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."
