Warriors but Wolves: Into the Wild

Chapter 6

     Early-morning sunlight streamed down onto the forest floor as Firepaw roamed in search of his prey. Two moons had passed since he had begun his training. He felt at ease in this environment now. His senses had been awoken and educated in the way of the mountains.

Firepaw paused to sniff the ground and the cold blind things that moved within it. He caught the scent of a Twoleg that had wandered the forest recently. Now that greenleaf was fully here, leaves were thick on the branches and tiny creatures were busy beneath the carpet of leaf mold.

Firepaw made a lean, strong shape as he moved silently through the trees, all his senses alert for the scent trail that would end in a swift kill. Today he had been set his first solo to bring back fresh-kill for the Pack.

He headed for the stream that he had crossed on that first trek through the ThunderPack hunting grounds. It gurgled and spattered as it ran downhill over the smooth, round pebbles. Firepaw paused briefly to lap at the cold, clear water, then lifted his head and tested the air again for any scent of prey.

The stench of a fox lay heavy in the air here. The smell was stale, so the intruder must have drunk here earlier in the day. Firepaw recognized the odor; he had smelled it on his first visit to the forest. Since then, Mooseheart had taught him it was fox-scent, but apart from the glimpse of the fox's brush he had caught on that first outing, Firepaw had still never seen one properly.

He struggled to screen out the fox-stench and concentrate on the prey-scent. Suddenly, his nose twitched as he honed in on the warm blood-beat of prey—a raccoon busy in its nest.

A moment later he saw the raccoon. The fat gray body was darting back and forth along the bank as it gathered tall grass stalks. Firepaw's mouth watered in anticipation. His last meal had been early in the morning, but he dared not hunt for himself until the Pack had been fed. He remembered the words repeated by Mooseheart and Bearclaw time and time again: "The Pack must be fed first."

Dropping into a crouch, Firepaw began to stalk the little creature. His orange belly fur brushed against the damp grass. He crept closer, his eyes never leaving his prey. Almost there. Another moment and he would be near enough to spring...

Suddenly there was a loud rustle in the ferns behind him. The raccoon's ears twitched, and it darted back into its burrow, out of sight and reach. Firepaw felt his fur rise along his spine. Whatever had ruined his first good chance of catching prey would have to pay. He sniffed the air. He could tell it was a wolf, but he realized with a jolt that he couldn't identify which Pack it belonged to—the stale stench of fox still confused his smell-sense.

A growl rose in his throat as he began doubling back in a wide circle. He pricked his ears and opened his eyes wide, seeking out any movement. He heard the undergrowth rustle again. It was louder now, off to one side. Firepaw edged closer. He could see the ferns moving, but the fronds still hid the enemy from view. A twig snapped with a sharp cracking noise. From the noise it's making, it must be big, Firepaw thought, preparing himself for a fierce battle.

The invisible warrior came closer and closer still. Firepaw held his breath, judging his moment as the ferns were pushed aside and a large black shape emerged.

"Gr-aaar!" The battle cry rumbled in Firepaw's throat. He launched himself at the enemy and landed squarely on a set of furry, muscular shoulders. He dug in hard with his claws, ready to deal out a powerful warning bite.

"Wa-ah! What'sat!" The body below him shot straight up in the air, carrying him with it.

"Ravenpaw?" Firepaw recognized the astonished voice and caught his friend's familiar smell, but he was too fired up to loosen his grip.