Yellowfang’s Secret полностью

“Yeah, she couldn’t get out fast enough,” Newtspeck agreed.

Yellowfang ducked her head, embarrassed by their praise. How could she tell them that she felt nothing but relief that they didn’t need to harm the mother badger and her cubs?

Yellowfang froze as a leaf drifted down right in front of her nose, but the lizard she was stalking through the marsh grass paid no attention. Leaves are falling all the time now, Yellowfang thought. Prey was becoming scarce as the foliage grew sparser, and her belly growled with hunger. The air was chilly with the promise of leaf-bare.

Setting her paws down with all the care she could muster, Yellowfang crept up on the lizard where it had halted in a clump of thicker grass. But as she was waggling her haunches in preparation to pounce, another cat flashed past her in a blur of movement. Raggedpelt’s paws were outstretched, but he landed a mouse-length short. The lizard vanished, flickering away into the grass.

Yellowfang sat up. “Hey!” she yowled. “That was my prey.”

“You were too far away for a good pounce,” Raggedpelt retorted, turning to glare at her from wide amber eyes.

“Huh! And you weren’t, I suppose.” Yellowfang flexed her claws and felt her shoulder fur beginning to bristle. “So how come neither of us has any prey for the Clan?”

Raggedpelt took a breath to go on arguing, then let it out in a sigh. His tail drooped. “You’re right,” he admitted, ducking his head. “I’m sorry. That was mouse-brained.”

Yellowfang let out a sound that was half purr, half growl. “It’s okay, stupid furball,” she mewed, giving his cheek a lick.

Raggedpelt stepped back, but only a little; the anger in his eyes had given way to warmth. “Since we’re both after the same thing, why don’t we hunt together?” he suggested.

Yellowfang blinked, holding his gaze. It felt so good to be friends with Raggedpelt again, patrolling and hunting together since he had recovered from the wounds the badger had given him. “Why not?” she agreed.

Brushing through the thorn tunnel, Yellowfang was satisfied with the result of the hunt. She was carrying a squirrel; it was thin, but it was the best piece of prey she’d spotted all day. And I almost didn’t catch it. One more heartbeat, and it would have escaped up that tree.

Raggedpelt had caught another lizard to make up for the one he had lost. Together the two cats bounded across the clearing and dropped their prey on the fresh-kill pile.

“That went well,” Raggedpelt declared. “We should hunt together more often. We make a strong team.”

Yellowfang nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“Remember the other day, when you chased that rabbit right into my claws? That was—” He broke off as Foxpaw came hurtling across the clearing and skidded to a halt in front of the fresh-kill pile.

“Wow, a squirrel!” she exclaimed, her eyes stretching wide. “Congratulations, Raggedpelt.”

“It’s Yellowfang’s squirrel,” the tabby tom responded. “It was a great catch, too.”

Foxpaw’s enthusiastic expression faded abruptly; Yellowfang guessed that the squirrel suddenly wasn’t as impressive. With a disdainful curl of her lip the apprentice turned her back. Yellowfang rolled her eyes. Foxpaw is always in a huff about something.

“Yellowfang!”

At the sound of Littlebird’s voice, Yellowfang turned to see the elder standing at the entrance to her den, a few tail-lengths away.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Oh, Yellowfang…” the elder began. “There’s a tick at the base of my tail, and I can’t reach it. I wonder if you could—”

“Aren’t there any apprentices to deal with your ticks?” Yellowfang interrupted, staring pointedly at Foxpaw.

“But I’m asking you, Yellowfang,” the elder insisted.

Yellowfang’s pelt burned at the smug look on Foxpaw’s face. She was conscious of the apprentice’s gaze following her as she plodded over to the elders’ den. Inside, the den was warm and stuffy. Lizardfang wasn’t there, so there was plenty of room for Littlebird to stretch out and show Yellowfang where the tick was.

Yellowfang was still cross that Littlebird had ordered her around in front of Foxpaw. She didn’t want to go to Sagewhisker for mouse bile, so she dealt with the tick by gripping it in her teeth and tugging. It came out, and she ground it into the bracken underpaw.

“That’s better,” Littlebird sighed, craning her neck to give her fur a lick. After a heartbeat she added casually, “I see you and Raggedpelt are getting along much better since he was attacked by the badger.”

“Yeah… I guess,” she muttered.

“I’ve seen the pair of you fall out before now,” the elder went on, sounding concerned.

Yellowfang just gave a noncommittal grunt, not meeting Littlebird’s gaze.

“You know, Yellowfang,” Littlebird meowed, “I’m sure you have a long future ahead of you. There’s no need to rush into pairing up with a mate.”