A lump of snow dropped from an icy branch overhead and landed on his back. He shook it off. He could see across the meadow and beyond the river to the snow-whitened moorlands. The frosted beeches behind them were stark against the gray leaf-bare sky; the marsh meadow stretching below them sparkled, smoothed by snow, and the small clearing beside the beech copse, where they’d been practicing battle moves all afternoon, was icy underpaw.
Cedarpelt sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you? When you’re attacking, bush out your fur! StarClan gave RiverClan thick pelts for a reason. Bush it out and you’ll look twice as big as your enemy. And a frightened enemy is already half-beaten.”
Crookedpaw flicked his tail. “The other Clans
“In the middle of battle, there’s no time to think,” Cedarpelt insisted. “If you see a big warrior, you don’t wonder how much is fur and how much is muscle.” His breath billowed in the icy air. “You just react.”
“Okay, okay!” Crookedpaw snapped. “If you want bushed-out fur, you can have bushed-out fur.” He fluffed up his pelt. “Big enough?” He couldn’t wait for his first battle so he could find out for himself which mentor was right.
Cedarpelt’s whiskers twitched.
“What?” Crookedpaw snorted.
A purr rumbled in his mentor’s throat. “You never do things by halves.” He shook his head. “You look like a pinecone.”
Crookedpaw’s irritation dissolved. “Make up your mind,” he mewed. As he shook his pelt back into place, a sound made his ears prick.
“What is it?” Cedarpelt darted beside him, hackles twitching as he scanned the marsh.
“Look.” Crookedpaw flicked his tail toward the dark pelts moving toward them across the snow. He tasted the freezing air.
“Piketooth!” Cedarpelt hailed the snaggle-toothed warrior, who was already bounding up the slope.
Beetlenose ducked ahead of his Clanmate and reached the beech copse first. “How’s training, Crookedpaw?” he called. “Getting the hang of it?”
Crookedpaw scowled.
Crookedpaw sat down. What would happen when Oakpaw became a warrior? He’d be alone again, and now that Willowkit and Graykit were in WindClan, there weren’t even new ’paws to look forward to. He’d have to train by himself.
“How’s hunting?” Cedarpelt asked Piketooth.
“River’s frozen.” Piketooth tasted the air. “Any sign of birds up here?”
Cedarpelt shook his head.
“We were just at the WindClan border.” Piketooth stared across the snowy marsh. “We saw Reedfeather. He wanted to share news.”
Cedarpelt’s ears pricked. “How are the kits?”
“Doing well.” Piketooth was frowning. Crookedpaw tensed as the warrior went on. “He warned us to watch out for ThunderClan. They raided WindClan’s camp.”
“The
Crookedpaw gasped. “Did they attack the nursery?”
Piketooth shook his head. “They were trying to steal herbs.”
“Anyone hurt?” Cedarpelt asked.
“ThunderClan lost a warrior—Moonflower.” Piketooth flexed his claws.
Beetlenose growled. “Serves them right.”
Cedarpelt scowled at the young tom. “
“He was with us,” Piketooth meowed. “He’s gone back to camp to warn Brambleberry to hide her supplies.”
“They won’t attack our camp.” Beetlenose paced through the frost, lashing his tail. “They don’t have the guts to cross the river even when it’s frozen!”
Cedarpelt looked thoughtful. “Let’s hope so.” He beckoned Beetlenose with his tail. “Will you practice some battle moves with Crookedpaw? He knows my moves too well.”
Crookedpaw rolled his eyes. “What makes you think I don’t know Beetlenose’s moves, too?”
Beetlenose flattened his ears, ready for a fight. “We only trained together twice.”
“That was enough.” Crookedpaw sniffed.
Piketooth wove between the two young toms. “Let’s act like Clanmates.” He glanced at Crookedpaw. “You still have plenty to learn. Stop complaining. Beetlenose might teach you something.”
Cedarpelt shrugged. “Crookedpaw thinks he’s learned enough.” He nodded to Beetlenose. “Can he try his front paw swipe on you?”
“He can
