Whitepaw pushes his sheathed, snow-white paw on the brown tabby's throat. "Ha!" He yells triumphantly at the apprentice below him. Suddenly, Sparrowpaw smirks, and places his back paws on Whitepaw's stomach. Before the white tabby tom could react, he was flying through the air, landing on the sandy ground with a thump. Sparrowpaw leaps onto him, placing his paw on Whitepaw's throat. Mousetail purrs his approval to his dark brown apprentice.
"Very well done, Sparrowpaw. Whitepaw, don't let your cockiness keep you from winning a battle. I expected more from you."
Whitepaw flattens his fears, giving his chest fur a few quick licks as he heaved himself from the ground. "No fair! I had won! My paws were on his throat! If we were in a real battle, Sparrowpaw would be dead by now." The dark tabby apprentice shakes his head, smirking.
"You're just mad that you lost," he teases.
"Am not!" Whitepaw hisses through gritted teeth. His hackles rose.
"Stop acting like kits," Hazelfur snaps, looking at the two young cats in front of her.
"But it's not fair! If we used our claws, we'd know who had dealt more damage, and therefore declare who th--"
"No, Whitepaw! Paws are sheathed at all times. Now come, we must hunt. ThunderClan has had a shortage of prey recently." The dilute tortoiseshell she-cat growled, brown eyes flashing with anger.
Whitepaw lashed his tail indignantly as he followed his mentor. "Bye, Sparrowpaw," he muttered to his friend as the two cats parted ways. Hazelfur glanced over her shoulder. "Mouths won't feed themselves, you know." She warns him, signaling him to start hunting. The white tom lets out a sigh.
Whitepaw parts his mouth, breathing in fresh scents of mouse. Swiveling his ears to the sound of rustling, Whitepaw drops into a crouch position, taking small steps over the forest floor. A small brown rodent sat between two thick oak roots, nibbling on a grass stem, eager to get the seed inside. The ThunderClan apprentice slams his paws onto its neck. It lets out a shrill wail as he snaps the animal's spine, picking it up by the tail. His mouth watered as he padded back to camp, his nose twitching for more prey on the way.
Poppypaw pads up to the smaller apprentice as he entered the camp, swiping her tongue over her jaws. "Nice catch," she comments, nodding to the plump mouse.
"Yeah, I'm surprised it's so big because of the cold weather," the tom remarks, letting a soft smile spread across his face. "I'm going to give it to Gingertail and her kits."
Poppypaw grins. "I'm sure she'd like that. Maybe... we could go hunting together sometime?"
Whitepaw gasps, dropping the mouse, then picks it up, embarrassed. "S-sure, I'd love that," he murmurs, quickly walking to the nursery. The black and white she-cat watched him leave.
"Hello," Gingertail, a white she-cat with a dark ginger tail, purrs as Whitepaw pokes his head inside. He drops the mouse at her paws, and her three kits scramble out of the nest, squeaking.
"Hi, Whitepaw!"
"Mouse! My favorite!"
"Hey! I got here first, Pebblekit complains. "Gingertail!"
Pebblekit flattens his ears. "Sorry, Maplekit." The light gray tom backs up, letting out a sigh as his sister pushes in front of him. The four-moon old kit lays down, watching his two sisters eat the furry prey.
Frostkit swivels her head over to her brother. "Hey, don't listen to Maplekit. She's just hungry. Come on, there's plenty here."
Whitepaw smiles as the brother joins his two sisters, and joins in filling his small belly. "Save some for your mother," the apprentice calls as he backs out of the bramble-woven den. Whitepaw pivots to find himself face to face with Hazelfur. "Only one mouse? Come on, Whitepaw, you can do better than tha--" her lecture is interrupted as a call echoes throughout the camp.
Beetlestar stood atop a large gray boulder, staring down at the Clan as they gathered. "As you all know," His words rung throughout the camp, "prey has been running shorter than ever. We may have to resort to hunting over the border, if we can get away with it. If not, we may have to explore Twolegplace, or fish at the river. I can't allow any cats to starve to death, no matter how young or old, small or tall. I will be doubling the hunting patrols from now on." The black tom dips his head. "Dismissed."
Whitepaw's eyes widen as he glances over to Hazelfur. She gives him a I told you so look. "Why eat only prey?" Whitepaw asks her. She tilts her head.
"What?"
"Why eat only prey?" He repeats, louder this time. A few cats turn their heads in his direction. Beetlestar pricks his ears, staring at the small tom.
The apprentice flattens his ears as he realizes everyone's eyes were on him. "What?" Beetlestar inquires, twitching his whiskers in curiousity.
Whitepaw clears his throat, nerves swimming in his stomach. "Uh... we could eat foxes... and badgers... and we could eat rats in the Twolegplace...." Whitepaw lowers his head, waiting for the awkward silence to break.
Beetlestar narrows his eyes. "No. We will not be eating foxes, or badgers, or rats. For StarClan's sake, we are warriors, not loners.
"I don't know where these crazy ideas are coming from, Whitepaw-- and yes, I heard you talk about using claws while training, which is not allowed-- but they are unacceptable. I expect you to stop yourself from spewing out these unnecessary ideas, otherwise your warriorship will be delayed." The leader's hard, amber eyes bore into Whitepaw's soft yellow ones, and he flinched. "I will be speaking with Hazelfur after this." His deep voice boomed into Whitepaw's lowered ears. Shame prickled at his pelt. I should have kept my mouth shut.
"Dismissed," the black tom said once again, authority resonating out to the Clan. Cats started to go back to their duties.
Oriolepelt and Stalagmiteclaw watched the apprentice's every move. Whitepaw could barely walk. I'm so stupid.
Petalwhisker passed the tom, eyeing him with cold gray eyes. He lets out a sigh. Suddenly, he's stopped by two black paws in front of him.
"That was... interesting," Poppypaw mewed, twitching her tail. Whitepaw lowered his head so low it nearly brushed the dirt they stood on.
"I suppose you don't want to go hunting...." The striped tom sighs, red and orange streaks painted across the sigh making his pelt glow.
Poppypaw lets out a soft sigh aswell, and smiles, looking at the younger tom.
"What makes you think that?" The spotted she-cat purrs, nudging Whitepaw. "C'mon, let's go hunt a fox," she teases.
"Hey!" Whitepaw cries, chuckling. He felt welcomed when around her. She didn't judge him. She didn't tell him to stop letting his ideas slip out. She didn't tell him that he could do better than what he was already doing. The two apprentices padded out of the clearing, a camp of suspicious cats watching them leave.