Читаем Into The Wild полностью

It felt strange to be going in this direction, toward the Twoleg place he had been raised in. Cautiously Firepaw crossed the narrow path into the pine forest. He looked through the straight rows of trees, across the flat forest floor, alert for the sight and scent of prey.

A movement caught his eye. It was a mouse, scrabbling through the pine needles. Remembering his first lesson, Firepaw dropped into the stalking position, keeping his weight in his haunches, his paws light on the ground. The technique worked perfectly. The mouse didn’t detect Firepaw until his final leap. He caught it with one paw and killed it swiftly. Then he buried it, so that he could pick it up on his return journey.

Firepaw traveled a little farther into the Tallpines. The ground here was deeply rutted by the tracks of the huge Twoleg monster that tore down the trees. Firepaw took a deep breath, his mouth open. The monster’s acid breath had not touched the air here for a while.

Firepaw followed the deep tracks, jumping across the ruts. They were half-filled with rain, which made him feel thirsty. He was tempted to stop and take a few mouthfuls, but he hesitated. One lap of that muddy trench water and he’d taste the monster’s foul-smelling tracks for days.

He decided to wait. Perhaps there would be a rainwater puddle beyond the Tallpines. He hurried onward through the trees and crossed the Twoleg path on the far boundary.

He was back amid the thick undergrowth of oak woods. He moved onward until he found a puddle and lapped up a few mouthfuls of the fresh water. Firepaw’s fur began to prickle with some extra awareness. He recognized sounds and scents familiar from his old watching place on the fence post, and knew instantly where he was. These were the woods that bordered the Twolegplace. He must be very close to his old home now.

Ahead Firepaw could smell Twolegs and hear their voices, loud and raucous like crows. It was a group of young Twolegs, playing in the woods. Firepaw crouched and peered ahead through the ferns. The sounds were distant enough to be safe. He changed direction, skirting the noises, making sure he was not seen.

Firepaw stayed alert and watchful, but not just for Twolegs-Tigerclaw might be somewhere nearby. He thought he heard a twig snap in the bushes behind him. He sniffed the air, but smelled nothing new. Was he being watched now? he wondered.

Out of the corner of his eye, Firepaw sensed movement. At first he thought it was Tigerclaw’s dark brown fur, but then he saw a flash of white. He stopped, crouched, and inhaled deeply. The smell was unfamiliar; it was a cat, but not a ThunderClan cat. Firepaw felt his fur bristle with the instincts of a Clan warrior. He would have to chase the intruder out of ThunderClan territory!

Firepaw watched the creature moving through the undergrowth. He could see its outline clearly as it skittered between the ferns. Firepaw waited for it to wander nearer. He crouched lower, his tail waving back and forth in slow rhythm. As the black-and-white cat neared, Firepaw rocked his haunches from side to side as he prepared to spring. One more heartbeat; then he leaped.

The black-and-white cat jumped into the air, terrified, and raced away through the trees. Firepaw gave chase.

It’s a kittypet! he thought as he raced through the undergrowth, smelling its fear-scent. In my territory! He was closing in rapidly on the fleeing animal. It had slowed its headlong rush, preparing to scramble up the wide, mossy trunk of a fallen tree. With the blood roaring in his ears, Firepaw leaped onto its back in a single bound.

Firepaw could feel the cat struggling beneath him as he gripped on with all his claws. It let out a desperate and terrified yowl.

Firepaw released his grip and backed away. The black-and-white cat cringed at the foot of the fallen tree, trembling, and looked up at him. Firepaw lifted his nose, feeling a ripple of disgust at the intruder’s easy surrender. This soft, plump house cat, with its round eyes and narrow face, looked very different from the lean, broad-headed cats Firepaw lived with now. And yet something about this cat seemed familiar.

Firepaw stared harder. He sniffed, drawing in the other cat’s scent. I don’t recognize the smell, he thought, searching his memory.

Then it came to him.

“Smudge!” he meowed out loud.

“H-ho-how d-d-do you know my n-name?” stammered Smudge, still crouching.

“It’s me!” Firepaw meowed.

The house cat looked confused.

“We were kittens together. I lived in the garden next to you!” Firepaw insisted.

“Rusty?” mewled Smudge in disbelief. “Is that you? Did you find the wildcats again? Or are you living with new housefolk? You must be, if you’re still alive!”

“I’m called Firepaw now,” Firepaw meowed. He relaxed his shoulders and let his fur fall flat into a sleek orange pelt.