MIDNIGHT. Эрин Хантер
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usual prickly, detached air.
“They’re beautiful,” Brambleclaw mewed, touching noses with Ferncloud in greeting. “Have you chosen names for them yet?”
Ferncloud shook her head, blinking drowsily up at him. “Not yet.”
“There’s time enough for that.” Goldenflower, the oldest ThunderClan queen and Brambleclaw’s own mother, spoke from her mossy bed. She had no kits of her own to nurse, but she had decided to stay in the nursery and share the care of the new arrivals instead of taking up her warrior duties again; she was nearing the time when she would go to join the elders in their den, and was the first to admit that her hearing and eyesight were no longer sharp enough to keep up with the best hunting patrols. “They’re strong, healthy kits, that’s what matters, and Ferncloud has plenty of milk.”
Brambleclaw respectfully dipped his head to her. “She’s lucky to have you to help look after them.”
“Well, I didn’t do too bad a job with you,” Goldenflower purred proudly.
“There’s something you could do for me,” Dustpelt meowed to Brambleclaw as he was leaving.
“Sure, if I can.”
“Keep an eye on Squirrelpaw, would you? I want to spend a day or two with Ferncloud, while the kits are still so small, but Squirrelpaw shouldn’t be left without a mentor for too long.”
Squirrelpaw! Brambleclaw groaned inwardly. Firestar’s daughter, eight moons old, recently apprenticed—and the biggest nuisance in ThunderClan.
“It’ll be good practice for when you have an apprentice of your own,” Dustpelt added, as if he sensed his Clan mate’s reluctance.
Brambleclaw knew that Dustpelt was right. He hoped that Firestar would choose him to be a mentor before much longer, with an apprentice of his own to train in the warrior code, but he also hoped that his apprentice would not be some smart-aleck ginger she-cat who thought she knew it all. He was well aware that Squirrelpaw would not take kindly to orders coming from him.
“OK, Dustpelt,” he meowed. “I’ll do my best.”
When Brambleclaw emerged from the nursery he saw that more cats had appeared in the clearing. Brightheart, a pretty white she-cat with ginger patches on her fur like fallen leaves, had just chosen a piece of fresh-kill from the remains of the pile and was taking it across to where Cloudtail still sat by the nettle patch. The uninjured side of her face was turned to Brambleclaw, so that he could almost forget the disfiguring wounds she had received when the dog pack roamed the forest. One side of her face was seamed with scars, and her ear had been shredded; there was only a gouge mark where her eye should be. Even though she survived the vicious attack, the Clan had feared that she would never be a warrior. It was Cloudtail who had trained with her and worked out ways of making up for her blindness on that side, even turning it into a strength, so that now she could fight and hunt as well as any cat.
Cloudtail greeted her with a flick of his tail and she sat beside him to eat.
“Brambleclaw! There you are!”
Brambleclaw turned and saw a long-legged ginger warrior heading toward him from the direction of the warriors’ den. He padded over to meet him. “Hi, Brackenfur. Greystripe said you’re organising hunting patrols.”
“That’s right,” Brackenfur meowed. “Will you go out with Squirrelpaw this morning, please?”
He angled his ears toward the apprentices’ den, and Brambleclaw noticed for the first time that Squirrelpaw was half-concealed in the shade of the ferns. She sat tall, her tail curled around her paws, her green eyes following a bright-winged butterfly. When Brackenfur beckoned her with his tail, she got up and strolled across the clearing, her tail straight up and her dark ginger fur gleaming in the sunlight.
“Hunting patrol,” Brackenfur explained briefly. “Dustpelt is busy, so you can go with Brambleclaw. Can you find another cat to go with you?”
Without waiting for an answer, he hurried off toward Sandstorm and Sorrelpaw.
Squirrelpaw yawned and stretched. “Well,” she meowed. “Where shall we go?”
“I thought Sunningrocks,” Brambleclaw began. “Then we can—”
“Sunningrocks?” Squirrelpaw interrupted, her eyes stretching wide in disbelief. “Are you mouse-brained? On a day as hot as this, all the prey will be hiding down cracks. We won’t catch so much as a whisker.”
“It’s still early,” Brambleclaw replied crossly. “The prey will be out for a while yet.”
Squirrelpaw let out a heavy sigh. “Honestly, Brambleclaw, you always think you know better than anyone else.”
“Well, I am a warrior,” Brambleclaw pointed out, and knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say.
Squirrelpaw bowed her head in deep and exaggerated respect. “Yes, O Great One,” she meowed. “I shall do exactly what you say. And when we come back empty-pawed, maybe you’ll admit that I was right.”
“Well, then,” Brambleclaw mewed, “if you’re so clever, where do you think we should hunt?”
“Up toward Fourtrees, by the stream,” Squirrelpaw replied promptly. “That’s a much better place.”
Brambleclaw was even more annoyed when he realised that she might be right. In spite of the endless hot days that had lasted all greenleaf, the stream there still ran cool and deep, with thick clumps of reeds where prey could hide. He hesitated, wondering how he could change his mind without losing face in front of the apprentice.
“Squirrelpaw.” A new voice rescued him, and Brambleclaw realised that Sandstorm, Squirrelpaw’s mother, had padded over to join them. “Stop ruffling Brambleclaw’s fur. You chatter as much as a nest of jackdaws.” Her annoyed green gaze turned on Brambleclaw and she added, “And you’re just as bad. The pair of you are always squabbling; you can’t be trusted to hunt together if you can’t even get out of the clearing without scaring half the prey between here and Fourtrees.”
“Sorry,” Brambleclaw muttered, embarrassment sweeping through his fur from ears to tail-tip.
“You’re a warrior; you should know better. Go and ask Cloudtail if you can hunt with him. And as for you,” Sandstorm meowed to her daughter, “you can come and hunt with me and Sorrelpaw. Brackenfur won’t mind. And you’ll do as you’re told, or I’ll know the reason why.”
Without looking back, she headed straight for the gorse tunnel that led out of the camp. Squirrelpaw stood still for a moment, a sulky look in her green eyes, and scuffed the ground with her forepaws.
Sorrelpaw came up and gave her a friendly nudge. “Come on,” she urged. “This is my last hunt as an apprentice. Let’s make it a good one.”
Reluctantly Squirrelpaw nodded, and the two cats set off together after Sandstorm; the dark ginger apprentice shot a last glare at Brambleclaw as she passed him.
Brambleclaw shrugged. Squirrelpaw would get more experienced mentoring from Sandstorm than she would from him, so he wasn’t letting Dustpelt down even though the warrior had asked him to keep an eye on her. And he wouldn’t have to listen all morning to her annoying chatter, so he wasn’t sure why he felt slightly disappointed at being set on a different patrol.
Pushing off the feeling, he bounded over to the nettle patch where Cloudtail and Brightheart were finishing their prey. Their single kit, Whitepaw, had just padded across to join them; as Brambleclaw came up he heard her say, “Are you going hunting? Please can I come with you?”
Cloudtail flicked his tail. “No.” Whitepaw had begun to look disappointed when he added, “Brackenfur said he’d take you. He is your mentor, after all.”
“He told me he’s really proud of you,” Brightheart purred.
Whitepaw brightened up. “Great!