it. I'm going hunting by the outer border. You can stay in this area and find something else. We'll meet here."

"Okay," Palepaw mewed, and he watched as his mentor padded away. What if he finds Scorchpaw's scent, or mine? Or Poppy's? Scorchpaw has Blackstar's permission, though. He won't get in trouble. I'm the one sneaking off like a rat. Shame snapped at him, and he was forced to sit. He stared blankly at his catch. I don't know if I should trust Poppy or not. What about Spottedpaw and Claypaw? They're WaterClan! But I've known them since before WaterClan got involved.

Palepaw took a deep breath and got to his paws. No use worrying, I guess. I need to hunt. Shadowclaw will tear my other ear off if I don't catch anything else. He pressed forward, sniffing the air. He listened to the leaves above him as they rustled and quivered and imagined that the noises came from hiding rogues. I'll be a warrior soon. I've had more battle experience than most apprentices too, so I'm at an advantage. He consciously flicked his ripped ear and shuddered. Scars still hung over his eye after the fight in the twolegplace. I could have been blinded.

A soft coo made him pause, and he fell down to a crouch and searched his surroundings. In time, he discovered the source: a plump dove. That'll make a nice enough meal. He inched closer. His whiskers twitched in anticipation. As the dove began to preen its feathers, Palepaw adjusted his position. In only a second, he was flying through the air. The dove took off, flapping wildly and dodging him, and he was forced to jump after it again. He lashed at it with sharp claws, nicking its wing and shoving it to the ground. He was quick to bite its neck and shake it. That was a stupid bird!

Lifting the dove, Palepaw looked around the forest. It'll feed someone, at least. Shadowclaw will probably give it to Rosepetal. He started off into the woods, walking the way he had came, and he kept his ears perked and eyes wide. We haven't had any more spats with the rogues, or with WaterClan.

It didn't take long for him to return to the rendezvous. He dropped his dove and uncovered his mouse, shaking dirt and other debris from it. It'll feed a few cats, and Shadowclaw will bring more. Palepaw crouched by the nearby tree and laid on a mossy patch by its roots, setting his head against its trunk. He closed his eyes and listened to everything around him. It's all so peaceful. I missed greenleaf.

Memories of kithood flowed through his mind. He remembered playing mossball with Scorchpaw and listening to stories from Tigerstripe. He could visualize Patchback's face when Palepaw had woven a tendril of thorns into his nest. He had memories of Redwing as well, not all of them good. There was something bittersweet, though, in the way he had been raised. She had sneered at him and glowered, but when night came, he would wake up and feel her wrapped around him like any loving mother. Was it all an act? He asked himself, opening his eyes and looking out into the trees. She hated me because I wasn't her kit. But she groomed me and kept me warm at night. He sighed and sat up. Maybe she only acted affectionate at night because she didn't want others to know how she really felt. Or maybe she just really missed her own kits.