Into the Wild (Warriors, #1)

by Erin Hunter

For Billy—who left our Twoleg home to become a Warrior. We still miss him very much.

A half-moon glowed on smooth granite boulders, turning them silver. The silence was broken only by the ripple of water from the swift black river and the whisper of trees in the forest beyond. There was a stirring in the shadows, and from all around lithe dark shapes crept stealthily over the rocks. Unsheathed claws glinted in the moonlight.

After a few moments, Spottedleaf lowered her head and turned to Bluestar. “It was a message from StarClan,” she murmured. A distant look came into her eyes. “Fire alone can save our Clan.”

It was very dark. Rusty could sense something was near. The young tomcat’s eyes opened wide as he scanned the dense undergrowth. This place was unfamiliar, but the strange scents drew him onward, deeper into the shadows. His stomach growled, reminding him of his hunger.

Suddenly a flash of gray raced past him. Rusty stopped still, listening. It was hiding in the leaves less than two tail-lengths away. Rusty knew it was a mouse—he could feel the rapid pulsing of a tiny heart deep within his ear fur. He swallowed, stifling his rumbling stomach. Soon his hunger would be satisfied.

The forest had disappeared. He was inside a hot and airless kitchen, curled in his bed. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting shadows on the smooth, hard floor. The noise had been the rattle of hard, dried pellets of food as they were tipped into his dish. Rusty had been dreaming.

Lifting his head, he rested his chin on the side of his bed. His collar rubbed uncomfortably around his neck. In his dream he had felt fresh air ruffling the soft fur where the collar usually pinched. Rusty rolled onto his back, savoring the dream for a few more moments. He could still smell mouse.

It was the third time since full moon that he’d had the dream, and every time the mou...

He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the woods once more. It seemed to promise him something, tempting him onward into the whispering shadows.

“And I’ll fight you again if I have to,” he growled.

“But kittypets can’t be warriors!” Graypaw blurted out. “They don’t have warrior blood!” A sad look clouded Bluestar’s eyes. “Warrior blood,” she echoed with a sigh. “Too much of that has been spilled lately.”

“If you wish to train with us, we will have to take you into our Clan. You must either live with us and respect our ways, or return to your Twolegplace and never come back. You cannot live with a paw in each world.”

That morning, as Rusty slept off his night’s wanderings, the mouse dream came again, even more vivid than before. Free of his collar, beneath the moon, he stalked the timid creature.

“But I do trust them,” Rusty purred softly. “And I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to join them.” Smudge scrambled down from the fence and stood in front of Rusty. “Please don’t go, Rusty,” he mewed in alarm. “I might never see you again.”

“Fair enough. I can see I can’t stop you, but at least let’s spend one more morning together.”

Rusty sat very still, hardly daring to breathe, as Whitestorm stretched his nose forward and gave him a curious sniff. “Hello, young one,” murmured the white cat. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Just after sunhigh, when the day is hottest, is a time for sharing tongues,” Lionheart explained. “Sharing tongues?” Rusty echoed. “Clan cats always spend time grooming each other and sharing the news of the day,” Whitestorm told him. “We call it sharing tongues. It is a custom that binds the members of the Clan together.”

Bluestar leaped up onto the boulder and yowled, “Let all those cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

Longtail was crouching three tail-lengths away. And, dangling from Longtail’s mouth, Rusty saw his collar, mangled and broken.

Bluestar approached Rusty and placed the shredded collar on the ground in front of him. She touched his ear gently with her nose. “You look like a brand of fire in this sunlight,” she murmured. Her eyes flashed briefly, as if her words had more meaning for her than Rusty knew.

Without hesitating, Rusty turned and kicked dust and grass over his collar as though burying his dirt.

Firepaw barely had time to look around before a young cat crashed through the bushes and into the camp. He was skinny and—apart from the white tip of his long, thin tail—jet black from head to toe. Graypaw gasped. “That’s Ravenpaw! Why is he alone? Where’s Tigerclaw?”

“Speak, Ravenpaw!” Ravenpaw was still struggling for breath, and his sides heaved fitfully while the dust around him turned red with blood, but still he managed to scramble up onto the Highrock and stand beside Bluestar. He turned to the crowd of eager faces that surrounded him, and summoned enough breath to declare, “Redtail is dead!”

“He died with honor, struck down by Oakheart. I couldn’t save him, but I managed to take Oakheart’s life while he was still gloating over his victory.”

After a moment’s pause, several of the cats moved forward to lick Redtail’s bedraggled fur. As they groomed they purred hushed phrases to the dead warrior. Firepaw whispered into Graypaw’s ear, “What are they doing?” Graypaw didn’t take his eyes off the dead cat as he replied. “His spirit may have left to join StarClan, but the Clan will share tongues with Redtail one last time.”

The other cats retreated and watched as their leader crouched down to share tongues with her old comrade one last time.

“How long will Bluestar sit with him?” he asked. “Probably the whole night,” replied Graypaw. “Redtail was her deputy for many, many moons. She won’t want to let him go too quickly. He was one of the best warriors. Not as big and powerful as Tigerclaw or Lionheart, but quick and clever.”

“Dappletail, do you remember the day many moons ago when Bluestar herself was appointed deputy?” Dappletail mewed earnestly, “Oh, yes! It was not long after she lost her kits.”

His whole body felt drowsy with contentment. This was his home now. He was a member of ThunderClan.

Firepaw felt his fur stand on end. This was where Redtail had been slain.

“The elders say that the cold winds from the north blow over the ShadowClan cats and chill their hearts.”

“But that seems foolish! Why can’t the Clans work together and share their hunting grounds, instead of fighting each other?” Firepaw suggested boldly. A shocked silence greeted his words.

“Are you two still on hunting duty?” asked Graypaw innocently. “Never mind. We’ve been patrolling our territory borders. You’ll be glad to know all is safe.”

“Warriors should suffer their pain silently,” growled Tigerclaw. He looked Ravenpaw straight in the eye. “You need to learn to hold your tongue.” Ravenpaw flinched and dropped his eyes to the ground.

His last meal had been many hours ago, but he dared not hunt for himself until the Clan had been fed. He remembered the words repeated by Lionheart and Tigerclaw time and time again: “The Clan must be fed first.”

Her eyes were dull as she hissed up at Firepaw, “If I weren’t so hungry and tired, I’d have shredded you into mouse-dust.” The she-cat’s mouth twisted in pain and defiance. “Finish me off. I won’t stop you.”

“ThunderClan is not desperate!” hissed Firepaw. “Prove it then! Act like a warrior and finish me off. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

“I was the ShadowClan medicine cat. Now I choose to travel alone,” hissed Yellowfang.

Ravenpaw sighed and nodded, then followed Graypaw and Firepaw as they trotted out of the camp. Even though his injury was completely healed, he still seemed to have little enthusiasm for warrior training.

“Don’t you know medicine cats don’t have kits?” hissed Yellowfang furiously. “But I heard you were a warrior before that,” Firepaw ventured. “I have no kits!” Yellowfang spat. She snatched her tail away from him and sat up. “Anyway”—her voice suddenly lowered, and she sounded almost wistful—“accidents seem to happen to kits when I’m around them.”

“Thank you, Firepaw,” replied Yellowfang quietly, settling down again. Firepaw felt stunned. He wondered if Yellowfang was feeling all right. It was the first time she had thanked him for anything, and the first time she had not called him kittypet.

“I know who I am now,” he meowed simply.

Lionheart looked at Graypaw and dipped his head. “Remember,” he meowed, “you are almost a warrior. Don’t forget what I have taught you.” Graypaw looked back at Lionheart with affection. “I will always remember, Lionheart,”

A high-pitched wail rose from Graypaw’s throat and he raced over to Lionheart. Spottedleaf, who had been leaning over the ThunderClan deputy, stepped back to let the young apprentice share tongues for the last time with his mentor.

Firepaw looked away as Bluestar spoke her last words to her old friend. “Oh, what am I going to do without you, Lionheart?” she whispered. Then she limped back to her den and crouched down outside, staring grief-stricken into the distance. She didn’t even try to lick clean her bloody, matted fur. It was the first time Firepaw had seen her look utterly defeated, and he felt a chill run through him.

Ravenpaw’s head was hanging low. “She should never have chosen him!” he muttered. “Are you talking about Tigerclaw?” Firepaw whispered. “He’s wanted to be deputy ever since he took care of Redtail—” Ravenpaw mewed. He stopped abruptly.

“Are you telling Firepaw how I protected Redtail?” Firepaw felt a cold shiver ruffle the fur on the back of his neck.

Firepaw held the menacing amber gaze for a few moments. Warrior and apprentice, for a heartbeat their eyes were locked as enemies.

Bluestar stood and studied Firepaw for a long moment before speaking. “Firepaw, from this moment you will be known as Fireheart. StarClan honors your bravery and your strength, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.” She touched her muzzle to his head and murmured, “Fireheart, I am proud to have you as my warrior. Serve your Clan well, young one.”