Softpaw, among the stiff reeds that lined the river bed, opened her jaws just so her fangs were revealed. She laid her tongue flat against her mouth, letting the dewey morning air swirl against her pallet. She smelled algae and moss, but the gripping frost on the air concealed the other scents around her.
She huffed, her breath like thick swathes of smoke in front of her white muzzle. The leaves have just begun to fall around Softpaw, but the icy claws of leaf-bare seems to chase leaf-fall away before the forest can be blanketed with the usual hues of gold and brown.
“It’s going to be a long leaf-bare.” Snailstripe commented as she joined her apprentice at the side of the river. Snailstripe had said this from Softpaws left, her ear of that side being muffled like it was packed with snow, but Softpaw could still understand her, even if it took a moment to decipher the muddled sound.
“I can hardly smell anything in this cold.” Softpaw grumbled. Snailstripe purred goodnaturedly,
“Well at least when it snows your pelt will blend in perfectly.”
This made Softpaw preen slightly, thankful for her thick white fur for the first time. Usually it would only cause her discomfort in greenleaf or force her to take an eternity to groom the muck out of her paws and tail when she swam in murky water.
“What about you?” Softpaw teased, “you’re going to have to find a field of marigolds to blend into.”
Snailstripe flicked Softpaws ear with her tail, her golden-red pelt even more obvious against the bleak colors of the leaf-bare forest.
When Softpaw had just began her apprenticeship she wouldn’t have been caught dead teasing her mentor like that, but now Softpaw was almost a warrior and viewed Snailstripe less like a strict teacher and more as a close friend and guide every day.
“In the meantime see if you can fish up anything dumb enough to come to the surface. Who knows, maybe there’s even a moorhen hiding out here.” Snailstripe spoke with optimism but doubt clouded her voice as she stalked through the reeds downstream.
Softpaw heeded her mentors word and settled herself at the edge of the river. Luckily her shadow didn’t touch the waters face so she could crouch near the river, but the harsh bite of cold meant that most fish had already swam into deep, warmer waters. What she could spot in the foamy depths was too deep below the surface, and would surely dart away if she were to step paw into the river.
As she held herself against the rocky shore, she let her mind wander as she stared into the swirling water. And just as her thoughts seemed to smooth and drift like the pebbles underfoot, she suddenly felt a shift in the mud underneath her.
She blinked, bemusingly stepping away from the bank. Maybe a worm? No, that felt bigger than any worm. Maybe a mole? But why would a mole dig so close to the river?
Softpaw cautiously laid a large paw against the ground she crouched against before. Again, she felt a wiggle of movement below and pulled back in confusion.
Softpaw drew back her ears and squinted at the offending earth. Well, she thought, catching a stupid mole is better than bringing back nothing.
So the white molly began to dig into the cold earth. She had never caught a mole before, but she imagined it could get away quickly if she wasn’t careful. She pulled back globs of cold, wet earth and threw them behind her, and suddenly stopped when she felt a slimy touch on her paw pads.
Softpaw drew back, expecting a worm to be curled around her claw, but was shocked at seeing the frog she had uncovered.
The slimy thing didn’t even seem faded by her intrusion, simply tucking its legs against itself at the cold air it was now exposed to.
Softpaw, at first confused and bewildered, didn’t hesitate to pin the frog down and wrap her jaws against its throat. As she lifted the prey from the mud she had a sudden realization.
This is where frogs go in the winter!
Perhaps this was common knowledge in Shadowclan, where she heard they feast on frogs and toads every day, but this could be the chance Riverclan needs to stay strong this leaf-bare!
By sundown that day, nearly every apprentice and a few of the less prideful warriors were gathered around Softpaw as she crouched among the cold soil that surrounds the riverbed.
A young tom named Bubblepaw pressed his ear against the mud, staining his shiny silver pelt.
“I can’t hear anything!” He mewed pitifully, lashing his tail against the earth.
“No no Bubblepaw, with your feet.” Softpaw chided, pressing her paws into the mud in front of him. “You have to listen with your paw pads, not your ears.”
“That’s amazing!” Dozepaw excitedly chirped, then shrunk back in embarrassment. The quiet toms plain grey fur was already speckled with mud from his paws to his muzzle from his eager attempts to catch the mud-sleeping frogs.
“It is quite the discovery,” Snailstripe walked to stand beside her apprentice. She laid her thick ginger tail against Softpaws back.
“I’m so proud.” Snailstripe’s warm amber eyes shined with joy, and although Softpaws fur pricked from embarrassment, she couldn’t help but bask in the light of her mentors praise.
