Warrior Cats: Fallen Leaves

13 Suspicious Findings

Last Updated: 2016 August 17

Purple-tinged clouds glazed the grey-blue twilight like streaks of scar wounds. A faint breeze ruffled Nightpaw's face fur as he slipped past Willowpaw's silver huddle, her still-injured form stretched across two nests. Bird song broke the silence as he peered at the den that seemed too big for only two apprentices.

Pouncepaw should be here. Honeypaw should be here. Even Eelpaw should. A pang of grief and loss nipped at his body, still weary from the previous night's battle. His brother was a warrior. Honeypaw was dead. Eelpaw was a medicine cat. Frustration spiked his spine fur straight. If Birdsong didn't have an apprentice, she would have been there to save Honeypaw. Or if Eelpaw had been training from six moons, Honeypaw would have had more chance to survive. I didn't want my denmate to die, but she did. So had Streamsplash. So had Foxmuzzle.

It wasn't fair.

He stalked outside, a stronger wind wiping the warmth from his smoke-black fur. He shivered instinctively. Though it wasn't dawn yet, the Clan had started rebuilding the destroyed camp, and sent out search parties to look for Wheatkit. Nightpaw was (thankfully) not doing any of those chores. Reedfang couldn't boss him around forever!

He flicked his ears and eyes around.

Clear.

He slipped past Squirrelfur, Hawkfeather and Weaseldash, who lingered near the rock where most warriors hung about. Their heads hung low, and their paws twitched as if about to head out. Pretending to groom his fur, he listened for a moment.

"Hawkfeather, I really doubt a Thunderpath would attract much prey."

"You assume, Squirrelfur." The brown tabby's gaze flashed as vivid as green-leaf, glad of the attention. "Near the Green-leaf Thunderpath, there's an overgrown patch of low-growing shrubs that water voles love."

"Overgrown patches mean we would have to stalk," Squirrelfur's dark ginger fur puffed out, "We're CreekClan, graceful swimmers, not lumbering BirchClan badgers!"

Weaseldash's brown tail-tip curled around equally brown leaves. "But Hawkfeather seems right. I've scented prey there on patrols. And there aren't as many monsters in late leaf-fall."

Squirrelfur hesitated, mildly irritated scent blooming from her pelt. "I still think we should hunt closer to camp - a few days ago, I think, Hawkstar said he saw otters catching fish a few streams away. Plus, I hate the smell of monsters."

"Well, perhaps since MarshClan have been very disruptive lately..."

Hawkfeather twitched her whiskers. "Let's go then."

Wet grass squelched under their paws as they left. Nightpaw's black fur flickered like a shadow across their bright pelts as he sneaked past on light paws. As he slipped towards the shortcut behind the warriors den, Reedfang hissed to him from outside it. "Nightpaw!" He hurried back and forth, amber eyes wild, "Why are you crouching like you're infiltrating an enemy camp?"

"I'm going hunting." Nightpaw calmly faced his mentor. In an instant, he was shocked when his older brother's shoulders squirmed with stress.

"Actually, you're helping the medicine cats today. I did make that clear yesterday."

Nightpaw felt his back fur tense instinctively. No matter what he tried, he always seemed to argue when he talked with Reedfang. Why did he always make conversation difficult? "I want to hunt for the Clan before leaf-bare destroys all the prey! Besides, you said, 'Talk to Icetalon for patrols'. I'm going to-"

"No!" the black tom declared, "As my apprentice, you report to me. You're not a warrior yet."

"But we are," Sootwhisker mewed behind him, long strides rustling leaves as he padded closer. As he and Reedfang turned to face Sootwhisker, Pounceprey followed on swift, heavy paws.