The Lost Prophecy: Book 2: Broken Destinies

Chapter 11

The rest of their hunting trip didn't go as poorly as Ravenpaw had anticipated. He somehow caught two more mice and a shrew, while Cinderpaw managed to catch a finch. Dustpelt had been pleased with that one; apparently it was the first time Cinderpaw had gotten the chance to try out her bird stalking crouch. All things considered, Cinderpaw did well and seemed completely unbothered by her near miss in the tree; somehow nearly falling to her death had increased her interest in tree climbing, which baffled Ravenpaw.

It was getting dark when Dustpelt suggested they head back. "It's getting late," he meowed, raising his head to the sky. Sunset was still a while away but storm clouds were building. "We should pick up our prey."

Ravenpaw nodded. "Yeah we should go-" He stopped. In the distance, a huge brown feathered shape was moving behind the screen of undergrowth and trees.

"What?" Dustpelt mouthed.

Ravenpaw angled his ears toward the pheasant, and saw Dustpelt's eyes widen. He could understand his brother's shock; a bird of that size would feed half the Clan. Waving his tail, Dustpelt skirted the trees in a wide path around it. Cinderpaw watched them curiously as they went, apparently realizing that she was too small to help.

Ravenpaw shifted a few pawsteps to the right, trying to get into position. Runningwind did the same to the left. When Dustpelt nodded, he was ready. He raced toward it at a sprint, not bothering to keep quiet; the pheasant would be driven right up to Dustpelt.

Sure enough, the pheasant let out an alarm call and began to beat its wings to escape from Ravenpaw, gliding straight into Dustpelt, who leaped toward it and leaned in to give it a killing bite.

But Dustpelt was a heartbeat too slow and the bird flapped away before he could close his jaws. "No!"

The pheasant made it a fox-length off the ground before Runningwind dashed up, tackling the frantically squawking bird. Ravenpaw hurtled after him and pounced, adding his weight to the joint effort to pin it down. Finally Dustpelt raced up, snapping the pheasant's neck with a strong bite after a brief struggle. "There," he breathed, letting it fall to the ground. "Great StarClan, that was tough." Ravenpaw let out a sigh of relief as well. Even outnumbered, a pheasant could cause serious injury to cat; they were lucky it hadn't thought of using its talons.

Cinderpaw's eyes were wide with awe. "What is that?"

"A pheasant," Runningwind told her. "Well done, everyone; that was fantastic. Haven't seen one of those in seasons. I can't wait to see the Clan's reaction when we bring this back."

"Speaking of which," Dustpelt meowed, whiskers twitching, "we really should head back now. If we catch much more we won't be able to carry it all."

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They returned to camp, their jaws heavy with prey. Dustpelt was able to manage the pheasant by himself, but that left Ravenpaw, Cinderpaw, and Runningwind to carry the smaller pieces of prey themselves. Cats murmured appreciatively as they saw the amount of fresh-kill the patrol was carrying.

"Great StarClan, where did you hunt to get all that at once?" Mousefur mewed, padding up alongside Willowpelt.

"By Tallpines," Dustpelt answered.

"I always forget how big those are." Mousefur pointed at the pheasant with her tail. "That's a young one, and it'll feed half the Clan."

The queens had heard the commotion and padded out to join the other cats. One of Frostfur's youngest litter poked her head out from beside the white queen. "What is that?" she mewed, narrowing her eyes at the large bird.