Chapter 2

Sunlight poured in through the bramble screen of the

warriors den, a bright patch falling upon Rockstorm's face.

He grumbled as he blinked awake, and Briarfur poked her head

into the nest area.

"Good to see you're awake," she meowed. "You want

to join a hunting patrol? Sootstorm and I were just about to leave."

"Uh... yeah." Rockstorm hastily stretched his cramped

limbs and shambled out into the clearing. He still felt tired after

his first overnight sentry, and it was with heavy steps that he

followed the brown she-cat out of the clearing.

Sootstorm, a jet black tom, was waiting for them at the

edge of the tunnel. The WoodClan camp was protected by a

natural barrier, two high stone walls bordering the path, and the

only way into camp was directly through the tunnel, or to force

one's way through a thorn barrier at the main clearing.

"Okay, we're all ready, right? Good; let's go." The tom

waved his tail and took the lead. Rockstorm and Briarfur followed,

and after a short period of walking Rockstorm suggested hunting

at the marshy area near the canyon.

"There's normally a lot of prey there early in the morning,"

he meowed. "I think it would be a good spot to try."

"Okay; you and Briarfur head in that direction, and I'll pause

here." Sootstorm began tasting the air, and Briarfur padded off

toward the marsh, her paws landing softly on the carpet of leaves.

As Rockstorm followed, his gaze became fixed on Briarfur; her

slender body, graceful movement, soft, smooth pelt... when he was

snapped to attention by the sounds of prey rustling in the undergrowth.

As he carefully commenced stalking a mouse, his thoughts

wandered back to Briarfur. Ever since he was a kit, and she was

still an apprentice, she was like his best friend; he spent every moment

he could with her. As he grew up, he grew closer to her, and at times,

he wondered if he was in love.

The mouse was now feet away, and Rockstorm tensed

his haunches, ready to pounce. He kicked up a swath of leaves as

he leaped upon his prey, pinning it to the ground with sharp, hooked

claws. He finished it with a nip to the throat, filling his mouth and

nose with a warm, delicious scent.

Ah, the smell of fresh-kill!, he thought. He carried the warm

carcass to the base of a tree, and scraped some earth over it in

order to collect it later. He soon caught up with Briarfur, and proceeded

into the swamp.

As he investigated a rustling in the reeds, possibly a delicious

vole, he smelled a strange scent -- cat? He felt a growl rising in his

throat as he spotted a black-and-white patched pelt half-hidden among

the tall grasses. That's CanyonClan scent! he thought with an angry

inward snarl. He stealthily creeped forward until he was a mere

tail-length away from a very young she-cat, her gaze intent on a shrew

she was stalking.

Wham! With one swift motion, the scrawny apprentice was

on her back, spluttering out water. She struggled briefly, but

Rockstorm's greater weight and strength outmatched her hopelessly.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? An intruder?" Rockstorm

could see he was easily intimidating the tiny she-cat. Up so close,

he could see that she wasn't just small; she was scrawny and

starving. "We don't tolerate food thieves here in WoodClan, no

matter what your own kind think you should get by with!"

At this moment, Briarfur burst into the reeds where Rockstorm

was pinning the scrawny trespasser.

"What is going on here?" She fixed a hard stare upon the

CanyonClan cat. "You have some serious explaining to do."