Yellowfang’s Secret полностью

Yellowfang ignored her. “Warrior or not, she’ll still be a pain in the tail,” she murmured to Rowanberry, who gave a fervent nod of agreement.

Scorchwind, who had received his warrior name a moon before, shouldered his way through the crowd and gave all three new warriors a condescending nod. “Congratulations,” he meowed. “If you need any tips on how warriors behave, just ask.”

“We’ll do that,” Yellowfang responded. “I’m sure the senior warriors will give us loads of advice.”

Scorchwind twitched his tail and padded to where his brother, Raggedpelt, was standing. Yellowfang felt a familiar stab of disappointment that Raggedpelt wasn’t even looking at her. He’s ashamed because I was there when his father rejected him. I wish I could tell him that all I feel is anger toward that stupid kittypet! Hal ought to be proud to have a warrior for his son!

But Yellowfang couldn’t think of a way to start that conversation with Raggedpelt. Everything she wanted to tell him would have to remain unsaid.

“Yellowfang?”

Starting at the sound of Sagewhisker’s voice behind her, Yellowfang spun around.

“Congratulations,” the medicine cat meowed. “I hear your hunting assessment was especially good.”

Yellowfang dipped her head. Sagewhisker still wasn’t her favorite cat, but she knew that she had to get past Silverflame’s death and acknowledge Sagewhisker’s status within the Clan.

“Thanks,” she muttered. “I guess I was lucky.”

“Did you dream of serving your Clan as a warrior when you went to the Moonstone with Deerleap?” the medicine cat probed unexpectedly.

For a heartbeat, Yellowfang didn’t know what to say. There was no way she was going to tell Sagewhisker what had happened. “I… uh… don’t really remember what the dream was,” she stammered.

“Really?” Sagewhisker’s gaze was gentle but insistent. “It’s a significant moment, your first Moonstone dream.”

Why can’t she leave it alone? “If I don’t remember, it can’t be that important.” Turning her back on Sagewhisker, Yellowfang joined her littermates beside the fresh-kill pile, where the Clan was getting ready to celebrate the newly made warriors with a feast.

But Yellowfang couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder. Sagewhisker was still regarding her with that persistent look, and Yellowfang would have given all her share of the fresh-kill to know what she was thinking.

Yellowfang padded silently across the thick layer of pine needles as she followed Hollyflower, Newtspeck, and Toadskip. The border patrol had left the edge of the Thunderpath and struck out toward the Twolegplace; Yellowfang could make out the walls several fox-lengths away through the trees. Her pads tingled with the unwelcome memory of the night she and Raggedpelt had visited the Twolegplace in search of Raggedpelt’s father. I don’t want to go near the place ever again!

The patrol waited while Hollyflower renewed a scent marker, then padded on with Newtspeck in the lead. A few heartbeats later the warrior halted, her head raised and her jaws parted. “What’s that smell?” she muttered.

Veering away from the border, she bounded toward a sprawling clump of brambles at the foot of a pine tree. Yellowfang followed more slowly with the rest of the patrol. Before she had taken more than a couple of paw steps, she picked up the new scent, too: squirrel, but with a sweetish, rotting tang that made her neck fur bristle.

“Over here!” Newtspeck called.

Yellowfang wriggled beside Newtspeck as the black-and-ginger she-cat peered into the thicket. A half-eaten squirrel lay under the thorns, its gray fur clumped and sticky with blood. Flies crawled over its torn flesh and buzzed upward in a swarm as Newtspeck stretched out her neck and gave the crow-food a sniff.

“That’s disgusting!” Toadskip exclaimed.

Newtspeck drew back, passing her tongue over her lips as if she was trying to get rid of a foul taste. “Some cat has been stealing prey!” she announced, her voice quivering with anger.

Yellowfang took a careful sniff; beneath the stink of rotting crow-food she detected other scents lingering on the cold, ripped fur. Black stone underpaw, greasy puddles with the bitter tang of monsters, and an underlying hint of the slop that kittypets eat… “The cat that killed this squirrel came from Twolegplace!” she hissed.

Toadskip gave a snort of disbelief. “Kittypets don’t hunt!”

“I think Yellowfang’s right,” Hollyflower responded. “There’s Twolegplace scent here… and besides, what warrior leaves prey half-eaten like this?”

“We can’t let them get away with it,” Toadskip snarled.