A/N: It's been awhile! Never fear, though, this story is not abandoned. I just lost motivation on it for a bit. But Littlepaw is so cute, I couldn't leave him for long. ;3
In response to the guest review, no, they won't stop with the w's quite yet. 3 moons is only the equivalent of a 4.5-year-old child, after all. However, I intend them to lose the speech impediment within the next couple of chapters.
Now join us for a tour of ShadowClan!
The fresh forest air enveloped Littlepaw again, and he felt instantly better. Wetpaw was bouncing along without a care in the world, and Brownpaw was doing his best to look happy. The patrol was huge; ten cats, including the Clan leader, the deputy, and every apprentice in the Clan.
Brokenstar took the lead, Volepaw striding proudly by his side. Blackfoot followed closely, with Dawnpaw scrambling after him. Littlepaw glanced nervously up at Clawface; the muscular warrior didn't even look at his apprentice.
Maybe he's distracted? Mosspaw did just... die, he guessed.
On that note Littlepaw noticed that they steered carefully around the training hollow where the accident had happened. His fur ruffled as they passed it by, and Brownpaw bit his lip. Mosspaw's siblings, thankfully, had no idea where they were.
As they continued through the forest, Littlepaw heard a faint rumbling. It grew louder and louder as they went on, and his ears flattened against the unpleasant noise. He glanced about for comfort, but his brothers were blocked from his view by other cats, and Clawface still wasn't looking at him.
The pines thinned out, and the ground grew more compact, populated by scraggly bits of dying grass. The trees parted ahead of them and a bitter stench made Littlepaw's nose wrinkle. The apprentices shared disgusted glances; despite their differences, that stink was something they could all agree on. Then he saw it. A sea of rough, flat black rock, baking in the sunlight. The smell wafted off of its surface in waves.
Brokenstar lifted his chin. "The Thunderpath."
The rumbling came again, and Littlepaw's pelt crawled. He looked fearfully up to his mentor, but Clawface only spared him a fleeting glance. His gaze flicked back to the Thunderpath as - whoosh! zoom! - something barrelled past with a deafening roar. A stinking wind blasted the tiny apprentice, throwing dust into his face. He stared after the bright, sleek, huge creature as it rattled into the distance, gaping, trying without success to control his trembling paws.
"That," Brokenstar meowed calmly, "was a monster."
"It'll squash you flat if you get in its way," added Blackfoot in a low, warning rumble.
"I-Isn't the ThundewCwan bowdew on the othew side, though?" Littlepaw asked timidly, remembering the senior warriors mentioning something about it. When no one objected, he continued, hoping he wasn't asking an obvious question. "Then, h-how do we get to the bowdew without being squished?"
"Cross the Thunderpath, stupid!" Volepaw scoffed, amber eyes glittering tauntingly. Littlepaw's ears flattened, the tips burning in shame.
"Actually, that's a good question," Boulder spoke up. The thin grey tabby eyed him, looking impressed and curious. "Most cats have to cross the Thunderpath, but we have the tunnel, so we don't have to risk it."
Littlepaw perked up, a warm feeling kindling in his belly. Volepaw had been wrong for once! And the brown tom looked quite disgruntled about it, too, ears lain flat against his head and tail lashing with annoyance.
"This way," Brokenstar meowed, bounding off down the length of the Thunderpath. He halted soon enough, to a place where the scruffy grass sloped down into a damp, dark entrance, hung with shadows, rough stone arching over. The dark tabby leader led the way, followed quickly by Volepaw, Blackfoot, and the rest of the patrol. Littlepaw hurried in at Dawnpaw's heels, Clawface's stoic gaze prickling his pelt. His paws splashed into a sluggish stream of foul-smelling water, and he tried not to breathe as he picked his way across the slimy stone.
"You get used to it," Boulder called from behind him, voice tinged with amusement.
Halfway through the tunnel, though, Littlepaw felt a faint rumble beneath his feet, and moments later the very ground beneath him shook as an echoing roar pierced his ears and echoed from wall to cold stone wall. His tail bushed out and he crouched, claws digging fruitlessly into the rock. The other apprentices also seemed alarmed as the monster rushed past into the distance, but the warriors were barely affected. Littlepaw crept forward after a moment's pause, and soon the entire group was emerging and squinting into the light.
"The ThunderClan border," Brokenstar announced solemnly. "Take a long sniff."
"They've always been our rivals, but we'll always be the stronger Clan," Stumpytail growled, "the kittypet friends."
Blackfoot glanced at Brokenstar; the striped leader nodded, and his loyal deputy stepped forward and marked the border, adding the familiar scent of ShadowClan to the pungent ThunderClan odor.
With that, Brokenstar turned and stalked back into the tunnel. Littlepaw trailed nervously after Clawface and blinked gratefully at Brownpaw when his brother surpassed his mentor to stand alongside him. The quiet young tom seemed apprehensive as well, but no monster came, and they arrived safely on the opposite side.
"Where to next?" Volepaw demanded, trotting along by the leader.
"You'll see," Brokenstar meowed curtly, silencing his apprentice.
To Littlepaw's dismay, they traveled only a few tail-lengths from the Thunderpath. He cringed whenever a monster zoomed by, but the warriors weren't disturbed one bit; by the fourth or so time he found himself getting used to them, only giving a wary lash of his tail as they passed. Eventually, the patrol halted, and Brokenstar lifted his nose to point across the Thunderpath. "That," he explained, "is Fourtrees. There's a full moon soon; if you train hard enough, you will be able to attend."
"Wow," Littlepaw breathed. The grass on the other side sloped down to a wide valley. Nestled in the center were four giant oaks, their branches stretching to the sky, leaves pluming out around them with size to rival the biggest clouds that drifted around them. A huge boulder rose from the ground not far from the trees, shaded beneath their whispering boughs. He pictured himself gazing up at the leaders atop the Great Rock, surrounded by cats from all Clans. I gotta try my best, he decided with a determined lash of his tail. I gotta train as hard as I can!
They moved on, Littlepaw bounding forward with renewed excitement. As they traveled, the view on the opposite side of the Thunderpath morphed from a soft green slope and the occasional tree or bush to a wide, flat plateau. It was blanketed with yellowish grass, rolling in the wind as fluidly as water, dotted with scraggly bushes and the sleek shapes of stones. A new cat-scent reached his nose, tinged with the aromas of open air and rabbits.
"The WindClan border," said Brokenstar, a growl embedded in his throat. "Our most severe enemies."
Littlepaw's ears lowered at his tone. He remembered the tales of Raggedstar's death, related to him by Crowtail and Archeye in low, hushed tones, as if it were something secret, something sacred.
"We won't let them get away with murdering our leader," Clawface added in a deep snarl, startling Littlepaw; his mentor hadn't spoken the entire trip.
"Or stealing our prey," Boulder added, glaring resolutely across the sweeping moorland.
"They must be taught a lesson," Brokenstar concluded, and his voice was so dark and intense that Littlepaw was nearly frightened of him. "They must be taught to fear ShadowClan, or they will grow bold and rush across our borders. Remember that."
"I'll shred their pelts!" Volepaw spoke up eagerly, eyes glinting with excitement and bloodlust as his claws sank into the grass. "I'll fight them off by your side!"
"Me too!" Wetpaw crowed, looking more excited than angry. "I won't wet them acwoss ouw bowdews!"
"Good," Brokenstar meowed, eyeing them with appreciation. "I am sure you will make loyal warriors."
Brokenstar and Clawface marked the border, and they continued, finally traveling away from the Thunderpath and into the shade of the marsh. The twitter of birdsong and the croaking of frogs filled his ears, paws sinking gratefully into the cool mud. His legs were beginning to tire, however, shorter than any of the other apprentices' and certainly much shorter than the warriors'. With every step his mentor took, he took three, and he found himself wishing to be curled in the curve of Newtspeck's belly, to be nestled against her warmth.
No! I'm an apprentice now! he thought. I'm a big boy. I'll make it all the way back to camp, all by myself!
As this thought crossed his mind, another new scent hit him, just as foul as the Thunderpath's. He realized he had been staring into space, and he blinked at the sight before him. A barrier rose high over his head, webbed with shining silver. Behind it were heaps and heaps of unrecognizable objects, filthy and stained, and from these the scent was enamating. He thought he saw something skitter around the edge of one of the heaps, thought he saw the gleam of sharp eyes, and blinked perplexedly into the shadows.
"This is the Carrionplace," Brokenstar announced, his voice having regained its regular tone after leaving the WindClan border behind. "When prey is hard to find, we hunt the rats that live here. Although they are prey, they make dangerous opponents."
"Warriors have died hunting rats," Boulder chimed in.
Is that what I saw? A rat? Littlepaw wondered. He knew that rats were dangerous; he remembered the story of Foxheart, Raggedstar's brave deputy, that Poolcloud had told him. Boulder was probably referring to her.
They swerved away from the Carrionplace, and Littlepaw found he was having trouble paying attention. His paws ached with every step he took, and his limbs felt dragged down by fatigue. Luckily, after the next stop - an abandoned badger sett, Littlepaw didn't hear much of what they said - Brokenstar decided that it was time to return to the camp. Littlepaw breathed an audible sigh of relief. He had never been so happy at the thought of taking a nap, which he usually avoided at all costs.
As they entered the camp, Brokenstar immediately stalked off into the shadows of his den, leaving the patrol to face the stares of the rest of the Clan; some curious, others reproachful, a few amused. Blackfoot turned to face the patrol and meowed, "Stumpytail, Boulder, round up a few cats and take out a hunting patrol. Clawface, find some warriors for a sparring session; we're supposed to keep our skills sharp."
Stumpytail's lip curled, but he nodded; Boulder bounded quickly further into the camp, blue eyes raking it for possible partners. Then the deputy turned to the apprentices, amber eyes roving over their tired faces. "You five, take a rest. I had Frogtail and Ashheart gather moss while you were gone; you should find your nests ready for you. You'll be expected up early tomorrow morning to begin your training."
Littlepaw nodded blearily. Blackfoot turned with a flick of his ear and strode purposefully towards a knot of warriors chatting by the fresh-kill pile.
"I don't need to rest," Volepaw complained sulkily. "We should be training."
"Oh, you know you're tired," Dawnpaw yawned, strolling towards the apprentice den.
"Maybe you are," he scoffed. "Doesn't mean I am."
She merely rolled her eyes and gave Littlepaw a look that said, Can you believe this guy?
He stifled a giggle, instead sending her a quick grin. Volepaw was so obstinate!
They were intercepted by Newtspeck halfway there. "How did it go?" she demanded anxiously, giving Littlepaw a swift lick between the ears. "Was it fun? Did he show you everything? Did anyone get hurt? Are you tired?" She leaned down and peered into his eyes, gaze flicking back and forth as though she could find the answers there.
Littlepaw opened his mouth for a sleepy reply, but Wetpaw beat him to it. "It was gweat, Mom!" he replied, blue eyes twinkling despite the weariness there. "We saw the bowdews, and Fouwtwees, and the Thundewpath, and evewything!"
Brownpaw nodded enthusiastically, and Littlepaw added, "We might get to go to the Gathewing!"
"You grow up so fast," Newtspeck mewed, but there was something beside pride in her soft green gaze, something darker. "Be careful, okay? Get your sleep, train hard, practice your fighting. And I expect a visit every day, you little troublemakers. Don't forget your old mom."
Wetpaw looked intensely uncomfortable. Littlepaw only felt warmed by his mother's concern, however, and buried his face in her chest. "We wiww, Mama," he promised, voice muffled by her soft black fur. Moments later, Brownpaw joined them, and even Wetpaw did after a brief moment of hesitation.
"Sleep well, little warriors," Newtspeck murmured, and pulled away. She eyed them fondly and sadly for a moment, then swept away to the warriors' den, where she would be sleeping from now on.
Littlepaw blinked, then turned and hurried after Volepaw and Dawnpaw into the apprentice den. Dawnpaw was already curled tightly in a nest of moss, so tightly she looked about to break something, her tail swept over her nose and her eyes screwed shut. Volepaw was in the nest next to hers, his back turned to her. Is she okay? Littlepaw wondered, hesitating with one paw in the air.
"Huwwy up," came Wetpaw's irritated mew behind him. He flushed and hurried into the den; after a brief moment of indecision, he chose the nest on the other side of Dawnpaw and circled it experimentally. Satisfied, he nestled into the fresh moss; Brownpaw plopped down in the nest on the other side of him, and Wetpaw took the nest sandwiched between Volepaw and Brownpaw.
The den felt big and empty without the warm presence of his mother by his side, but Littlepaw was so tired out from his adventures that he hardly cared. He laid his nose on his paws, exhaustion sweeping over him. Moments later, he sank into the inviting darkness of sleep, and the waiting worlds of his dreams.
A/N: I'm rather proud of the descriptions in this chapter. :)
Next time: Sparring and more!
