Smoke filled her lungs once more as she frantically ran towards the nursery, and she once again let out harsh coughs that joined with the chorus of many others. The bright wisps of flame blinded her vision and her pads burned from the hot dirt. A sudden 'watch out!' froze the young she-cat in her tracks as she nearly ran into a fallen blazing tree branch. The force of the fall casted aside free floating embers that singed her long whiskers. Quickly dashing around it, the pale speckled golden she-cat nimbly made her way into the nursery. The small tree stump was covered in ash and cinders, but the untamed flames hadn't victimized it yet. The mews of a kit emanated from the stump, fright soaking the worried cries. Locating the source of fragile mewls, she stretched out her neck into the burrow and grasped the scruff of a young mewling kit. The kit tucked in its paws and tail towards its belly and its frighten mewls filled the thick and ashy air. The she-cat was about to make a mad dash for the camp entrance when the a flaming tree fell right in front of her, is tongues of fire nearly beckoning her to come closer, and blocking the only safe way out of the camp.
She heard the wild and frantic calls of her Clanmates beyond the camp walls and she willed to cal back, but she didn't want to risk the kit in her jaws becoming prey to tricky flames. She scanned madly at the dark sky above her, wanting to yowl to her ancestors why they had forsaken her to become a victim of the blaze, but the stars were blocked by thick blankets of smoke.
A sharp paw prodded her side. She looked around, expecting to see a nervous Clanmate besides her, but there was none. Her flank was prodded again, and the young she-cat once more looked around, but found no cat near her. The next poke was harder and the apprentice blinked open her eyes and was surprised to find herself in the medicine cats' den with a very angry-looking mentor glaring at her.
"What are you, a deaf minnow, Whiskerpaw?" the aggravated black tabby tom snapped, his green eyes blazing like the crimson flames in her dream. "I've been prodding you for a quarter moon now! You know we have things to do today!"
"Sorry, Mintshard!" Whiskerpaw groveled. "It was…just a very pleasant dream."
It was actually the opposite. Whiskerpaw had never seen anything more horrifying in her entire young life. Mintshard gave her an odd look, as if he didn't quite believe her story, but merely shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, now that you're up, go bring the elders some fresh-kill. The apprentices should've caught something appetizing by now."
"Yes, Mintshard," Whiskerpaw complied. She waited until her ticked-off mentor disappeared into their storage area to count their supplies before she sighed. She may appreciate everything her mentor has done for her, but he could still have his moments like an emotional young she-cat.
Deciding not to anger her mentor any further than she already has, Whiskerpaw gingerly got to her paws, being mindful of her stiff right leg, and made her way out of the burrow. She faintly remembered how she received the injury; an attack with a dog pack. The most peculiar thing about the pack was that it was currently being led by a cat who used to be from WaterfallClan. She only knew a little about the incident and she didn't have the guts to ask her parents in case they snap at her to be mindful of her business like last time she asked.
"It doesn't matter anymore, Whiskerpaw," her father had told her. "What matters now is that the dogs will never harm you or any other cat ever again."
But why did they attack? Whiskerpaw had wanted to ask, but the glare from her father made her shut her mouth.
Rustpaw and Leafpaw, the Clan's two apprentices, sat by the fresh-kill pile and were arguing over something minnow-brained by the time Whiskerpaw approached them.
"No way, Rustpaw!" the pale brown tabby she-cat insisted as her brother noisily chomped on a piece of pike. "I can eat way faster than you can!"
"Yeah, right," Rustpaw snickered after he swallowed his bite. "Every cat knows that she-cats only eat modestly."
"Nuh uh!" Leafpaw growled at her brother's sneer. She reached over to the fresh-kill pile and pulled out a fat trout. She then attempted to savagely dig into the fresh-kill with her teeth, scampering down small bites in between her tearing.
"Hey, no fair!" Rustpaw argued. He then proceeded to rip a hunk of flesh from his own meal. "You got a head start," he growled with his mouth full.
It wasn't until a few more devours did some other cat take notice. "Rustpaw and Leafpaw!" a sharp voice snapped and froze the two apprentices in their tracks. A white tom with an odd black marking over his right eye marched up to the two apprentices with his white tail lashing angrily behind him. "Do you know how long it took to catch those two pieces of fresh-kill? You know that it's almost the end the leaf-fall and prey will soon be getting scarcer and scarcer."
"You have no right to scold us, Privetdrop!" Rustpaw growled, showing off his fierce attitude he inherited from his mother. "You've been a warrior for how long? Over twenty-four moons?"
"I'm old enough to have some common sense!" Privetdrop snarled. "And look how you treated that prey, both of you! Have you got no respect for living creature that died so you may live?"
"Oh, now he's talking the warrior code to us," Rustpaw sneered and rolled his green eyes. "Please, bore us more with your talks of what's right and what's wrong."
Privetdrop was about to retort when Ryeleaf, their father, barged into the argument. "Rustpaw and Leafpaw, show some respect to Privetdrop! He's much older than you and clearly knows how to be a warrior."
"But Rustpaw said that only she-cats ate modestly," Leafpaw argued.
"Every cat is supposed to eat modestly," Ryeleaf growled. "Rustpaw, stop being so judgmental. Leafpaw, stop believing everything your brother says. And both of you will apologize to Privetdrop at once."
Rustpaw was about to retort, but Ryeleaf silenced him with a stern glance. Casting a glance at his sister, Rustpaw sighed. "We're sorry, Privetdrop. You're a great warrior and all."
"Yeah, we're sorry. We should've been grateful for you offering your advice," Leafpaw somberly replied.
Privetdrop merely nodded, awkwardly accepting the forced apology, but he knew that it wasn't going to get any better.
Ryeleaf, seeming pleased, flicked his tail at the half-eaten carcasses at his kits' paws. "Now, I expect you both to finish your prey. That must be gone before you have anything else."
Knowing that there was no disagreeing with him, both kits obediently nodded.
"And I'll have a word with your mentors and Moonshadow on your punishment," Ryeleaf added. "Perhaps even Goldenstar."
"Not Goldenstar!" Leafpaw exclaimed with wide green eyes.
"If he finds out then he'll delay our warrior ceremony!" Rustpaw insisted.
"I'm not saying that he will, but he should know what you've done," Ryeleaf replied. "What happens now is up to him and Moonshadow. Now, finish your prey before you have to go training." He glanced at Whiskerpaw, who had been sitting there for quite some time. "Whiskerpaw, you've been sitting there for a while; pick something and run along."
Whiskerpaw, finally settling on a two nice-sized trout, left the incident with the two fish in her jaws towards the elders' den. The elders' den was a hollow tree on its side with sturdy reeds for support. Visiting the elders' den was always a pleasure, in Whiskerpaw's point of view. She remembered how she and her older siblings used to visit the elders' den every single sunrise when they were kits. She adored Stripedwhisker's tales about the old territory the Clans used to live. The dark brown tabby elder loved to tell ancient battle stories, such as the Great Battle between the old Clans and a group of corrupt cats named SavageClan, and the final siege several moons ago on top of the cliffs. Whiskerpaw's favorite story were the simple stories of her parents and the minnow-brained things they would do as apprentices, such as the timer her father put thistles in his older brother's nest after a heated argument. According to Stripedwhisker, her father was ordered to clean the elders' den for an entire moon!
"Ah, here's our favorite apprentice!" Stripedwhisker purred as Whiskerpaw entered the cozy den. The dark brown tabby tom licked his chops at the sight of the fresh-kill.
"Because she doesn't complain like the other ones," Steelclaw grumbled, his nose twitching to locate where Whiskerpaw was. Despite Steelclaw's harsh tongue, Whiskerpaw had sympathies for gray tabby tom due to his blind eyes. It wasn't his fault that the fox who attacked him severely injured his eyes, marking the end of his warrior status. "Those two do nothing but bicker or make a stupid game out of everything while they're doing their duties."
"All apprentices do that, Steelclaw," Stripedwhisker insisted.
"Yeah, but not all apprentices whine as much as those two!" Steelclaw sniffed. "I wouldn't be surprised if Rumblestar himself walked into camp to complain about how loud those two are."
"I'm afraid Rumblestar's too frail to walk all the way to our camp these days," Stripedwhisker recalled. "It's enough of a trek to make it to the Gatherings let alone another Clan's camp."
"At least that rogue and his kits he invited into the Clan a couple of seasons ago are actually obeying the borders, unlike previous ones," Steelclaw grumbled. "That's perhaps the only good thing he's done."
"How are you doing, Tinyspirit?" Whiskerpaw interrupted the elder's rant. Knowing Stripedwhisker and Steelclaw, those two could go on for sunrises about the gossip of the Clans. At least they keep Tinyspirit company.
The tortoiseshell tabby she-cat gingerly lifted her head off of her bracken nest. "I'm doing just fine, Whiskerpaw," the eldest she-cat replied. "My joints are just stiff as usual."
"I'll have Mintshard give you some more daisy leaves and ragwort for that," Whiskerpaw replied. She grabbed one of the trout and laid it in front of her. "Here you go; fresh from the pile!"
"Thanks, Whiskerpaw," Tinyspirit softly mewed and took a small bite from the fish.
Sensing that the elders were just fine, Whiskerpaw left the log and simply sat outside the den, relishing the warmth of the sun on her thin pelt. She knew it wouldn't be long until the cold settled in and prey and herbs will be harder to come by. She decided to simply sit and watch as Clan life pass by before returning to Mintshard.
Rustpaw and Leafpaw were rolling wads of dirty moss from the nursery, presumably their punishment for disobeying the warrior code. Their mentors, Moonshine and Nightstrike, sat not far with their impatient tails twitching. Clearly they were not pleased that their apprentices were forced to waste precious training time fulfilling their punishment.
Dustberry sat outside the nursery with her two kits born six moons ago, Cragkit—a ginger tabby she-kit, and Adderkit—a dark brown tabby she-kit. The two kits were the daughters of Cliffjumper, but the proud and arrogant tom preferred to do nothing in relation to his kits or his former mate. The said tom was discussing something with Cedarstep, Privetdrop, Auburnwhisker and Shadowclaw outside the warriors' den.
Ryeleaf and Leopardnose were finishing up the remains of a carp not far from Stonecleft. Stalkshine and Tallstalk were sharing tongues and so were Whiskerpaw's other siblings, Springfox and Fallsriver not far as well.
Otterwhisker's border patrol arrived into camp and she had Mousethorn, Reedleg, Moonshadow and Whiskerpaw's other brother, Quailheart, with her.
Goldenstar and Leapingriver were discussing something underneath the Stonecleft. Otterwhisker approached them, presumably with the reports from the border patrol. The three shared a few words before Otterwhisker dipped her head and made her way with the rest of the patrol for the fresh-kill pile for something to eat.
Seeing her Clanmates perform their daily activities, she couldn't help but remember her nightmare she had. She could see it so perfectly in her mind; the startling image of the camp on fire struck her heart sharply. But the risk of a fire in the camp was unlikely, there was a surplus of moisture everywhere, and her father ordered moonly escape drills for the entire Clan in case there was a need for an evacuation.
Still, the haunting image of her dream continued to worry her. What if there was a fire of that severity in the camp? Of course, StarClan wouldn't let that happen to them…right? She decided to ask her mentor, just in case.
Whiskerpaw found the said tom in the storage area in the medicine cats' den with his muzzle buried into a storage hole.
"Mintshard…StarClan wouldn't let a fire occur in our camp…right?" Whiskerpaw asked.
Mintshard snorted, blowing out several leaves of marigold in the process, and swiftly removed his muzzle from the hole. "Of course not, Whiskerpaw. What would make you think something like that?" he asked as he scraped the marigold back into the hole with his claws.
"Just…curious," Whiskerpaw nonchalantly replied. "I'm just saying…hypothetically."
Mintshard rolled his eyes. "Hypothetically, we would be prepared in case there was a fire. Also, it's nearly time for another drill. Hurray." The medicine cat snorted. "Plus, it's been raining a lot and that helps keep the ground and trees moist, so it's unlikely that a fire would happen. But, if it helps, I'll alert Goldenstar about a fire threat anyway."
"Thank you, Mintshard," Whiskerpaw gratefully thanked.
"You can thank me by checking the marigold supply," Mintshard snapped gently. "Take someone with you and you might as well check on the feverfew and coltsfoot while you're at it."
"Will do," Whiskerpaw replied and made her way out of the den beneath the tree roots. Still, Mintshard's reassurance didn't quite satisfy her worries. What if Mintshard was wrong and what happened in her dreams really did happen?