Warrior Cats Age Rating Novels & Stories

“You don’t smell sad anymore mummy. It’s good.” I nod and she bids me goodbye. The children in the packhouse that have been selected for warrior roles will be having their morning laps by now and I know she wants to join them. It’s another one of the peculiarities of the Ironclaw pack. Kids are trained to become warriors from the age of seven. Not all of them anyways, at least according to Maya. The laptop reminds me of its presence by making a sound and I walk to it. A file has been left open and clicking the link makes it take me to a company’s site.

I finish the financial spreadsheets whilst humming to myself to drown out the packs goings on. I complete the orders for the perishables whilst listening to Lilith singing to Lora as they remain in the bedroom where she feels safe and sound. I look at the applications from the minors for the warriors. Most are turning eighteen soon and I have a rule if they are between seventeen and eighteen that I'll make a decision based on their behaviour within the pack on the recent years. There's four of them, and only one has been troublesome. But I hope accepting him alongside his peers might give him the guidance he needs to stand up and be something more than a trouble maker.

And this one is no older than Ben. She holds my gaze, narrowing her dark, depthless eyes. A chill runs up my spine as I break from her gaze and turn to look at the warriors who are standing in front of our vehicles. Children. All of them are too young to even shift. I look down at Wilcox, or whatever the hell his name is, the warrior who is still sitting in a puddle of mud next to Leo. He isn’t old enough to grow a beard. I hadn’t thought it was strange when we’d first been stopped. A lot of packs had their youths, especially the males, out in warrior garb and in training before they reached the age of twenty-one.

The final display of the Summit—the one everyone had been waiting for—belonged to Luca. Cocky. Arrogant. Lethal. Deadly. Even at seventeen, the world already whispered his titles like omens. The Destroyer. The Hothead. The Wolf with Fire in His Veins. And today, everyone would see why. The Rules of the Arena All competitors were required to declare whether they had their wolf. Youths under fifteen fought in the Young Wolves’ demonstrations. Those with their wolves qualified for high-level combat in the Warrior Tier.

My heart was trying to make its way out of my chest and I was blushing for whatever reason my body saw fit. I wondered if Alex’s parents approved of his ways… Although in the werewolf community maturity age was sixteen, and thus matings and everything was allowed from the age of sixteen, that was only because coming into one’s wolf occurred at sixteen. But I had no wolf to speak of. Would Alex’s parents approve of whatever he and I had?

The cat growled and lunged at him again, teeth bared, but the warrior stepped aside with fluid precision. “Woah! I think that cat’s overdue for a nap.” He said with a chuckle, glancing towards Lyra and motioning to the attacking animal. The wild cat flailed, its sharp teeth gnashing at his wrist, but he didn’t flinch. With a grunt, he swung the creature to the side with a force that sent it tumbling into the wet grass. The wild cat’s body flickered like a mirage for a moment, but it recovered quickly, spinning around and launching itself at the warrior once more, its body a blur of twisted motion.

And somehow I agreed with her. Love was bullshit. “So, what did you find out?” I asked. Ruby shifted on her chair and folded her arms. “The tattoo you showed me was a pack sigil alright,” she said. “It belongs to a pack named Mystic Warriors.” “That I know. What else?” “Well, this is one of the most ancient packs to have ever existed. And when I say ancient, I mean ancient. It’s said that of all the packs that the Moon Goddess created, Mystic Warriors was one of them. This pack is a warrior pack and the first ever Alpha was named Achilleus. He was the greatest warrior to have existed in our entire history. All members, true blood of the Mystic Warriors pack were born with incredible strength

None of these wolves would forsake their children and grandchildren to train and die a warrior, but can be quick to push warriors to the field while they sneak their pups into the safest hole. Undoubtedly, Gerald has spoken the truth without being blunt. Then now I let out my verdict. Unchangeable. And full of authority. "Warrior combat, it is then." Several heads turned toward me. More shocked than impressed. "Every wolf who has come of age shall be enrolled," I added, fingers running through my moustache. "No exceptions of rank." A few elders exchanged glances, mortified. "No exceptions of the wealthy and rich," I added, ignoring the shock on their faces.

Actually, he was getting very uncomfortable now. Silas had a sip. “You have people, don't you?” Alpha Campbell looked in confusion. “I can't force anyone to become a warrior of the Pack when there wasn't an impending war.” “Well, there will be one soon.” “Huh?” Campbell pushed his body out to the edge of the sofa, his confusion doubling. “Gather your men, boys from ten years and above and train them. Girls and women are allowed. You know, there are women as tough as men and some even tougher than men. Find them all. Don't worry about their age and strength.”

Elliot’s gaze swept across the room, pausing briefly on me. “For those over twenty-one, the full moon no longer compels a shift. By that age, the human and wolf have usually reached a balance a partnership of sorts. But until then…” He turned back to the board, tapping it with a piece of chalk. “The wolf remains dominant during those nights. Any questions?” William raised his hand. “What about werecats?”