The Secret Clan - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Beetlepaw was already awake and bouncing around the camp with his littermates before Hailcloud could pry open an eye. She awoke to the lithe brown tom scrambling over her in anticipation. His brother Tweetpaw flicked her nose with his paw playfully.

“I swear, I will pull of your tails if you do not get off me,” she growled. Tweetpaw sped off, wailing incessantly. Beetlepaw crouched at his mentor’s paws, watching her with staring, grey eyes.

“Can we do battle training, Hailcloud?” the apprentice whispered.

“Sure. And then we can go fight a pack of foxes.” Hailcloud murmured, eyes still closed.

“Really?” he squeaked, his eyes wide. Hailcloud grumbled a ‘no’ and got to her paws, long tail swishing against the ground.

Beetlepaw weaved his way enthusiastically around her paws until she padded outside into the blaring sun. Hailcloud tasted the air, drinking in the scents of her clanmates, of the river, and of prey.

“A fine day for hunting,” she commented, squinting at her surroundings.

“But I want to fight!” Beetlepaw whined. “Mistpaw said that Cricketsong is taking her for battle training! And Tweetpaw is going to patrol around the territory. And you tell me we’re hunting? I don’t want to catch lazy old squirrels…” he moaned.

Hailcloud whipped around, snarling.

“Is that any way to talk to your mentor? Who do you think has more experience, me or you? Life’s not all mice and moonlight, you cheeky kit!”

Beetlepaw scuffed his paws on the ground and muttered to himself. Hailcloud rolled her eyes and bent down to his ear.

“If you catch anything today, then I’ll teach you some basic moves,” she breathed. Beetlepaw gave a little skip, and strutted, high-tailed, out of the reed barrier of the camp.

“Now Beetlepaw,” Hailcloud whispered. “You see that mouse? It hasn’t noticed us. Why do you think that?”

“Because we’re downwind of it,” Beetlepaw mewed triumphantly. Hailcloud had made him repeat it until it was burned into his memory.

“Tail straight, paws light, like I taught you.”

Beetlepaw did exactly that, treading on broken down reeds. He stealthily approached the plump mouse, which was too busy nibbling a morsel of corn. As quick as a flash, he leaped, and the mouse barely had enough time to be startled. With a quick nip, it went limp in Beetlepaw’s jaws.

“Fabulous catch!” Hailcloud purred. Beetlepaw was a model student, copying exactly what Hailcloud instructed him. She could see that the brown apprentice would become a fine hunter. But she was nagged by the thought that Beetlepaw was only performing so well so that he could do battle training.

Hailcloud’s suspicions were proved right when Beetlepaw gave an excited twitch. “Battle training!” his eyes shone. “You promised that if I caught something, you’d teach me some basic moves!” Hailcloud cursed silently. The long-haired warrior’s expertise was hunting, and she wasn’t the best at fighting, as her denmates knew well. But Beetlepaw didn’t know that, and he ought to learn from the best.

“I did promise,” she groaned. Beetlepaw’s eyes sparkled with hope. “And maybe Mistpaw and Starlingflight have finished their patrol by now. Would you like to practice with them?” Beetlepaw was high-wired like a hive. He abandoned his mouse without thinking and attacked the nearest reed strand.

Kits! Hailcloud shook her head and purred.

Hailcloud and Starlingflight perched at the edge of the Hawkground. It was a dusty, circular plain which was perfect for battle training. Only the most hardy plants grew there, like gorse and some stray grass. It earned the name Hawkground when a warrior caught and killed a hawk trying to snatch an apprentice. The warrior was also granted the name Hawkcatcher. It is now the place of all battle training, since the prey runs poorly there.

Mistpaw waggled her stumpy tail, teal eyes glinting from the early morning sun.

“Mistpaw,” Starlingflight flicked her tail at the grey apprentice. “I want you to jump on top of Beetlepaw; try to land on his back.”

“I’m going to squish you like the beetle you are!” Mistpaw taunted her brother.

“Don’t moan, Beetlepaw, it’ll be your turn next,” Hailcloud hissed, seeing her apprentice begin to fidget and shrink away.

Mistpaw wiggled her haunches once more, than darted forward and sprung. She looked like a raincloud with her grey pelt waving in the air. With a playful growl, she landed on her brother’s back, leaving Beetlepaw splayed on the ground, panting. Starlingflight purred with pride. “Excellent,” she mewed. Hailcloud couldn’t help feeling a pang of empathy for her apprentice. She didn’t think he was having much fun being shadowed by his sister.

“Are you alright, Beetlepaw?” Mistpaw giggled. The brown apprentice shot up, neck fur bristling with embarrassment. He shot a look at Hailcloud, and she nodded enthusiastically. Beetlepaw sat up and went into a pouncing crouch that funnily resembled the hunters crouch. A hunter through and through, Hailcloud thought happily. She noticed that the three cats were waiting for her instruction.

“Oh, er, right. Beetlepaw, I want you to land on Mistpaw’s shoulders. Then, give a quick swipe over the ears and leap off. If that’s okay with you, Starlingflight. I think Beetlepaw should try a different approach.” Hailcloud mewed contemptuously. The silver she-cat had never liked Starlingflight’s attitude. She was too expecting of others – thinking that they would willingly oblige to whatever she asked of. Hailcloud guessed it was because of her father. Not that his murderous ways had rubbed off on her, but because no-one dared to speak wrong of her. She was physically untouchable. If someone said ‘no’ to her, she would whimper and claim it was because of her father. Starlingflight just flicked her tail and narrowed her eyes. “Perfectly fine with me,” she meowed.

Beetlepaw careered forward, sprung up and landed squarely on Mistpaw’s shoulders, rendering her defenceless. He aimed a misguided cuff around the ears, but loss balance and toppled back, landing with a squeal on top of Mistpaw’s tail. She too squeaked and sprinted forward.

“Beetle-brain!” Mistpaw wailed, still trying to jibe her brother. She bent down and licked her tail furiously, trying to eradicate imaginary blood. Beetlepaw sniffed dismissively.

“Fighting is stupid,” he growled. “Hunting is much better.” Beetlepaw stared meaningfully at Hailcloud. He seemed to be saying, Please, let me go! Hailcloud scuffed her paws subtly and looked around. One fail didn’t mean all was lost! Beetlepaw could keep trying…. But seeing the faces of Mistpaw and Starlingflight, she doubted her apprentice would survive their painful glares. Starlingflight sat licking her paw, eyes burning into Hailcloud. Mistpaw was sticking her chin out, a challenge. Hailcloud herself doubted she could!

“I scent water vole. I… I think I might try a new hunting technique with Beetlepaw. We’ll come back to battle training later.” Her last statement seemed more a question to Beetlepaw. He nodded tensely, glancing at Mistpaw with longing. Hailcloud skirted Beetlepaw and stood proudly in front of him with her tail on his shoulder.

“Let’s go.” She mewed gently.

---

Keapaw stretched, feeling the icy breath of morning seep through his pelt. Leafbare was fully frontal and affecting prey on a large scale. A memory suddenly stabbed his heart like a thorn. Last night, he had hurt Tulipaw. Keapaw knew that the white apprentice had feelings for him, and that if he kept their friendship at the level it was now, when Tulipaw became a warrior they would only grow closer. Warriors could take mates. Keapaw shivered, from the cold and the situation he was in. Tulipaw was a nice friend, but nothing more than that. And with Hollypaw… Keapaw felt himself growing warmer.

Dewfrost poked her head in the den. When her eyes settled on him she looked surprised. “Hi Keapaw,” she meowed. “I was just wondering where Hollypaw was?” The tortoiseshell apprentice’s mind sharpened. Where was she? Hollypaw, with the beautiful tabby and white fur; with the honeycomb yellow eyes. The way her nose twitches when she’s thinking. Keapaw realised with a start that Dewfrost was waiting for an answer with narrowed eyes. “Keapaw?” she mewed.

“Oh, er, yes. I think she’s in the elder’s den.” He stuttered. Dewfrost nodded slowly and raced off to the elder’s den. Keapaw tucked his paws under him. It wasn’t often that he was allowed to stay in his den this late. All that was left of the other five apprentices was tufts of fur and stale scents. Where was Lightfoot? Keapaw stood and arched his back, getting ready to go out into the open. He trotted out into the cloudy mid-morning. Volewhisker and Riverfur were talking in hushed voices and eating a pink fish. Yarrowleaf and Cricketsong were sharing tongues. Keapaw enjoyed Yarrowleaf’s dry humour and appreciated her kindness, but her mate, Cricketsong, was distant and slick. He blinked kindly at them and Yarrowleaf purred across the small splitting stream. Cricketsong flicked his ear. A lithe cream shape emerged from the nursery and blinked at Keapaw. It was Cuckoonose. She loped over to the tortoiseshell apprentice and purred slightly. “Ah, Keapaw,” she flicked her tail over his ear. “I was looking for you. Lightfoot is on the dawn patrol so she asked me to take you hunting. With me you might actually learn something new!” she mewed excitedly. Keapaw looked away, embarrassed. He knew Cuckoonose didn’t like Lightfoot, or her two sisters Hailcloud and Dewfrost. Cuckoonose was a vain cat. She did not perform particularly well as an apprentice, and now, does not care much for hunting or fighting. She usually lounges around camp and takes pleasure in joining Duskflower for hissing at the trio of kin. Keapaw just swallowed and nodded, casting longing glances at the disappearing figure of Dewfrost and Hollypaw. Cuckoonose narrowed her piercing eyes at Keapaw, before flicking her long tail and trotting off in the direction of the camp entrance. Keapaw reluctantly followed.

Cuckoonose sat, docile, in a small grassy spot between the long grasses. “What can you smell?” she asked. Keapaw cocked his head to the side. “Usually Lightfoot scents something and sends me after it.”

“Lightfoot isn’t here,” she growled. “Now tell me what you smell.” She repeated. Keapaw drew in a deep breath, released it, and tasted the air. A buffeting wave of smells hit him. Corn, water, cats, sweetgrass, dead fish, and a particularly appetising smell.

“Thrush!” Keapaw whispered. It was downwind of him, about six fox-lengths away, pecking at a worm. “What tactic do you want me to take?” Keapaw waved his tail enthusiastically, momentarily ignoring the chilling wind. The question caught Cuckoonose off guard. “Oh,” she started. “Stalking it and going for the… the neck, that’s it.” She said with utmost certainty. This she-cat has little more sense than a new apprentice, Keapaw thought with a roll of the eyes. Keapaw wiggled down onto the ground and began to stalk, his dark pelt hidden by the strands of gold tussock. The thrush was in sight now, still not noticing the approaching apprentice. The mottled bird suddenly paused, frozen. It took one look at Keapaw and tried to take off, but the tortoiseshell apprentice launched himself at the fleeing bird and ripped it from the air, delivering the death bite ‘to the neck’, as Cuckoonose requested. Keapaw resisted the urge to gulp it down right then and there, because he wanted to show Cuckoonose his catch. Trotting, high-pawed back to where the cream she-cat was, he dropped the thrush at her paws.

“Good job, ‘paw.” She purred. Keapaw felt dry at the empty praise. “But, you made a mistake in making the bird fly away. It was a messy catch – I could see it from here. Let me show you how you’re supposed to do it.” Cuckoonose scoffed. Despite the freezing winds, Keapaw was steaming in his paws. This warrior was neither intelligent nor talented. Keapaw was puzzled by why his mentor, Lightfoot, would leave him in the inexperienced hands of her enemy. Cuckoonose trotted off in direction of a mouse, every paw-step the sound of lightning striking a tree. The mouse was gone before the cream warrior could notice.

“Well,” she started with a gusty breath. “Here’s a lesson Lightfoot can’t teach you: you can’t catch every little piece of prey. You’re not StarClan,” she snorted.

“Back to camp,” she said simply, flicking Keapaw’s chin with her tail. Dragging the juicy thrush back to camp, Keapaw was happy that he had at least caught something, and that Cuckoonose’s obvious stupidity hadn’t scared away every piece of prey in the meadow.

Tuifeather was having a midday sleep. After a particularly exhausting ordeal of removing a thorn from Cloverkit’s paw, Tuifeather thought she deserved a rest. Her sleep had been disturbed many a time with unanswered questions. Tuifeather curled up, tail over her nose, and began to dream.

Tuifeather was running. Faster than Sunlight, the fastest cat in the Clan; faster than a hare. She was in a forest. It wasn’t like the humid forest around the meadow. It was lush and green, alive with prey. Tuifeather knew she couldn’t catch anything in this dream. She needed to catch something else.

Five fox-lengths ahead of her ran the grey tom. No matter how faster Tuifeather ran, he always stayed ahead with his loping stride. Eventually, she stopped, breathing painful. Crouched on the forest floor, she looked up at the tom. He had stopped, and his liquid blue eyes seemed to reach into her. She knew that he knew all her secrets, could see through her, into her heart. She drew enough breath to speak. “Who are you?” she shrieked. She had not known for too long – now was the time to finally find out who this cat that plagued her mind was. The mysterious tom blinked.

“You’re in danger.” He said monotonously, eyes staring. Tuifeather let go of the phenomenon that this cat had talked to her and pressed on. “Why are you here?” she meowed desperately.

“You will run. You will find me, but you will lose yourself along the way.”