“Lionpaw!” Ashfur called again, more sharply. Lionpaw stumbled out of the den. Surely he deserved some rest! Heavy-pawed, he padded into the clearing, narrowing his eyes against the greenleaf sun. It flooded the camp and warmed his pelt. A light breeze stirred the trees encircling the top of the hollow. In the mountains, the only shelter from the wind had been in the damp and chilly cave behind the waterfall. How in the name of StarClan did the Tribe survive leaf-bare? Greenleaf had been cold enough!

“Awake at last!” Ashfur greeted him. “The prey’s probably grown old and died while we’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then it’ll be easier to catch,” Lionpaw grumbled.

“I know you’re tired,” Ashfur conceded. “But Icepaw is itching to get out into the forest, and I promised Whitewing we’d go with them.”

Lionpaw noticed Icepaw for the first time. The young apprentice was bouncing around the clearing like a newleaf hare, leaping and twisting as she darted at invisible prey. Her prey might have been invisible, but Icepaw, with her sleek white pelt and bright blue eyes, certainly wasn’t. Perhaps that was why Firestar had made Whitewing her mentor. The white she-cat knew what it was like to stand out like snow in greenleaf. She’d be able to teach Icepaw a few special stalking techniques. And she clearly needed to learn. As he watched Icepaw darting clumsily about, Lionpaw stifled a purr, remembering how excited he had been when he had started his training.

Whitewing padded across the clearing, one eye on her apprentice. “Can we go now?”

Lionpaw noticed her tail tip twitching. Icepaw was Whitewing’s first apprentice. Was she worried how to manage such a bundle of energy? Or did she think their matching snow-colored pelts would scare away all the prey as soon as they set foot under the trees?

“Where do you want to start?” Ashfur asked.

Whitewing eyed Icepaw thoughtfully as the little white cat hurled herself awkwardly at a pile of leaves, sending them scattering in all directions. “Do you think Icepaw would do better by the Ancient Oak or the Old Thunderpath?”

Lionpaw’s belly rumbled. He gazed at the fresh-kill pile; a plump mouse was lying on top. But the Clan had to be fed before he could eat. It was the first rule apprentices had to learn, and the hardest. “There’s usually more prey around the Oak,” he suggested.

Ignoring Lionpaw, Ashfur dipped his head to Whitewing. “It’s your decision.”