Firepaw wasn't sure what was going on with Runningwind. His best guess? He was tired. The usually overly energetic, and somewhat impatient, warrior seemed to always have something else on his mind, whether it be fresh-kill—or, more recently—sleep. The unkempt tom came into training late, tail dragging, eyes weary.
Despite his sleepiness, however, he was an excellent teacher, concerning hunting at least. He had taught Firepaw tons of hunting moves, which meant that his first solo hunting mission came quickly.
It was a sunny day, warmer than it had been in ages, and Firepaw was assigned hunting near the Owl Tree. Dashing off into the woods—and keenly aware of his mentor leaping through the mostly-barren trees above—he made his way there, lightly avoiding the largest leaf deposits. The large oak loomed up above the ginger apprentice, who suddenly felt very small. Circling around the trunk and looking up into the boughs of the great oak, he could spot several types of birds. Magpies, thrushes, wood pigeons, blackbirds, and a few he wasn't sure even Runningwind would be able to identify, sat in the tree, hopping from branch to branch, chirping and calling out to one another. Squirrels scurried up the trunk, reaching their tiny paws out to twigs that looked like they could barely hold their weight, and making a move to the next limb. Even though it was leaf-fall, it was plentiful.
And so, finding a good paw-hold, he started up. One paw after the other, whiskers quivering at the scents that wafted into his nose. The birds helpfully stayed away, but the squirrels seemed to almost taunt him, daring him to catch them. Oh, I will.
Five tail-lengths off the ground, he sighted his first victim: a wood mouse, much higher than they were usually found. The wind was blowing towards him, swaying the branches slightly, but Firepaw wasn't worried—Runningwind had trained him in the art of climbing.
They had practiced, bark after bark, limb after limb, and had successfully tackled all of the trees ringing the training hollow. They had moved on to the ones near the top of the gorge, near the camp, and had conquered those with ease. The Owl Tree was just the final monster, the largest hare to catch.
Firepaw stepped lightly, claws digging into the rough bark of the tree. The mouse sat up, a berry in its paws—if Cloverpaw was to be believed, a blackberry—and looked to its left and its right, freezing Firepaw in his tracks. It didn't look back, though; its fatal flaw.
Without warning, Firepaw leapt, a beam of sun catching his fur. To anyone watching, it would've looked like a bolt of fire engulfing the mouse. Careful to drop the mouse into a pile of densely-gathered leaves at the bottom of the tree, Firepaw continued on, licking his lips, having tasted a bit of the creature when he'd caught it. Sending a silent prayer up to StarClan as he dragged himself up higher, his emerald eyes darted from one bough to another, trying to decide what he would catch.
A small magpie landed near his ear as he was dragging himself up, around fifteen tail-lengths up from the ground by then. The bird chattered, voice hoarse, but not as hoarse as a crow's. It was clearly a male, by its growing green feathers, but it wasn't mature. Runningwind had very strict rules about these ones: don't attack. They would lead you to others. And so, Firepaw ignored the bird, who hopped away, its incandescent cawing still filling the air, alongside the cacophony of other bird cries.
Hefting himself up onto the branch the magpie had disappeared on, he found a sight worth waiting a million years: birds lined up as if waiting for him to pounce. The first one was a great catch: large, plump, and a wood pigeon. Goldenflower would be pleased—she was with kits and needed to keep up her energy. Tigerclaw wouldn't be too happy, but at least his mate would be fed. After the wood pigeon, a sparrow pecked at a little knot in the wood. Firepaw wasn't sure what it was doing—a lot of the birds had flown away, having been disturbed by the flame-colored tom, but the sparrow was looking for something. Without hesitation, Firepaw leapt, slamming his paws down on the bird and delivering two prayers up to StarClan, not just for the sparrow, but for the wood pigeon, too.
Carefully turning around, Firepaw dropped the sparrow onto the leaf pile and made his way down the tree. That was enough to feed at least four cats. It was simple, and he was sure he had passed his first test as a ThunderClan apprentice.
And then he saw it: a large, gray, squirrel, glaring at him. He gave chase. He was steady on his paws and reached out for the squirrel once or twice, missing, but continued on.
The two zig-zagged through the rough gray boughs of the tree. Up and down they went until the squirrel disappeared into a hole a few tail-lengths from the ground.
From nowhere, Runningwind leapt out of the underbrush, delivering a killing bite. Firepaw hopped down from the tree, landing on his feet as always, not needing to roll. "Good catch, Runningwind!"
The tabby tom swished his tail, giving a grin. "You kidding me? LionClan couldn't've caught two birds in a row. Good hunting."
Firepaw grinned back. He wasn't sure if mentors and apprentices usually had this kind of odd relationship; Runningwind was more a friend or a brother than a teacher, which, it seemed from watching Graypaw and Lionheart and Sandpaw and Whitestorm, they were.
Runningwind looked up at the bright azure sky, taking note of where the sun was. "Did you get to see from the top?"
The apprentice shook his head. "No... I was busy doing my assessment." Runningwind nodded, looking up at the top of the tree.
"Well, you passed. Congrats. Let's bury that fresh-kill and climb to the top—the view's fantastic." With that, his mentor bounded off faster than Firepaw had seen him do in days—he did seem to have been getting more sleep lately—and started scraping at the ground, throwing up dust and clods of dirt in the process. Firepaw trotted over to his fresh-kill, grabbing the mouse and the sparrow in his mouth and dropping them in the hole, then going back for the wood pigeon, Runningwind grabbing the mean, gray, squirrel. Scraping the upturned dirt over the fresh-kill, Firepaw watched as his mentor practically ran up the tree.
His jaw dropped. "You can run up trees like that!?" Runningwind shrugged from his perch on a limb.
"Momentum. Just have to go fast enough. Also, don't run at it head-first, make sure you give it a little jump."
Firepaw backed up, reading to run at the tree full-speed. Six tail-lengths away, he sprinted. The roots that poked out of the ground near the base loomed closer and closer, and then Firepaw jumped, clutching onto the trunk for dear life. His paws were spread too far out and he felt a bit like a kit out on the ice, paws splayed, somewhat helpless.
"Need some help?" Runningwind asked, barely a mouse-length above him, whiskers twitching in slight amusement.
The fiery apprentice could only shake his head. "Nope... I've got it," he grunted, carefully pulling his left paw in, and then his right. Summoning his power, he hauled himself up onto the limb Runningwind sat calmly on, ears burning with embarrassment.
Runningwind, sensing Firepaw's unease, nudged him with a smile. "Not bad for a first try. Next time, try to keep your paws in, like this." He moved his front paws closer together. "And when you do the jumping part, you'll be tempted to drag your body all the way out, to cover more air-space. Bad idea. Bunch your body together, and you'll get higher. We can practice jumping next session. But first... the view."
Runningwind clawed up the tree, graceful as a squirrel. He wove through the limbs, bypassing the sharp bits of twig that were uncovered by leaf-fall, slithering between the closer-together branches, then peered down at Firepaw with raised brows. "You coming? Or you wanna watch the leaves fall down there?"
Firepaw cautiously followed after his mentor, paw after paw. Soon, he got into a familiar rhythm. Like he was meant to climb trees forever, his claws automatically found the cracks in the wood, and, copying his mentor, kept his body bunched together and as small as possible. While it took some getting used to, he found that the smaller his torso was, the easier it was to reach from bough to bough.
He grasped at the limbs, pulling himself up easily enough, digging in his claws into the dark gray wood. He leapt from branch to branch soon enough, finding sturdy branches as quickly as breathing, the exhileration coursing through his body, like the slight breeze that blew through the branches. He wasn't afraid, he was excited, and went higher and higher, finally reaching Runningwind.
The branches had thinned out up at the top, and only the smallest of leaves remained on the tiny twigs. From the top, he could see everything. He could see Sunning Rocks—a few ThunerClan elders stretched out on the warm stones—and the river next to it. He could see onto RiverClan land, past the banks, and onto their watery-looking land. The Thunderpath was huge and black and ugly, cutting through the natural terrain, and even from up in the oak, he could scent it. Fourtrees loomed up in the distance, surrounded by a moat of soon-to-freeze water, and ShadowClan marsh was frostbitten and a dead brown-yellow color. A huge ravine was just in front of him, and he felt like he could reach out a paw and stir up the water within it. The falls seemed only a whisker-length away, and he wanted to dam it up with a pebble. WindClan's moor stretched as far as the eye could see to the left, and behind him, a blanket of interwoven shades of brown made up the forest.
Cats dotted the scenery, coats flecks in the wild painting of nature before Firepaw. Two RiverClan cats crouched at the river, a larger, blue-gray, one teaching a smaller, white-and-brown one how to fish, swiping a glittery piece of the prey into the air. A patrol of ShadowClan cats was at the border, staying well-away from ThunderClan land, from up in the tree, not as evil as everyone made them out to be. If Firepaw strained his ears, he could hear the sounds of the ThunderClan nursery, where Thornkit and Brightkit played chasing Swiftkit, and he could almost smell the comforting, milky scent of the interior. On WindClan territory, the cats seemed to be few and far between; a patrol of three cats seemed to be hunting, and another two, one black and a tortoiseshell touched noses near the gorge.
"Marvelous, isn't it?" Runningwind finally asked after a minute, staring off into the distance. Firepaw could only nod. It didn't feel right to speak. Eventually, the tan tabby started to move, beginning the long climb down.
Moments passed and Firepaw started down, too, the scene of the territories ingrained in his mind. If I ever have kits... they're coming up here. He decided, idle thoughts crossing his mind as he clawed his way down the tree.
At the bottom, he took up the sparrow and squirrel, Runningwind at his side with the mouse and pidgeon, and started for camp. He couldn't wait to see everyone's expressions when he got back with the catch of the moon. Goldenflower would be so happy to see the wood pigeon, she might even accept some of its feathers for her nest! And Brightkit would dig into the mouse excitedly, the little creature tasting slightly of wood. He couldn't wait to see their faces.
When he arrived at camp, however, a far different scene awaited him. The clearing was flecked with cats of all different pelts, scattering splotches of color across the dull, brown, mostly-dead grass. At the center of the clearing, a blood-stained heap of fur laid, brown-and-white tabby pelt barely rising and falling with each breath. Firepaw's heart threatened to stop beating and explode out of his chest at the same time because he knew exactly who that pile of fur was. Cloverpaw.