Warriors: Silverjaw's Sorrow

Chapter Eleven

"Terribly done," the golden tom snapped. "Rear up like this," he rose studiously to his haunches and clawed at the air, his tail flicking ever-so-slightly for balance. "And don't sway your whole body! Do you seriously think you'll land even a single blow if you keep moving without stability?" He dropped back to all fours, shooting a scowl through the trees towards Nightpatch, whose tail brushed lightly along Lichenpaw's spine as he helped her position herself in a different battle move. Through gritted teeth, Honeywhisker added, "I don't know how that old tom thinks you did any better than a crippled rabbit." His eyes shot back over. "Go on already, show me what you can do!"

Huffing in annoyance, Silverpaw reared onto her hindquarters yet again, swiping as if she were in the thick of battle. Once satisfied with her own efforts, keeping her body more stable this time, she let her paws fall back to the earth, proudly flicking her whiskers.

"You're not standing tall enough. Do it again!"

Silverpaw gawked at the tom. Stand taller? For StarClan's sake, I'll become a twoleg if I manage any more height! Biting back a snarl, she repeated her actions. This time, she arched her spine so far that she nearly toppled over, but with brisk flicks of her tail, she kept her balance as she deftly batted her paws.

Her mind flickered back to Sorrelmouse—she told me I'd perfected this move. And if I really am doing it so poorly, she would've been much more helpful. She gritted her teeth at the memory of Sorrelmouse's gentle criticism. She'd always reposition the apprentice with both words and her paws, noting what was done well and what could be improved on. But not once did she yell at her, and not once did she scold her for how poorly she performed.

Silverpaw finished her demonstration, screwing up her face into a scowl. "Did I do it this time?" She spat, quickly smoothing her ruffled fur.

Honeywhisker's nose quivered. "Sure. Fine. You did well enough. Let's see if any of the other apprentices want to fight you—Toadpaw or Mistpaw are bound to be at least somewhat competent."

The tom marched away, and with a roll of her eyes, Silverpaw hurried after him.

The colorful leaves that decorated the forest canopy fluttered flimsily as a brisk wind whisked through, and the two cats trudged through a short stretch of trees until they appeared at the outskirts of a small, dusty clearing. It was bordered by a wall of holly bushes, and a small pond crested at the far edge, fed by a bubbling creek. Silverpaw could see little flickers of silver scales, and occasionally, bright orange as fish wove in and out of the pond.

According to the elders, the orange fish—titled goldfish—had once never been there and were bursting in population. They could become quite fat, and were rapidly overtaking the river, as they were surprisingly elusive for their bright coloration. Silverpaw sniffed. Though they fed the Clan well, she couldn't begin to imagine being stuck to eating only one flavor of fish for the rest of her days. She'd rather eat squirrels!

Her attention was drawn to the center of the clearing as Mistpaw caterwauled. Toadpaw cuffed his sister around the ears and sprang. Mistpaw met him midair, her lip curled in a snarl, and in an instant the littermates fell into a writhing mess on the floor until one black figure stood proudly on top. Toadpaw's face was smushed to the earth, and he breathed sharply as dust swirled around him.

"Victory!" Mistpaw crowed, her eyes gleaming with mirth as she freed her brother.

"Excellent job, Mistpaw," Minnowstripe praised from the outskirts of the clearing.

Crowspots, from beside the tortoiseshell warrior, politely nodded her head. "Well done indeed, both of you," she rasped. "Come with me now, Toadpaw. I'll show you a few more dodging techniques that will guarantee your victory next time." Her brown eyes glittered mischievously.