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Post by kittycandies on Sept 15, 2016 15:46:30 GMT -5
ALLEGIANCES
THUNDERCLAN
LEADER BLUESTAR —blue-gray she-cat, tinged with silver around her muzzle.
DEPUTY TIGERCLAW —big dark brown tabby tom with unusually long front claws.
MEDICINE
CAT
YELLOWFANG —old dark gray she-cat with a broad, flattened face, formerly of
ShadowClan.
APPRENTICE, CINDERPELT —dark gray she-cat
WARRIORS (toms and she-cats without kits)
WHITESTORM —big white tom.
APPRENTICE, BRIGHTPAW
DARKSTRIPE —sleek black-and-gray tabby tom.
LONGTAIL —pale tabby tom with dark black stripes.
APPRENTICE, SWIFTPAW
RUNNINGWIND —swift tabby tom.
WILLOWPELT —very pale gray she-cat with unusual blue eyes.
MOUSEFUR —small dusky brown she-cat.
APPRENTICE, THORNPAW
FIREHEART —handsome ginger tom.
APPRENTICE, CLOUDPAW
GRAYSTRIPE —long-haired solid gray tom.
APPRENTICE, BRACKENPAW
DUSTPELT —dark brown tabby tom.
SANDSTORM —pale ginger she-cat.
APPRENTICES (more than six moons old, in training to become warriors)
SWIFTPAW —black-and-white tom.
BRACKENPAW —golden brown tabby tom.
CLOUDPAW —long-haired white tom.
BRIGHTPAW —she-cat, white with ginger splotches.
THORNPAW —golden brown tabby tom.
QUEENS (she-cats expecting or nursing kits)
FROSTFUR —beautiful white coat and blue eyes.
BRINDLEFACE —pretty tabby.
GOLDENFLOWER —pale ginger coat.
SPECKLETAIL —pale tabby, and the oldest nursery queen.
ELDERS (former warriors and queens, now retired)
HALFTAIL —big dark brown tabby tom with part of his tail missing.
SMALLEAR —gray tom with very small ears; the oldest tom in ThunderClan.
PATCHPELT —small black-and-white tom.
ONE-EYE —pale gray she-cat; the oldest cat in ThunderClan; virtually blind and deaf.
DAPPLETAIL —once-pretty tortoiseshell she-cat with a lovely dappled coat.
BROKENTAIL —long-haired dark brown tabby; blind; formerly ShadowClan leader.
SHADOWCLAN
LEADER NIGHTSTAR —old black tom.
DEPUTY CINDERFUR —thin gray tom.
MEDICINE CAT RUNNINGNOSE —small gray-and-white tom.
WARRIORS STUMPYTAIL —brown tabby tom.
APPRENTICE, BROWNPAW
WETFOOT —gray tabby tom.
APPRENTICE, OAKPAW
LITTLECLOUD —very small tabby tom.
QUEENS DAWNCLOUD —small tabby.
DARKFLOWER —black she-cat.
TALLPOPPY —long-legged light brown tabby she-cat.
WINDCLAN
LEADER TALLSTAR —black-and-white tom with a very long tail.
DEPUTY DEADFOOT —black tom with a twisted paw.
MEDICINE CAT BARKFACE —short-tailed brown tom.
WARRIORS MUDCLAW —mottled dark brown tom.
APPRENTICE, WEBPAW
TORNEAR —tabby tom.
APPRENTICE, RUNNINGPAW
ONEWHISKER —young brown tabby tom.
APPRENTICE, WHITEPAW
QUEENS ASHFOOT —gray she-cat.
MORNINGFLOWER —tortoiseshell she-cat.
RIVERCLAN
LEADER CROOKEDSTAR —huge light-colored tabby with a twisted jaw.
DEPUTY LEOPARDFUR —unusually spotted golden tabby she-cat.
MEDICINE CAT MUDFUR —long-haired light brown tom.
WARRIORS BLACKCLAW —smoky black tom.
APPRENTICE, HEAVYPAW
STONEFUR —gray tom with battle-scarred ears.
APPRENTICE, SHADEPAW
LOUDBELLY —dark brown tom.
APPRENTICE, SILVERPAW
SILVERSTREAM —pretty silver tabby.
QUEENS MISTYFOOT —dark gray she-cat.
ELDERS GRAYPOOL —thin gray she-cat with patchy fur and a scarred muzzle.
CATS OUTSIDE CLANS
BARLEY —black-and-white tom who lives on a farm close to the forest.
BLACKFOOT —large white tom with huge jet-black paws, formerly ShadowClan deputy.
BOULDER —silver tabby tom, formerly of ShadowClan.
PRINCESS —light brown tabby with a distinctive white chest and paws—a kittypet.
RAVENPAW —sleek black cat with a white-tipped tail who lives on the farm with Barley.
SMUDGE —plump, friendly black-and-white kitten who lives in a house at the edge of the forest.
PROLOGUE
Cold gripped the forest, fields, and moorland like an icy claw. Snow covered everything, glittering faintly
under a new moon. Nothing broke the silence in the forest except for the occasional soft rush of snow sliding
from the branches of trees and the faint rasping of dried reeds when the wind swept through them. Even the
murmur of the river was stilled by the ice that stretched from bank to bank.
There was a flicker of movement at the edge of the river. A large tomcat, his bracken-colored fur fluffed
up against the cold, emerged from the reeds. He shook snow impatiently from his paws as he sank into the
soft drifts with every step.
In front of him, two tiny kits struggled forward with faint mews of distress. They floundered in the
powdery snow, the fur on their legs and belly matted into icy clumps, but every time they tried to stop, the
tomcat nudged them on.
The three cats trudged along the river until it widened out, and they drew level with a small island not
far from the bank. Thick beds of reeds surrounded it, their dry stems poking up through the ice. Stunted,
leafless willow trees concealed the center of the island behind snow-covered boughs.
“Almost there,” the bracken-colored tom meowed encouragingly. “Follow me.”
He slid down the bank into a narrow frozen pathway through the reeds and leaped onto the dry, crisp
earth of the island. The bigger of the two kits scrambled after him, but the smaller one collapsed on the ice
and crouched there, mewing pitifully. After a moment’s pause the tomcat jumped down beside it and tried to
nudge it to its paws, but it was too exhausted to move. The tomcat gave its ears a lick, roughly comforting the
helpless scrap, and then picked it up by the scruff of the neck and carried it onto the island.
Beyond the willow trees was a stretch of open ground broken by bushes. Snow covered the earth here,
crisscrossed by the pawmarks of many cats. The clearing seemed deserted, but bright eyes gleamed from
shelter, watching the tomcat as he led the way to the largest clump of bushes and through the outer wall of
tangled branches.
The icy chill of the air outside gave way to the warmth of the nursery and the smell of milk. In a deep
nest of moss and heather a gray she-cat was suckling a single tabby kit. She raised her head as the tomcat
drew closer and gently set down the kit he was carrying. The second kit staggered into the nursery behind him
and tried to scrabble its way into the nest.
“Oakheart?” meowed the she-cat. “What have you got there?”
“Kits, Graypool,” Oakheart replied. “Will you take them? They need a mother to look after them.”
“But…” Graypool’s amber eyes were shocked. “Whose kits are they? They’re not RiverClan’s. Where
did you get them?”
“I found them in the forest.” Oakheart did not meet the she-cat’s eyes as he spoke. “They’re lucky a fox
didn’t find them first.”
“In the forest?” meowed the queen, her voice rasping with disbelief. “Oakheart, don’t talk to me as if
I’m mouse-brained. What cat would abandon her kits in the forest, especially in weather like this?”
Oakheart shrugged. “Rogues, maybe, or Twolegs. How would I know? I couldn’t leave them there,
could I?” He nosed the smaller kit, which was lying completely still except for the rapid rise and fall of its tiny
ribs as it breathed. “Graypool, please…Your other kits died, and these will die too, unless you help them.”
Graypool’s eyes clouded with pain. She looked down at the two kits. Their tiny mouths gaped pink as
they mewed pitifully. “I have plenty of milk,” she murmured, half to herself. “Of course I’ll take them.”
Oakheart puffed out his breath in a sigh of relief. He picked up first one kit and then the other and laid
them next to Graypool. She nudged them gently into the curve of her belly next to her own kit, where they
began to suckle eagerly.
“I still don’t understand,” Graypool meowed when they were settled. “Why would two kits be alone in
the forest in the middle of leaf-bare? Their mother must be frantic.”
The bracken-colored tom prodded a piece of moss with one massive front paw. “I didn’t steal them, if
that’s what you’re thinking.”
Graypool looked at him for a long moment. “No, I don’t think you did,” she meowed at last. “But
you’re not telling me the whole truth, are you?”
“I’ve told you all you need to know.”
“No, you haven’t!” Graypool’s eyes flashed with anger. “What about their mother? I know what it’s
like to lose kits, Oakheart. I wouldn’t wish that kind of grief on any cat.”
Oakheart lifted his head and glared at her, a faint growl coming from the depths of his throat. “Their
mother is probably some rogue cat. This is not the weather to go looking for her.”
“But Oakheart—”
“Just take care of the kits, please!” The bracken-colored tom sprang to his paws and turned abruptly to
push his way out of the nursery. “I’ll bring you some fresh-kill,” he meowed over his shoulder as he left.
When he had gone, Graypool bent her head over the kits, rasping her tongue over their fur to warm
them. The melting snow had washed away most of their scent, though Graypool could still make out the odors
of the forest, of dead leaves and frostbitten earth. And there was something beneath that, fainter still….
Graypool paused in her licking. Had she really sensed that, or was she imagining things? Dipping her
head again, she opened her mouth to breathe in the kits’ scents.
Her eyes grew wider, and she stared unblinking into the dark shadows that edged the nursery. She was
not wrong. The fur of these two motherless kits, whose origins Oakheart refused to explain, unmistakably
carried the scent of an enemy Clan!
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Post by kittycandies on Sept 15, 2016 20:22:07 GMT -5
Chapter 1
The icy wind whirled snow into Fireheart’s face as he struggled down the ravine toward the ThunderClan
camp, the mouse he had just killed gripped firmly in his jaws. The flakes were falling so thickly that he could
scarcely see where he was going.
His mouth watered as the prey-scent of mouse filled his nostrils. He hadn’t eaten since the previous
night, a grim sign of how scarce prey was in leaf-bare. Hunger clawed at his belly, but Fireheart would not
break the warrior code: The Clan must be fed first.
A glow of pride briefly drove off the chill from the snow that matted his flame-colored coat, as Fireheart
remembered the battle that had taken place only three days before. He had joined the other ThunderClan
warriors to help support WindClan when the moorland cats were attacked by the other two Clans in the
forest. Many cats had been injured in that battle, so it was even more important for those who could still hunt
to bring home prey.
As Fireheart pushed his way through the gorse tunnel leading into the camp, he dislodged snow from the
spiky branches above, and he flicked his ears as the cold lumps fell on his head. The thorn trees around the
camp gave some shelter from the wind, but the clearing in the center of the camp was deserted; all the cats
preferred to stay in their dens to keep warm when the snow lay this thick. Broken tree stumps and the
branches of a fallen tree poked above the covering of snow. A single line of pawprints crossed from the
apprentices’ den to the bramble thicket where the kits were cared for. Seeing the trail, Fireheart could not
help remembering that he was without an apprentice now, since Cinderpaw had been injured beside the
Thunderpath.
Trotting across the snow into the heart of the camp, Fireheart dropped his mouse on the pile of fresh-kill
near the bush where the warriors slept. The pile was pitifully small. Such prey as could be found was thin and
scrawny, hardly a mouthful for a famished warrior. There would be no more plump mice until newleaf, and
that was many moons away.
Fireheart was turning away, ready to go back on hunting duty, when a loud meow sounded behind him.
He whirled around.
Shouldering his way out of the warriors’ den was the Clan deputy, Tigerclaw. “Fireheart!”
Fireheart padded through the snow toward him, respectfully lowering his head, but conscious that the
huge tabby’s amber eyes burned into him. All his misgivings about Tigerclaw flooded through him again. The
deputy was strong, respected, and an outstanding fighter, but Fireheart knew there was darkness in his heart.
“You don’t need to go out hunting again tonight,” Tigerclaw growled as Fireheart approached. “Bluestar
has chosen you and Graystripe to go to the Gathering.”
Fireheart’s ears twitched with excitement. It was an honor to accompany the Clan leader to the
Gathering, where all four Clans met in peace at full moon.
“You had better eat now,” added the dark-coated deputy. “We leave at moonrise.” He began to stalk
across the clearing toward the Highrock, where Bluestar, the Clan leader, had her den; then he paused and
swiveled his massive head to look back at Fireheart. “Just make sure you remember which Clan you belong to
at the Gathering,” he hissed.
Fireheart felt his fur bristle as anger flared inside him. “What makes you say that?” he demanded boldly.
“Do you think I would be disloyal to my own Clan?”
Tigerclaw turned to face him, and Fireheart tried hard not to flinch at the menace in the cat’s tensed
shoulders. “I saw you in the last battle.” The deputy’s voice was a low growl, and his ears were flattened
against his head as he spat, “I saw you let that RiverClan warrior escape.”
Fireheart winced, his mind flashing back to the battle in the WindClan camp. What Tigerclaw said was
true. Fireheart had allowed a RiverClan warrior to flee without a scratch, but not out of cowardice or
disloyalty. The warrior had been Silverstream. Unknown to the rest of ThunderClan, Fireheart’s best friend,
Graystripe, was in love with her, and Fireheart could not bring himself to wound her.
Fireheart had done his best to talk his friend out of visiting Silverstream—their relationship went against
the warrior code and put both of them in grave danger. But Fireheart also knew that he would never betray
Graystripe.
Besides, Tigerclaw had no right to accuse any cat of disloyalty. He had stood on the edge of the battle,
watching while Fireheart fought for his life against another RiverClan warrior, and turned away instead of
helping him. And that was not the worst accusation Fireheart could make against the deputy. He suspected
Tigerclaw of murdering the former ThunderClan deputy, Redtail, and even planning to get rid of their leader
herself.
“If you think I’m disloyal, tell Bluestar,” he meowed challengingly.
Tigerclaw drew back his lips in a snarl and dropped into a half crouch, sliding out his long claws. “I
don’t need to bother Bluestar,” he hissed. “I can deal with a kittypet like you.”
He stared at Fireheart for a moment longer. Fireheart realized with a jolt that there was a trace of fear as
well as distrust in the blazing amber eyes. Tigerclaw wonders how much I know, he thought suddenly.
Fireheart’s friend Ravenpaw, Tigerclaw’s own apprentice, had witnessed the murder of Redtail.
Tigerclaw had tried to kill him to keep him quiet, so Fireheart had taken him to live with Barley, a loner who
lived near a Twoleg farm on the other side of WindClan’s territory. Fireheart had tried to tell Ravenpaw’s
story to Bluestar, but the Clan leader refused to believe that her brave deputy could be guilty of such a thing.
As he glared at Tigerclaw, Fireheart’s frustration returned; he felt as if a tree had fallen and pinned him to the
ground.
Without another word, Tigerclaw swung around and stalked away. As Fireheart watched him go, there
was a rustling from inside the warriors’ den, and Graystripe poked his head out through the branches.
“What on earth are you doing?” he meowed. “Picking fights with Tigerclaw like that! He’ll turn you
into crowfood!”
“No cat has the right to call me disloyal,” Fireheart argued.
Graystripe bent his head and gave his chest fur a couple of quick licks. “I’m sorry, Fireheart,” he
muttered. “I know this is all because of me and Silverstream—”
“No, it isn’t,” Fireheart interrupted, “and you know it. Tigerclaw’s the problem, not you.” He shook
himself, scattering snow from his coat. “Come on; let’s eat.”
Graystripe pushed the rest of the way out and bounded toward the pile of fresh-kill. Fireheart followed
him, picked out a vole, and carried it back to the warriors’ den to eat. Graystripe crouched beside him, near
the outer curtain of branches.
Whitestorm and a couple of other senior warriors were curled up asleep in the center of the bush, but
otherwise the den was empty. Their sleeping bodies warmed the air, and barely any snow had penetrated the
thick canopy of branches.
Fireheart took a mouthful of vole. The meat was tough and stringy, but he was so hungry that it tasted
delicious. It was gone far too quickly, but it was better than nothing, and it would give him the strength he
needed to travel to the Gathering.
When Graystripe had finished his meal in a few ravenous gulps, the two cats lay close together,
grooming each other’s cold fur. It was a relief to Fireheart to share tongues like this with Graystripe again,
after the troubling time when it seemed that Graystripe’s love for Silverstream would destroy his friendship
with Fireheart. Even though Fireheart still worried about his friend’s forbidden affair, since the battle he and
Graystripe had rekindled their friendship so it was as close as before. They needed to trust each other if they
were to survive the long season of leaf-bare, and even more than that, Fireheart knew he needed Graystripe’s
support against Tigerclaw’s growing hostility.
“I wonder what news we’ll hear tonight,” he murmured in his friend’s gray ear. “I hope RiverClan and
ShadowClan have learned their lesson. WindClan won’t be driven out of their territory again.”
Graystripe shifted uncomfortably. “The battle wasn’t just greed for territory,” he pointed out. “Prey is
even scarcer than usual—RiverClan are starving since the Twolegs moved into their territory.”
“I know.” Fireheart flicked his ears in reluctant sympathy, understanding that his friend would want to
defend Silverstream’s Clan. “But forcing another Clan out of their territory isn’t the answer.”
Graystripe muttered agreement, and then fell silent. Fireheart knew how he must’ve felt. It was only a
few moons since they had crossed the Thunderpath to find WindClan and to bring them home. Yet Graystripe
was bound to sympathize with RiverClan too, because of his love for Silverstream. There were no easy
answers. The shortage of prey would be a desperate problem for all four Clans, at least until leaf-bare relaxed
its cruel grip on the forest.
Growing drowsy under the steady rasp of Graystripe’s tongue, Fireheart jumped at the rustle of
branches outside the den. Tigerclaw entered, followed by Darkstripe and Longtail. All three of them glowered
at Fireheart as they settled in a huddle closer to the center of the bush. Fireheart watched them through slitted
eyes, wishing that he could make out their conversation. It was too easy to imagine they were plotting against
him. Fireheart’s muscles tensed as he realized that he would never be safe within his own Clan while
Tigerclaw’s treachery remained a secret.
“What’s the matter?” asked Graystripe, lifting his head.
Fireheart stretched, trying to relax again. “I don’t trust them,” he murmured, flicking his ears in the
direction of Tigerclaw and the others.
“I don’t blame you,” meowed Graystripe. “If Tigerclaw ever found out about Silverstream…” He
shuddered.
Fireheart pressed closer to his side, comforting him, while his ears still strained to catch what Tigerclaw
was saying. He thought he heard his own name, and was tempted to creep a little closer, but just then he
caught Longtail’s eye.
“What are you staring at, kittypet?” hissed the tabby warrior. “ThunderClan only wants loyal cats.”
Deliberately he turned his back on Fireheart.
Fireheart sprang to his paws at once. “And who gave you the right to question our loyalty?” he spat.
Longtail ignored him.
“That does it!” Fireheart mewed in a fierce undertone to Graystripe. “It’s obvious that Tigerclaw is
spreading rumors about me.”
“But what can you do?” Graystripe sounded resigned to the deputy’s hostility.
“I want to talk to Ravenpaw again,” Fireheart meowed. “He might remember something else about the
battle, something I could use to convince Bluestar.”
“But Ravenpaw lives at the Twoleg farm now. You’d have to go all the way across WindClan territory.
How would you explain being out of the camp for so long? It would only make Tigerclaw’s lies seem like the
truth.”
Fireheart knew he was willing to take that risk. He had never asked Ravenpaw for any details about how
Redtail had died in the battle against RiverClan all those moons ago. At the time it had seemed more
important to get the apprentice out of Tigerclaw’s way.
Now he knew that he had to find out exactly what Ravenpaw saw. Because he was becoming more and
more certain that his friend must know something that could prove just how dangerous Tigerclaw was to the
Clan.
“I’ll go tonight,” Fireheart mewed softly. “After the Gathering, I’m going to slip away. If I bring back
fresh-kill, I can say I’ve been hunting.”
“You’re taking a big risk,” mewed Graystripe, giving Fireheart’s ear a quick and affectionate lick. “But
Tigerclaw is my problem too. If you’re determined to go, then I’m coming with you.”
The snow had stopped and the clouds had cleared away by the time the ThunderClan cats, Fireheart and
Graystripe among them, left the camp and headed through the forest toward Fourtrees. The snow-covered
ground seemed to glow in the white light of the full moon, and frost glittered on every twig and stone.
A breeze blew toward them, ruffling the surface of the snow and bearing the scent of many cats.
Fireheart shivered with excitement. The territories of all four Clans met in the sacred hollow, and at every full
moon a truce was declared for the Clans to gather beneath the four great oaks that stood in the center of the
steep-sided clearing.
Fireheart fell in behind Bluestar, who had already dropped into a crouch to creep the last few
tail-lengths to the top of the slope and peer down into the glade. A rock reared up in the center of the clearing
between the oaks, its jagged outline black against the snow. As Fireheart waited for Bluestar’s signal to move,
he watched the other Clan cats greeting one another below. He could not help noticing the glares and raised
hackles as WindClan faced the cats of RiverClan and ShadowClan. Clearly none of them had forgotten the
recent battle; if it weren’t for the truce, they would be clawing one another’s fur.
Fireheart recognized Tallstar, the leader of WindClan, sitting near the Great Rock, with his deputy,
Deadfoot, beside him. Not far away, Runningnose and Mudfur, the medicine cats of ShadowClan and
RiverClan, sat side by side, gazing at the other cats with eyes that reflected the moon. Beside Fireheart, Graystripe’s muscles were tense, and his yellow eyes glowed with excitement as he
stared down into the glade. Following his gaze, Fireheart saw Silverstream emerge from the shadow, her
beautiful black-and-silver coat rippling in the moonlight.
Fireheart suppressed a sigh. “If you’re going to talk to her, be careful who sees you,” he warned his
friend.
“Don’t worry,” Graystripe meowed. His front paws kneaded the hard ground as he waited for the
moment when he could be with the RiverClan cat again.
Fireheart glanced at Bluestar, expecting her to give the signal to descend into the clearing, but instead he
saw Whitestorm pad up and crouch beside her in the snow. “Bluestar,” Fireheart heard the noble white
warrior murmur, “what are you going to say about Brokentail? Will you tell the other Clans that we’re
sheltering him?”
Fireheart waited tensely for Bluestar’s answer. Brokentail had once been Brokenstar, leader of
ShadowClan. He had murdered his own father, Raggedstar, and stolen kits from ThunderClan. In retaliation,
ThunderClan had helped Brokenstar’s own Clan to drive him out into the forest. Not long after, Brokenstar
had led a band of rogue cats to attack the ThunderClan camp. In the battle, Yellowfang, the ThunderClan
medicine cat, had scratched his eyes, and now Brokentail was a prisoner, blind and defeated. Even though the
former leader had been stripped of his StarClan-given name, and was kept under close guard, Fireheart knew
that the other Clans would expect ThunderClan to have killed him, or driven him out to die in the forest. They
wouldn’t welcome the news that Brokentail was still alive.
Bluestar kept her gaze fixed on the cats in the clearing below. “I will say nothing,” she replied to
Whitestorm. “It doesn’t concern the other Clans. Brokentail is ThunderClan’s responsibility now.”
“Brave words,” growled Tigerclaw from where he sat on the other side of Bluestar. “Or are we ashamed
to admit what we’ve done?”
“ThunderClan has no need to be ashamed for showing mercy,” Bluestar retorted coolly. “But I see no
reason to go looking for trouble.” Before Tigerclaw could protest, she sprang to her paws and faced the rest of
the ThunderClan cats. “Listen,” she meowed. “No cat is to talk about the attack by the rogue cats, or mention
Brokentail. These are matters for our Clan alone.”
She waited until meows of agreement came from the assembled cats. Then she flicked her tail to signal
that the ThunderClan cats could join the other Clans below. She raced down through the bushes, with
Tigerclaw just behind her, his huge paws scattering snow.
Fireheart bounded after them. As he slid out of the bushes into the clearing he saw that Tigerclaw had
stopped close by, and was giving him a suspicious stare. “Graystripe,” Fireheart hissed quietly over his
shoulder, “I don’t think you should go off with Silverstream tonight. Tigerclaw’s already—”
Fireheart suddenly realized that Graystripe was no longer beside him. Looking around, he saw his friend
disappearing behind the Great Rock. A heartbeat or two later, Silverstream skirted around a group of
ShadowClan cats and followed him.
Fireheart sighed. He glanced at Tigerclaw, wondering if the deputy had seen them go. But Tigerclaw had
padded away to join Onewhisker from WindClan, and Fireheart let the fur lie flat on his shoulders again.
Pacing restlessly across the clearing, Fireheart found himself near a group of elders—Patchpelt from
ThunderClan, and others he did not know, crouching beneath a glossy-leaved holly bush, where the snow did
not lie so thickly. Keeping one eye out for Graystripe, Fireheart settled down to listen to their conversation.
“I remember a leaf-bare even worse than this.” It was an old black tom who spoke, his muzzle turned to
silver and his flank scarred from many a fight. He had the scent of WindClan on his short, patchy fur. “The
river was frozen for more than three moons.”
“You’re right, Crowfur,” a tabby queen agreed. “And prey was scarcer, too, even for RiverClan.”
For a heartbeat Fireheart felt surprised that two elders from recently hostile Clans could talk calmly
without spitting hatred at each other. But then, they were elders, he reflected. They must have seen many
battles in their long lives.
“Young warriors today,” the old black cat added with a glance at Fireheart. “They don’t know what
hardship is.”
Fireheart scuffled among the dead leaves under the bush and tried to look respectful. Patchpelt,
crouched close to him, gave him a friendly flick with his tail.
“That must have been the season when Bluestar lost her kits,” recalled the ThunderClan elder. Fireheart
pricked up his ears. He remembered Dappletail saying something once before about Bluestar’s kits, which
were born just before she became Clan deputy. But he had never learned how many kits she had had, or how
old they were when they died.
“And do you remember the thaw that leaf-bare?” Crowfur interrupted Fireheart’s thoughts, his eyes
unfocused as he lost himself to his memories. “The river in the gorge rose nearly as far as the badger sets.”
Patchpelt shivered. “I remember it well. ThunderClan couldn’t cross the stream to come here for the
Gathering.”
“Cats were drowned,” the RiverClan queen remembered sadly.
“Prey too,” Crowfur added. “The cats who survived nearly starved.”
“May StarClan grant it’s not so bad this season!” Patchpelt mewed fervently.
Crowfur spat, “These young cats would never cope. We were tougher in those days.”
Fireheart could not help protesting. “We have strong warriors now—”
“Who asked your opinion?” growled the cranky old tom. “You’re hardly more than a kit!”
“But we—” Fireheart broke off as the air was filled with a shrill yowl and all the cats fell silent. He
turned his head to see four cats on top of the Great Rock, silhouettes in the silver moonlight.
“Shh!” hissed Patchpelt. “The meeting’s about to start.” He twitched his ears at Fireheart and purred
softly, “Take no notice of Crowfur. He’d find fault with StarClan.”
Fireheart gave Patchpelt a grateful look, tucked his paws under him, and settled down to listen.
Tallstar, the WindClan leader, began by announcing how his cats were recovering after the recent battle
against RiverClan and ShadowClan. “One of our elders has died,” he meowed, “but all our warriors will
live—to fight another day,” he added meaningfully.
Nightstar flattened his ears and narrowed his eyes, while Crookedstar let out a threatening growl from
deep in his throat.
Fireheart’s fur prickled. If the leaders started to fight, their cats would fight too. Had it ever happened at
a Gathering? he wondered. Surely not even Nightstar, ShadowClan’s bold new leader, would risk the anger of
StarClan by breaking the sacred truce!
As Fireheart apprehensively watched the bristling cats, Bluestar stepped forward. “This is good news,
Tallstar,” she meowed smoothly. “All of us should rejoice to hear that WindClan grows strong again.”
Her blue eyes glowed in the moonlight as she glanced at the leaders of ShadowClan and RiverClan.
Nightstar turned away from her gaze, and Crookedstar dipped his head, his expression unreadable.
It had been ShadowClan, under Brokenstar’s cruel command, who had first driven WindClan away, so
that they could extend their own hunting grounds. RiverClan had taken advantage of their exile to hunt in the
deserted territory. But after Brokenstar’s exile, Bluestar had convinced the other leaders that the life of the
forest depended on all four Clans, and that WindClan should return. Fireheart shivered as he remembered the
long and difficult journey he had made with Graystripe to find WindClan and bring them home to their bleak
upland territory.
That reminded him of how he meant to cross the uplands again to find Ravenpaw, and he shifted
uneasily. He was not looking forward to the journey. At least WindClan are friendly toward ThunderClan, he
thought. So we shouldn’t get attacked on the way.
“ThunderClan’s cats are also recovering,” Bluestar went on. “And since the last Gathering two of our
apprentices have become warriors. They will now be known as Dustpelt and Sandstorm.”
Yowls of approval came up from the mass of cats below the Great Rock—mostly, Fireheart noticed,
from ThunderClan and WindClan. He caught a glimpse of Sandstorm, sitting with her pale ginger head raised
proudly.
The Gathering proceeded more peacefully now. Fireheart remembered the previous Gathering, when the
leaders had accused one another of hunting outside their own territory, but no cat mentioned this now. A
group of rogue cats, led by Brokentail, had been responsible, but the news that these rogues had attacked the
ThunderClan camp, and had been soundly defeated, did not seem to have spread. Bluestar’s secret about
blind Brokentail was safe.
When the meeting was over, Fireheart looked around for Graystripe. If they were going to see
Ravenpaw, they needed to leave soon, while the other ThunderClan cats were still in the hollow, and would
not notice which way they went.
Fireheart caught the eye of Swiftpaw, Longtail’s apprentice, sitting in the middle of a group of young
cats from ShadowClan. Swiftpaw looked away guiltily. At any other time Fireheart might have called him
over and told him to find his mentor for the journey home, but right now all he cared about was finding
Graystripe immediately. He forgot Swiftpaw as soon as he saw his friend weaving his way toward him. There
was no sign of Silverstream.
“There you are!” Graystripe called, his yellow eyes shining.
Fireheart could see that he had enjoyed the Gathering, though he doubted that his friend had listened to
much of the talk. “Are you ready?” he meowed.
“To go and see Ravenpaw, you mean?”
“Not so loud!” Fireheart hissed, anxiously looking around.
“Yes, I’m ready,” Graystripe mewed, more softly. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. Still, anything
to get Tigerclaw out of my fur—unless you’ve had a better idea?”
Fireheart shook his head. “This is the only way.”
The hollow was still full of cats, preparing to leave in four directions. No cat seemed to pay any
attention to Fireheart and Graystripe until they had almost reached the slope that led to WindClan’s upland
territory. Then a meow sounded behind them.
“Hey, Fireheart! Where are you going?”
It was Sandstorm.
“Er…” Fireheart shot a desperate glance at Graystripe. “We’re going the long way around,” he
improvised quickly. “Mudclaw from WindClan told us about a warren of young rabbits just inside our
territory. We thought we’d bring back some fresh-kill.” Suddenly alarmed by the thought that Sandstorm
might offer to come with them, he added, “Tell Bluestar, will you, if she asks where we are?”
“Sure.” Sandstorm yawned, showing a mouthful of sharp white teeth. “I’ll think about you, dashing after
rabbits, when I’m curled up in a nice warm nest!” She padded off with a flick of her tail.
Fireheart was relieved; he didn’t like lying to her. “Let’s go,” he meowed to Graystripe. “Before any
other cat sees us.”
The two young warriors slid into the shelter of the bushes and crept up the slope. At the top, Fireheart
paused for a moment, looking back to make sure they had not been followed. Then he and Graystripe
bounded over the rim of the hollow and raced toward the moorland and, beyond that, the Twoleg farm.
This is the only way, Fireheart repeated to himself as he ran. He had to find out the truth. Not just for
Redtail and Ravenpaw, but for the sake of the whole Clan. Tigerclaw had to be stopped…before he had the
chance to kill again.
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Post by kittycandies on Sept 15, 2016 20:25:30 GMT -5
Chapter 2
Fireheart sniffed warily at a path where the snow had been trampled down by Twolegs. Lights shone from
the Twoleg nest, and somewhere close by he could hear a dog barking. He remembered Barley telling him
that the Twolegs let their dogs off the chains at night. He just hoped that he could locate Ravenpaw before he
and Graystripe were noticed.
Graystripe slipped through the fence and padded up to him. The icy wind flattened his gray fur against
his body. “Smell anything?” he asked.
Fireheart lifted his head to taste the air, and almost at once he caught the scent he was searching for,
faint but familiar. Ravenpaw! “This way,” he mewed.
He crept along the path, the hard surface icy under his paws. Cautiously he followed the scent to a gap
at the bottom of a barn door where the wood had rotted away.
He sniffed, drinking in the smell of hay and the strong, fresh scent of cats. “Ravenpaw?” he whispered.
When there was no reply, he repeated, louder, “Ravenpaw?”
“Fireheart, is that you?” A surprised mew came from the darkness on the other side of the door.
“Ravenpaw!” Fireheart squeezed through the gap, thankful to be out of the wind. The scents of the barn
flowed around him, and his mouth began to water as he detected the smell of mouse. The barn was dimly lit
by moonlight filtering through a small window high under the roof. As his eyes adjusted, Fireheart saw
another cat standing a few tail-lengths away.
His friend looked even sleeker and better fed than when Fireheart had seen him last. Fireheart realized
how scrawny and bedraggled he must look in comparison.
Ravenpaw purred happily as he padded over to Fireheart and touched noses with him. “Welcome,” he
mewed. “It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you,” Graystripe meowed, pushing his way through the gap in the door after Fireheart.
“Did you get WindClan back to their camp safely?” Ravenpaw asked. Fireheart and Graystripe had
stayed with him during their journey to bring WindClan home.
“Yes,” mewed Fireheart, “but it’s a long story. We can’t—”
“Well, what’s going on here?” Another cat’s meow interrupted them.
Fireheart spun around, flattening his ears, ready to fight if this newcomer was a threat. Then he
recognized Barley, the black-and-white loner who had willingly shared his home with Ravenpaw. “Hi,
Barley,” Fireheart meowed, calming down. “We need to talk to Ravenpaw.”
“So I see,” Barley mewed. “And it must be important, to bring you across the moors in this weather.”
“Yes, it is,” Fireheart agreed. He glanced at the former ThunderClan apprentice, the urgency of his
mission prickling through his fur. “Ravenpaw, we haven’t any time to waste.”
Ravenpaw looked puzzled. “You know you can talk to me as much as you want.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Barley offered. “Feel free to hunt. We’ve plenty of mice here.” He gave a
friendly nod to the visiting cats, and squeezed out under the door.
“Hunt? Really?” meowed Graystripe. Fireheart felt sharp pangs of hunger grip his belly.
“Of course,” mewed Ravenpaw. “Look, why don’t you eat first? Then you can tell me why you’re
here.”
“I know Tigerclaw killed Redtail,” Ravenpaw insisted. “I was there, and I saw him do it.”
The three cats were crouched in the hayloft of the Twoleg barn. Hunting had not taken very long. After
the desparate struggle to find prey in the snow-covered forest, the barn seemed to the hungry ThunderClan
warriors to be overflowing with mice. Now Fireheart was warm, and his stomach felt comfortably full. He
would have liked to curl up and sleep in the soft, fragrant hay, but he knew that he had to talk to Ravenpaw
right away if he and Graystripe were to get back to camp before their absence was noticed. “Tell us
everything you remember,” he urged, giving Ravenpaw an encouraging nod.
Ravenpaw stared ahead of him, his eyes dark as he journeyed back in his mind to the battle at the
Sunningrocks. Fireheart could see his confidence beginning to ebb. The black cat was losing himself in his
memories, reliving the fear and the burden of what he knew.
“I’d been wounded in the shoulder,” he began, “and Redtail—he was our deputy then, as you
know—told me to hide in a crack in the rock until it was safe to get away. I was just going to make a dash for
it when I saw Redtail attack a RiverClan cat. I think it was that gray warrior called Stonefur. Redtail knocked
Stonefur off his paws, and looked as if he was about to sink in his claws for some serious injury.”
“Why didn’t he?” Graystripe put in.
“Oakheart came out of nowhere,” Ravenpaw explained. “He sank his teeth into Redtail’s scruff and
pulled him off Stonefur.” His voice shook as the memories flooded through his mind’s eye. “Stonefur ran
away.” The cat paused, unconsciously crouching down as if he were scared of something very close by.
“What next?” Fireheart prompted gently.
“Redtail spat at Oakheart. He asked him if RiverClan warriors were unable to fight their own battles.
Redtail was brave,” Ravenpaw added. “The RiverClan deputy was twice his size. And then…then Oakheart
said a strange thing. He told Redtail, ‘No ThunderClan cat will ever harm that warrior.’”
“What?” Graystripe narrowed his eyes until they were yellow slits. “That doesn’t make sense. Are you
sure you heard him right?”
“Positive,” insisted Ravenpaw.
“But the Clans fight all the time,” meowed Fireheart. “What’s so special about Stonefur?”
“I don’t know.” Ravenpaw shrugged, shying away from their searching questions.
“So what did Redtail do after Oakheart said that?” asked Graystripe.
Ravenpaw’s ears pricked up and his eyes widened. “He flew at Oakheart. He bowled him right off his
paws and underneath a rocky overhang. I…I couldn’t see them, though I could hear them snarling. And then I
heard a rumbling sound, and the rock collapsed on top of them!” He stopped, shivering.
“Please go on,” Fireheart mewed. He hated putting Ravenpaw through this, but he had to know the
truth.
“I heard a screech from Oakheart and I saw his tail sticking out from under the rocks.” Ravenpaw
closed his eyes, as if he wanted to shut out the sight, and then opened them again. “Just then I heard
Tigerclaw behind me. He ordered me to go back to the camp, but I’d only gone a little way when I realized I
had no idea if Redtail was okay after the rockfall. So I crept back, past all the RiverClan warriors that were
running away. And when I got to the rocks, Redtail was charging out of the dust. His tail was straight up and
his fur stood on end, but he was all right, not a scratch on him that I could see. And he ran straight into
Tigerclaw, who was in the shadows.”
“And was that when—” Graystripe began.
“Yes.” Ravenpaw’s claws flexed as if he was imagining himself back in the battle. “Tigerclaw grabbed
Redtail and pinned him down. Redtail struggled, but he couldn’t break free. And…” Ravenpaw swallowed,
and stared at the floor. “Tigerclaw sank his teeth into Redtail’s throat, and it was all over.” He dropped his
chin onto his paws.
Fireheart moved closer to him, and pressed his body against Ravenpaw’s flank. “So Oakheart died when
the rocks fell on him. It was an accident,” he murmured. “No cat killed him.”
“That still doesn’t prove that Tigerclaw killed Redtail,” Graystripe pointed out. “I don’t see that any of
this helps us at all.”
For a heartbeat Fireheart stared at him, discouraged. Then his eyes widened and he sat up, paws tingling
with excitement. “Yes, it does. If we can prove the rockfall story, it shows that Tigerclaw was lying when he
said Oakheart killed Redtail, and when he claimed to have killed Oakheart in revenge.”
“Just a minute,” Graystripe interrupted. “Ravenpaw, at the Gathering you didn’t say anything about
falling rocks. You made it sound as if Redtail killed Oakheart.”
“Did I?” Ravenpaw blinked, and struggled to focus on Graystripe. “I didn’t mean to. This is what really
happened, I promise.”
“And that’s why Bluestar wouldn’t listen to us,” Fireheart went on excitedly. “She couldn’t believe that
Redtail would have killed another deputy. But Redtail didn’t kill him. Bluestar will have to take us seriously
now!”
Fireheart’s brain was whirling with everything they had discovered. He wanted to ask Ravenpaw more
questions, but he could smell the fear-scent on his friend, and saw the old haunted look in his eyes, as if
telling his story had brought back all his unhappy memories of ThunderClan. “Is there any more you can tell
us, Ravenpaw?” he mewed gently.
Ravenpaw shook his head.
“This means so much to the Clan,” Fireheart told him. “Hopefully now we stand a chance of convincing
Bluestar that Tigerclaw is dangerous.”
“If she listens,” Graystripe pointed out. “It’s a pity you told her Ravenpaw’s first story,” he added to
Fireheart. “Now he’s changed everything, she won’t know what to believe.”
“But he hasn’t changed everything,” Fireheart protested, as Ravenpaw flinched at Graystripe’s irritable
tone. “We misunderstood, that’s all. I’ll convince Bluestar somehow,” he added. “At least we know the truth
now.”
The black cat looked a little happier, but Fireheart could see that he didn’t want to think about the past
anymore. He settled beside Ravenpaw, purring encouragement, and for a short while the three cats shared
tongues.
Then Fireheart pushed himself to his paws. “It’s time we were on our way,” he meowed.
“Take care,” Ravenpaw mewed. “And watch out for Tigerclaw.”
“Don’t worry,” Fireheart assured him. “You’ve given us what we need to deal with him.” With
Graystripe behind him, he slid under the door and ventured out into the snow.
“It’s freezing out here!” Graystripe grumbled as they bounded down to the fence at the edge of the
Twoleg farm. “We should have taken a couple more of those mice to feed the Clan,” he added.
“Yeah, right,” Fireheart retorted. “And what would you tell Tigerclaw when he asked you where you
found such fat mice in this weather?”
The moon was close to setting, and soon the sky would begin to pale toward dawn. The chill of the snow
soon penetrated Fireheart’s winter-thick fur, even colder after the warmth of the barn. His legs were aching
with weariness; it had been a long night, and they still had to cross WindClan’s territory before they could
rest in their own camp. Fireheart could not stop thinking about what Ravenpaw had told them. He was sure
that his friend was telling the truth, but it would be hard to convince the rest of the Clan. Bluestar had already
refused to believe Ravenpaw’s original story.
Yet that was when Fireheart thought Redtail had killed Oakheart. Bluestar could not accept that Redtail
would kill another warrior unnecessarily. Now Fireheart understood the real story, that Oakheart had died by
accident…. But how could Fireheart accuse Tigerclaw again unless he had something to back up what
Ravenpaw had told him?
“The RiverClan cats would know,” he realized aloud, pausing under a rocky outcrop on the moorland
slope, where the snow was not so thick.
“What?” meowed Graystripe, padding up to him to share the shelter. “Know what?”
“How Oakheart died,” Fireheart replied. “They must have seen Oakheart’s body. They would be able to
tell us whether he died from a rockfall, and not a death blow from a warrior.”
“Yes, the marks on his body would prove it,” agreed Graystripe.
“And they might know what Oakheart meant when he said that no ThunderClan cat should attack
Stonefur,” Fireheart added. “We need to speak to a RiverClan warrior who took part in the battle, maybe
Stonefur himself.”
“But you can’t just walk into the RiverClan camp and ask,” Graystripe protested. “Think of how tense it
was at the Gathering—it’s too soon after the battle.”
“I know one RiverClan warrior who would welcome you,” Fireheart murmured.
“If you mean Silverstream, yes, I could ask her,” Graystripe agreed. “Now, can we please get back to
the camp before my paws freeze completely?”
The two cats padded onward, more slowly now as weariness made their limbs heavy. They were within
sight of Fourtrees when they spotted three other cats climbing the hillside. The breeze carried the scent of a
WindClan patrol to Fireheart. Not wanting to explain their presence in WindClan territory, he looked swiftly
around for cover, but the snow stretched smoothly on all sides, with no rocks or bushes nearby. And it was
clear that the WindClan cats had already seen them, as they changed direction to meet them.
Fireheart recognized the familiar uneven gait of the Clan deputy, Deadfoot, with the tabby warrior
Tornear, and his apprentice, Runningpaw.
“Hello, Fireheart,” called Deadfoot, limping up with a puzzled look in his eyes. “You’re a long way
from home.”
“Er…yes,” Fireheart admitted, dipping his head respectfully. “We just…we picked up a ShadowClan
scent trail, and it led us up here.”
“ShadowClan on our territory!” Deadfoot’s fur began to bristle.
“I reckon it was an old scent,” Graystripe put in hastily. “Nothing to worry about. We’re sorry we
crossed your border.”
“You’re welcome here,” meowed Tornear. “The other Clans would have destroyed us in the last battle
if your Clan hadn’t helped. Now we’re sure they’ll keep away. They know they have ThunderClan to reckon
with.”
Fireheart felt embarrassed at Tornear’s praise. He and Graystripe had helped the WindClan cats in the
past, but this time he was uncomfortable with the thought that any cats from WindClan had seen them on
their territory. “We’d best be getting back,” he muttered. “Everything seems quiet enough up here.”
“May StarClan light your path,” meowed Deadfoot gratefully.
The other WindClan cats wished Fireheart and Graystripe good hunting, and went on toward their own
camp.
“That was bad luck,” Fireheart growled as he and Graystripe padded down to Fourtrees.
“Why?” asked Graystripe. “The WindClan cats didn’t mind us on their territory. We’re all friends
now.”
“Use your brains, Graystripe,” Fireheart mewed. “What if Deadfoot mentions that he saw us to Bluestar
at the next Gathering? She’s bound to wonder what we were doing out here!”
Graystripe stopped. “Mousedung!” he spat. “I never thought of that.” His eyes met Fireheart’s, and
Fireheart saw his own uneasy feelings reflected there. “Bluestar won’t like it if she finds out we’re sneaking
around investigating Tigerclaw.”
Fireheart shrugged. “Let’s just hope we can settle all this before the next Gathering. Now come on; we
ought to try to catch something to take back with us.”
He set off again, picking up the pace until the two cats were racing over the snow. As they skirted the
hollow at Fourtrees and entered their own forest territory, he relaxed a little, pausing to drink the air in the
hope of picking up the scent of prey. Graystripe sniffed hopefully among the roots of a nearby tree, and came
back looking disappointed.
“Nothing,” he grumbled. “Not a single mouse—not even a whisker!”
“We haven’t got time to keep looking,” Fireheart decided. He saw that the sky was already growing
lighter above the trees. Time was running out, and their absence from camp was more likely to be noticed
with every heartbeat.
The dawn light was growing stronger as they reached the ravine. Limbs aching with weariness, muscles
stiff with cold, Fireheart led the way silently between the boulders toward the gorse tunnel. Thankful to be
home at last, he bounded into the tunnel’s dark mouth. As he emerged into the camp, he skidded to a halt so
abruptly that Graystripe cannoned into him from behind.
“Move, you big furball!” Graystripe gave a muffled mew.
Fireheart didn’t reply. Sitting a few tail-lengths away, in the middle of the clearing, was Tigerclaw. His
head was sunk below his massive shoulders, and his yellow eyes were gleaming with triumph.
“Maybe you’d like to tell me where you’ve been?” he growled. “And why it took you so long to get
back from the Gathering?”
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Post by kittycandies on Sept 15, 2016 20:27:37 GMT -5
Chapter 3
“Well?” Tigerclaw challenged.
“We thought we’d hunt.” Fireheart raised his head to hold the deputy’s amber gaze. “The Clan needs
fresh-kill.”
“But we couldn’t find anything,” Graystripe added, coming to stand beside Fireheart.
“Was the prey all curled up in their nests, eh?” Tigerclaw hissed. He padded forward until he stood nose
to nose with Fireheart, sniffed him, and then did the same to Graystripe. “So how is it the pair of you smell of
mouse?”
Fireheart exchanged a glance with Graystripe. It seemed a long time since they had hunted in the
Twoleg barn, and he had forgotten that they might still be carrying the scent of the mice they ate.
Graystripe looked back at him helplessly, anxiety making his eyes wide.
“Bluestar should hear about this,” the deputy growled. “Follow me.”
Fireheart and Graystripe had no choice but to obey. Tigerclaw led them across the clearing to Bluestar’s
den at the foot of the Highrock. Beyond the curtain of lichen that covered the entrance, Fireheart could see
the Clan leader curled up, apparently asleep, but as Tigerclaw shouldered his way into the den she raised her
head at once and sat up.
“What is it, Tigerclaw?” she meowed, sounding puzzled.
“These two brave warriors have been out hunting.” Tigerclaw’s voice was thick with contempt.
“They’re full-fed, but they haven’t brought home a single piece of fresh-kill for the Clan.”
“Is this true?” Bluestar turned her ice-blue eyes on the young warriors.
“We weren’t on a hunting patrol,” Graystripe mumbled.
That was true, thought Fireheart. Strictly speaking, they hadn’t broken the warrior code by not bringing
back any prey, but he knew it was no real excuse.
“We ate the first prey we caught, to keep our strength up,” he meowed. “And then we couldn’t find
anything else. We meant to bring back fresh-kill, but our luck was out.”
Tigerclaw gave a snort of disgust, as if he didn’t believe a word Fireheart had said.
“Even so,” Bluestar meowed, “with prey so scarce, every cat should think of the Clan before himself,
and share what they have. I’m disappointed in you both.”
Fireheart couldn’t help feeling ashamed. Bluestar had brought him into the Clan when he was a kittypet,
and he wanted to show her that he deserved her trust. If he had been alone with Bluestar, he might have tried
to explain his real reason for being so late back to camp. But with Tigerclaw glaring at him, it was impossible.
Besides, Fireheart wasn’t ready to tell Bluestar about Ravenpaw’s latest version of the Sunningrocks
battle. He wanted to speak to cats from RiverClan first, to confirm how Oakheart had really died.
“I’m sorry, Bluestar,” he murmured.
“‘Sorry’ fills no bellies,” Bluestar warned him. “You must understand that the needs of the Clan come
first, especially in leaf-bare. Until next sunrise, you’ll hunt for the Clan, not for yourselves. When the rest of
the Clan have eaten, then you can take food for yourself.” Her gaze softened. “You both look exhausted,”
she observed. “Go and sleep now. But I shall expect to see you out hunting before sunhigh.”
“Yes, Bluestar.” Fireheart dipped his head and backed out of the den.
Graystripe followed him, his fur fluffed up in a mixture of fear and embarrassment. “I thought she’d
have our tails off for sure!” he meowed as the two cats turned toward the warriors’ den.
“Then you should think yourselves lucky.” The low growl came from behind them; Fireheart glanced
over his shoulder to see that Tigerclaw was padding after them. “If I were Clan leader, I’d have punished you
properly.”
Fireheart felt his fur prickle with anger. His lips drew back in the beginnings of a snarl. Then he heard a
warning hiss from Graystripe, and bit back what he wanted to say, turning away from Tigerclaw again.
“That’s right, kittypet,” Tigerclaw jeered. “Slink back to your nest. Bluestar may trust you, but I don’t. I
saw you at the WindClan battle, don’t forget.” He bounded past the two younger cats and pushed his way
into the warriors’ den ahead of them.
Graystripe let out a long, shivering breath. “Fireheart,” he meowed solemnly, “you’re either the bravest
cat in all the Clans, or raving mad! For StarClan’s sake, don’t wind Tigerclaw up any more.”
“I didn’t ask for him to hate me,” Fireheart pointed out angrily. He slid through the branches to see
Tigerclaw settling himself into his place near the center. The dark tabby ignored Fireheart, turning himself
around two or three times before curling up to sleep.
Fireheart made for his own sleeping place. Nearby, Sandstorm and Dustpelt were stretched out together.
Sandstorm sat up as Fireheart approached. “Tigerclaw has been watching for you ever since we got
back from the Gathering,” she whispered. “I gave him your message, but I don’t think he believed me. What
did you do to tweak his tail?”
Fireheart felt comforted by the sympathetic look in her eyes, but he couldn’t stop his jaws from gaping
in a massive yawn. “I’m sorry, Sandstorm,” he mumbled. “I’ve got to get some sleep. I’ll talk to you later.”
He half expected Sandstorm to be offended, but instead she got up and padded over to him. As he
settled into the soft moss that lined the floor of the den she crouched down beside him and pressed her side
against his.
Dustpelt opened one eye and glared at Fireheart. He let out a snort and pointedly turned his back.
But Fireheart was too tired to worry about Dustpelt’s jealousy. He was already drifting into sleep. As his
eyes closed, his last sensation was of Sandstorm’s fur warm against his flank.
Fireheart paced along the hunting trail. His body felt full of energy, and he opened his jaws to taste the
scent of prey. He knew he was dreaming, but he felt his belly growl in anticipation of fresh-kill.
Bracken arched over his head. A bright, pearly light poured down on him, as if the moon was full in a
cloudless sky. Every fern frond, every blade of grass glowed, and the pale shapes of primroses, clustering
thickly beside the path, seemed to shine with a light of their own. All around him Fireheart could feel the
damp warmth of newleaf. The icy, snow-covered camp seemed nine lives away.
As the path began to lead upward, another cat stepped out in front of him. Fireheart halted, his heart
thudding as he recognized Spottedleaf. The tortoiseshell cat padded forward until she could touch her soft
pink nose to his.
Fireheart rubbed his face against hers, a purr rising from deep inside him. When Fireheart first came to
the forest, Spottedleaf had been the ThunderClan medicine cat. She had been killed in cold blood by an
invading ShadowClan warrior. Fireheart missed her still, but her spirit had returned to him in dreams more
than once.
Spottedleaf took a pace back. “Come, Fireheart,” she mewed. “I want to show you something.” She
turned and padded softly away, glancing around from time to time to make sure he was following.
Fireheart bounded after her, admiring the dapple of moonlight on her fur. Soon they came to the top of
the hill. Spottedleaf led him out of the bracken tunnel and onto a high, grassy ridge. “Look,” she meowed,
raising her muzzle to point.
Fireheart blinked. Instead of the familiar span of trees and fields ahead of him, a shining expanse of
water stretched as far as he could see. The reflected light dazzled him, and he closed his eyes. Where had all
this water come from? He couldn’t even tell if this was Clan territory—the silver sheen flattened everything
and hid the usual landmarks.
Spottedleaf’s sweet scent filled the air around him. Her voice sounded close to his ear. “Remember,
Fireheart,” she murmured, “water can quench fire.”
Startled, Fireheart opened his eyes again. A chill breeze fluttered the surface of the water, penetrating
his fur. Spottedleaf was gone. As Fireheart turned in every direction, searching for her, the light began to
fade. The warmth went with it, and the feeling of grass under his paws. In less than a heartbeat he was
plunged into cold and darkness.
“Fireheart! Fireheart!”
A cat was nudging him. Fireheart tried to duck away, and heard his name called again. It was
Graystripe’s voice. Fireheart forced his eyes open to see the big gray cat crouched anxiously over him.
“Fireheart,” he repeated. “Wake up. It’s nearly sunhigh.”
Grunting with the effort, Fireheart hauled himself out of his nest and sat up. Pale, cold light was filtering
through the branches of the den. Willowpelt and Darkstripe still slept closer to the center of the bush, but
Sandstorm and Dustpelt had left already.
“You were muttering in your sleep,” Graystripe told him. “Are you okay?”
“What?” Fireheart had not yet shaken off the dream. It was always a bitter waking, to realize that
Spottedleaf was dead, and he would never speak to her again except in his dreams.
“It’s nearly sunhigh,” repeated Graystripe. “We should be out hunting.”
“I know,” Fireheart mewed, fighting to wake up properly.
“Hurry up, then.” His friend gave him a final nudge before heading out of the den. “Meet you at the
gorse tunnel.”
Fireheart licked one paw and rubbed it over his face. As his head cleared, he suddenly remembered
Spottedleaf’s warning: “Water can quench fire.” What was she trying to tell him? Fireheart thought back to
Spottedleaf’s earlier prophecy, that fire would save the Clan. As he followed Graystripe out of the den,
Fireheart found himself shivering, and not from cold. He could feel trouble gathering like rain-heavy storm
clouds. If the water that was coming quenched fire, then what would save the Clan? Did Spottedleaf’s words
mean that ThunderClan was doomed?
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Post by kittycandies on Sept 15, 2016 20:31:46 GMT -5
Chapter 4
Fireheart bounded up the ravine, the snow crisp under his paws. The sun shone in a pale blue sky, and
though there was little warmth in its rays the sight of it cheered Fireheart and made him hopeful that newleaf
was not far away.
Just behind him, Graystripe echoed Fireheart’s thoughts. “With any luck, the sun will bring some prey
out.”
“Not if they hear you stomping along!” Sandstorm teased as she scrambled past him.
Brackenpaw, Graystripe’s apprentice, protested loyally, “He doesn’t stomp!” but Graystripe only
responded with a good-natured growl. Fireheart felt new energy flow into his limbs. Even though their duties
today were meant as punishment, no cat had told them they had to hunt alone, and it was good to be with
friends.
Fireheart winced at the memory of Bluestar’s ice-cold gaze when she had rebuked him and Graystripe
for apparently hunting for themselves. He would make up for lying to her by bringing back as much fresh-kill
as he could. The Clan needed it badly. By the time he and Graystripe left the den that morning, the store of
prey in the camp had almost gone, and most of the cats had already left to hunt. Fireheart had spotted
Tigerclaw on his way back down the ravine with the morning patrol. A squirrel was clamped in his jaws, its
long tail brushing the snow. The deputy’s eyes narrowed menacingly as he passed Fireheart, but he did not
put his prey down to speak.
At the top of the slope, Sandstorm ran on ahead, while Graystripe began showing Brackenpaw where to
search for mice among the tree roots. Watching them, Fireheart couldn’t suppress a pang of loss as he thought
of Cinderpaw, who had been his own apprentice. She would be with them now if it hadn’t been for her
accident. Instead, her crippled leg, the result of an accident on the Thunderpath, kept her in the den with
Yellowfang, the ThunderClan medicine cat.
Pushing away these heavy thoughts, he crept forward, his jaws parted as he examined the forest smells.
A faint breeze stirred the surface of the snow and brought a familiar scent. Rabbit!
Lifting his head, Fireheart could see the brown-furred creature snuffling under a clump of bracken,
where a few green spikes of grass poked through the snow. He dropped into a hunting crouch, and delicately,
pawstep by pawstep, drew closer. At the last moment the rabbit sensed him and sprang up, but it was too late.
Before it could even squeal, Fireheart pounced.
Triumphantly, Fireheart headed back to the camp, dragging the rabbit along with him. As soon as he
entered the clearing, he saw with relief that the pile of fresh-kill was swelling again after the morning patrols.
Bluestar was standing beside it. “Well done, Fireheart,” she meowed as he brought the rabbit to the pile.
“Will you take that straight to Yellowfang in her den?”
Warmed by his leader’s approval, Fireheart hauled the rabbit across the clearing. A tunnel of ferns,
brown and brittle now, led to the secluded corner of the camp where the ThunderClan medicine cat had her
den inside a split rock.
Ducking under the ferns, Fireheart saw Yellowfang lying in the mouth of her den with her paws tucked
under her chest. Cinderpaw sat in front of her, her smoky gray fur fluffed up and her blue eyes focused on the
medicine cat’s broad face.
“Now, Cinderpaw,” came the old cat’s rasping mew. “One-eye’s paw pads are cracked because of the
cold. What are we going to do for her?”
“Marigold leaves in case of infection,” Cinderpaw replied promptly. “Ointment of yarrow to soften the
pads and help them heal. Poppy seed if she’s in pain.”
“Well done,” purred Yellowfang.
Cinderpaw sat up even straighter, and her eyes shone with pride. As Fireheart knew only too well, the
medicine cat didn’t give praise lightly.
“Right, you can take her the leaves and the ointment,” meowed Yellowfang. “She won’t need the poppy
seed unless the cuts get worse.”
Cinderpaw stood up and was on her way into the den when she caught sight of Fireheart standing by the
tunnel. Mewing in delight, she hurried over to him with an awkward, lurching gait.
Regret stabbed at Fireheart, sharp as a claw. Cinderpaw had been a ceaseless bundle of energy before
the Thunderpath accident that crushed her leg. Now she would never run properly again, and had had to give
up her dreams of becoming a ThunderClan warrior.
But the Thunderpath monster had not crushed her bright spirit. Her eyes were dancing as she reached
Fireheart. “Fresh-kill!” she exclaimed. “Is that for us? Great!”
“About time too!” grumbled Yellowfang, still sitting inside her den. “Mind you, the rabbit’s very
welcome,” she added. “We’ve had half the Clan in here since sunrise, complaining about some ache or
other.”
Fireheart carried the rabbit across the clearing and dropped it in front of the medicine cat.
Yellowfang poked it with one paw. “It might have a bit of flesh on its bones for once,” she remarked
grudgingly. “All right, Cinderpaw, take the marigold leaves and the yarrow to One-eye, and hurry back. If
you’re quick there might be some rabbit left.”
Cinderpaw purred and brushed Yellowfang’s shoulder with the tip of her tail as she went past her into
the den.
Softly, Fireheart mewed, “How’s she doing? Is she settling down?”
“She’s fine,” snapped Yellowfang. “Stop worrying about her.”
Fireheart wished he could. Cinderpaw had been his apprentice. He could not help feeling that he had
been partly responsible for her accident. He should have stopped her from going to the Thunderpath alone.
Then he brought himself up short, remembering exactly how the accident had happened. Tigerclaw had
asked Bluestar to meet him by the Thunderpath, but Bluestar had been too ill to go. Few warriors were in the
camp; Fireheart himself had been about to leave on an urgent mission for catnip to treat Bluestar’s
greencough. He had told Cinderpaw not to go meet Tigerclaw instead of him, but Cinderpaw had ignored his
order. The accident had happened because Tigerclaw had placed his scent marker too close to the edge of the
Thunderpath. Fireheart suspected that it was meant as a trap for Bluestar, and Tigerclaw was responsible.
As Fireheart said good-bye to Yellowfang and went back to hunting, he felt a new surge of
determination to bring Tigerclaw’s guilt into the open. For the sake of Redtail, murdered; for Ravenpaw,
driven from the Clan; for Cinderpaw, crippled. And for all the Clan cats, both now and to come, who were in
danger from Tigerclaw’s greed for power.
It was the day after their hunting punishment. Fireheart had decided there was no time to lose before
visiting RiverClan territory, to discover how Oakheart had really died. He crouched at the edge of the forest
and looked out toward the frozen river. The wind made a rustling sound in the dry reeds that poked up
through the ice and snow.
Beside him, Graystripe sniffed the breeze, alert for the scent of other cats. “I can smell RiverClan cats,”
he whispered. “But the scent’s old. I think we can cross safely.”
Fireheart realized he was more worried about cats from his own Clan seeing them than meeting an
enemy patrol. Already Tigerclaw suspected him of treachery. If the deputy found out what they were doing
now, they’d be crowfood. “All right,” he whispered back. “Let’s go.”
Graystripe led the way confidently across the ice, keeping his weight low over his paws so that he didn’t
slip. At first Fireheart was impressed; then he realized that Graystripe had been crossing the river secretly for
moons now, to go and meet Silverstream. He followed more cautiously, half expecting the ice to crack under
his weight and plunge him into the freezing dark water below. Here, downstream of the Sunningrocks, the
river itself was the boundary between the two Clans. Fireheart’s fur prickled as he crossed, and he kept
glancing back to make sure that no cat from his Clan was watching.
Once they reached the far bank, they crept into the shelter of a reed bed and sniffed the air again for
signs of RiverClan cats. Fireheart was conscious of Graystripe’s unspoken fear; every muscle of the gray
warrior’s body was tense as he peered through the reed stems. “We must both be mad,” he hissed to
Fireheart. “You made me promise to meet Silverstream at Fourtrees whenever I wanted to see her, and now
here we are, in RiverClan territory again.”
“I know,” Fireheart answered. “But there’s no other way. We need to talk to a RiverClan cat, and
Silverstream’s more likely to help us than any of the others.”
He was just as apprehensive as his friend. They were surrounded by scents of RiverClan, though none of
them were fresh. To Fireheart, it felt as if he were a kittypet in the forest for the first time again, lost in a
frightening and unfamiliar place.
Using the reeds for cover, the two cats began to work their way upstream. Fireheart tried to step lightly,
as if he were stalking prey, his belly skimming the snow. He was uncomfortably aware of how his flamecolored
coat stood out against the white surface. The scent of RiverClan cats was growing more powerful,
and he guessed the camp must be nearby. “How much farther?” he mewed softly to Graystripe.
“Not far. See that island up ahead?”
They had come to a place where the river curved away from ThunderClan territory and grew wider. Not
far ahead a small island surrounded by reed beds showed above the frozen surface. Willow trees stooped low
from the banks of the island, the tips of their overhanging branches trapped in the ice.
“An island?” Fireheart echoed in amazement. “But what happens when the river isn’t frozen? Do they
swim across?”
“Silverstream says the water’s very shallow there,” Graystripe explained. “But I’ve never been right
into the camp myself.”
Beside them, the ground sloped gently upward, away from the reedy shore. At the top, gorse and
hawthorn grew thickly, with the occasional holly showing green and shiny under its coating of snow. But
there was a bare expanse of shore between the reeds and the sheltering bushes, with no cover for prey or cats.
Graystripe had been moving forward in a low crouch; now he lifted his head, scenting the air and
looking warily around. Then, without warning, he sprang away from the reeds and dashed up the slope.
Fireheart raced after him, his paws skidding in the snow. Reaching the bushes, they plunged between the
branches and stopped, gasping for breath. Fireheart listened for the yowling of an alerted patrol, but no sound
came up from the camp. He flopped down on the dead leaves and puffed out a sigh of relief.
“We can see the entrance of the camp from here,” Graystripe told him. “I used to wait here for
Silverstream.”
Fireheart hoped she would come soon. Every moment they spent here increased their chances of
discovery. Shifting his position so he had a good view of the slope and the island camp, he could just make
out the silhouettes of cats moving around. He was so intent on trying to peer into the thick bushes that
screened the island that he didn’t see the tabby who was padding past their hiding place until she was barely a
tail-length away. She carried a small squirrel in her jaws, and her gaze was fixed on the frozen ground.
Fireheart froze into a crouch, ready to spring out if the cat spotted them, and tracked her with his gaze
as she passed. Luckily, he thought, the scent of the prey she was carrying must have masked the scent of
ThunderClan intruders. Suddenly he realized that a group of four cats, led by Leopardfur, the RiverClan
deputy, had emerged from the camp. Leopardfur was fiercely hostile toward ThunderClan, ever since her
patrol had come upon Fireheart and Graystripe trespassing on RiverClan territory as they returned from
bringing WindClan home. A RiverClan cat had died in the ensuing fight, and Leopardfur did not forgive
easily. If she discovered Fireheart and Graystripe now, she wouldn’t even give them a chance to explain what
they were doing on this side of the river.
To Fireheart’s relief, the patrol didn’t come their way. Instead they set off across the frozen river toward
the Sunningrocks—off to patrol the border, Fireheart guessed.
At last a familiar silver-gray shape appeared.
“Silverstream!” purred Graystripe.
Fireheart watched the RiverClan she-cat stepping delicately across the ice toward the bank. She was
certainly beautiful, he realized, with a finely shaped head and thick, sleek fur. No wonder Graystripe was
captivated by her.
Graystripe rose to his paws, ready to call out to her, when two other cats emerged from the camp and
ran to catch up with Silverstream. One of them was the smoky black warrior Blackclaw, recognizable from
Gatherings by his long legs and lean body, and a smaller cat Fireheart guessed must have been Blackclaw’s
apprentice.
“Hunting patrol,” Graystripe murmured.
All three cats began to climb the slope. Fireheart let out a hiss, half impatience, half fear. He had hoped
they would be able to speak to Silverstream alone. How could they separate her from her companions? What
if Blackclaw scented the intruders? After all, he wasn’t carrying a helpful mouthful of prey to block his scent
glands.
Blackclaw took the lead with his apprentice, and Silverstream followed a tail-length or two behind. As
the patrol reached the bushes, Silverstream paused, her ears pricked warily as if she had detected a familiar
but unexpected scent. Graystripe let out a short, sharp hiss, and Silverstream’s ears swiveled toward the
sound.
“Silverstream!” Graystripe mewed softly.
The she-cat flicked her ears, and Fireheart let out the breath he had been holding. She had heard.
“Blackclaw!” she called to the warrior ahead of her. “I’ll try for a mouse in the bushes here. Don’t wait
for me.”
Fireheart heard an answering mew from Blackclaw. Moments later Silverstream slipped through the
branches until she reached the space where the young ThunderClan warriors were crouching. She pressed
herself against Graystripe, purring loudly, and the two cats rubbed their faces together with obvious delight.
“I thought you only wanted us to meet at Fourtrees,” Silverstream meowed when the two cats had
finished greeting each other. “What are you doing here?”
“I brought Fireheart to see you,” Graystripe explained. “He needs to ask you something.”
Fireheart had not spoken to Silverstream since he had let her escape in the battle. He guessed she was
remembering that, too, for she dipped her head graciously toward him, with no trace of the defensive hostility
she had shown when he had tried to discourage her from seeing Graystripe at the start of their relationship.
“Yes, Fireheart?”
“What do you know about the battle at the Sunningrocks, where Oakheart died?” Fireheart launched
straight in. “Were you there?”
“No,” Silverstream replied. She looked thoughtful. “Is it very important?”
“Yes, it is. Could you ask some cat who was? I need—”
“I’ll do better than that,” Silverstream interrupted him. “I’ll bring Mistyfoot to talk to you herself.”
Fireheart exchanged a glance with Graystripe. Was that a good idea?
“It’s okay,” meowed Silverstream, as if she guessed what was worrying him. “Mistyfoot knows about
me and Graystripe. She doesn’t like it, but she won’t give me away. She’ll come now if I ask her.”
Fireheart hesitated, then dipped his head in assent. “All right. Thanks.”
He had hardly finished speaking before Silverstream turned and slid out of the bushes again. Fireheart
watched her bounding through the snow toward the camp.
“Isn’t she great?” Graystripe murmured.
Fireheart said nothing, but settled down to wait. He was getting more nervous with every moment that
passed. If he and Graystripe stayed in RiverClan territory for much longer, some of the RiverClan cats were
bound to find them. They would be lucky to escape with their fur intact. “Graystripe,” he began. “If
Silverstream can’t—”
Just then he saw the silver-gray tabby crossing the ice from the camp again, with another cat behind her.
They raced up the slope, and Silverstream led the way into the bushes. The cat she brought with her was a
slender queen with thick gray fur and blue eyes. For a heartbeat, Fireheart thought she seemed familiar. He
decided he must have seen her at a Gathering.
When the queen saw Fireheart and Graystripe she stopped dead. Her fur began to rise suspiciously and
she flattened her ears against her head.
“Mistyfoot,” meowed Silverstream quietly, “these are—”
“ThunderClan cats!” hissed Mistyfoot. “What are they doing here? This is RiverClan territory!”
“Mistyfoot, listen…” Silverstream went over to her friend, and tried to nudge her toward Fireheart and
Graystripe.
Mistyfoot stood her ground; Fireheart couldn’t help feeling daunted by the look of blank hostility in her
eyes. Had he been stupid to think that RiverClan would help him?
“I kept your secret about him,” Mistyfoot reminded Silverstream, jerking her chin at Graystripe. “But
I’m not going to keep quiet if you start bringing the whole of ThunderClan here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Silverstream retorted.
“It’s all right, Mistyfoot,” Fireheart put in quickly. “We haven’t taken any of your prey, and we’re not
here to spy. We need to speak to a cat who fought in the battle at Sunningrocks, where Oakheart died.”
“Why?” Mistyfoot narrowed her eyes.
“It’s…hard to explain,” Fireheart mewed. “But it’s nothing that could harm RiverClan. I swear that by
StarClan,” he added.
The young queen seemed to relax, and this time she let Silverstream urge her forward until she was
sitting beside Fireheart.
Graystripe stood up, ducking his head to avoid the low-hanging branches. “If you two are going to talk,
Silverstream and I will leave you to it.”
Fireheart opened his mouth to protest, alarmed at the idea of being left alone in enemy territory. But
Graystripe and Silverstream were already slipping out of the bushes.
Just before they vanished among the tough hawthorn branches, Graystripe looked back. “Oh,
Fireheart,” he meowed quietly, “before you go back, make sure you roll in something strong, to hide the
RiverClan scent.” He blinked in embarrassment. “Fox dung is good.”
“Wait, Graystripe—” Fireheart jumped to his paws. But it was no use. Graystripe and Silverstream were
gone.
“Don’t worry,” meowed Mistyfoot behind him. “I won’t eat you. You’d give me bellyache.” Fireheart
turned back to see her blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re Fireheart, aren’t you?” she went on.
“I’ve seen you at Gatherings. They say you used to be a kittypet.” Her voice was cool, with thinly veiled
suspicion.
“That’s true,” Fireheart admitted heavily, feeling the familiar sting at the contempt of Clanborn cats for
his past. “But I’m a warrior now.”
Mistyfoot licked her paw and drew it slowly over one ear, keeping her eyes fixed on his face. “All
right,” she meowed at last. “I fought in the battle. What do you want to know?”
Fireheart paused for a moment, putting his thoughts in order. He would have only one chance to find out
the truth; he mustn’t make any mistakes.
“Get on with it,” growled Mistyfoot. “I’ve left my kits to come and talk to you.”
“It won’t take long,” Fireheart promised. “What can you tell me about the way Oakheart died?”
“Oakheart?” Mistyfoot looked down at her paws. After a deep breath, she lifted her eyes to Fireheart
again. “Oakheart was my father; did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t,” mewed Fireheart. “I’m sorry. I never met him, but they say he was a brave warrior.”
“He was the best and the bravest,” Mistyfoot agreed. “And he should never have died. It was an
accident.”
Fireheart felt his heart begin to race. This was exactly what he needed to know! “Are you sure?” he
asked. “No cat killed him?”
“He was wounded in the battle, but not enough to kill him,” meowed Mistyfoot. “Afterward, we found
his body under some fallen rocks. Our medicine cat said that was what killed him.”
“So no cat was responsible…” Fireheart muttered. “Ravenpaw was right.”
“What?” The blue-gray queen frowned.
“Nothing,” Fireheart meowed hastily. “Nothing important. Thank you, Mistyfoot. That’s just what I
wanted to know.”
“Then if that’s all—”
“No, Mistyfoot, wait! There’s one more thing. In the battle, one of our cats heard Oakheart say that no
ThunderClan cat should harm Stonefur. Do you know what he meant by that?”
The RiverClan queen was silent for a while, her blue eyes gazing into the distance. Then she shook her
head firmly, as if she were flicking water off it. “Stonefur is my brother,” she mewed.
“Then Oakheart was his father, too,” Fireheart realized. “Is that why he wanted to protect him from
ThunderClan cats?”
“No!” Mistyfoot’s eyes flashed blue fire. “Oakheart never tried to protect either of us. He wanted us to
be warriors like him, and bring honor to the Clan.”
“Then why…?”
“I don’t know.” She sounded as if she was genuinely puzzled.
Fireheart tried not to feel disappointed. At least he knew for certain now how Oakheart had died. But he
couldn’t shake off the feeling that what Oakheart had said about Stonefur was important, if only he could
understand it.
“My mother might know,” Mistyfoot meowed unexpectedly. Fireheart turned back to her, his ears
pricked. “Graypool,” she added. “If she can’t explain it, no cat can.”
“Could you ask her?”
“Maybe…” Mistyfoot’s expression was still guarded, but Fireheart guessed that she was as curious
about the meaning of Oakheart’s words as he was himself. “But it might be better for you to speak to her
yourself.”
Fireheart blinked in surprise that Mistyfoot should suggest such a thing, when she had seemed so hostile
at first. “Can I?” he asked. “Now?”
“No,” Mistyfoot decided after a pause. “It’s too risky for you to stay here any longer. Leopardfur’s
patrol will be back soon. Besides, Graypool is an elder now, and hardly ever leaves the camp. She’ll take
some persuading before she’ll come out. But don’t worry; I’ll think of a reason.”
Fireheart bowed his head in reluctant agreement. Part of him was wildly impatient to hear what
Graypool had to say, but the rest of him knew that Mistyfoot was right. “How will I know where to meet
her?”
“I’ll send a message with Silverstream,” Mistyfoot promised. “Now go. If Leopardfur finds you here, I
won’t be able to help you.”
Fireheart blinked at her. He would have liked to give the young queen a lick of gratitude, but he was
afraid of getting a clawed ear in return. Mistyfoot seemed to have gotten over the worst of her hostility, but
she wasn’t going to let him forget that they came from two different Clans.
“Thank you, Mistyfoot,” he meowed. “I won’t forget this. And if ever I can do anything for you—”
“Just go!” Mistyfoot hissed. As Fireheart slipped past her toward the gap in the bushes, she added with a
purr of amusement, “And don’t forget the fox dung.”
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