However, Thornclaw was on guard at the entrance of the tunnel, sitting there with ears pricked alertly. Twigpaw didn’t want to explain herself to him. It wasn’t forbidden for apprentices to go out of camp on their own, but Thornclaw might ask if she had permission from her mentor, and she didn’t want to lie to a senior warrior.

Instead Twigpaw headed for the dirtplace tunnel, picked her way around the dirtplace with her nose wrinkled, then slid quietly into the undergrowth and away from the camp.

She was beginning to relax, thinking she had gotten away with it, when a cheerful voice behind her mewed, “Where are you creeping off to?”

Twigpaw whirled around to see Finpaw standing a tail-length away, his eyes glinting with anticipation. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Go back to camp, and don’t tell any cat that you saw me.”

Even while she was speaking, Twigpaw realized that Finpaw wasn’t going to listen. The young brown tom scampered around her, his voice squeaking in excitement. “Are you going on an adventure? Can I come?”

Twigpaw sighed. She should have known from the beginning that there would be no getting rid of Finpaw. Besides, she thought, if I bring back prey and look after an apprentice, it’ll prove that I’m a real warrior.

“Okay,” she sighed. “Just stop making that racket. You’ll scare off all the prey in the forest.”

“Is that it?” Finpaw lowered his voice, to Twigpaw’s relief. “Are we going hunting? Cool!”

He padded at Twigpaw’s side as they headed deeper into the forest, taking care to set his paws down lightly. The forest was cool and shady under a covering of cloud, with here and there a brighter patch where the sun was struggling to break through. Twigpaw kept halting to taste the air, alert for prey and also for cat-scent; she didn’t want to risk meeting any of her Clanmates.

Finpaw spotted prey first: a mouse scrabbling around in the debris at the foot of an oak tree. He dropped into the hunter’s crouch and crept up on it, but just before he was close enough to pounce, he put one paw down on a dead leaf. The crackling sound alerted the mouse, which darted toward the shelter of the oak roots.

“Mouse dung!” Finpaw exclaimed.

But Twigpaw had been watching, and was ready. With a massive leap she hurled herself on top of the mouse and slapped a forepaw down on it, cutting off its squeak of terror.

“Thank you, StarClan, for this prey,” she mewed.

“Hey, great catch!” Finpaw padded up and sniffed the mouse. “Sorry I missed it.”

“It’s not a problem.” Twigpaw touched his ear with her nose. “We make a good team.”