Chapter 3
"Show me a crouch," Feralclaw's harsh voice cut the morning air like a sword.
Demonpaw yawned and glanced at his fellow apprentices. It was very early in the morning, a few days after their nighttime vigil.
"Demonpaw!"
The young cat raised an insolent eyebrow at his mentor, but sank lazily into a crouch nonetheless, his belly just raised above the soil.
Feralclaw stalked over to him. A second later Demonpaw flopped in the dirt, reeling from a callous blow between his shoulder blades.
He glared up at the older cat. "I crouched."
The deputy spat angrily. "You need to learn some respect, you impertinent little mousebrain! No one makes a deputy ask twice!"
Demonpaw's amber eyes flashed and he descended once again, before Feralclaw could lay another paw on him. His tail flicked in impatience when his mentor was silent, and he leapt through the air and landed noisily on a pile of brush.
As he predicted, Feralclaw screeched in outrage. "I told you to crouch, not pounce! You're not a kit anymore, Demonpaw! Pay attention!"
Demonpaw rolled his eyes at the other apprentices, all of whom had been struck dumb in awe and anticipation.
"I'm not going to crouch all day," he growled. "Tell me something to do."
Feralclaw paced the clearing, then turned back to them with a sardonic smile.
"Since Demonpaw thinks he can best the entire forest," he began, "we'll hold a contest. Whichever of you returns with the least amount of fresh-kill within the hour will not attend the Gathering two moons from now."
Stormpaw stared at him. "You mean we were actually—"
"Get going!" the deputy spat at them.
As the apprentices scampered off into the trees, Feralclaw leapt into a tree and prowled through the branches. Encounters with Demonpaw left an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't place. The youngster's brash attitude didn't help matters.
Demonpaw darted through bushes ahead of him, scoping out the forest floor. He scented a rat and immediately flattened himself to the ground. He slunk around the protruding roots of an old tree and spied the rodent. Blissfully unaware of his presence, the rat was scrounging through dead leaves looking for food. Demonpaw kneaded the soft dirt with his claws, then sprang through the air in a pounce.
The rat dead, he hastily buried it under a mound of earth as Feralclaw had showed them and stalked off again.
Angelpaw clambered up a small, sturdy tree and gazed out through the forest. Her ears pricked at a tiny peeping sound, and she spun on the branch to find a large nest of twigs hanging through the leaves. Her whiskers twitched in anticipation and she slowly padded toward the nest, carefully avoiding scraping her claws on the wood. She peered over the side of the small basket, and her eyes widened when she saw a mother sparrow, asleep, covering her brood. The bird didn't have time to screech. Angelpaw scooped up the prey and came clumsily down from the tree. She buried her catch, then leapt back up the branches for the younger ones as well.
Feralclaw discovered the cache of birds under a large tuft of grass. Two apprentices were doing their job – he had seen Fogpaw's squirrel amid a bunch of dead leaves a few paces away. Raising his head to sniff the air, he noted Demonpaw nearby and his stomach involuntarily clenched again. He shook himself and darted back through the brush.