Chapter Text
Moldpaw awoke to the damp air of greenleaf stuffing up the apprentice’s den. The light outside was pale; the sun must just be rising. She stood up, her stomach growling. The disaster of last night struck her again. She was probably still in trouble with Sparrowfeather… would this delay her training already?
Moldpaw stretched, shaking her pelt out and padding out from the den to the clearing. Maybe now she could steal something from the fresh-kill pile. The dawn patrol was already being organized by Sparrowfeather who upon her appearance gave her an angry look. Moldpaw shuddered in fear, backing up and wandering elsewhere. She saw Webpaw waking up too, his nimble white paws reaching for nothing. She padded up to him, smiling nervously. “Good morning Webpaw, what’re you up to today?”
He looked at her in surprise. “Hi Moldpaw! Surprised to see you so early.”
Moldpaw ducked her head, avoiding his gaze. “... Me too. I wonder if Sparrowfeather will even let me train today…”
Webpaw’s ears fell slightly as his cream eyes looked at her in worry. “We all’ve made mistakes but… he seems harsh… Have you eaten yet since yesterday?”
“No! I wanted to steal something from the pile… but he gave me a dirty look.”
Webpaw looked at her with a sympathetic gaze. Suddenly, Falconwing rushed over. “Webpaw, you’re on dawn patrol with me.”
“Yes sir, I’ll be there soon!” He nodded obediently. Webpaw had always been this way. He was quiet, tame, and never stepped out of line. Moldpaw always thought the order of clan life fit him perfectly.
Webpaw turned back to her. “Wait right here…”
And she watched his curly white fur bound over to the pile, grabbing something and looking around before coming back towards her and shoving the critter into her muzzle. It was a simple thrush– something Moldpaw hadn’t been able to taste before. “Here– take this before he sees it. I got to go.”
Moldpaw’s fur felt hot as their fuzzy lips and nose grazed each other. She took the thrush quickly, nodding in thanks. “I appreciate it…”
Webpaw nodded and bound over to join his mentor in the patrol. The cats headed out, their tails held high. Sparrowfeather lagged behind, looking towards Moldpaw with the thrush. She swallowed nervously and padded over to a quiet corner of camp. His amber eyes followed her but he didn’t make a move to stop her. She lay down, digging into the soft feathers that coated it’s body. She had to spit them out as she tore into it , make her way around a few skinny and thin bones, but other than that the meat was fresh and light. To her hungry stomach, anything was good.
She licked her maw happily, forgetting her troubles for once. Soon it was nothing but scraps of meat and bone. She stood up to throw it out of the camp, trotting up the hill and dropping the body. Moldpaw turned and slipped carefully back down into camp. Sparrowfeather was waiting for her.
“Sneaking food, I see?” He muttered with a tone of annoyance. “I didn’t remember telling you your punishment was up.”
Moldpaw’s head ducked. “I was so hungry… I’m sorry, Sparrowfeather.”
His amber gaze scolded her for a few moments more. “Whatever… It’s your first official day of training. I don’t want to delay it any longer. So come, we’ll start early.”
He bounded off along the hill and over the crest. Moldpaw was startled already as she didn’t expect her to exactly be forgiven. She raced over the hill after him.
The hill wasn’t as steep as some of the others. It dipped down to a slightly coarse and stringy grass that peeked through shallow dirt and sand. Sparrowfeather’s amber gaze looked upon her, his tail gesturing to the field. “This is the training ground. Some other time we’ll meet back here to practice your fighting skills. Today, I want to teach you how to hunt for the clan, some might say it’s arguably better than learning how to fight.”
Moldpaw’s downcast expression slowly turned to interest. After everything, she thought it strange Sparrowfeather wouldn’t find defending his clan and more importantly punishing those who dare threaten it more enjoyable than merely hunting. She watched him drop to a hunting crouch.
“To start with the basics, you should first get used to this position. It’s the hunting crouch. Without it, you can say goodbye to any dream of catching your own food.” He mewed, glaring at her with intensity that she was accustomed to.
Moldpaw nodded and attempted to slink down close to the sand to mimic him. It felt awkward. Her legs felt out of place though she didn’t know why exactly. Sparrowfeather shook his head. “I did the same, like this:”
His big paw landed on her haunches, pushing them down. Moldpaw yelped in pain as her legs were pinched underneath her. Sparrowfeather was closer to her body now; his muzzle was up to her ear. “Like this, you must be closer to the ground if you want to catch anything.”
Moldpaw’s body froze. It was tense, remarkably so as she was further pinned down against the ground. Her breath was shallow and fearful. Sparrowfeather released his pressure on her back and nodded. “Yes, much better. Not great, but we’ll work on it. Even in the tall grass it’s important to stay hidden. What’s more important is your scent…”
Moldpaw spent all day with Sparrowfeather in the hollow practicing her hunting crouch. There were times his claws prodded her back and especially her haunches, but most of all between her shoulders. She tried to ignore it and especially tried to tell herself it’d make her a better warrior. If becoming a Windclan cat meant she’d go to bed sore, then it all was worth it in the end.
The sun was in the low middle of the sky, shining intensely on the far side of the Windclan camp. Even underneath the shade of the tall rock the hot sundown rays beat on her black fur. Moldpaw sat eating a small mouse from the fresh-kill pile. As she chewed, Moldpaw couldn’t help but notice her front toes trembling; digging into the fine dirt and sand that made up the litter of Windclan. In fact, her entire body felt jittery. She swallowed a mouthful, shaking her broad head. Must be first-day anxiety…
Moldpaw licked her lips, leaning back from the fresh-kill. For some awful reason, it felt like something prodding on her back. It almost felt as if the poking and pestering from Sparrowfeather hadn’t ever stopped. Her tail lashed in the dirt back and forth before it tucked itself under her back paws that were hidden tightly underneath her lean body. Her paws flexed and she saw movement in the middle of camp.
Mourningstar’s long gray body lounged lazily in the dying orange rays. Her dreary yellow gaze watched her clanmates below finishing their duties for the day. Dovekit and Darkkit wrestled with each other by the nursery as Deerstep was sharing tongues with Pebbleclaw. Falconwing and Raccontail both dropped off fresh-kill on the pile, stretching and gossiping to themselves– probably about something Mourningstar had said or how Windclan has unguarded borders. Back at the elder’s den Foxtooth and Flamefur also groomed each other with Foxtooth giving his brother a cuff around the head. They were always at it, although Flamefur was amused by his littermate’s short temper. Moleskin, Rabbitfoot and Badgerstrike were already finding spots in the shallow sandy divots in camp and getting ready for the night. Near them was Webpaw and Minkpaw laying together back to back. Moldpaw’s nose crinkled angrily at the sight. Why did Webpaw seem to take so well to Minkpaw? He was kind and nice, gentle and helpful which were all qualities that Minkpaw undoubtedly lacked. Besides– Webpaw saw what happened… didn’t it anger him that Minkpaw had started such a quarrel? Moldpaw growled in her throat and stamped her foot into the dirt. It wasn’t fair to her.
She stood up and stalked to the small apprentice den, returning to the barely used nest she had slept in before. Moldpaw stretched out on the moss and feathers, resting her head and keeping an eye open to ponder the clearing. Nightpelt padded up to the tall rock which made Moldpaw perk her ear up in interest. She saw Mourningstar raise her head to greet her clanmate and they began to talk. Nightpelt’s lower back was always hunched over. It seemed stiff, like it hurt her. Moldpaw thought for a moment.
Nightpelt hadn’t ever had much luck with her kitting. She only had Sparrowfeather and herself, both litters being cursed with stillborn kits. Her first litter she named the two Wishkit and Bravekit. The second litter she hadn’t bothered. By the time Moldkit was born, Nightpelt was already a senior warrior. Sometimes she’d leave the nursery to fetch poppy seeds from Dawnwillow. Her face was already white, but it sometimes looked as if it had leaked into the pitch blackness of her face. Was she older than Moldkit thought?
As the sky darkened and the clearing dimmed, Moldpaw felt her body slowly sink into her bedding as if the weight of the clan was slowly squishing her into the moss and feather. Her eyelids fell and with a full belly she was already asleep.
The next day she awoke to a shrill mrow that rang into the clearing and awoke any cat who was still fast asleep. That really meant just Moldpaw. She quickly sat up and tumbled out of the clearing to see what the fuss was about. The kits certainly weren’t due for apprenticeship yet… What could it be about? Moldpaw suddenly got a horrible idea that Mourningstar was going to chew her out for the fight she had with Minkclaw in front of the whole clan. She was a very generous leader and an understanding cat at that. But what Moldpaw did was unforgivable! At the back of the crowd she sat, kneading the ground with her big black paws. Her eyes were turned in unmistakable worry. A warm body sat next to her and pushed into her side. “Hey… what’s got you so worried, Moldpaw? Your fur is fluffed.”
Moldpaw gasped when Webpaw had spoke so suddenly. Her suffocating thoughts were completely broken as she regained a grip on reality. “Eh? Oh… oh no reason.”
Webpaw held her gaze for a few more seconds, clearly not believing her but he turned up to the Tall Rock anyway.
Morningstar studied the crowd and seemed satisfied. “Cats of Windclan, I’m pleased to start our day with very pleasant news. Nightpelt, you’ve served us well. Whether that be as a warrior– or as a queen.”
Morningstar looked meaningfully at Sparrowfeather who sat lower on the Tall Rock. He lifted his chin and smiled towards his mother. There were no gazes on Moldpaw; there was no recognition. Nightpelt was standing in the crowd with her wiry tail up straight as she looked up at Tall Rock.
The long grey she-cat continued. “It’s time we serve you– in the elders' den. Thank you for all you’ve done for Windclan, Nightpelt. Enjoy your well deserved days of rest.”
The clan slowly said their thank yous, some cats approaching to touch muzzles with her. Moldpaw stared in shock and padded forward through the crowd. “You’re an elder now? Why didn’t you say anything!”
Nightpelt had jumped at her presence and looked down with a timid expression. “Oh…? Well, yes. I’m old, Moldpaw. I’m not jumping at borders or having kits. You’ll get used to it, I’m sure. Besides, you’re an apprentice. I’m sure you’ll be fetching fresh kill for me from time to time.”
Moldpaw’s ears fell against her head. Her mother… an elder. No longer fierce, merely tired. She lowered her head. “I understand. Thank you, Nightpelt.”
Nightpelt looked at her with sympathy before turning to accept another congratulations. Moldpaw backed out of the fray to make room for other cats to squeeze in. The crowd started to thin after a few moments and a familiar brown lump came bounding over. Minkpaw’s fur fluffed up and she quickly licked her paw and dragged it over her whiskers awkwardly.
“Dawn patrol, Moldpaw. Sparrowfeather’s leading it.”
Moldpaw nodded. “Who else is coming?”
“Badgerstrike, Raccoontail and Deerstep.” She mewed, turning and bounding away.
Moldpaw sighed. No Webpaw, how boring. She spotted Sparrowfeather chatting with Badgerstrike at the end of the camp and padded over gingerly. His amber eyes flicked towards her moving shape and she felt a jolt of fear run through her. His eyes… they stared as if they could look through to her very bones. Her head ducked and she crept over.
“...getting too nosy, too bold.” Badgerstrike muttered. “I have never seen this much activity on their side of the border in all my years of being a clan cat.”
Sparrowfeather looked back at his clan mate. “It’s probably just a few apprentices… you know how they are. Undisciplined.”
Moldpaw’s ear flicked upwards but she said nothing. Badgerstrike shook his head. “Dumb kits or not– what does it say about Windclan? That we ignore threats? We don’t patrol our borders? That we don’t care? ”
Sparrowfeather’s short and pointy ears flattened against his head. “Of course it doesn’t… We’ll be going that way anyhow. We’ll mark it thoroughly, then you can stop worrying so much about it.”
Badgerstrike’s eyes widened and he definitely looked offended. He was a senior warrior– considerably older than Sparrowfeather. Clearly he thought his seniority should be considered. But he bowed his head and turned away, signaling that the conversation was over. Deerstep bounded over gracefully and Raccoontail was soon to follow with Minkpaw. Sparrowfeather assessed the group, nodding and with his tail held high, bound over the slopes and down into the territory.
“Minkpaw, this isn’t your first dawn patrol. Moldpaw, stay close. Dawn patrol isn’t the same as a quick look at our territory.” Sparrowfeather stared at her for a long time before turning his head as they pelted through the grass to a border marker. “One whisker touched on Minkpaw’s head and you’ll be clearing the elder’s ticks for as long as you’re my apprentice.”
Moldpaw’s fur got hot and she faltered slightly. She hadn’t started it! Moldpaw glared at Minkpaw, but to her surprise the brown she-cat’s gaze was straight forward and her short stubby ears were flat. She almost looked… guilty? She shook her head and fixed her gaze forward.
The patrol padded on down to the shore side of the lake. Moldpaw walked down to the rocks and often slipped on the small, smooth pebbles. It was a new sensation to her, and she thought they were pretty. However, the aquatic plants and slime that had been coughed up by the cool and murky water smelled foul. Her nose curled up and she bounded back up to the grass. Deerstep had scented the border before padding up to Moldpaw. “Isn’t it gross? I hate that smell!”
The pretty she-cat shook her head with a curled muzzle and Moldpaw gingerly nodded. “Yes ma’am.”
“Moldpaw! Look alive; the island.” Sparrowfeather hollered with a sharp nod of his head.
She turned around and saw that island in the distance. She hadn’t seen it before, but it was small. She wondered if Riverclan could wade to it, she certainly couldn’t. “What about it?”
Minkclaw mrowed to herself and shook her head while Raccoontail cuffed her. Sparrowfeather looked over and laughed to himself. “The Gathering. That’s where all clans meet under the full moon and under Starclan. Where once a moon– there’s a truce.”
Moldpaw’s tail slapped herself in the face with her thin tail. Of course… how could she forget… There was a time where her little body couldn’t stop bouncing and shaking in excitement as she watched the big and brave warriors bounding out of camp into the unknown. The Gathering was such a mysterious concept as a kit… but Moldkit had been discouraged fairly quickly. She remembered her growing hatred for commotion and how annoyed she would get when tiny Dovekit would squeal and cry when she was told she couldn’t join them– at one moon old.
“I remember now…” She mewled. “Is there one soon?”
Deerstep chimed in. “Yes! In a couple days!”
Badgerstrike growled. “Five– to be exact. A little more than a couple.”
Moldpaw’s mind began to wander. What if she was chosen to attend…! Her stomach began to fly. Maybe… maybe she didn’t want to be chosen… So many cats on that small island, scents mixing and pelts against each other. Hot stuffy breaths and whiskers poking eyes. It was too much to think about. She shut her eyes tight and shook her head to clear the thought.
“ I for one can’t wait! I bet it’s going to be my last Gathering as an apprentice.” Her smile was sly and smug, and Raccoontail cuffed her again but less aggressive and more playful this time around. Her mentor muttered. “Not if that attitude keeps up.”
Sparrowfeather finally signaled. “Let’s keep moving, we’ve still got land to cover.”
The patrol finally started their journey along the shore, occasionally stopping to mark it. Moldpaw’s nose twitched and she picked up a warm, tasty scent. Her ears pricked forward and she dropped into a clumsy crouch, peering through the grass to get an idea of what she was creeping up on. As she inched forward– completely forgetting about the patrol, a body moved behind her. “That’s it, fix your formation.”
A paw landed on her haunches and tried to push her lower to the ground. Sparrowfeather’s mew rang out. “You’ve got the idea. Don’t look back.”
The sounds of birds and the washing of the water along the pebbled shore slowly vanished. No longer did her surroundings fill her mind; it had all dissipated into thin air. She was in the dark, her breathing had filled her ears and she felt as if she couldn't move. Sparrowfeather… Sparrowfeather… Suddenly a paw bowled her over and her senses were flooded back into her head.
“For Starclan’s Sake, Moldpaw! You could’ve had it!” Sparrowfeather hissed, rolling his eyes. “This isn’t a hunting party but I at least wanted to see your first fresh-kill!”
Moldpaw was lying in the damp dirt in shock, her eyes wide with alarm. She’d missed it– the mouse or the vole or… or whatever it had been. What just happened?
“Come on… let’s just go.” He growled, shoving past a shocked Deerstep and stoic Badgerstrike. Raccoontail watched Moldpaw with a steady gaze before also turning away.
“Get up! You can’t lay there all day.” Minkpaw shoved her once before jumping over Moldpaw’s dusty body to follow her mentor. Moldpaw blinked away the memory before she stood to her paws and padded after them.
Moldpaw noticed as they walked down the bank that the scents here seemed different. It was slightly stale, a little messy, and things were overlapping. She could smell that murky scent from before on her first day… Thunderclan apparently, but it was mixed and skewed by other things. Still, it held a prominent presence– dare she say even more than Windclan…
Badgerstrike hissed. “See? They’ve been scenting further and further away from the stream! Further into our territory!”
Sparrowfeather stalked around, his strong body moving fluidly under his shiny coat. His amber eyes were darting to and fro, his nose twitching and his lips parted to take everything in. His ears flattened against his head in anger. “You were right.”
Moldpaw looked past the stream on the opposite side, past the pebbly shore. The trees started thin and dead, but there was no mistaking the twisted vines and bushes and brambles that formed a wall around the expansive forest. It was dim in there, less bright than the open moor. The sun couldn’t penetrate every blanket of leaves the trees provided. Suddenly two bright orbs emerged from the thick brush; then two more. Then another green set and an orange set. Before she could react Thunderclan stench filled her nose and out came a Thunderclan patrol, their claws extended and teeth clamping. They all stood at the stream border, glaring at the Windclan cats. Sparrowfeather met them at the border, just as angry. Raccontail was the first to meet him at his side along with Badgerstrike and Deerstep.
Moldpaw stared in shock at the enemy patrol. Full grown cats… full grown enemies… cats that could kill… Minkpaw barreled into her, shoving her away from the patrol.
“Go! Get back to camp! Tell Mourningstar!”
Moldpaw didn’t say a word, her eyes wild. She looked frozen on the spot. Sparrowfeather howled.
“You know the way home, Minkpaw! Go!”
Minkpaw growled in frustration and pelted back the way the patrol had come. Moldpaw quickly stood up straight. She could get home… she’d done it before. Why did he need to keep her here?
Badgerstrike spat across the water. “Never thought Thunderclan would be the type to steal prey over a scent mark! I thought you all were too good for that.”
The lead Thunderclan tom– big and yellow– glared at him evenly through narrow eyes. “What makes you think we’ve been doing it?”
“We’ve smelled you! On our side of the stream! The borders haven’t changed!” Raccoontail snarled and Sparrowfeather added. “Unless you think we’re liars or worse, fools?”
The Thunderclan cats all gave each other a look and resumed their aggressive positions as the tom spoke up again. “Well– yes…”
And they all meowed in laughter. Moldpaw watched their mouths full of sharp teeth bob up and down– opened and closed. Sparrowfeather shrieked and leapt over the stream, barreling into the yellow tom almost immediately. Badgerstrike seemed shocked but Raccoontail jumped into the fight without question. Deerstep watched as a smaller white cat fell right into her, claws outstretched.
Moldpaw turned at the sound of commotion to see a small tom staring at her from across the border. He was a dark tabby with wild little amber eyes. She stepped back from the stream but he leapt onto her anyway. Moldpaw felt sharp claws digging into her back as she fell backwards. He constricted her in his grip with his backpaws scratching her sensitive underbelly relentlessly. Moldpaw wailed in pain, her own paws trying to push him off to no avail. “Coward!”
The tom snarled with a mouthful of her cheek fat. “I saw you try to run!”
Moldpaw shrieked and grabbed his shoulders hard, her claws sinking into his shorter fur. The tom shook his head fiercely, his teeth squeezing her face harder. Moldpaw fell limp, crying out in terror. Suddenly, his teeth and claws were ripped away from her and she fell to the grass, quickly regaining herself to see who’d saved her.
Webpaw was standing above her, grappling with the apprentice. His eyes were fierce and focused; his short tangly fur puffed up like a soft cloud. One sharp bite of the ear and the Thunderclan apprentice was screaming as he ran. Webpaw reached down to drag her to her feet, her paws catching the ground.
Moldpaw struggled to stay footed. She had forgotten about Minkpaw’s retreat to Windclan for reinforcements. Falconwing and Sparrowfeather both fought the yellow tom off together while Raccoontail sent another Thunderclan cat through the stream and into the woods. Deerstep helped Badgerstrike recover after a nasty bite to his paw and Moleskin struggled with a brown she-cat. Once she saw the rest of her patrol flee from the clearing she hopped off and followed them into the woods. Moldpaw lowered herself to the ground, looking around to make sure that she was safe. A loud yowl rang out over the stream and into the trees.
“Think twice before disrespecting Windclan again! And let Sunstar know it too!” Sparrowfeather jumped up on his hind legs.
The sound of caterwalling filled the clearing completely drowning out the gentle song of the stream. Moldpaw’s ear flattened at the harsh noise, but the faces of her clanmates were fierce and determined– it must be in their victory.
Moldpaw finally stood up on shaking legs and Webpaw whipped around, stalking towards her. “What were you doing?!”
Her fur fluffed up in indignation. “Wh-what?”
“You just– sat there! You could’ve gotten hurt or worse! Never freeze in battle, Moldpaw…” Webpaw shook his head. “You can’t do that again…”
She blinked in shock. Moldpaw had never seen Webpaw so angry… not only so angry but so brave. She wouldn’t forget the image of his glowing white fur in the sun as a few flecks of blood squirted on his muzzle. “I’m… I’m sorry…”
“It isn’t him you need to apologize to…” Sparrowfeather joined him, looking down at Webpaw before meeting her light green eyes. “We’ve obviously got a lot of work to do.”
Her head dipped down, but her paws dug into the damp earth. Sparrowfeather hadn’t even taught her anything yet! How was she expected to fight back? “You shouldn’t have sent Minkpaw! It should’ve been me! I know how to get home! I’ve done it… before.”
Moldpaw’s voice lowered as she realized what she’d said. Her clanmates grimaced, Deerstep looking at her with pity and Badgerstrike closing his eyes in agreement. Moleskin turned away from her. They all remembered the fox attack too, it had been terrifying for her clan too. She must’ve been quite a sight when she was crawling down the hill into camp. Moldpaw dug up a clump of dirt. Oh, how difficult for them… and how easy for Sparrowfeather. When has he done anything but beat her down?
Sparrowfeather’s eyes slightly blazed, but his voice didn’t change. “Let this be your first lesson in battle training; be ready for the unexpected.”
He huffed, as if exasperated and nodded sharply. “Right… let’s move on. We’ll finish the patrol– and those of you who came to help need to report it to Mourningstar, now.”
Webpaw’s short ears flicked backwards. “A thank you would’ve been nice…”
Moldpaw reached up to rub her face where she’d been grabbed. It hurt so bad, although no blood came off on her fur. Webpaw turned to her and lapped at her face. “It’ll stop hurting by tomorrow, be lucky your face wasn’t torn! Typical of a Thunderclan cat to be so dishonorable…”
She mumbled a shy ‘thank you’ and watched him pad away with Moleskin, Rabbitfoot and Falconwing. She hadn’t even noticed them amongst the chaos, so much for their help…
“Keep up! I’m tired of telling you!” Sparrowfeather yowled.
Moldpaw leapt up and limped after him.