The Darkest Moons (Warrior Cats)

4. Cause of Concern

Everything I have ever done in my entire life has led to this moment. Every pawstep must count. Every movement has to be swift and calculated.

Palepaw bunched his muscles together and breathed in as deeply as he could without making a noise. He barely shifted his numb paws as he prepared to make his move.

I am a mighty warrior, and I will not fail.

He leaped through the air and landed right on top of the mouse, causing it to squeak. He swept one paw quickly forward and snapped its tiny, frail neck. He beamed with pride at his catch.

"That is one of the most pathetic mice I have ever seen," grumbled a cat.

Palepaw's pride shriveled and exploded into dust. He glared at Redwing. "At I least I've caught something, unlike you," he countered defensively. The she-cat's green eyes widened, and her ears fell back, her tail lashing. Tidefoot sniggered nearby.

"Alright. We should go before it decides to snow again," the tom suggested. Although the snow had melted in the past five days, it was still dreadfully cold, and the morale of the camp was low. Palepaw had found himself gravitating more towards Tidefoot, who often kept a semi-positive outlook on things.

Redwing bared her fangs and began stomping away, muttering to herself. Palepaw picked up his small mouse and followed Tidefoot over a small knoll and to a tree. Tidefoot quickly uncovered a squirrel and a blackbird from under a few clumps of old moss, and he nudged the squirrel towards Palepaw. "I believe that's your catch. You're pretty good for a kit."

Palepaw rolled his eyes and dropped his mouse, working its tail against the squirrel's and then lifting them both simultaneously. It was only sunhigh now, leaving plenty of the day, and he was happy to be returning to camp. He trotted alongside Tidefoot, passing old, crumpled trees with gnarled trunks and fire-scarred branches. They lowered themselves into dips and clambered back up, both puffing through the fur or feathers of their prey. They shivered, and when the camp came into sight, they shared a mutual enthusiasm for the upcoming warmth.

"Ashtail, Yellowfoot, and Tinypetal, you three will go along the FireClan and PlainClan borders. Redwing-"

"I just got back!"

Palepaw purred to himself with amusement at the sight of Redwing's ruffling fur. He dropped his prey on the pile and sat beside it, curling his tail around his paws. Shadowclaw was looking frantically between the cats left in the camp. The black tom groaned. "Redwing, Goldstreak, and Stormstripe will go along the MarshClan and WaterClan borders. Take Scorchpaw."

Redwing's fur bristled, and she slunk towards the apprentices' den. Palepaw waited and snorted as Scorchpaw staggered out, tabby gray pelt wild. His jaws opened into a wide yawn, clicking when he closed his mouth, and he wandered after his mentor.

"Palepaw!"

Great. Palepaw twisted his head to look over his shoulder. Echopaw was running up to him, huffing when she stopped. "Don't give me that look."

"What look?" Palepaw asked dumbly. "I'm just looking at you."

Echopaw squinted at him and shook her head. "I want to talk to you, okay? Behind the warriors' den?"

Palepaw eyed her suspiciously for a moment. "You never want to talk in secret."

"Just come on," the she-cat hissed. Palepaw squinted at her as he followed, hoping that she could feel his gaze through her thick pelt. They rounded the warriors' den - a massive fallen tree with a hollowed inside, scorched by the fire that had struck so long ago - and crept under a thick set of young brush, leafless and barren. Palepaw inched down a tiny slope, which curled against the cliff and under a rock shelf, which he warily stared up at.