Pearpaw watched as Vinestep paced around the bramble thicket, muttering curses under his breath, his fur prickling with worry. The kits in the nursery, Winterkit and Frostkit, were next to their mother, Nettlesnow, as Ashenhawk plunged in. The newest warriors, Flamewing and Lightningfang, had just returned with wet moss for Ashenhawk. Ashenhawk padded out of the den and cast a grateful glance at Flamewing and Lightningfang.
"Thank you," Ashenhawk said. "Where's Hailpaw and Ravenpaw with the herbs I need?"
Lightningfang and Flamewing exchanged nervous glances. "You sent them out for herbs?" Flamewing asked.
Frustration blazed in Ashenhawk's eyes. "I did!" she snapped. "I need coltsfoot for Yellowheart. She won't get better if I don't get the right herbs!"
Pearpaw's amber eyes widened as Rootpaw stepped forward, his yellow eyes blazing with resolve. Ashenhawk glanced at him dubiously as he meowed, "I'll go get the herbs for you."
Ashenhawk glanced at Vinestep, as if asking for his permission. Vinestep focused his green gaze on Rootpaw. Then, after a few moments, he said slowly, drawing his words out, "Someone needs to go with you."
"I will." Pearpaw stepped forward. He still felt bad that he snapped at his brother on the way home from the Gathering. It would only be a couple of days until he met with Snowpaw, and he wanted to mend his relationship with Rootpaw. Regardless of how annoying Rootpaw could be, and how absent-minded, they were still brothers. Nothing would change that.
Rootpaw flashed him a grateful glance. Pearpaw stepped forward and touched his nose to his brother's muzzle, hoping that the small touch could convey what he felt. Rootpaw glanced at Vinestep, who watched the two of them with pressed lips.
"Fine," Vinestep said. "Rootpaw, do you know what herb Ashenhawk is looking for?"
Rootpaw nodded.
"Then go. And as fast as you can. Yellowheart may not have that much time left." The last words were thrown over Vinestep's shoulder as he entered the nursery with Ashenhawk. Rootpaw and Pearpaw were about to turn on their heels to go, but Pearpaw twitched his ears when he heard scampering behind him. I know that sound very well, he thought dryly.
The toms turned around. Winterkit and Frostkit were staring up at him. Pearpaw flinched when he saw how similar Winterkit looked to his father—he had the same silver pelt and tabby stripes as Flintstar did. Frostkit, too, had the same silver pelt, but he had white flecks that Flintstar didn't have, but his mother, Nettlesnow, did.
"We want to come and collect herbs with you!" Winterkit declared firmly.
Pearpaw shook his head. "You can't leave camp 'til you're six moons old," he told them.
Frostkit bounced up and down on his paws. "Please?" he begged. "We'll be very helpful."
Pearpaw curled his lip, about to snarl at the kits to leave him and Rootpaw alone, but Rootpaw stepped forward. There was kindness in his yellow gaze as he meowed, "I'm sorry, you two. You can't leave with us because it might be dangerous. We don't know what we'll face out there, and if we have to spend time looking over to make sure you're okay, we won't be back in time." He touched his nose to Winterkit and then rubbed Frostkit's head affectionately. "Do you understand?"
Frostkit sighed petulantly, while Winterkit simply nodded. Rootkit gestured toward Flintstar, who was sitting on the Highledge, his eyes fixated on the nursery. "Maybe your father will want to play with you. Have you been on the Highledge yet?"
"No!" both kits exclaimed. Rootpaw's eyes glowed with humor.
"Race you!" Frostkit squealed as he scampered away from the nursery and headed towards the Highledge. Winterkit was right behind him, his paws kicking up grass on the forest floor. Pearpaw watched them go and glanced at Rootpaw.
"I had no idea you were so good with kits," Pearpaw said.
Rootpaw shrugged. "They're cute," he said. "But we can't waste much more time. Vinestep is right—Yellowheart may not have that much more time." His yellow eyes were dark with fear as he bounded out of camp. Pearpaw was right behind him, his heart beating quickly as he thought about the race against time. He cared about each of his Clanmates, even if they could be a bit elitist. And Yellowheart was an expecting queen—how could Pearpaw live with himself if she died because they were too slow to get the herbs?
The two brothers climbed out of camp and raced through the forest. Rootpaw's steps took him easily through the woods, and Pearpaw was surprised at the route he was taking. Had Rootpaw collected tansy before? Did he want to be a medicine cat apprentice? I've seen him hanging around Ashenhawk, but if he wanted to train under her, surely he'd have done it by now?
"You sure you know where you're going?" Pearpaw asked.
Rootpaw nodded. "Yes." He leaped over a bramble thicket without blinking twice. Pearpaw winced as he got his fur caught in it. Rootpaw didn't slow down as he climbed a rise. The two cats approached a gully, and with surprising strength, Rootpaw cleared it easily. Pearpaw leaped after him.
The seething greenleaf sun burned against Pearpaw's back when Rootpaw finally skidded to a halt near a throng of bushes. He leaned over to see small yellow flowers sprouting out of the ground, their plants embracing the sun that fed them life. Rootpaw's eyes glowed with happiness as he started to nip of their stems.
Pearpaw kept guard around Rootpaw, sniffing the air for any sign of an impending threat. But the only thing he could see was the greenery around him. He watched Rootpaw meticulously pick the stems until a strange odor wafted around them. Rootpaw seemed too absorbed in his plants, but Pearpaw's claws arched with anxiety as he looked around, trying to figure out the source of the stench.
It's nothing I've ever smelled before, he thought nervously. He wanted to check it out, but he didn't want to leave Rootpaw. We just need to hurry up. "Rootpaw, hurry up," he growled.
"What?" Rootpaw looked over his shoulder.
"I smell something. Finish with that batch and we'll get out of here." Just as the last words left Pearpaw's mouth, a massive, muscular red-furred figure emerged from the bushes. Pearpaw's heart stopped in his chest as he met its beady eyes. There was only one thing it could be—with its long, elongated snout, its bushy tail tipped with white, and its angular face.
"Fox!" Pearpaw snarled. "Rootpaw, stay back! I've got this!" He lunged towards the fox, clashing against its chest. The fox let out a furious snarl as Pearpaw's claws raked across its ears. Rootpaw looked up, the coltsfoot stems falling out of his mouth. Pearpaw sank his teeth into the fox's throat, but his confidence got the best of him. He was just an apprentice, and the fox was full-grown, hungry, and strong. The fox swiped at him with his paw and sent him flying. Pearpaw hit the ground, dazed as he tried to lift himself to all fours. The fox prowled towards him, malice and bloodlust in its eyes.
No… Pearpaw scrambled back but realized that a tree was blocking his only escape route from the fox. A small whimper rose in Pearpaw's throat as he pressed his back against the tree, his breath coming in rapid gasps as he looked up at the fox. Fear tightened his throat. Is this the end? Is the fox going to kill me here? He wanted to swipe at the fox, but they were too close, and if he did reach out his paw, the fox would grab it and yank it. There's nothing left for me to do.
A loud howl, full of rage and fury, echoed from behind Pearpaw and the fox. The fox looked over its shoulder, and Pearpaw stared at where the sound had come from. To his shock, Rootpaw leaped out of the foliage, his yellow eyes blazing as he landed right on top of the fox's broad, red back. His claws tore out chunks of ginger fur, a rapid-flurry of neat blows, and he sank his teeth into the fox's neck.
Pearpaw realized the fox was distracted with Rootpaw. The gray tabby dove under the fox's belly and raked its white fur with his claws. When the fox let out a howl of pain, Pearpaw smirked. We're winning! Hot blood splashed from the fox's wound and landed on Pearpaw's forehead. Pearpaw dove out from under the fox's belly and turned on his heel, sinking his teeth into the fox's tail. The fox yelped in agony, but Pearpaw—and Rootpaw—did not give up. They dove at the fox, their claws splitting through the air, until they drove the fox back, mouse-length by mouse-length.
The fox turned on its heel, crimson blood gushing from its multiple wounds on its body and darted back into the undergrowth. Pearpaw gave chase, his tail streaming behind him as he clawed at the fox's back legs and snapped his jaws. He ran faster than the warriors of StarClan, tearing up grass from beneath his paws as he chased the fox out of ThunderClan territory. The fox let out a cry as it crossed the scent marks and ran into the unclaimed hills in the distance. Pearpaw watched it go with narrowed amber eyes. Then he turned and followed his own scent trail, back to where Rootpaw was.
Rootpaw was not injured. His fur was ruffled and there was blood on his coat, but Pearpaw doubted it came from the fox. Meanwhile, Pearpaw felt the pain from multiple gashes on his coat. For a moment, a fleeting thought, tinged with jealousy, ran through him. Is Rootpaw a better fighter than me? He shook it away. No. The fox caught me by surprise. It had me cornered and Rootpaw was on its back. Of course it didn't get him.
His brother was holding the coltsfoot in his mouth. They couldn't talk—Pearpaw knew that. They had the coltsfoot, and it was a race against time. Rootpaw turned and started to run through the forest, as if he had never fought the fox. Pearpaw's body ached with pain as he followed Rootpaw, and he noticed himself slowing down considerably, even though Rootpaw kept the same pace he was before. For StarClan's sake, Pearpaw thought, frustrated as he tried to run even faster.
They neared the stone hollow where the trees grew at their highest levels. Rootpaw skidded to a halt near the stone, and then pushed through the tunnel, graceful in the way he moved. Pearpaw followed him until they both were in camp. Rootpaw bounded over to the nursery, while Pearpaw laid down on the ground, breathing rapidly.
He lifted his head. Vinestep was pacing around the nursery—the same he had been when Pearpaw and Rootpaw had left. Winterkit and Frostkit were play-fighting on the Highledge. Ravenpaw and Hailpaw, newly apprenticed, had returned with their mentors, Whitejay and Yarrowstem. Yarrowstem dropped a mouse on the fresh-kill pile, and her gaze traveled across camp until it landed on Pearpaw. Her golden eyes widened as she took stock of Pearpaw's frazzled, injured state, and she bounded over to him.
"Oh, Pearpaw!" Yarrowstem exclaimed, licking his fur roughly as she tried to clean the blood off his gray tabby pelt. "What happened to you?"
Pearpaw blinked at his mother. He wanted to protest, but being taken care of by his mother reminded him of when he was a kit in the nursery, and he didn't have to worry about anything. But being pampered isn't what a warrior does. I'm a strong cat. I don't need any cat to take care of me. He pushed Yarrowstem away, who sat back on her haunches, visibly injured by Pearpaw's rejection of her.
"Rootpaw and I got attacked by a fox," Pearpaw told his mother. "We went to gather coltsfoot, but we were cornered by a fox, and it attacked." He itched the back of his ear with his back leg, wincing as he neared a cut the fox had given him. "But we sent it all the way out of ThunderClan territory."
Conflict glittered in Yarrowstem's eyes. She dipped her golden head and murmured, "I'm glad you're all right, and that you defeated the fox." Then her gaze hardened. "But never go out without your mentor again!" She licked Pearpaw's head, smoothing down the ruffled fur. "I could've lost both of you." Her voice trembled as she held Pearpaw's gaze. "I wouldn't be able to live with that."
"Mom…" Pearpaw couldn't find the words in him. "If I had to get attacked by a fox to help my brother get the herbs for Yellowheart, then that's what I'll do." He lifted his head so his mother could see the resolve that he was sure glittered in his eyes. "I care about my Clanmates. I will put them before me."
Yarrowstem said nothing, but her eyes glittered with dismay. She licked Pearpaw's cheek before saying, "Get yourself to Ashenhawk. Those wounds need to be treated to before they get infected. I'm going to go check on your brother."
"You don't need to." Pearpaw was shocked by the vitriol in his words when they came out. "He's unharmed."
His mother started, and then blinked at Pearpaw. "That's great!" she purred. "I bet you defended him, didn't you?"
Pearpaw lifted his chin. "Yeah," he said. "I did."
"I'm proud of you," Yarrowstem purred. She touched Pearpaw's shoulder with her tail before padding away into the nursery. Pearpaw wondered what business she had there—was she going to check on Rootpaw or Yellowheart? Pearpaw shrugged. He couldn't see Oakfire anywhere in the camp. Patrol, I guess. He padded over to the fresh-kill pile and took a bluebird before walking over to the apprentices' den.
He sat down and took a bite out of the bluebird. It sang with the flavors of the forest, and he devoured it ravenously. He couldn't remember the last time he ate—he did not get a chance last night. He had trained all day and fell asleep the moment he hit his nest. I'm training so hard, and Rootpaw barely pays attention to his lessons, he thought crossly. And yet I'm the one hurt when I face a fox? The wounds on his body burned with agony, but Ashenhawk was still in the nursery. He'd have to wait until she was out to get his wounds treated.
"Woah." Pearpaw looked up to see Bearpaw walking towards him. The dark brown tom's brilliant blue eyes—so much like his sister's—burned into his coat. "You're all sorts of beat up. What happened to you?"
"A fox," Pearpaw growled, staring at the remains of the bluebird. He pushed the bones away. "I had to defend Rootpaw when he was picking coltsfoot."
"Rootpaw picked the flowers while you attacked the fox?" Bearpaw asked, settling down next to him.
Pearpaw nodded, trying to ignore the prickle of discomfort when he said those words. It wasn't exactly true—Rootpaw did help him attack the fox. But he was still sour that Rootpaw was the cat who inevitably defeated it.
Bearpaw shifted his paws uneasily. "He's been hanging around my sister, you know."
The gray tabby looked up at Bearpaw. It wasn't a secret that Rootpaw seemed to take an interest in Dovepaw, but other than a crush, it went nowhere else. Rootpaw was much more interested in flowers and butterflies than being a good warrior—so why would he hold any interest in she-cats?
"I don't think you need to worry," Pearpaw told Bearpaw. "He has his head in the clouds. Dovepaw is nothing to him."
"You don't get it." Bearpaw's blue eyes sparkled with worry. "Dovepaw likes him. And Rootpaw's a great cat and all, but Dovepaw is so shy and sensitive. I'm trying my best to protect her, but if they become mates, Dovepaw will want Rootpaw to protect her! And Rootpaw can't do that." He arched his claws into the grass and gazed at Pearpaw. "Pearpaw… is there anything you can do?"
Pearpaw stepped back. "Sorry, Bearpaw," he meowed, shaking his head. "I'm not going to intrude on what Rootpaw does in his free time. It's none of my business, and this is probably just a crush. She'll get over him when she realizes that he cares more about flowers and pretty skies than her." He turned his back on Bearpaw and padded into the apprentices' den, ignoring the tom's crestfallen look as he disappeared.
The gray tabby tom found his nest and settled down. He'd take an afternoon nap—he was tired. He licked the gashes on his fur and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that they stopped bleeding. I'll go to Ashenhawk when I wake up, he thought. Or maybe…
Maybe he could let these wounds scar. It would show his Clanmates how brave he was, how he wasn't afraid to take on a fox to protect his Clanmates. Then everyone would take him seriously, and they would see him as the better warrior over Rootpaw. He didn't hate his brother—but he worked harder and trained longer than Rootpaw did. It wasn't fair that Rootpaw was a better fighter than he was already.
Pearpaw rested his chin on his nest and shut his eyes. In a few days' time, he would be meeting Snowpaw on the island, just like they arranged. He imagined her snow-white fur and her beautiful blue eyes, staring at him and only him. She had been so impressed with him the last time they had met, and he had been equally enthralled with her. She was such a special cat—beautiful, bold, and kind. Rootpaw can have Dovepaw, he thought to himself. She'll never be like Snowpaw.
But deep inside his heart, there was a darkness starting to claim him. He knew that falling in love with a cat from another Clan was wrong. So I won't fall in love with her. I'll just be her friend. There's no harm in being friends with another cat—especially from a Clan that we don't share borders with! We won't fight, so I won't have to worry about my heart being broken.