CHAPTER NINE
FIRST SNOW

Blackpaw was up before the sun the next day, shaking Pricklepaw awake.

"Whazz – who's there?" Pricklepaw slurred.

"Wake up," Blackpaw told him. "It's time to hunt."

"It's too early," Pricklepaw replied.

Blackpaw flicked his tail over his denmate's nose. "Dawnpelt will be coming for the prey we catch soon. Better get an early start, don't you think?"

"Yeah, yeah." Pricklepaw pushed himself to a sitting position. "I look like dog dung." He bent his head and began to wash himself, smoothing the fur that was spiky with mud or flattened from sleeping.

Blackpaw refrained from telling him it was a lost cause; they'd be hunting down by the river where it was muddy, anyway. But Pricklepaw ended his grooming quickly, and Blackpaw thought it be best if he didn't tell him about the tuft of fur sticking up on the back of his head. "Let's get going."

They padded in silence side by side through the forest. As they neared the river, Blackpaw parted his jaws to taste the air for prey. He could smell several prey scents – mouse, water vole, blackbird, and chaffinch – along with the faint scent of fox.

"A fox has been around," he warned Pricklepaw.

His denmate lifted his head. "I hope we don't have any trouble with it."

Blackpaw flicked an ear. Hoping was worthless. If there was going to be a fight, there would be a fight. No use trying to block it out. And a fox fight wouldn't even be that hard, would it?

There's a time for showing off and a time for being humble, Blackpaw. Learn the difference.

The words of his mentor flooded back to him. He gave his pelt a shake. Oh, well. No use worrying. Or bragging. Not while there was hunting to be done.

"You go that way," Blackpaw meowed, beckoning with his tail, "and I'll go this way."

"Right," Pricklepaw agreed, and began to trot in the other direction.

Blackpaw made his way along the stream, sweeping his head from side to side to pick up any new scents. He pricked his ears as he heard the water vole from earlier scuffling by the stream. He dropped to a crouch and prowled forward. The vole was sitting behind a clump of reeds. His haunches rocked from side to side before he leaped.

His paws came down on… empty air. The vole shot out of the way.

What? How did I miss that? Blackpaw thought angrily. He checked the wind. It had smelled him. He slashed angrily at the reeds, only imagining the things Redpaw would be saying to him if she were here.

Call that a hunter's crouch?

A blind rabbit could have seen you creep up on that thing!

You're a worthless excuse of a Hunter!

Blackpaw lashed his tail. Shut up, Redpaw, he thought. I'll catch all the prey in this forest before I let you taunt me about my skills at the end of leaf-bare.

He kept going. And by sunhigh, he had three mice to show for it.

"Wow, nice," Pricklepaw meowed as he padded back to their rendezvous spot by the stream. He had a vole and a trout.

"You caught a fish!" Blackpaw exclaimed.

"It practically leaped into my paws," Pricklepaw admitted.

"But you caught it," Blackpaw added.

Pricklepaw shrugged, brightening. "Yeah, I guess so."

"What are you two doing, gossiping about all day like elders?"

Both of their heads snapped up at the sight of Dawnpelt crossing the tree bridge with ease.

"We've been hunting all morning," Blackpaw teased. "Give us a rest."

"Oh, no. No rests for you," Dawnpelt meowed, leaping down onto the grass. Her eyes sparkled in amusement. "Not for an entire leaf-bare. And no rests for me either. I'll be back again tomorrow, so whatever you catch for the rest of the day is yours!" She bent down and picked up their prey by the tails. "Thank you!"

Blackpaw and Pricklepaw stayed to watch her go, waving her tail in farewell as she crossed the bridge once more. As she loped away, the prey swinging from her jaws, Blackpaw noticed that it was beginning to snow.

"Look, Pricklepaw," he meowed, nudging his friend. It was the first time either of them had seen it. They had heard about it plenty from plaintive elders, vigorous apprentices, and indifferent warriors.

For a while, both of them just sat there, faces to the sky, watching the white flakes descend. They sat so long, flakes began to stick to their fur and eyelashes.

"It's just as beautiful as my mother told me it'd be," Pricklepaw meowed.

"And cold, too," Blackpaw added, swiping a flake off his nose with his tongue. "Cold season is upon us." It's going to be so much harder for the Hunters.

And the Runners, too, a tiny voice in the back of his mind reminded him.

Oh, well. He wasn't a Runner so it wasn't really his problem. But something nagged at him…

"Let's get back to the hunt," he meowed. They scraped earth over their prey and marked the pile with their claws.

And then they were off, in a whirlwind of pounces and snow and flying fur for the rest of the afternoon, oblivious to the fact that there would soon be disaster back at camp.

Oblivious to the fact that ShadowClan was entering a season of death.