Warriors AU: Rising Storm

Chapter 1

Warm shafts of sunshine streamed through the canopy of leaves and flickered over Sandstorm's pelt. He crouched lower, aware that his coat would be glowing like sand among the lush green undergrowth.

Paw by paw, he crept beneath a fern. He could smell a pigeon. He moved slowly toward the mouthwatering scent until he could see the plump bird pecking among the ferns.

Sandstorm flexed his claws, his paws itching with anticipation. He was hungry after leading the dawn patrol and hunting all morning. This was the high season for prey, a time for the Clan to grow fat on the forest's bounty. And although there had been little rain since the newleaf floods, the woods were rich with food. After stocking the fresh-kill pile back at camp, it was time for Sandstorm to hunt for himself. He tensed his muscles, ready to leap.

Suddenly a second scent wafted toward him on the dry breeze. Sandstorm opened his mouth, tipping his head to one side. The pigeon must have smelled it too, for its head shot up and it began to unfold its wings, but it was too late. A rush of white and ginger fur shot out from under some brambles. Sandstorm stared in surprise as the cat pounced on the startled bird, pinning it to the ground with his front paws before finishing it off with a swift bite to the neck.

The delicious smell of fresh-kill filled Sandstorm's nostrils. He stood up and padded out of the undergrowth toward the fluffy white and ginger tom. "Well caught, Brightpaw," he meowed. "I didn't see you coming until it was too late."

"Nor did this stupid bird," crowed Brightpaw, flicking his tail smugly.

Sandstorm felt his shoulders tense. Brightpaw was his apprentice as well as his sister's son. It was Sandstorm's responsibility to teach him the skills of a Clan warrior and how to respect the warrior code. The young tom was undeniably a good hunter, but Sandstorm couldn't help wishing that he would learn a little humility. Deep down, he sometimes wondered if Brightpaw would ever understand the importance of the warrior code, the moons-old traditions of loyalty and ritual that had been passed down through generations of cats in the forest.

But Brightpaw had been born in Twolegplace to Sandstorm's kittypet sister, Olive, and brought to Thunderclan by Sandstorm as a tiny kit. Sandstorm knew from his own bitter experience that Clan cats had no respect for kittypets. Sandstorm had spent his first six moons living with Twolegs, and there were cats in his Clan who would never let him forget the fact that he was not forest-born. He twitched his ears impatiently. He knew he did everything he could to prove his loyalty to the Clan, but his stubborn apprentice was a different matter. If Brightpaw was going to win any sympathy from his Clanmates, he was going to have to lose some of his arrogance.

"It's just as well you're so quick," Sandstorm pointed out. "You were upwind. I could smell you, even if I couldn't see you. And so could the bird."

Brightpaw's long white and ginger fur bristled and he snapped back, "I knew I was upwind! But I could tell this dumb dove wasn't going to be hard to catch whether he smelled me or not."

The young cat stared defiantly into Sandstorm's eyes, and Sandstorm felt his annoyance turning to anger. "It's a pigeon, not a dove!" he spat. "And a true warrior shows more respect for the prey that feeds his Clan."

"Yeah, right!" retorted Brightpaw. "I didn't see Blossompaw show much respect for that squirrel he dragged back to camp yesterday. He said it was so dopey, a kit could have caught it."

"Blossompaw is just an apprentice," Sandstorm growled. "Like you, he still has a lot to learn."

"Well, I caught it, didn't I?" grumbled Brightpaw, prodding the pigeon with a sullen paw.

"There's more to being a warrior than catching pigeons!"

"I'm faster than Cloudpaw and stronger than Blossompaw," Brightpaw spat back. "What more do you want?"