The Night Circle (The Red Tide #1)

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Psst, Blizzardpaw!"

Fernpaw flicked his brother's ear with his tail, suppressing a purr. The gray and white tom turned, startled, towards his brother.
"What?" he asked.

They lay in the center of camp, sun high and warm on their fur, a squirrel between them.
"You have your dreamy look," Fernpaw informed him in a whisper, "and you're staring again."

"What dreamy look? What are you talking about?" Blizzardpaw fluffed with indignation. Fernpaw took a bite of their shared squirrel, chewed slowly, and swallowed before responding.

"You know, the one you get when you're around Scorchpaw," he drew out the word teasingly.

"We do not talk about he who must not be named! Also, I am not staring and there is no dreamy look! You're crazy."

"I'm sure," Fernpaw's voice dripped with sarcasm, "oh look, here he comes! I have to make dirt, catch you later?" Fernpaw hopped up, ready to dash away, but Blizzardpaw caught his tail.

"Please stay," he whispered, eyes wide and pleading, "you have to help! I can never talk to him properly!"
"Fine, fine," Fernpaw settled down again, "but don't hide behind me."

Scorchpaw strolled over to them, black and ginger tail swishing, and Blizzardpaw puffed up as if to appear bigger and more confident.
"Oh, it's you," Scorchpaw meowed, giving them an irritated look, "I thought Emberpaw was over here somewhere. Have you seen him?"

"Oh, I think he went out of camp," Blizzardpaw meowed, "we could go look for him together; I think he went toward the eastern border?"

"Why would I go with you?" Scorchpaw snapped, "I'll find him faster alone anyway." He turned his back and stalked out of camp. Blizzardpaw looked almost comically disappointed.
"He's too good for you," Fernpaw flicked his ear gently with his tail, "plus, there's always next time."

"I know," his brother sighed, long and tragic. "It's just, I don't know how to get him to like me."

"He either likes you or he doesn't; you shouldn't have to change who you are to catch his eye. Plus, I think he likes Honeypaw."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"I know, right?" Fernpaw rolled his eyes, then jumped as a hiss sliced across the clearing.

"What are you talking about? I am leading this patrol; your seniority is irrelevant!" Both brothers turned to see two cats facing off, backs arched and tails lashing. The one who'd spoken was Mossfire, a younger warrior, and standing before her was Lizardstrike.

"I want to take the patrol to the western border; it hasn't been hunted in days! Everyone knows you over-hunt the southern border because you like the grassland sparrows, but you're going to kill them off soon and we'll have none left!" Lizardstrike snapped back at her, orange eyes blazing.

"That's a bunch of fox-dung! Everyone knows how many grassland sparrows live on the southern border this time of year; they wouldn't die off, even if they were all we hunted! Either way, the western border barely has any prey; get over yourself and let's go!"

This was true, Fernpaw knew. Grassland sparrows gathered in large flocks on the meadows by the southern border, especially now, when plants were new. They were juicy and tender, and everyone loved them. The western border was full of stringy, bony blackbirds that were much harder to catch, and not worth it either. Why was Lizardstrike doing this?

From his den in the roots of an oak, Sleetstar emerged. Fernpaw watched his brother straighten his posture and clean his whiskers again as his mentor stepped into the sunlight.