Warriors what ifs: Reasons to Be A Medicine Cat (Discontinued)

Chapter 1 - Warrior Ceremony

A blue-eyed gray she-cat peered through the undergrowth at a mouse, waiting for the right time to strike.  Slowly, she crept forward, licking her lips.  The small but plump rodent would feed several of her denmates. But she was saving this for a different cat.  When she felt she was close enough, she switched to the hunter's crouch.  She waggled her hindquarters, preparing for the leap where she would make the kill.  When Brackenpaw eats this, she thought. He'll understand that I'm the best warrior-in-training ThunderClan has ever seen. She took a deep breath, and jumped forward, killing the mouse immediately with a bite to the neck so it wouldn't suffer.

When she returned to camp, the apprentice spotted Fireheart, her mentor. "Hi, Fireheart!" she cried eagerly, nearly stumbling over her own paws.  

The handsome ginger tom looked up, his sudden green gaze making her heart pound.  "Cinderpaw," he said, padding over. "Is that mouse yours?"  Cinderpaw nodded, and was relieved to see that Fireheart looked impressed. "Well, then," he continued, sounding pleased.  "I should have a word with Bluestar about your warrior ceremony." He turned to head to Bluestar's den, but before he could move, Cinderpaw thought of something else.

"Wait!" she called after him. He turned around to stare at her.

"What do you need?"  His voice was smooth, but Cinderpaw could sense his frustation.

"Well, I was just wondering if you wanted my mouse before your meeting?"

Fireheart hesitated, then just sighed, "Sure."

Cinderpaw happily handed over her mouse, but felt a pang of jealousy when Fireheart settled down beside Sandstorm.  Sandstorm had become Fireheart's mate just a few moons before.  Cinderpaw had tried hard to ignore it, but every time she gave Fireheart one of her catches, he would bring it to Sandstorm. Every night, she dreamed of ways to get the ginger she-cat out of the way. But she never followed through with them out of fear Fireheart would hate her even more. With a sad sigh of loneliness, she pricked her ears to eavesdrop on them.

"Go, on, eat it. I've already eaten and I'm not about to let this mouse go to waste." That was Fireheart's voice.

Sandstorm's voice: "No, I've eaten already as well. Give it to the elders or somecat who actually needs it."

"Sandstorm I think you need it."

"No, I don't! I'm fine!"

"Sandstorm, trust me-"

"Stop! Shut it, Fireheart!"

"Sandstorm, please-"

"Oh, for StarClan's sake! What are you so worried about-"

"Sandstorm! Listen! You aren't yourself lately." He lowered his voice. "You aren't as fast as you used to be when hunting. You bring back less fresh kill every time you return to camp. You are not as skinny as you used to be. I-I think you're..." His voice became a mere murmur in her ear. Cinderpaw could no longer hear him.

Feeling frustrated, Cinderpaw turned away. Who cares what Sandstorm is and isn't? StarClan knows what they're muttering about. Well. I've got better things to do than argue about fresh kill.  After a moment Cinderpaw decided to go and visit Brackenpaw.

When Cinderpaw walked through the entrance to the medicine den, the scent of the herbs her brother was sorting greeted her. In the center of the den, Brackenpaw, a golden-brown tabby tom, sat sorting a few stalks of horsetail. "Hello, Cinderpaw," he said, sweeping her with his amber gaze. "I was just sorting the horsetail to make sure it's all still worth the space."