Chapter 4

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Sandstorm bounded up the ravine, the snow crisp under his paws. The sun shone in a pale blue sky, and though there was little warmth in its rays the sight of it cheered Sandstorm and made him hopeful that newleaf was not far away.

Just behind him, Silverstream echoed Sandstorm's thoughts. "With an luck, the sun will bring some prey out."

"Not if they hear you stomping along!" Fireheart teased as she scrambled past him.

Sorrelpaw, Silverstream's apprentice, protested loyally. "He doesn't stomp!" but Silverstream only responded with a good-natured growl. Sandstorm felt new energy flow into his limbs. Even though their duties today were meant as punishment, no cat had told them they had to hunt alone, and it was good to be with friends.

Sandstorm winced at the memory of Oakstar's ice-cold gaze when she had rebuked him and Silverstream for apparently hunting for themselves. He would make up for lying to her by bringing back as much fresh-kill as he could. The Clan needed it badly. By the time he and Silverstream left the den that morning, the store of prey in the camp had almost gone, and most of the cats had already left to hunt. Sandstorm had spotted Goldenflower on his way back down the ravine with the morning patrol. A squirrel was clamped in his jaws, its long tail brushing the snow. The deputy's eyes narrowed menacingly as he passed Sandstorm, but he did not put his prey down to speak.

At the top of the slope, Fireheart ran on ahead, while Silverstream began showing Sorrelpaw where to search for mice among the tree roots. Watching them, Sandstorm couldn't suppress a pang of loss as he thought of Cinderpaw, who had been his own apprentice. He would be with them now if it hadn't been for his accident. Instead, his crippled leg, the result of the accident on the Thunderpath, kept him in the den with Raggedpelt, the Thunderclan medicine cat.

Pushing away these heavy thoughts, he crept forward, his jaws parted as he examined the forest smells. A faint breeze stirred the surface of the snow and brought a familiar scent. Rabbit!

Lifting his head, Sandstorm could see the brown-furred creature snuffling under a clump of bracken, where a few green spikes of grass poked through the snow. He dropped into a hunting crouch, and delicately, pawstep by pawstep, sprang up, but it was too late. Before it could even squeal, Sandstorm pounced.

Triumphantly, Sandstorm headed back to the camp, dragging the rabbit along with him. As soon as he entered the clearing, he saw with relief that the pile of fresh-kill was swelling again after the morning patrols. Oakstar was standing beside it. "Well done, Sandstorm," she meowed as he brought the rabbit to the pile. "Will you take that straight to Raggedpelt in her den?"

Warmed by his leader's approval, Sandstorm hauled the rabbit across the clearing. A tunnel of ferns, brown and brittle now, led to the secluded corner of the camp where the Thunderclan medicine cat had her den inside a split rock.

Ducking under the ferns, Sandstorm saw Raggedpelt lying in the mouth of her den with her paws tucked under her chest. Cinderpaw sat in front of her, his smoky gray fur fluffed up and his blue eyes focused on the medicine cat's broad face.

"Now, Cinderpaw," came the old cat's rasping mew. "Halftail's paw pads are cracked because of the cold. What are we going to do for her?"

"Marigold leaves in case of infection," Cinderpaw replied promptly. "Ointment of yarrow to soften the pads and help them heal. Poppy seed if she's in pain."

"Well done," purred Raggedpelt.

Cinderpaw sat up even straighter, and his eyes shone with pride. As Sandstorm knew only too well, the medicine cat didn't give praise lightly.

"Right, you can take her the leaves and the ointment," meowed Raggedpelt. "She won't need the poppy seed unless the cuts get worse."

Cinderpaw stood up and was on his way into the den when he caught sight of Sandstorm standing by the tunnel. Ewing in delight, he hurried over to him with an awkward, lurching gait.

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