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Chapter Text

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, three 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 four 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 two of the kits scrambled after him, but the smallest 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 silver tabby kit. She raised her head as the tomcat drew closer and gently set down the kit he was carrying. The other three kits 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 smallest 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 three 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, then the other, and finally the last 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 three 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.” She sniffed the gray-and-white she-kit suspiciously, her eyes widening. “This one smells of stars and destiny. Did you snatch her from Silverpelt itself?”

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 three motherless kits, whose origins Oakheart refused to explain, carried the scent of Twolegplace, yes, but also unmistakably carried the scent of an enemy Clan!

*  *  *  *  *

A black she-cat stood with an orange-and-white tom. The two watched Oakheart ease the kits into the RiverClan nursery.

“You managed to save the third?” the tom asked.

The she-cat nodded. “She would have died if Bluefur had been forced to make this journey alone. I will save as many cats as I can. Not all destinies are meant to be fulfilled.”

A young, small black tom joined them. His single white paw blended into the frozen snow-covered earth. “I have found some young kits in need of your help,” he meowed gravely.

“What ails them?” the she-cat mewed.

“You’re the one with the knowledge to answer that,” the younger tom reminded her. “I trust you with this, just as I trusted you seasons ago when you saved me. My cats need you because I don’t know how to help them.”

The older tom purred. “You speak with wisdom. Knowing that you can’t solve this alone is stronger than you think.”

The she-cat dipped her head to both toms. “I will come with you, though I hope you remember I couldn’t learn everything.”

“What you know will be enough,” the black tom promised.

He led her to a small abandoned Twoleg structure. Inside, two newborn kits wailed pitifully, their cries ringing through the night. One of the kits was gray-and-white, with black stripes crossing his gray fur. The other kit was mostly gray, with small patches of ginger scattered throughout her pelt, and a white chest and paws. Her most striking feature was the way one side of her face was the same gray as the rest of her, while the other side was was a pale orange.

The she-cat sniffed the two kits. “They are gravely ill,” she warned the younger tom. “I don’t know that I will be able to save them.”

“Please try,” he urged. “What you want me to do is not going the way I have been trying. If these two die, everything will be lost.”

“She’ll save them,” the older tom purred. “She saved me.”

“I wouldn’t call this ‘saved’,” the she-cat muttered. Looking up, she stared deep into the black tom’s eyes. His gaze was intense, pleading, and she knew that he hated to ask for her help so desperately. After a moment, she nodded. “I will do my best.” StarClan help me.

Chapter Text

Orange flames lapped at the cold air, throwing sparks up into the night sky. The firelight flickered across a wasteland of ragged grass, making silhouettes of the Twolegs huddled there.

A pair of white lights appeared in the distance, heralding the approach of a monster. It roared past on a Thunderpath that rose high into the sky, filling the air with sour fumes.

At the edge of the wasteland, a cat moved, its eyes glinting in the shadows. Pointed ears twitched, then flattened against the noise. More cats followed one by one, onto the filthy grass. They carried their tails low and sniffed the bitter air with their lips curled.

“What if the Twolegs see us?” hissed one of the cats.

A large tom answered, his eyes like amber disks reflecting the firelight. “They won’t. Their night sight is weak.” As he padded forward the flames lit up the black-and-white fur on his powerful shoulders. He held his long tail straight up, sending a message of courage to his Clan.

But the other cats crouched low against the grass, trembling. This was a strange place. The noise of the monsters battered their sensitive ear fur, and the acrid stench stung their nostrils.

“Tallstar?” A gray queen flicked her tail uneasily. “Why have we come here?”

The black-and-white tom turned to the she-cat. “We’ve been driven from every place we’ve tried to settle, Ashfoot. Perhaps we can find some peace here,” he meowed.

“Peace? Here?” Ashfoot echoed in disbelief. She pulled her kit toward her and sheltered it beneath her belly. “With fire and monsters? My son won’t be safe!”

“But we weren’t safe at home,” meowed another voice. A black tom pushed his way forward, limping heavily on a twisted paw. He held Tallstar’s amber gaze. “We couldn’t protect them from ShadowClan,” he spat. “Not even in our own camp!”

Anxious yowls rose from some of the cats as they remembered the terrible battle that had driven them from their home in the uplands, at the edge of the forest. A young apprentice wailed, “Brokenstar and his warriors may still be hunting us!”

The cry alerted one of the Twolegs around the fire. It stood unsteadily and stared toward the shadows. At once the cats fell silent, crouching lower; even Tallstar lowered his tail. The Twoleg shouted into the darkness and flung something toward them. The missile flew over their heads and exploded in a burst of thorn-sharp pieces on the Thunderpath behind.

Ashfoot flinched as a shard grazed her shoulder, but she stayed silent, curling her body around her terrified kit.

“Keep down,” hissed Tallstar.

The Twoleg at the fire spat on the ground, then sat back down.

The cats waited for a few moments before Tallstar stood once more.

Ashfoot stood too, wincing at the new pain in her shoulder. “Tallstar, I fear for our safety here. And what will we eat? I can’t smell any prey.”

Tallstar stretched his neck and rested his muzzle gently on the queen’s head. “I know you’re hungry,” he meowed. “But we’ll be safer here than back in our old territory, or in the Twoleg fields and woods. Look at this place! Even ShadowClan wouldn’t follow us here. There’s no scent of dogs, and these Twolegs can hardly stand.” He turned to the black tom with the twisted paw. “Deadfoot,” he ordered, “take Onewhisker and see if you can find anything to eat. If there are Twolegs, there must be rats.”

“Rats?” spat Ashfoot, as Deadfoot and a smaller brown tabby bounded away. “That’s no better than crowfood!”

“Hush!” hissed a tortoiseshell beside her. “Rat meat is better than starving to death!”

Ashfoot scowled and dipped her head to lick her kit behind its matted ears.

“We must find a new place to settle, Ashfoot.” The tortoiseshell went on more gently: “Momingflower needs to rest and eat. Her kits will be bom soon. She needs to be strong.”

The lean shapes of Deadfoot and Onewhisker emerged from the shadows.

“You were right, Tallstar,” called Deadfoot. “There are rat scents everywhere, and I think I’ve found somewhere we can shelter.”

“Show us,” Tallstar ordered, gathering the rest of his Clan with a flick of his tail.

Cautiously, the cats padded across the wasteland after Deadfoot. He led them toward the raised Thunderpath, the firelight making their shadows loom against its huge stone legs. A monster roared overhead and the ground shook. But even the tiniest kit sensed the need for silence and trembled without crying out.

“Here,” meowed Deadfoot, stopping beside a round hole, two cats high. A black tunnel sloped down into the ground. A constant stream of water trickled into it.

“The water’s fresh,” Deadfoot added. “We’ll be able to drink it.”

“We’ll have wet paws day and night!” Ashfoot complained.

“I’ve been inside,” the black tom told her. “There’s some space away from the stream. At least we’ll be safe from Twolegs and monsters.”

Tallstar stepped forward and lifted his chin. “WindClan has traveled for long enough,” he declared. “It’s nearly a moon since ShadowClan drove us from our home. The weather is turning colder, and leaf-bare will be here soon. We have no choice but to stay.”

A light brown tabby she-cat stepped out from among her Clanmates. “WindClan will survive!” she exclaimed. “I have come from the future, and therefore, I am living proof of this!”

“You can’t call this surviving!” a mottled brown tom growled, glaring towards her. “How can any Clan live like this?”

“We won’t have to for long,” the tabby she-cat promised. “Our territory will be safe once again.”

Onewhisker gave her a confused look. “How long must we stay here? How can we retake our territory?”

“WindClan will not have to take anything. Fire will come, blazing through the forest, and save us all.”

“Are you mouse-brained?” the mottled tom demanded. “Fire can’t save any cat. It destroys everything it touches!”

The tabby she-cat gave him an even stare. “Not this Fire. It will save us and bring us home.”

Tallstar smiled at her confident words. “If fire must save us, then fire will,” he announced. “But we will have to stay here until then.”

Ashfoot narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Silently she joined her Clan as, one by one, they filed into the shadowy tunnel.

Chapter Text

Fireheart shivered. His flame-colored fur was still greenleaf-light; it would be a few moons before it was thick enough to keep out cold like this. He shuffled his forepaws on the hard earth. The sky was finally growing light as dawn crept slowly in. But even though his paws were cold, Fireheart could not suppress a glow of pride. After many moons as an apprentice, he was a warrior at last.

In his mind, he replayed yesterday’s victory at the ShadowClan camp: Brokenstar’s glittering eyes as the ShadowClan leader backed away, hissing threats, before fleeing into the trees after his traitorous companions. The remaining ShadowClan cats had been grateful to ThunderClan for helping them to get rid of their cruel leader, and for the peace ThunderClan had promised them while they recovered. Brokenstar had not just brought chaos to his own Clan — he had driven the whole of WindClan from their camp, right out of Clan territory. He had been a dark shadow in the forest since before Fireheart had left his kittypet life to join ThunderClan.

But for Fireheart, there was another shadow troubling his mind: Tigerclaw, ThunderClan’s deputy. Fireheart shivered as he thought of the great ThunderClan warrior who had terrorized his apprentice, Ravenpaw. In the end, Fireheart and his best friend, Graystripe, had helped the frightened apprentice to escape into the Twoleg territory beyond the uplands. Another friend of his, Ivypool, a warrior from the future, had helped him get Ravenpaw to safety and save ShadowClan. Afterward, Fireheart had told the Clan that Ravenpaw had been killed by ShadowClan.

If what Ravenpaw said about Tigerclaw was true, it was best if the ThunderClan deputy believed his apprentice had died, for he knew a secret Tigerclaw would do anything to conceal. Ravenpaw had told Fireheart that the mighty tabby warrior had murdered Redtail, the old ThunderClan deputy, in the hope that he would become the new deputy. . .which, eventually, he had. And the future warriors couldn’t give him much help, so he was on his own.

Fireheart shook his head to clear it of these dark thoughts and turned to glance at Graystripe sitting beside him. Graystripe’s thick gray fur was ruffled up against the cold. Fireheart guessed he was looking forward to the first rays of sunshine too, but he didn’t say this out loud. Clan tradition demanded silence on this night. This was their vigil — the night when a new warrior guarded the Clan and reflected on his new name and status. Until last night, Fireheart had been known by his apprentice name of Firepaw.

Ivypool had been in a strange state during the vigil. She had seemed both awake and asleep, and she had shaken uncontrollably at times, her fur bristling in terror as though she was seeing something nightmarish.

Halftail was one of the first cats to wake. Fireheart could see the old cat moving among the shadows in the elders’ den. He glanced toward the warriors’ den at the other side of the clearing. Through the branches that sheltered the den, he recognized the broad shoulders of Tigerclaw as he slept.

At the foot of Highrock, the lichen that draped the entrance to Bluestar’s den twitched, and Fireheart saw his Clan leader push her way out. She stopped and lifted her head to sniff the air. Then she padded silently out of Highrock’s shadow, her long fur glowing blue-gray in the dawn light. I must warn her about Tigerclaw, thought Fireheart. Bluestar had mourned Redtail’s death with the rest of the Clan, believing him to have been killed in battle by Oakheart, the deputy of RiverClan. Fireheart had hesitated before, knowing how important Tigerclaw was to her, but the danger was too great. Bluestar needed to know that her Clan was harboring a cold-blooded murderer.

Tigerclaw emerged from the warriors’ den and met Bluestar at the edge of the clearing. He murmured something to her, his tail flicking urgently.

Fireheart stifled his instinctive meow of greeting. The sky was growing light, but until he knew for sure that the sun was above the horizon, he dared not break his silence. Impatience fluttered in his chest like a trapped bird. He must speak with Bluestar as soon as he could. But for now, all he could do was nod respectfully at the two cats as they passed him.

Beside him, Graystripe nudged Fireheart and pointed upward with his nose. An orange glow was just visible on the horizon.

“Glad to see the dawn, you three?” Whitestorm’s deep meow took Fireheart by surprise. He had not noticed the white warrior approaching. Fireheart and Graystripe nodded together. Ivypool rolled her eyes.

“It’s all right; you may speak now. Your vigil is over.” Whitestorm’s voice was kind. Yesterday he had fought side by side with Fireheart, Graystripe, and Ivypool in the battle with ShadowClan. There was a new respect in his eyes as he looked at them.

“Thank you, Whitestorm,” Fireheart meowed gratefully. He stood and stretched his stiff legs one at a time.

Graystripe pushed himself up too. “Brrrrr!” he meowed, shaking the chill from his fur. “I thought the sun would never come up!”

A scornful voice mewed from outside the apprentices’ den. “The great warrior speaks!”

It was Sandpaw, her pale orange coat fluffed up with hostility. Dustpaw was sitting beside her. With his dark tabby pelt, he looked like Sandpaw’s shadow. He puffed out his chest importantly and mocked, “I’m surprised such heroes even feel the cold!” Sandpaw purred with amusement.

Whitestorm shot them a stem look. “Go and find something to eat; then rest,” he ordered the newest warriors. The older warrior turned away and padded toward the apprentices’ den. “Come on, you two,” he meowed to Sandpaw and Dustpaw. “It’s time for your training.”

“I hope he has them chasing blue squirrels all day!” Graystripe hissed to Fireheart as they headed toward the comer where a few pieces of fresh-kill remained from last night.

“But there aren’t any blue squirrels,” Fireheart mewed in confusion.

“Precisely!” Graystripe’s amber eyes gleamed.

Ivypool snorted. “Hazeltail should have had Blossomfall chasing blue squirrels before her assessment. I don’t know who put crowfood in her fresh-kill, but she hated me for no reason.”

Fireheart tilted his head. “Who’s Blossomfall? Is she a ThunderClan warrior in the future?”

“Yeah, she’s–” Ivypool’s gaze flicked toward Graystripe and she cut herself off. Fireheart wondered what she’d been planning to say.

“Anyways, you can’t exactly blame them. They did begin their training before us,” Fireheart pointed out mildly. “If they’d fought in the battle yesterday, they’d probably have been made warriors too.”

“I suppose.” Graystripe shrugged. “Hey, look!” They’d reached the fresh-kill pile. “One mouse each and a chaffinch to share!”

The three friends picked up their meal and looked at each other. Graystripe’s eyes suddenly sparkled with delight. “I suppose we take it to the warriors’ side of the camp now,” he meowed.

“I suppose we do,” Fireheart purred, padding after his friend to the patch of nettles where they had often watched Whitestorm, Tigerclaw, and the other warriors share fresh-kill.

“Now what?” asked Graystripe, gulping down his last mouthful. “I don’t know about you, but I think I could sleep for half a moon.”

“Me too,” Fireheart agreed.

The three friends got to their paws and made their way toward the warriors’ den. Fireheart stuck his head through the low-hanging branches. Mousefur, Owltuft, and Longtail were still asleep on the other side of the den.

He pushed his way inside and found a patch of moss at the edge. The smell told him it wasn’t a sleeping place already used by another warrior. Graystripe settled down beside him.

Fireheart listened as Graystripe’s steady breaths relaxed into long, muffled snores. Fireheart felt equally exhausted, but he was still desperate to talk to Bluestar. From where he lay, his head flat to the earth, he could just see the camp entrance. He stared at it, waiting for his leader’s return, but gradually his eyes began to close, and he gave in to his longing for sleep.

Fireheart could hear a roaring around him, like wind in tall trees. The acrid stench of the Thunderpath stung his nostrils, together with a new smell, sharper and more terrifying. Fire! Flames lapped at the black sky, throwing glowing cinders up into a starless night. To Fireheart’s amazement, silhouettes of cats flitted in front of the fire. Why hadn’t they run away?

One of them stopped and looked straight at Fireheart. The tom’s night-eyes glinted in the darkness and he lifted his long, straight tail, as if in greeting.

Fireheart trembled as a memory burst into his mind of the words that Spottedleaf, the fonner ThunderClan medicine cat, had said to him before her untimely death: “Fire will save the Clan!” Could it be something to do with the strange cats that showed no fear of fire?

A light brown tabby she-cat met his gaze and nodded towards the others. She seemed to be asking him to join them.

“Wake up, Fireheart!”

Fireheart flicked up his head, startled out of his dream by Tigerclaw’s growl.

“You were mewing in your sleep!”

Still dazed, Fireheart sat up and shook his head. “Y-yes, Tigerclaw!” With a pang of alann, he wondered if he had repeated Spottedleaf s words out loud. He had dreamed like this before — dreams so vivid that he could taste them, and which had later come true. Fireheart certainly did not want Tigerclaw to suspect him of having powers that usually StarClan gave only to a medicine cat.

“Let him be,” Nighthunter purred. “I was muttering all night after our vigil and you didn’t have a problem with it then.”

Moonlight shone through the leafy den wall. Fireheart realized he must have slept through the whole day.

“You and Graystripe will join the evening patrol,” Tigerclaw told him. “Hurry up!” The dark tabby turned and stalked out of the den.

“What about Ivypool?” Graystripe asked. Fireheart looked over and saw that their friend wasn’t in the den.

Nighthunter nodded. “Whitewing and Birchfall are leaving at moonhigh. Bluestar excused Ivypool and Dovepaw from their duties so they can spend time with their parents before they leave.”

Fireheart let the fur relax on his shoulders. Clearly Tigerclaw didn’t suspect anything unusual about his dream. But while Fireheart’s secret was safe, he was equally determined to expose the murderous truth about Tigerclaw’s role in Redtail’s death.

*  *  *  *  *

Fireheart licked his lips. Graystripe lay beside him washing his flank. They had just finished sharing a meal beside the camp clearing. The sun had set and Fireheart could see the moon, almost full now, gleaming in a cold, clear sky. The past few days had been busy. It seemed that every time they lay down for a rest, Tigerclaw sent them out on patrol or a hunting mission. Fireheart had stayed alert, looking for a chance to talk with Bluestar alone, but when he wasn’t on one of Tigerclaw’s missions, the ThunderClan leader always seemed to have her deputy at her side.

Fireheart began to wash his paw, his eyes flicking around the camp, searching hopefully for Bluestar.

“What are you looking for?” meowed Graystripe through a tongueful of fur.

“Bluestar,” Fireheart answered, lowering his paw.

“Why?” Graystripe stopped washing and looked up at his friend. “You’ve had one eye on her ever since our vigil. What are you planning to do?”

“I have to tell her where Ravenpaw is, and warn her about Tigerclaw,” Fireheart meowed.

“You promised Ravenpaw you’d tell them he was dead!” Graystripe sounded amazed.

“I only promised to tell Tigerclaw he was dead. Bluestar should know the whole story. She needs to know what her deputy is capable of.”

Graystripe lowered his voice to an urgent hiss. “But we only have Ravenpaw’ s word that Tigerclaw killed Redtail.”

“Don’t you believe him?” Fireheart couldn’t help feeling shocked by his friend’s doubts.

“Look, if Tigerclaw lied about killing Oakheart in revenge for Redtail’s death, that means Redtail must have killed Oakheart himself. And I can’t believe that Redtail would have deliberately killed another Clan deputy in battle. It goes against the warrior code — we fight to prove our strength and defend our territory, not to kill each other.”

“But I’m not trying to make accusations against Redtail!” Fireheart protested. “It’s Tigerclaw who is the problem.” Redtail had been the ThunderClan deputy before Tigerclaw. Fireheart had never met him, but he knew Redtail had been deeply respected by all the Clan.

Graystripe didn’t meet Fireheart’s gaze. “What you are saying has implications for Redtail’s honor. And none of the other cats have a problem with Tigerclaw. It was only Ravenpaw who was scared of him.”

An uneasy shiver ran down Fireheart’s spine. “So you think Ravenpaw made the story up because he didn’t get along with his mentor?” he meowed scornfully.

“No,” mumbled Graystripe. “I just think we should be careful.”

Fireheart looked into his friend’s worried eyes and began to wonder. He supposed Graystripe did have a point — they had been warriors for only a few days, so they were in no position to start hurling accusations at the Clan’s most senior warrior.

Dovepaw came to join them. “Ravenpaw wasn’t the only one to warn you about Tigerclaw,” she reminded Graystripe quietly. “Ivypool told you the truth about us after you parted ways with him.”

“She also said that she couldn’t help us with any investigations, and I don’t want to make trouble.”

“Tigerclaw is trouble!” Dovepaw hissed. “Just before we were sent to the past, he tried to manipulate my sister into starting an unnecessary battle between Clans, and before that, he manipulated and psychologically tortured my mentor. That was after his death, and I can’t even go into what he did while he was still alive besides what he did to Redtail!”

Graystripe looked away without saying anything.

“It’s okay,” Fireheart meowed at last. “You can stay out of it.” A twinge of regret flickered in his belly as Graystripe nodded and returned to washing. Fireheart believed that Graystripe was wrong to think it was better not to tell anyone about Tigerclaw. Fireheart’s own instincts told him that the ThunderClan deputy should not be trusted. He had to share his suspicions with Bluestar, for her safety and the safety of the Clan.

A glimpse of gray fur on the other side of the clearing told Fireheart that Bluestar had emerged from her den — alone. He scrambled to his paws, but the ThunderClan leader leaped straight up onto the Highrock and called to the Clan. Fireheart lashed his tail impatiently.

Graystripe ’s ears flicked excitedly as he heard Bluestar’ s call. “A naming ceremony?” he meowed. “It must be Longtail getting his first apprentice. He’s been dropping hints for days.” He bounded over to join the cats gathering at the edge of the clearing, and, still itching with frustration, Fireheart followed.

Lightkit walked confidently, his head held high. Beside him, Swiftkit padded into the clearing. His soft paws made no sound on the hard earth. He walked toward the Highrock with his pale eyes lowered and Fireheart almost expected to see him tremble — there was something in the slope of this kit’s shoulders that made him seem too young and timid to be an apprentice. Longtail won’t be impressed! Fireheart thought, remembering Longtail’s scorn when Fireheart had arrived at the camp for the first time. The warrior had taunted him viciously on his first day with the Clan, mocking his kittypet origins. Fireheart had disliked him ever since.

“From this day forward,” Bluestar meowed, staring down at Swiftkit, “until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Swiftpaw.”

There was no flash of determination in the eyes of the black-and-white kit as he looked up at his leader. Instead his amber eyes were wide with anxiety.

Fireheart turned his head as Longtail padded toward his new apprentice.

Bluestar spoke again. “Longtail, you were Darkstripe’s apprentice. He taught you well, and you have become a fierce and loyal warrior. I hope you will pass some of these qualities on to Swiftpaw.”

Fireheart searched Longtail’s face for an expression of disdain as he looked down at Swiftpaw. But the warrior’s eyes softened as he met his new apprentice’s gaze, and gently the two Clan cats touched noses. “It’s okay, you’re doing fine,” Longtail murmured encouragingly. Yeah, right, Fireheart thought bitterly. Just because he ’s Clanborn. Longtail sure didn’t welcome me like that. He glanced around the rest of the Clan and felt a pang of resentment as they began to murmur congratulations to the new apprentice.

Lightkit was still standing by the Highrock, his gray-and-white fur silky.

“From this day forward,” Bluestar meowed once again, “until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Lightpaw. Nighthunter, you are kind and wise, and I hope you will pass these things on to your new apprentice.”

Lightpaw let out a massive purr as he touched noses with his new mentor.

Fireheart felt a bit more heartened seeing second pair. Nighthunter had kind to him since the day he’d met her, and Lightpaw was a brave young cat who’d taken it upon himself to make the younger ShadowClan kits Marigoldkit and Mintkit feel welcome during their time in the ThunderClan camp.

Unfortunately, as soon he looked towards Longtail, he felt a growl rumble in his throat.

“What’s up with you?” whispered Graystripe. “That’ll be us one day.”

Fireheart nodded, suddenly cheered by the thought of getting his own apprentice, and pushed away his resentment. He was a part of ThunderClan now, and surely that was all that mattered?

*  *  *  *  *

The next night brought the full moon. Fireheart knew he should be looking forward to his first Gathering as a warrior, but he was still determined to find a chance to tell Bluestar everything he knew about Tigerclaw, and the thought of it lay like a cold stone in his stomach.

“Have you got maggot-gut or something?” meowed Graystripe beside him. “You’re pulling some very weird faces!”

Stripepaw purred, the first time Fireheart had heard her happy since her sister Softpaw had been killed protecting the elders during a ShadowClan invasion.

Fireheart looked at his friends, wishing he could confide in them, but he’d promised to leave Graystripe out of it, and Stripepaw would be devastated to hear about her kin’s treachery, if she even believed him. “I’m fine,” he meowed. “Come on. I hear Bluestar calling.”

The three cats trotted over to the group assembling in the clearing. Bluestar dipped her head to acknowledge their arrival. Then she turned and led the cats out of the camp.

Fireheart paused while the other cats scrambled past him up the steep trail that led to the forest above. This journey might give him just enough time to speak to Bluestar, and he wanted to gather his thoughts.

“Are you coming?” Graystripe ’s voice called down.

“Yep!” Firepaw flexed his powerful hind legs and began to leap from boulder to boulder, leaving the camp behind.

At the top, he paused to catch his breath, his sides heaving. The forest stretched away before him. Beneath his paws he could feel the crisp crackle of newly fallen leaves. Silverpelt glittered in the sky like morning dew scattered on black fur.

Fireheart thought of his first journey to Fourtrees with Tigerclaw and Lionheart. He felt a pang of sadness as he remembered Lionheart. Graystripe’s mentor, and ThunderClan’s deputy between Redtail and Tigerclaw, had been a warmhearted, golden warrior. He’d been killed in battle, and Tigerclaw had taken his place. On Fireheart’s first visit to Fourtrees, Lionheart had taken the apprentices on a roundabout route, through Tallpines, past Sunningrocks, and along the RiverClan border. Tonight Bluestar would lead them straight through the heart of ThunderClan territory. Fireheart could see her already disappearing into the undergrowth, and he charged after the party of cats.

Bluestar was at the front, next to Tigerclaw. Fireheart ignored Graystripe’s surprised meow and caught up with the Clan leader. “Bluestar,” he called, panting, as he drew up beside her. “May I talk to you?”

Bluestar glanced at him and nodded. “Take the lead, Tigerclaw,” she meowed. She let her pace slow, and Tigerclaw bounded past her. The other cats followed the dark tabby without question as he raced on through the undergrowth.

Bluestar and Fireheart dropped into a steady trot. Within a moment they were alone.

The path emerged from the thick ferns into a small clearing. Bluestar leaped onto a fallen tree and sat down, curling her tail over her front paws. “What is it, Fireheart?” she asked.

Fireheart hesitated, suddenly struck by doubt. Bluestar was the cat who had encouraged him to leave his kittypet life and join the Clan. Since then she had trusted him tune and time again when other cats had questioned his loyalty to a Clan whose blood he didn’t share. What would she say when Fireheart told her that he had lied about Ravenpaw?

“Speak,” Bluestar ordered as the pawsteps of the other ThunderClan cats faded into the distance.

Fireheart took a deep breath. “Ravenpaw’s not dead.” Bluestar’s tail twitched in surprise, but she listened silently as Fireheart continued. “Graystripe and I took him to WindClan’s hunting grounds. I. . .I think he may have joined Barley.” Barley was a loner, not a forest cat but not a kittypet either. He lived on a Twoleg farm that lay on the route to Highstones, a sacred place for all the cats in the forest.

The ThunderClan leader stared past Fireheart into the depths of the forest. Fireheart searched her face anxiously, trying to read her expression. Was she angry? But he could see no anger in her wide, blue eyes.

After several long moments, Bluestar spoke. “I am glad to hear that Ravenpaw is still alive, though you never said for certain that he was. I hope he is happier living with Barley than he was in the forest.”

“B-but he was bom into ThunderClan!” Fireheart stammered, taken aback by his leader’s calm acceptance of Ravenpaw’s departure.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean he was suited to Clan life,” Bluestar pointed out. “After all, you aren’t Clanborn, yet you’ve become a fine warrior. Ravenpaw may find his true path elsewhere.”

“But he didn’t leave ThunderClan because he wanted to,” Fireheart protested. “It was impossible for him to stay!”

“Impossible?” Bluestar rested her blue gaze on him. “What do you mean?”

Fireheart looked down at the ground.

“Well?” Bluestar prompted.

Fireheart’s mouth was dry. “Ravenpaw knew a secret about Tigerclaw,” he croaked. “I... I think Tigerclaw was planning to kill him. Or else turn the Clan against him.”

Bluestar’ s tail flicked from side to side, and Fireheart saw her shoulders stiffen. “Why would you think that? What was this secret that Ravenpaw knew?”

Fireheart answered reluctantly, meeting her stern expression as boldly as he dared. “That Tigerclaw killed Redtail in the battle with RiverClan.” Redtail had been the ThunderClan deputy before Lionheart. Fireheart had never met him, but he knew Redtail had been deeply respected by all the Clan.

Bluestar’s eyes narrowed. “A warrior would never kill another of his Clan! Even you should know that — you’ve lived with us long enough.” Fireheart recoiled at her words, flattening his ears. It was the second time tonight she’d referred to his kittypet roots.

Bluestar went on. “Tigerclaw reported that it was RiverClan’s deputy, Oakheart, who killed Redtail,” she meowed. “Ravenpaw must be mistaken. Did he actually see Tigerclaw kill Redtail?”

Fireheart nervously flicked his tail, stirring the leaves behind him. “He said he did.”

“And you know that by saying this, you are questioning Redtail’ s honor, because he must have been the cat that was responsible for Oakheart’s death? One deputy would never kill another in battle, not if it could possibly be avoided. And Redtail was the most honorable warrior I have ever known.” Bluestar’s eyes clouded with pain, and Fireheart felt a pang of dismay that he should have hurt her memory of her former deputy, even if unintentionally.

“I cannot account for Redtail’s actions,” he murmured. “I only know that Ravenpaw truly believes Tigerclaw was responsible for Redtail’s death. And the time travelers–” He cut himself off, remembering that he wasn’t supposed to use them as evidence, that he couldn’t use their testimonies without his own investigation.

Bluestar narrowed her eyes for a moment before she sighed and relaxed her shoulders. “We all know that Ravenpaw has a vivid imagination,” she meowed gently, her eyes sympathetic. “He was badly injured in the battle, and he left before the fighting was over. Can you be sure he didn’t fill in the parts he’d missed?”

Before Fireheart could reply, a yowl echoed through the forest, and Tigerclaw bounded out of the undergrowth. His eyes flickered suspiciously over Fireheart for a moment before he addressed Bluestar. “We’re waiting for you at the border.”

Bluestar nodded. “Tell them we’ll be there in a moment.” Tigerclaw dipped his head, turned, and raced back through the ferns.

As Fireheart watched him disappear, Bluestar’s words echoed in his mind. She was right; Ravenpaw did have a strong imagination. Fireheart remembered his first Gathering, when apprentices from every Clan had hung on Ravenpaw’s words as he described the battle with RiverClan. And he hadn’t mentioned Tigerclaw then. But Ivypool and Dovepaw had seemed deadset on keeping Tigerclaw far away from the story-telling.

Fireheart jumped up as Bluestar stood. “Are you going to bring Ravenpaw back to the Clan?” he asked, suddenly afraid he had caused even more trouble for his friend.

Bluestar gazed deep into Fireheart’s eyes. “He is probably happier where he is,” she meowed quietly. “For now, we will let the Clan carry on believing he is dead.”

Fireheart stared back at her, his eyes wide with shock. Bluestar was going to lie to the Clan!

“Tigerclaw is a great warrior, but he is very proud,” Bluestar went on. “It’ll be easier for him to accept that his apprentice died in battle rather than ran away. And it would be better for Ravenpaw, too.”

“Because Tigerclaw might go looking for him?” Fireheart dared to ask. Was it possible that Bluestar believed him, even just a little bit?

Bluestar shook her head with a flash of impatience. “No. Tigerclaw might be ambitious, but he is not a murderer. Ravenpaw will be better remembered as a dead hero than a live coward.”

Lionblaze bounded out of the undergrowth, having come to check on them. “Ravenpaw is no coward,” he announced. “And he will help ThunderClan many times in the future.”

Fireheart remembered how Ivypool had mentioned something similar, and he couldn’t help feeling a sense of relief. His friend deserved recognition for the courage he’d needed to have.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Bluestar meowed, “but this discussion is over.”

Tigerclaw’s call sounded again, and Bluestar jumped down from the log and disappeared into the ferns. Lionblaze and Fireheart exchanged a disappointed look. Then Fireheart cleared the tree trunk in one leap and raced after his leader.

He caught up with her at the edge of a stream. He watched while she crossed, jumping from stone to stone to the other side. Fireheart followed carefully, his mind whirling. The knowledge about Redtail’s death had been resting heavily on his shoulders for days. Now he had finally told Bluestar, but nothing had changed. The Clan leader clearly didn’t think Tigerclaw was capable of cold-blooded murder. And worst of all, Fireheart himself had almost begun to doubt whether Ravenpaw had been telling the truth. He leaped onto the far bank and charged on through the undergrowth.

Fireheart skidded to a halt behind Bluestar as they reached the other ThunderClan cats. The group had paused at the top of the slope that led down to Fourtrees, the giant oaks where cats from the four Clans of the forest met in peace at each full moon.

Fireheart’s fur prickled as he felt Tigerclaw watching him. Did the dark warrior suspect what had passed between him and Bluestar? Beside him, Lionblaze let out a low growl. Fireheart was relieved that he finally knew why the golden warrior had acted so aggressively whenever Tigerclaw so much as breathed too much. Fireheart shook his head to clear his mind and tried to think like Bluestar. Of course Tigerclaw would be interested in what Fireheart had said to Bluestar: he was the Clan deputy, so he would want to know anything that might affect the Clan. Fireheart looked again at Tigerclaw; the dark tabby was staring down the slope, his ears pricked and alert. The cats around him shuffled their paws in anticipation. Tigerclaw glanced at each of them, silently rallying them with his steady amber gaze.

Bluestar lifted her nose and sniffed the air. Fireheart sensed a tightening of muscles and prickling of fur around him. Then Bluestar signaled with a flick of her tail, and the ThunderClan cats plunged down the slope toward the Gathering.

Chapter Text

Bluestar halted on the edge of the clearing with her Clan lined up beside her. Some of the cats from RiverClan and ShadowClan turned and acknowledged their arrival.

“Where’d you disappear to?” Graystripe appeared at Fireheart’s shoulder.

Fireheart shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.” He was still troubled and confused by his conversation with Bluestar, and felt glad when Graystripe didn’t press him, turning his head instead to peer around the clearing.

“Hey, look,” he meowed. “The ShadowClan cats are looking stronger than I thought they would. After all, Brokenstar left them half-starved.”

Fireheart followed his gaze to a sleek ShadowClan warrior. “You’re right,” he agreed, surprised.

“Mind you, we did do most of their fighting for them!” scoffed Graystripe.

Fireheart’s amused purr was interrupted by Whitestorm. “The ShadowClan cats fought as hard as we did to chase out Brokenstar. We should honor their determination to recover,” he meowed sternly, before padding over to a group of warriors gathered beneath one of the great oaks.

“Oops!” mewed Graystripe with a guilty glance at Fireheart.

“He’s right,” Ivypool pointed out. “Scorchfur and Redwillow did the work of rallying their Clanmates to stand up for themselves; we just gave them some extra confidence and allies.”

The young warriors stayed on the edge of the clearing. Fireheart could easily pick out the apprentices from the other Clans — their fur looked kit-soft, their faces round, and their paws plump and clumsy.

A warrior and an older apprentice approached Graystripe and Fireheart. A smaller brown apprentice tagged after them. Fireheart recognized the gray tabby tom from ShadowClan, but not the smoky black tom who walked with him.

“Hi!” meowed the gray tom.

“Hello, Wetpaw,” replied Fireheart. He glanced at the dark brown cat.

Wetpaw meowed, “This is Blackclaw of RiverClan.”

Graystripe and Fireheart nodded their greeting. Ivypool dipped her head, as if she recognized him already. The younger apprentice stepped timidly forward.

“And this is my friend, Oakpaw,” added Wetpaw.

Oakpaw looked up at Fireheart with wide, anxious eyes. “H-hi, Fireheart,” he mewed. Fireheart nodded his head in greeting.

“I hear Bluestar made you warriors after the battle,” meowed Wetpaw. “Congratulations! It must’ve been a cold vigil.”

“It was!” Graystripe agreed.

“Felt more like fire to me,” Ivypool muttered. The other cats gave her confused looks.

Fireheart looked around, but he couldn’t see Brightflower. “How are Mintkit and Marigoldkit?”

Wetpaw purred. “They’re doing well. Ever since they got back they won’t stop talking about you. Thank you for taking care of them.”

“Cinderheart and Yellowfang took care of them the most,” Fireheart protested.

“Well, they seem to have claimed you as a big brother,” Oakpaw announced. “That doesn’t seem to fit with the warrior code, but they’re kits, so…”

Ivypool smirked. “What you’ll really have to worry about is when they’re made apprentices,” she pointed out. “They really bonded with ThunderClan’s kits.”

“I’m just glad they had some friends,” Wetpaw sighed. “No cat deserves what they went through.”

“Who’s that?” Fireheart broke in. A sleek she-cat with a mottled brown pelt had caught his attention. She was sharing words with Tigerclaw beside the Great Rock that stood in the center of the clearing.

“That’s Leopardfur, our deputy,” growled the RiverClan warrior.

Ivypool smiled. “I met her at the last Gathering. She’s fierce and brave, completely dedicated to RiverClan. She’ll make a fine leader someday.”

“Don’t tell me you can see the future,” a familiar gray-and-white purred.

Fireheart recognized the RiverClan warrior Mosslight. “Greetings.”

“Greetings,” she replied. “Blackclaw, I hope you’re not being too unfriendly with these young cats.”

“Of course not,” he meowed smoothly. “I was just pointing out our new deputy to them.” Since not every cat there knew the other RiverClan warrior, he added, “This is Mosslight, my mate’s sister.”

Ivypool stared at both RiverClan cats for a heartbeat. “You’re Stonefur and Mistyfoot’s sister?” she asked in surprise.

Mosslight dipped her head. “The one and only. I’m the smart one who keeps my littermates out of trouble.”

“Right, because Mistyfoot can get into so much trouble while she’s in the nursery,” Blackclaw joked.

“Well, my sister’s mentor and his littermates got into plenty of trouble when they were kits…” Ivypool trailed off for a heartbeat. “Actually, he still gets into trouble.”

“You mean like when he sneaked onto ShadowClan territory to rescue two of our kits from our own leader?” Wetpaw suggested.

“That would be a perfect example, yes,” Ivypool agreed. “How are Scorchfur and Redwillow doing?” she asked.

Oakpaw purred. “They’re awesome! They’ve been patrolling everyday and they only stopped today so they could come to the Gathering.”

“Who are Redwillow and Scorchfur?” Mosslight meowed.

Wetpaw shrugged. “They’re our newest warriors,” he explained. “They helped rally the Clan against Brokenstar.”

“That was very brave of them,” Blackclaw said calmly. “RiverClan has a new warrior as well as a new deputy.”

Fireheart’s fur stiffened as he thought about the previous RiverClan deputy, Oakheart, and how he had died in battle with ThunderClan. He was saved from having to say anything by Bluestar’s bounding onto the top of the rock to start the meeting. Two other cats joined her, and one of them, an elderly black tom, sounded the call for all cats to gather beneath the rock. Fireheart recognized the black tom, and couldn’t help feeling surprised. Had Nightpelt become ShadowClan’s leader since Brokenstar had fled? Why not Blackfoot?

When the cats had settled in front of the Great Rock, Bluestar spoke. “ThunderClan bring to this Gathering their new medicine cat, Yellowfang, who will serve alongside Jayfeather,” she announced formally. She paused while all eyes turned to the old she-cat with the thick fur and flattened muzzle. Fireheart noticed her shuffle her haunches on the hard ground. Early in his apprenticeship he had spent almost a whole moon nursing the she-cat back to health after she had come to the ThunderClan camp. Now he could tell by the way her right ear twisted slightly that she was uncomfortable under the gaze of the other Clans. Yellowfang had been medicine cat to ShadowClan, and cats hardly ever left one Clan to join another. She looked around the crowd slowly until she met the gaze of Runningnose, ShadowClan’s new medicine cat. There was a brief pause; then they exchanged a respectful nod. Yellowfang’s ear straightened and Fireheart relaxed.

Bluestar spoke again. “We also bring three newly named warriors — Fireheart, Graystripe, and Ivypool.”

Fireheart held his head high, but as he felt all eyes turn to look at him, a surge of self-consciousness made his tail flick nervously.

Nightpelt stepped forward, brushing past Bluestar to stand on the highest part of the rock. “I, Nightpelt, have taken over the leadership of ShadowClan,” he announced. “Our former leader, Brokenstar, broke the warrior code and we were forced to chase him out.”

“No mention of the fact we helped them to do it,” Graystripe whispered to Fireheart.

Nightpelt continued, “Since Blackfoot felt unworthy of leading us, the spirits of our ancestors have spoken to Runningnose and chosen me as leader. I have not yet traveled to Mothermouth to receive StarClan’s gift of nine lives, but I will make this journey tomorrow night while the moon is still full. After my vigil at the Moonstone, I shall be known as Nightstar.”

“Where is Brokenstar now?” called a voice from the crowd. It was Frostfur, the white ThunderClan queen.

“I think we can assume that he has left the forest, with the other banished warriors. He knows it would be dangerous for him to try to return,” answered Nightpelt.

“I hope so,” Fireheart heard Frostfur murmur to her neighbor, a plump brown queen.

RiverClan’s leader, Crookedstar, stepped forward. “Let’s hope Brokenstar has had the sense to leave the forest for good. His greed for territory threatened us all.”

“If he shows up again, we’ll shred him!” Mosslight called.

“That mangepelt is no better than a rogue!” Redwillow agreed from where he sat with Scorchfur, Lionblaze, and Cinderheart.

Crookedstar waited for the yowls of agreement to die down before he went on. “While Brokenstar was ShadowClan’s leader, I refused to allow him to hunt in our river. Now ShadowClan has a new leader, and this decision still stands. The prey in our river belongs to RiverClan alone.”

Mews of triumph rose from the other RiverClan cats, but Fireheart saw with a feeling of alarm that Nightpelt was bristling.

Nightpelt raised his voice. “ShadowClan has the same needs as it did under Brokenstar. We have many mouths to feed, Crookedstar.”

Crookedstar leaped to his paws and turned on Nightpelt. He flattened his ears and hissed, and the cats below fell silent.

Quickly Bluestar stepped between the two leaders. “ShadowClan has suffered many losses recently,” she mewed softly. “With fewer mouths to feed, Nightpelt, do you really need RiverClan’s fish?”

Crookedstar hissed again, but Nightpelt held his gaze without flinching.

Bluestar spoke again, this time more forcefully. “You have just driven out your leader and several of your strongest warriors! And Brokenstar went against the warrior code when he tried to force Crookedstar to agree to share the river.”

Fireheart swallowed uneasily as he noticed Nightpelt unsheathe his claws, but Bluestar didn’t blink. Her icy blue gaze glinted in the moonlight as she growled, “Remember you have not even received your nine lives from StarClan. Are you so confident you can make these demands?” Fireheart tensed as he felt the bristling of fur around him. The whole crowd was waiting for Nightpelt’s response.

Nightpelt looked away angrily. His tail flicked from side to side but he said nothing.

Bluestar had won. Her voice softened. “We all know ShadowClan has suffered much these past few moons,” she meowed. “ThunderClan has agreed to leave you in peace until you have had time to recover.”

She turned her gaze on Crookedstar. “I’m sure that Crookedstar will agree to show you the same respect.”

Crookedstar narrowed his eyes and nodded. “But only as long as ShadowClan is not scented in our territory,” he growled.

Fireheart relaxed, letting the fur lie flat on his shoulders. Now that he knew what it was like to fight in a real battle, he admired his leader’s courage even more in challenging these two great warriors. Muffled mews of relief and agreement sounded in the crowd as the tension on the Great Rock suddenly eased.

“And that’s how you settle that,” Mosslight purred in satisfaction. Both Fireheart and Ivypool gave her surprised looks.

“You won’t scent us, Crookedstar,” meowed Nightpelt. “Bluestar was right — we don’t need your fish. After all, we have the uplands to hunt in, now that WindClan have left their territory.”

Crookedstar looked at Nightpelt, his eyes brightening. “That’s true,” he agreed. “This will mean extra prey for all of us.”

“Stupid furballs!” Mosslight hissed under her breath.

Bluestar drew up her head sharply. “No! WindClan must return!”

Crookedstar and Nightpelt looked at the ThunderClan leader. “Why?” asked Crookedstar.

“If we share WindClan’s hunting grounds, it will mean more food for all our kits!” Nightpelt pointed out.

“Completely ignoring the fact that it was cruel to drive them out in the first place and that all the Clans belong here,” Ivypool muttered.

“The forest needs four Clans,” Bluestar insisted. “Just as we have Fourtrees, and four seasons, StarClan has given us four Clans. We must find WindClan as soon as possible and bring them home.”

The ThunderClan cats raised their voices in support of their leader, but Crookedstar’s impatient yowl rose above them. “Your argument is weak, Bluestar. Do we really need four seasons? Wouldn’t you rather go without leaf-bare, and the cold and hunger it brings?”

Bluestar looked calmly at the warriors beside her. “StarClan gave us leaf-bare to let the earth recover and prepare for newleaf. This forest, and the uplands, have supported four Clans for generations. It is not up to us to challenge StarClan.”

Fireheart heard a snort from the direction of the medicine cats and saw Jayfeather roll his eyes. He could practically imagine the gray tabby saying, “Why not? I challenge StarClan all the time.”

Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy, spoke up. “Why should we go hungry for the sake of a Clan that cannot even defend its territory?” she yowled.

“There’s her loyalty,” Blackclaw observed.

Mosslight frowned. “There is such a thing as too much loyalty.”

“But if she wants to ensure our Clan is fed…”

“Then we adapt and find better ways to feed ourselves in our own territory,” Mosslight asserted.

“Bluestar is right! WindClan must return!” Tigerclaw spat back, drawing himself up so that he towered above the cats around him.

Bluestar spoke again. “Crookedstar,” she meowed, turning to the RiverClan leader, “RiverClan’s hunting grounds are known for their richness. You have the river and all the fish it contains. Why do you need extra prey?” Crookedstar looked away and didn’t answer. Fireheart noticed how RiverClan murmured anxiously among themselves. He wondered why Bluestar’s question had ruffled their fur.

“And Nightpelt,” Bluestar went on, “it was Brokenstar who drove WindClan from their home.” The broad-shouldered she-cat paused. “That is why ThunderClan helped you to chase him out.”

Fireheart narrowed his eyes. He knew that Bluestar was gently reminding Nightpelt of the debt he owed to ThunderClan.

“He’s not going to like that,” Wetpaw whispered.

The ShadowClan leader half-closed his eyes. After a silence that felt like an age, Nightpelt opened his eyes wide and meowed, “Very well, Bluestar. We will allow WindClan to return.” Fireheart saw Crookedstar turn his head away in anger, his eyes black slits.

Bluestar nodded. “Two of us have agreed, Crookedstar,” she meowed. “WindClan must be found and brought home. Until then, no Clan should hunt in their territory.”

The Gathering began to break up as the cats prepared to travel back to their camps. Fireheart stayed where he was for a moment with Mosslight, watching the leaders on the Great Rock. Bluestar touched noses with Crookedstar and jumped down to the forest floor. On the rock, Crookedstar turned to Nightpelt. There was something about the look that passed between them that made Fireheart’s fur prickle. Could it be that Bluestar did not really have Nightpelt’s support after all?

“That’s not good,” Mosslight muttered.

Fireheart looked quickly around. He could tell from the anger in Tigerclaw’s eyes that ThunderClan’s deputy had not missed this exchange either.

For once, Fireheart shared Tigerclaw’s concern. This was a shift in Clan alliances he had not expected. After the risk ThunderClan had taken by helping ShadowClan to drive out Brokenstar, how could they side with RiverClan now?

Bluestar led the way swiftly back to camp. The noise of their return awoke the cats who had remained behind. As the group streamed through the gorse entrance, sleepy figures began emerging from the dens.

“What’s the news?” called Halftail.

“Were ShadowClan there?” asked Willowpelt.

“Yes, they were,” Bluestar replied gravely. She strode past Willowpelt and leaped up onto Highrock. There was no need for her customary call for a Clan meeting — the cats were already gathering below the rock. Tigerclaw jumped up beside her.

“They’re doing much better,” Mistflow announced, though she didn’t sound happy.

“There was much tension between the Clans tonight,” Bluestar began. “And I became aware of a possible new allegiance between Crookedstar and Nightpelt.”

Graystripe squeezed into the small space next to Fireheart. “What are they talking about?” he asked. “I thought Nightpelt agreed with Bluestar.”

“Nightpelt?” croaked One-eye’s ancient voice from the back of the crowd.

“He has been named as ShadowClan’s new leader,” Bluestar explained.

Nighthunter spoke up. “What about Blackfoot? He helped drive Brokenstar away; shouldn’t he become leader?”

Tigerclaw scowled. “Apparently he doesn’t feel worthy, despite the fact that the warrior code states he should become the next leader.”

Lionblaze glared at him. “It’s noble for Blackfoot to let someone else lead. He may have helped us in the end, but he also helped drive away WindClan and tried to steal our kits.”

“Regardless, Nightpelt is the new leader,” Bluestar said firmly.

“But his name — hasn’t he been accepted by StarClan yet?” asked One-eye.

“He plans to travel to the Moonstone tomorrow night,” Tigerclaw told him.

“No leader can speak for their Clan at a Gathering without receiving StarClan’ s approval first,” muttered One-eye, loudly enough for all the cats to hear.

Mistflow nodded. “StarClan gave their support by telling Runningnose who they wished to be leader.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Jayfeather grumbled.

“He has the support of ShadowClan, One-eye,” answered Bluestar, nodding at the old she-cat. “We cannot ignore what he said tonight.” One-eye gave a disgruntled sniff, and Bluestar lifted her head to address the whole Clan. “At the Gathering, I suggested we find WindClan and bring them home. But Crookedstar and Nightpelt don’t want them to return.”

“They’re hardly likely to join forces, though, are they?” called Graystripe. “They almost had a scrap over hunting rights in the river, again.”

Fireheart turned to his friend. “Didn’t you see the looks they were swapping by the end of the meeting? They’re both desperate to get their paws on WindClan’s territory.”

“But why?” asked Sandpaw, who was sitting beside her mentor, Whitestorm.

Whitestorm answered her. “I suspect ShadowClan is not as weak as we thought they would be. And Nightpelt seems to have more ambition than any cat expected.”

“But why does RiverClan want to hunt WindClan’s grounds? They have always grown fat on the fish from their precious river!” yowled Willowpelt. “The uplands are a long way to go for a few windblown rabbits!”

“And they can’t catch rabbits well either,” Lionblaze added. “They’re too slow.” Cinderheart prodded his shoulder, her eyes disapproving.

The once-beautiful queen, Dappletail, spoke up in a voice cracked with age. “At the Gathering, some of the RiverClan elders spoke of Twolegs taking over part of their river.”

“That’s right,” added Frostfur. “They say Twolegs have been living in shelters beside the river, disturbing the fish. The RiverClan cats have had to hide in the bushes and watch them with empty stomachs!”

Fireheart listened in surprise that the RiverClan queens and elders were so willing to share their Clan’s weakness, but he realized that the queens would be worried for their kits and the elders didn’t feel such a strong sense of rivalry and hate for the other Clans now.

“Stupid Twolegs!” Dovepaw spat, scoring her claws through the dirt.

Ivypool’s fur bristled. “Just once I’d like to take their food and see how they feel.”

Bluestar looked thoughtful. “For now, we must be careful to do nothing that may bring ShadowClan and RiverClan closer together.” At her words, Cinderheart shot Fireheart and Graystripe a fierce look. “We won’t attack any Twolegs either. That would be a fool’s mission. Go and rest now. Runningwind, Nighthunter, and Dustpaw, you will take the dawn patrol.”

A cold breeze rattled the dying leaves in the trees overhead. The cats, still murmuring amongst themselves, went to their dens.

For the second night in a row, Fireheart dreamed. He was standing in the dark. The roar and the stench of a Thunderpath was very close by. Fireheart felt himself buffeted and blinded by the monsters that roared up and down with glaring eyes. Suddenly, through the din, Fireheart heard the pitiful cry of a young cat. The desperate wail sliced through the thundering of the monsters.

Fireheart awoke with a start. For a moment he thought that the cry had woken him. But the only noise was the muffled snores of warriors sleeping beside him. A growl came from somewhere near the middle of the den. It sounded like Tigerclaw. Fireheart felt too unsettled to go back to sleep, so he crept silently out of the den.

It was dark outside, and the stars dotting the black sky told him dawn was still far off. With the wail of the young cat echoing in his mind, Fireheart padded over to the nursery, his ears pricked. He could hear pawsteps beyond the camp wall. He sniffed the air. It was just Darkstripe and Longtail. Fireheart picked up their scents as they guarded ThunderClan’s territory.

The calm of the sleeping camp soothed Fireheart. Every cat must have nightmares about the Thunderpath, he told himself. He crept back into the den and circled comfortably back into his nest. Graystripe purred briefly in his sleep as Fireheart settled beside him and closed his eyes.

Graystripe’s nose woke him, prodding his side. “Leave me alone,” Fireheart grumbled.

“Wake up!” Graystripe hissed.

“Why? We’re not on patrol!” Fireheart complained.

“Bluestar wants to see us in her den, now.”

Fuzzy-headed, Fireheart scrambled to his paws and followed Graystripe out of the den. The sun was beginning to turn the sky pink, and there was frost on the trees around the camp.

The two cats bounded across the clearing to Bluestar’s den and announced their arrival with hushed mews.

“Enter!” It was Tigerclaw’s voice that answered from behind the draped lichen. Alarm swept through Fireheart as he remembered his conversation with Bluestar on the way to the Gathering. Had she told Tigerclaw about his accusations? Graystripe pushed his way into Bluestar’s den. Fireheart followed him uneasily.

Bluestar was sitting in her nest, her head up and her eyes bright. Tigerclaw stood in the middle of the smooth sandstone floor. Fireheart tried to read his expression, but the great tabby’s eyes were as cold and steady as always. Ivypool was standing a few tail-lengths away from, seemingly trying to avoid lunging at him.

Bluestar began at once. “Fireheart, Ivypool, Graystripe, I have an important mission for you.”

“A mission?” Fireheart echoed. Relief and excitement swept away his anxiety. Ivypool’s eyes were filled with delight.

“I want you to find WindClan and bring them back to their territory,” announced Bluestar.

“Before you get too excited, bear in mind this could be very dangerous,” Tigerclaw growled. “We don’t know where WindClan has gone, so you will have to follow what is left of their scent-probably into hostile territory.”

“But you’ve been through WindClan territory, when you traveled with me to the Moonstone,” Bluestar pointed out. “Their scent will be familiar, as will the Twoleg territory beyond the uplands.”

“Will it just be us?” asked Fireheart.

“Our other warriors are needed here,” meowed Tigerclaw. “Leaf-bare is coming, and we need to gather as much fresh-kill as possible. Many prey-poor moons he ahead.”

Bluestar nodded. “Tigerclaw will help you prepare for the journey.” Fireheart’s paws prickled with unease. Bluestar had as much faith in her deputy as ever. Why was Fireheart the only cat in ThunderClan who didn’t trust Tigerclaw?

Ivypool frowned. “Surely our esteemed deputy shouldn’t waste his time on something so trivial.” Fireheart fought back an amused purr, while Graystripe groaned.

“You must leave as soon as possible,” Bluestar continued, ignoring them. “Good luck.”

“We’ll find them,” Graystripe promised.

Dragging his thoughts back to the journey ahead, Fireheart nodded.

Tigerclaw followed them out of Bluestar’s den. “Do you remember how to get to WindClan territory?”

“Oh, yes, Tigerclaw, we were there only — ”

Fireheart interrupted Graystripe’s eager reply, “Only a few moons ago,” he meowed quickly. He flashed a warning glare at his friend. Graystripe had almost given away their journey several nights earlier with Ravenpaw.

“We did go to the Moonstone with you and Bluestar,” Ivypool added helpfully.

Tigerclaw hesitated. Fireheart held his breath. Had he noticed Graystripe’s mistake?

“And can you recall WindClan’s scent?” the deputy meowed.

Fireheart sent silent thanks to StarClan.

The young warriors nodded, and Fireheart began to picture himself charging through the prickly gorse of the uplands in search of the lost Clan.

“You will need herbs for strength and to keep your hunger away. Fetch them from Yellowfang and Jayfeather before you leave.” Tigerclaw paused. “And don’t forget that Nightpelt is planning to travel to the Moonstone tonight. Keep well out of his way.”

“Yes, Tigerclaw,” replied Fireheart.

“He’ll never know we’re out there,” Graystripe assured him.

“I don’t get caught by ShadowClan cats.” Ivypool’s voice was cool and confident.

“As I would expect,” meowed Tigerclaw. “Now, go!” Without another word, he turned and bounded away.

“He might have wished us good luck,” Graystripe complained.

Ivypool growled. “We don’t need Tigerdung’s luck.”

“He probably thinks we don’t need it,” joked Fireheart as they crossed the clearing toward Yellowfang’s den. But at the same time, he reflected, Tigerclaw seemed to be treating them with as much respect as he would any warrior — was it possible that he wasn’t the traitor that Ravenpaw thought? It was still cold, despite the rising sun, but neither cat shivered — Fireheart could feel his fur beginning to thicken as the days grew shorter.

Yellowfang’s den lay at the end of a tunnel under ferns. A large split rock stood in a corner of a small shaded glade. Spottedleaf had lived here before Yellowfang. The memory of the gentle tortoiseshell medicine cat tugged at Fireheart’s heart. Spottedleaf had been killed by a ShadowClan warrior. He missed her, but at least she was safe in StarClan.

“Yellowfang!” Graystripe called. “We’ve come for traveling herbs!”

The three cats heard a hoarse mew from the shadow in the center of the rock, and Yellowfang squeezed out of the crack. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“We’ve got to find WindClan and bring them home,” Fireheart told her, unable to hide the pride in his voice.

“Your first warrior mission!” rasped Yellowfang. “Congratulations! I’ll fetch the herbs you will need.” She returned a few moments later carrying a small bundle of dried leaves in her mouth. “Enjoy!” she purred, laying them on the ground.

“Yellowfang’s in a good mood?” Ivypool meowed in surprise. “Maybe there are blue squirrels.”

Jayfeather emerged from the den. “No, you’ll find blue squirrels the day I’m in a good mood.”

Ivypool grinned. “That will never happen, then.”

He flicked her shoulder. “Oh, hush. Do you remember what I taught you about herbs?”

“You mean the time when Dovepaw was on her mission and Bumblestripe decided to be a mouse-brain and use a journey as an example?”

He nodded. “Yes, that would be the time.”

“I remember everything you taught us,” Ivypool promised.

“Good. Now I have some work to do before I visit StarClan tonight. They need to have some logic forced into them.”

“Go on, hurry up,” Yellowfang ordered, since no cat had eaten the herbs yet.

Fireheart and Graystripe chewed obediently on the unappetizing leaves. “Yuck!” spat Graystripe. “Just as bad as last time.” Fireheart nodded, screwing up his face. Spottedleaf had given them the same herbs when they’d journeyed with Bluestar to the Moonstone. Ivypool ate them in one bite, clearly trying to just get it over with.

Graystripe swallowed the last mouthful and nudged Fireheart’s shoulder with his nose. “Come on, slow slug! Let’s get going! ’Bye,” he called to Yellowfang over his shoulder, as he sprinted out of the glade.

“Wait for me,” meowed Fireheart, chasing after his friend. Ivypool followed close behind him.

“Good-bye! Good luck, youngsters!” Yellowfang meowed after them.

As he raced through the tunnel, Fireheart heard the ferns rustling in the morning breeze. They seemed to be whispering, “Good luck! Travel safely!”

Chapter Text

As they headed out of the camp, the three young warriors nearly crashed into Whitestorm, who was leading Sandpaw, Dovepaw, and Runningwind into the forest for the dawn patrol.

“Sorry!” panted Fireheart, wondering why the cats on dawn patrol had changed. He stopped, and Graystripe skidded to a halt beside him. Ivypool was more prepared, and she smoothly stopped next to Graystripe.

Whitestorm dipped his head. “I hear you two are going on a mission,” he meowed.

“Yes,” Fireheart replied.

“Then may you have StarClan’s protection,” meowed Whitestorm gravely.

“What for?” Sandpaw sneered. “You off to catch voles?”

Runningwind, a lean tabby, turned and whispered something into Sandpaw’ s ear. Her expression changed and the contempt in her green eyes switched to guarded curiosity.

Dovepaw purred and stepped forward to give her sister a warm look. “You finally get to go on an official mission!” she exclaimed. “I am so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Ivypool purred, licking her in return.

The patrol stepped aside to let Fireheart, Graystripe, and Ivypool pass. The pair raced on and scrambled up the side of the ravine.

They shared few words as they followed the route through the forest to Fourtrees, saving their breath for the long journey ahead. They paused at the top of the steep slope on the far side of the oak-shaded clearing, their sides heaving from the climb.

“Is it always windy up here?” grumbled Graystripe, fluffing out his thick fur against the blast of cold air that swept across the uplands.

“I suppose there aren’t any trees to block it,” Fireheart pointed out, screwing up his eyes. This was WindClan’s territory.

“It’s definitely not this bad in my time,” Ivypool muttered.

As Fireheart sniffed the air, he detected a scent that all of his senses told him should not be there. “Do you smell RiverClan warriors?” he murmured uneasily.

Graystripe lifted his nose. “No. Do you think there might be some here?”

“Maybe. They might want to make the most of WindClan’s absence, especially since they know WindClan will be back soon,” Fireheart warned.

“Oh, there’s definitely RiverClan cats here,” Ivypool growled, inhaling deeply.

“Well, I can’t smell anything now,” whispered Graystripe.

The friends padded watchfully along a frozen turf trail sheltered by heather.

A fresh scent stopped Fireheart in his tracks. “Can you smell that?” he hissed to Graystripe.

“Yes,” whispered Graystripe, flattening himself against the ground. “RiverClan!”

Fireheart dropped into a crouch, keeping his ears below the heather. Beside him, Graystripe lifted his dark gray head to peer over the bushes. “I can see them,” he murmured. “They’re hunting.”

Fireheart stretched up cautiously to look.

Four RiverClan warriors were chasing a rabbit through a patch of gorse. A brown-and-white apprentice trailed behind, seeming unexcited to be there. Fireheart recognized Blackclaw from the Gathering. The smoky-black warrior pounced, his claws unsheathed, but sat up again with nothing to show for the chase. The rabbit must have made it to the safety of her warren.

The apprentice laughed at him and he spun back and growled at her. Clearly the apprentice wasn’t very popular in her Clan.

Fireheart and Graystripe dropped down again and pressed their bellies against the cold turf.

“They’re not good rabbit hunters,” Graystripe hissed scornfully.

Ivypool smirked. “Mangy fishpelts.”

“I guess RiverClan is more used to catching fish,” Fireheart whispered back. His nose twitched as he smelled the scent of a terrified rabbit coming nearer. With a pang of dread, Fireheart heard the pawsteps of the RiverClan warriors fast approaching after it. “They’re coming this way! We’ll have to hide!”

“Follow me,” whispered Graystripe. “I smell badgers this way.”

“Badgers?” Fireheart echoed. “Is that safe?” He’d heard the story of how Halftail had lost his tail in a fight with a bad-tempered old brock.

“Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t go in in a badger set,” Ivypool suggested. “They really don’t like it when cats take over their homes.”

“Don’t worry. The scent is strong but stale,” Graystripe reassured him. “There must be an old set near here.”

Fireheart sniffed. His scent glands picked up a strong, almost foxlike scent. “Are you sure it’s abandoned?”

“We’ll know soon enough. Come on; we’ve got to get out of here,” replied Graystripe. He led the way quickly through the low bushes. The rustle of heather told Fireheart the RiverClan warriors were closing in.

Ivypool frowned. “Brilliant. Let’s wait till after we throw ourselves inside to find out if it’s abandoned.”

“Here!” Graystripe shouldered aside a tuft of heather to reveal a sandy hole in the ground. “Get inside! The badger’s scent will disguise ours. We can wait till they’re gone.”

Fireheart slipped speedily into the dark hole, and Graystripe followed him. The stench of badger was overwhelming.

Pawsteps thudded on the ground overhead. Both cats held their breath as the steps halted and one of the RiverClan warriors yowled, “Badger set!” From the rasping mew, Fireheart knew it was Blackclaw.

A second voice answered: “Is it abandoned? The rabbit may be hiding inside.”

Fireheart felt Graystripe’s fur bristling beside him in the dark. He unsheathed his claws and stared at the entrance to the hole, ready to fight if the warriors came inside.

“Wait; the scent leads this way,” meowed Blackclaw. There was a scrabble of paws overhead as the RiverClan warriors charged away.

Graystripe slowly let out his breath. “D’you think they’re gone?”

“Perhaps we should wait a bit longer, make sure none of them stayed behind,” Fireheart suggested.

Ivypool was peering through a small hole in the set roof. “They’re gone,” she whispered, squeezing through the entrance.

No more noises came from outside. Graystripe nudged Fireheart. “Come on,” he meowed.

Fireheart followed Graystripe cautiously out into the daylight. There was no sign of the RiverClan patrol. The fresh breeze cleared Fireheart’s scent glands of the badger stench. “We should look for the WindClan camp,” he meowed to the others.. “It’ll be the best place to pick up their scent.”

“Oh, really?”

“Okay,” answered Graystripe.

They moved slowly through the heather, keeping their mouths slightly open to pick up the scent of any more RiverClan warriors. They stopped at the foot of a large flat rock that sloped up steeply, past the tops of the gorse bushes.

“I’ll climb up and have a look around,” offered Graystripe. “My pelt will blend better with the stone.”

“Okay,” Fireheart agreed. “But keep your head down.”

He watched his friend creep up the rock. Graystripe crouched at the top and gazed around the plateau, then skidded back down to Fireheart. “There’s a hollow over there, I think,” Graystripe puffed, signaling with his tail. “I can see a gap in the heather.”

“Let’s check it out,” meowed Fireheart. “It could be the camp.”

“Makes sense,” Ivypool offered.

“That’s what I thought.” Graystripe nodded. “It’s probably the only place up here that’s sheltered from the wind.”

As they neared the hollow, Fireheart raced past Graystripe and gazed over the edge. It looked as if a StarClan warrior had reached down from the sky, scooped a pawful of peat from the plateau, and replaced it with a thick tangle of gorse that grew almost to the level of the ground on either side.

Fireheart sniffed. He could smell many scents, all WindClan, old and young, male and female, and, in the background, the faint odor of fresh-kill that had long since become crowfood. This had to be the abandoned camp.

Fireheart bounded down the slope and plunged into the bushes. The gorse tugged at his fur and scratched his nose, making his eyes water. He could hear Graystripe behind him, cursing as thorns snagged his ears. They pushed through into a sheltered clearing. The sandy ground had been trodden hard by generations of paws. At one end of the clearing stood a rock, worn smooth by many windblown moons.

“This is their camp, all right,” Fireheart murmured, as Ivypool emerged beside him.

“I can’t believe Brokenstar managed to drive WindClan out of such a well-protected place!” meowed Graystripe, rubbing his sore nose with one paw.

“Anyone can lose a fight if their enemy has the element of surprise,” Ivypool pointed out.

“It looks like they put up a good fight,” Fireheart pointed out, realizing with a jolt how badly ravaged the camp was. Clumps of fur littered the ground, and dried blood stained the sand. Mossy nests had been dragged out of dens and torn apart. And everywhere, stale ShadowClan scents mingled with the smell of terrified WindClan cats.

Fireheart shuddered. “Let’s find the scent trail out of here,” he meowed. He began to sniff the air carefully and moved forward, following the strongest scent. Graystripe padded after him to a narrow gap in the gorse.

“WindClan cats must be even smaller than I remember!” grumbled Graystripe as he squeezed through after Fireheart.

Fireheart glanced at his friend, amused for a moment. Ivypool was the smallest, and she slipped through easily, not leaving even a single clump of fur behind. The scent trail was quite clear now — definitely WindClan, but mixed and pungent, as if made by many frightened cats. Fireheart looked down. Drops of dried blood dotted the ground. “We’re heading the right way,” he meowed darkly. Two moons of rain and wind had failed to wash away the signs of suffering. Fireheart could clearly picture the defeated and injured Clan fleeing from their home. With a surge of anger he bounded after his friends.

The trail led them to the far edge of the uplands, where they stopped to catch their breath. In front of them the ground sloped away to the Twoleg farmland. Far in the distance, where the sun was beginning to set, loomed the towering shapes of Highstones.

“I wonder if Nightpelt is there yet,” Fireheart murmured. In a tunnel below Highstones lay the sacred Moonstone, where the leaders of each Clan shared dreams with StarClan.

“Hopefully, he’s busy receiving his lives,” Ivypool muttered.

“Well, we don’t want to find him down there!” Graystripe flicked his tail at the wide expanse of Twoleg land. “It’ll be hard enough dodging Twolegs, rats, and dogs, without meeting the new ShadowClan leader as well!”

Fireheart nodded. He thought back to their last journey across this land, with Bluestar and Tigerclaw. They had almost been killed by an attack of rats, and only the arrival of Barley, the loner, had saved them. Even so, Bluestar had nearly lost one of her lives; the memory of it stung Fireheart like a wood ant.

“Do you think we’ll find any trace of Ravenpaw down there?” Graystripe meowed, turning his broad face toward Fireheart.

“I hope so,” Fireheart replied solemnly. The last he had seen of Ravenpaw had been the white tip of his tail disappearing into the storm on the uplands. Had the ThunderClan apprentice made it safely to Barley’s territory?

“Ravenpaw’s safe, I promise,” Ivypool assured them. “He’s very happy.”

The warriors started down the slope, carefully sniffing each clump of grass to make sure they stayed on the WindClan trail.

“It doesn’t look as if they were heading for Highstones,” Graystripe remarked. The trail took them sideways into a wide grassy field. They skirted the edge, staying near the hedgerow as WindClan had done. The scent led them out of the field and onto a Twoleg path through a small copse of trees.

“Look!” Graystripe meowed. Sun-bleached piles of prey bones lay scattered in the undergrowth. Mossy bedding had been gathered beneath the thickest patches of brambles.

“WindClan must have tried to settle here,” Fireheart meowed in surprise.

“I wonder what made them leave?” asked Graystripe, sniffing the air. “The scent is old.”

Fireheart shrugged. “ShadowClan kept chasing them away,” Ivypool growled. “Brokenstar wanted all of them dead!”

“Great StarClan!” Fireheart exclaimed.

 The three cats followed the trail onward to a thick hedge. Graystripe and Fireheart needed a bit of a struggle as they wriggled through onto a grass verge, though Ivypool seemed to have an easy enough time. Beyond a narrow ditch lay a wide earth track.

Graystripe leaped nimbly over the ditch and onto the hard red track. Fireheart looked around, stiffening as he recognized a hard-edged silhouette in the distance. Ivypool froze beside him. “Graystripe! Stop!” he hissed.

“What’s up?”

Fireheart pointed with his nose. “Look at that Twolegplace over there! We must be near Barley’s territory.”

Graystripe’s ears twitched nervously. “That’s where those dogs live! But WindClan definitely came this way. We’ll have to hurry. We need to get past the Twoleg nest before sunset.”

Fireheart remembered Barley telling them that the Twolegs let the dogs loose at night, and the sun was already sinking toward the craggy tops of Highstones. He nodded. “Perhaps the dogs chased WindClan out of the woods.” With an anxious twinge, he thought of Ravenpaw. “You he found Barley?” he asked Ivypool.

“He did,” Ivypool promised with a nod. “You will see him again soon enough.”

“I’m glad he’s safe,” Graystripe purred. “Though we shouldn’t underestimate him. Remember the time Tigerclaw sent him to Snakerocks? He came back with an adder!”

Fireheart purred at the memory as Graystripe leaped across the track and through the hedge on the far side. Fireheart chased after him, quickening his pace to match his friend step for step. Ivypool was close behind them.

A dog barked furiously from the Twoleg nest, but its vicious snarling soon faded into the distance. The temperature plunged as the sun set, and frost began to form on the grass.

“Should we keep going?” asked Graystripe. “What if the trail takes us to Highstones after all? Nightpelt will definitely be there by now.”

Fireheart lifted his nose and sniffed the browning fronds of some ferns. The smell of WindClan, sour with fear, pricked at him. “We’d better keep going,” he meowed. “We’ll stop when we have to.”

The cold breeze carried another odor to Fireheart’s nose — there was a Thunderpath nearby. Graystripe screwed up his face. He’d smelled it too. Ivypool just glared. The warriors exchanged a look of dismay, but pushed on. The stench grew stronger and stronger until they could hear the roar of Thunderpath monsters in the distance. By the time they reached the hedge that ran alongside the wide gray path, it was hard to make out the WindClan trail at all.

Graystripe stopped and looked around, uncertainty showing in his eyes. But Fireheart could just make out the fear-scent. He crept through the shadows beside the hedge until he reached a place where the hedge was less thick. “They sheltered here,” Fireheart meowed, imagining the terrified WindClan cats staring through the hedge at the Thunderpath.

“This was probably the first time most of them had seen the Thunderpath,” Graystripe remarked as he joined Fireheart by the hedge.

“This is a massive one,” Ivypool agreed. “They probably didn’t want their young cats anywhere near it.”

Fireheart looked at his friend in surprise. He had never met a WindClan cat — they had been driven out of their territory almost as soon as he had become an apprentice. “Didn’t they patrol their borders?” he asked, puzzled.

“You’ve seen their territory — it’s pretty wild and barren, and the prey’s not easy to catch. I guess they never thought any of the other Clans would bother hunting there. After all, RiverClan has their river, and, in a good year, our forests are filled with prey, so no cat needs their skinny rabbits.”

A monster roared past on the other side of the hedge, its night eyes glaring. The three cats flinched as the wind buffeted their fur even through the wall of leaves. When the noise had faded away, they sat up cautiously and sniffed around the roots of the hedge.

“The trail seems to lead under here.” Fireheart squeezed onto the grass verge that lay along the Thunderpath. Graystripe scrabbled through behind him.

But on the other side of the hedge the scent trail stopped abruptly.

“They must have either doubled back or crossed the Thunderpath,” Fireheart meowed. “You look around here, and I’ll check out the other side.” He fought to keep his voice calm, but exhaustion was making him desperate. Surely they couldn’t have lost the trail now, after coming so far?

Fireheart waited until the only sound he could hear was the pounding of blood in his ears. Then he padded to the edge of the Thunderpath. It stretched ahead of him, wide and foul-smelling, but silent. Fireheart darted out. The ground beneath his paws felt cold and smooth. He didn’t stop until he reached the grass on the other side.

The air here was tainted by the acrid smell of the Thunderpath and its monsters, so Fireheart headed toward the hedge. Still, there was no trace of the WindClan cats. His heart sank.

Suddenly a monster tore past, making Fireheart leap into the air with terror. He scrambled underneath the hedge and crouched, trembling, frantically wondering what to do next.

Then he smelled it: the faintest trace carried on the wind that the monster had stirred up. WindClan had been here!

Fireheart called as loudly as he could to Graystripe and Ivypool. There was a pause, then the sound of paws pounding across the Thunderpath to join him.

“Have you found it?” puffed his friend.

“Not sure. I got a whiff, but I can’t pinpoint it.” Fireheart pushed his way through the hedge, Graystripe right behind him. He lifted his nose toward the open field ahead of them. “Have you any idea what’s over there?”

“No,” replied Graystripe. “I shouldn’t think any Clan cat has ever been this far before.”

“No cat deserves to be anywhere near this place,” Ivypool added.

“Except WindClan has ended up here anyways,” muttered Fireheart darkly. Away from the confusing fumes of the Thunderpath, the trail was suddenly clear. WindClan had definitely come this way. The two cats struck out through the long grass, straight across the field.

“Fireheart!” Graystripe sounded alarmed.

“What is it?”

“Look!”

Fireheart stopped and lifted his head. He saw a Thunderpath ahead of them arching high into the air on massive stone legs, illuminated by the eyes of the monsters that moved along it. Another Thunderpath ran below, veering off into the darkness.

Graystripe nodded toward a tall thistle. “And smell this!”

Fireheart inhaled the scent. It was a fresh WindClan marker!

“They must have settled somewhere near here!” Graystripe murmured in disbelief.

“Great StarClan!” Ivypool whispered.

A pang of excitement twisted Fireheart’s stomach. Both cats looked silently at each other for a moment. Then, without a word, they moved on toward the stinking Thunderpaths.

Graystripe spoke at last. “Why would WindClan come to a place like this?”

“Brokenstar!” Ivypool growled.

“I guess not even Brokenstar would want to follow them here,” Fireheart answered grimly. He stopped. A thought was nagging at him.

Graystripe paused beside him. “What is it?”

“If WindClan is hiding so near the Thunderpaths,” Fireheart meowed slowly, “they must be fairly desperate not to be found. They’re more likely to trust us if we arrive in daylight than if we creep up on them in darkness.”

“No cat likes being ambushed, and they’d be all the more upset after what happened to them,” Ivypool agreed.

“Does that mean we can rest?” asked Graystripe, sitting down heavily.

“Just until it’s light,” meowed Fireheart. “We’ll find somewhere to hide and see if we can get some sleep. Are you hungry?” Graystripe shook his head. “Me neither,” Fireheart agreed. “I don’t know if it’s those herbs or because the stench from the Thunderpath is making me feel sick.”

Ivypool snorted. “I’m guessing it’s the Thunderpath.”

“Where shall we sleep?” Graystripe looked around.

Fireheart had already noticed a dark shadow in the ground up ahead. “What’s that?”

“A burrow?” Graystripe sounded puzzled. “It’s too big for a rabbit. Surely there can’t be a badger set here!”

“Let’s take a look,” Fireheart suggested.

The hole was larger than a badger set, smooth and lined with stone. Fireheart sniffed it, then put his front paws on its rim and peered cautiously inside. A stone tunnel sloped away, down into the ground. “I can feel air flowing through it,” he meowed, his voice echoing away into the shadows. “It must come up somewhere over there.” He ducked back out and pointed his nose toward the tangle of Thunderpaths.

“Is it empty?” Graystripe asked.

“Smells like it.”

“Definitely nothing here,” Ivypool confirmed.

“Come on then.” Graystripe led the way into the tunnel. After a few fox lengths, the slope leveled out.

Fireheart halted and sniffed the damp air. He could smell nothing but the fumes of the Thunderpath. A roaring noise rumbled overhead. Fireheart’s paws trembled as the stone floor vibrated. Was the Thunderpath above them? He fluffed out his coat against the relentless draft and felt Graystripe ’s fur brush against him — his friend was circling, preparing to settle down to sleep. Fireheart crouched down and huddled beside his friend. Ivypool settled a few tail-lengths away. He closed his stinging eyes and thought of the gentle forest breezes and the rustling of the leaves. Exhaustion fought briefly with a pang of longing to be at home in his den, before he gave in to the blackness that swam into his mind.

When Fireheart opened his eyes again, gray light was glowing at the end of the tunnel. Dawn must be near. Ivypool was already awake, sitting watchfully by the entrance to the tunnel. Fireheart’s bones ached from the cold hard ground. He nudged Graystripe, who grunted. “Morning already?”

“Almost,” Fireheart answered, getting to his paws. Graystripe stretched and stood up too.

“I think we should head that way,” Fireheart meowed, craning his neck away from the light. Ivypool came over to join them. “I think this tunnel leads right under a Thunderpath. It might take us nearer to the. . .” His voice trailed off; he had no words to describe the tangle of Thunderpaths they had seen last night. Beside him Graystripe nodded, and together the three began to pad wordlessly into the darkness.

Before long Fireheart spotted light ahead of them. They quickened their pace until they were racing up a short, steep slope that led them into a world filled with gray dawn light.

They had come up near the edge of a patch of barren, dirty grass. Thunderpaths enclosed it on two sides, and another arched overhead. A fire burned in the middle of the grass. A few Twolegs lay around it.

One of them stretched and rolled over, and another grunted angrily in its sleep, but the noise and stench from the Thunderpaths didn’t seem to wake them.

Fireheart watched them warily, then froze as something else caught his eye: dark outlines that flitted back and forth in front of the flames. Cats! Could it be WindClan? Fireheart looked at the fire and the cats, and his mind flooded with the memory of his dream — the noise of the Thunderpath, the sight of the flames and the cats, and Spottedleaf s voice murmuring, “Fire will save the Clan.”

A surge of emotion made Fireheart’s legs feel weak. Did this mean that ThunderClan’s fate was bound up with the fate of WindClan?

“Fireheart? Fireheart!”

Graystripe’s voice jolted Fireheart back to reality. He breathed deeply to calm himself.

“We must find Tallstar and speak with him,” he meowed.

“Then you think it is WindClan?” asked Graystripe.

“You smelled their marker — who else could it be?” Fireheart replied.

Graystripe looked at him, his eyes shining with triumph. “We found them!”

“We found them somewhere terrible,” Ivypool pointed out, scenting the air. Her face darkened as if she recognized some of the cats’ scents. “That doesn’t feel like a victory to me.”

Fireheart nodded. He didn’t point out that finding WindClan was only half their mission. They still had to convince them that it was safe to return home.

Graystripe braced himself, ready to leap forward. “Let’s go!”

“Hang on,” Fireheart warned. “We don’t want to startle them.”

“Agreed,” Ivypool murmured.

Just then, one of the Twolegs sat up with a jolt and began shouting at the ragged cats around the fire.

The noise roused the other Twolegs, who joined in with rough, angry voices.

The WindClan cats scattered. All caution forgotten, Fireheart, Ivypool, Graystripe raced after them. Fireheart could feel his fur prickle with fear as the three of them ran straight toward the fire and the Twolegs. Every instinct told him to keep away, but he dared not lose sight of the fleeing WindClan cats.

One of the Twolegs staggered to its feet, looming up in front of him. Fireheart skidded, sending up a spray of dust. Something exploded beside him, pelting him with hard-edged splinters, but nothing pierced his thick coat. He glanced backward, checking for Graystripe and Ivypool. He was relieved to see his friends right behind him, eyes wide with alarm and fur standing on end. Several splinters were lodged in Ivypool’s pelt, but she shook her head.

They charged into the safety of the shadows beneath the soaring Thunderpath. Ahead, Fireheart watched the WindClan cats stop close to one of the Thunderpath’s great stone legs. And then, one by one, the cats disappeared into the ground.

“Where did they go?” meowed Graystripe in amazement.

“Another tunnel?” Fireheart suggested. “Come on, let’s find out.”

Cautiously, the three friends approached the spot where the WindClan cats had vanished. As they neared, they saw a hole in the earth. Like their resting place on the previous night, the entrance was round and lined with stone, sloping away into utter blackness.

Fireheart led the way, all his senses alert for a WindClan patrol. The floor beneath his paws felt wet and slimy, and the sound of trickling water echoed around them. As the tunnel leveled out, Fireheart pricked his ears and opened his mouth. The damp air smelled rank and bitter — worse than the tunnel they had slept in. Here the Thunderpath fumes mingled with the fear-scent of WindClan cats.

“It smells awful in here,” Ivypool whispered.

It was too dark to see anything, but after a few paces Fireheart’s whiskers sensed a turning in the tunnel. Fireheart flicked his tail, touching Graystripe lightly with its tip. He couldn’t see his friend in the blackness, but Graystripe must have felt the signal, because he stopped beside Fireheart and together they peered around the comer.

Ahead of them, the tunnel was lit by a narrow hole in the ceiling that led to the wasteland above. Fireheart could see many cats huddled together in the gray light — warriors and elders, queens and kits, all pitifully thin. A cold breeze blew relentlessly through the hole in the roof, stirring the thin fur on the skinny bodies. Fireheart shuddered, for the breeze carried to him the stench of sickness and crowfood.

Suddenly the tunnel shook as a monster roared overhead. Graystripe and Fireheart, already tense, jumped, but the WindClan cats didn’t react. They simply huddled with half-closed eyes, numb to their surroundings.

The noise died away. Fireheart took a deep breath and stepped around the corner, out into the thin light.

A gray WindClan tom spun around, his fur standing on end as he yowled an alarm to the rest of the Clan. In one smooth movement, the WindClan warriors formed a line across the tunnel in front of the queens and elders, their backs arched, hissing fiercely.

With a feeling of dread, Fireheart saw the glint of unsheathed claws and thorn-sharp fangs. These half-starved cats were about to attack.

Chapter Text

Fireheart pressed his body warningly against Graystripe, who had padded out to join him. Ivypool stayed behind them, her pelt smooth besides where the splinters, which she had removed, had lodged in her pelt. They had to show no threat if they were to survive.

The WindClan warriors stood their ground without moving a muscle. They’re waiting for a signal from their leader! Fireheart realized. They still follow the warrior code, even though they have to live like this.

From behind the line of warriors, a black-and-white tom weaved his way to the front. With a jolt, Fireheart recognized the long-tailed cat from his dream. This must be Tallstar, leader of WindClan.

Tallstar sniffed the air, but Fireheart, Graystripe, and Ivypool were downwind, their scents carried away by the steady breeze. As the black-and-white cat walked toward them, Fireheart breathed in the rank odor of crowfood that hung on his coat. Like Graystripe, he remained perfectly still, his eyes down, as Tallstar circled them, sniffing their fur closely. In the line of WindClan warriors, a light brown tabby she-cat watched calmly, her eyes lighting up in recognition.

Finally Tallstar returned to his warriors. Fireheart heard him murmur, “ThunderClan.” The warriors flattened their fur, but remained in a defensive line, shielding the rest of the cats.

Tallstar turned to face his visitors and sat down, curling his tail carefully around his paws. “I was expecting ShadowClan,” he growled. His eyes burned with hostility. “Why are you here?”

“We came to find you,” Fireheart meowed, feeling his voice crack with tension. “Bluestar and the other Clan leaders want you to return to your home.”

The WindClan leader’s voice was still wary. “That land is not safe for my Clan anymore,” he meowed. There was a hunted look in Tallstar’s eye that sent a pang of sorrow through Fireheart.

“ShadowClan has driven out Brokenstar,” he meowed. “He is no longer a threat.”

“Fireheart is right,” the brown tabby agreed. “He was sent to bring us back to our territory.” Fireheart frowned, wondering how this cat knew his name. He turned to exchange a look with Ivypool, who nodded her confirmation. The she-cat was a warrior from the future. “He’s here to help you. He can’t exactly help himself.”

With a frown, Fireheart wondered what she meant by that.

The warriors behind Tallstar turned and looked at one another. Murmurs of surprise rippled back through the Clan.

“You must return as soon as possible,” Fireheart urged. “ShadowClan and RiverClan are starting to hunt in the uplands. We saw a RiverClan hunting patrol near the old badger set while we were on our way here.”

Tallstar bristled angrily.

“But they are poor rabbit hunters,” Graystripe added. “I think they went home with empty bellies.”

“RiverClan could never catch rabbits,” the she-cat purred. “They’re much too used to catching fish.”

Tallstar and his warriors purred with satisfaction. Their good spirits encouraged Fireheart, but he could see how weak they were. This Clan would find the journey back to the uplands long and hard. “May we travel with you?” he suggested respectfully.

Tallstar’s eyes flashed. He knew the question was a tactful offer of help. He looked steadily at Fireheart. “Yes,” he replied at last. “Thank you.”

Fireheart realized he hadn’t introduced himself. “This is Graystripe,” he meowed, dipping his head. “And I am Fireheart. We are warriors of ThunderClan. And this,” he continued, motioning towards Ivypool, “is–”

“Ivypaw!” the she-cat exclaimed. “You’re here too!”

“I’m Ivypool now, Heathertail,” she corrected. “Bluestar named me a warrior recently.”

“Congratulations!” Heathertail said. “I wasn’t sure if I’d know any ThunderClan cats here.”

Ivypool dipped her head understandingly. “It’s not just me. Lionblaze, Jayfeather, Cinderheart, and Dovepaw are here from ThunderClan, and Scorchfur and Redwillow from ShadowClan. They helped rally the rest of their Clan to stand up to Brokenstar. I don’t know if any cats from RiverClan are here, though.”

“Lionblaze?” Heathertail whispered. A strange emotion flickered in her eyes, but Fireheart didn’t want know what it was. Clearly there was some kind of future history with Lionblaze and Heathertail. After a few seconds, she shook her head. “My apprentice Furzepaw is here too,” she said. A small gray-and-white she-cat, only a little bigger than Swiftpaw and Lightpaw, twitched her ears in greeting.

The rest of the WindClan warriors muttered suspiciously. Fireheart guessed they were wondering why one of their cats was so comfortable talking to ThunderClan warriors.

“My sister and I sneaked into WindClan territory once,” Ivypool explained, trying to calm the cats down. “When we got caught, Heathertail was one of the warriors who escorted us back to our camp. But that won’t be happening anymore,” she added quickly.

“Fireheart,” repeated Tallstar thoughtfully, unfazed by the conversation between the two time travelers. Sunlight was flooding through the gap in the roof now, making Fireheart’s orange pelt glow in the dim tunnel. “The name suits you.”

Another monster roared overhead. Fireheart and Graystripe flinched. Tallstar watched them with amusement and flicked his tail. It must have been a signal, for the line of warriors behind him split up. “We shall leave at once,” he announced, standing up.

“Are we all fit for the journey?” Tallstar asked as the warriors began to move among the queens and elders.

“All except Morningflower’s kit,” replied a mottled brown warrior. “He is too young.”

“Then we must take turns carrying him,” answered Tallstar.

The WindClan cats shuffled forward, their eyes dull with pain and exhaustion. A tortoiseshell queen was holding a tiny kit gently by the scruff of its neck. The little creature’s eyes were hardly open.

“Ready?” called Tallstar.

A black tom with a misshapen paw looked around the Clan and answered for them. “Ready,” he meowed.

Fireheart and Graystripe turned and made their way back to the tunnel entrance and waited while the WindClan cats emerged blinking into the daylight. Some of the elders blinked so long, their faces screwed up against the weak sun, that Fireheart guessed they had not been outside the tunnel for some time. Ivypool was walking beside Heathertail, as if most comfortable in the presence of her fellow time traveler. Tallstar padded out of the tunnel last of all and walked to the head of his Clan.

“Shall we take you back the way we came?” Fireheart asked him. “I believe it’s a shortcut.”

“Is it safe?” asked Tallstar. Fireheart saw the hunted look once more in the leader’s eyes.

“We met no trouble coming here,” Graystripe meowed.

Tallstar flicked his tail decisively, as though he were brushing away any doubt. “Good,” he declared. “You come with me, Graystripe. Show me the way. Fireheart, travel beside the Clan. Tell my deputy if you see trouble. Ivypool and Heathertail, you two take the other side.”

“Which one is he?” asked Fireheart.

Tallstar nodded toward the black tom. “Deadfoot,” he meowed. The warrior turned at the sound of his name and pricked his ears.

Heathertail nodded. “Furzepaw can help watch over Eaglekit,” she offered, pointing with her tail to where her apprentice was already helping a small gray tom-kit limp along.

Fireheart dipped his head in greeting to the WindClan deputy. He left Graystripe with Tallstar and joined the other cats.

As the Clan made their way under the Thunderpath arch, Fireheart could still smell the fire, but when they padded out onto the patch of wasteland, the Twolegs were nowhere to be seen. Graystripe headed straight for the tunnel where he and Fireheart had spent the night. Tallstar entered first, while Fireheart waited at the back until all the Clan had disappeared inside. Only Deadfoot remained.

“Are you sure it leads to daylight?” the black tom meowed warily.

“It just leads under the Thunderpath. Have you never used this tunnel?” Fireheart asked, surprised.

“When our warriors cross the Thunderpath, they prefer to see where they’re heading,” growled Deadfoot. Fireheart nodded, and the deputy added, “You go first.”

Fireheart padded down into the dark hole. He emerged to find the WindClan cats staring across the field that led to the final Thunderpath. Fireheart saw Tallstar consult briefly with Graystripe before they set off into the long, frost-crisp grass. Fireheart walked with the rest of the Clan, flanking one side with Deadfoot, while Ivypool and Heathertail guarded on the other.

Before they were halfway across the field, it was clear that many of the cats were having trouble keeping up the pace. “Tallstar!” yowled Deadfoot. “We need to travel more slowly!”

Fireheart looked over his shoulder and saw some of the cats falling farther and farther behind. Morningflower was among them, the kit swinging from her mouth. Fireheart bounded over to her. She was panting heavily. It couldn’t have been long since her kitting.

“Let me carry him,” Fireheart offered. “Just until you have caught your breath.”

Morningflower glanced warily at Fireheart, but her eyes softened when they met his. She put her kit down, and Fireheart took it gently and walked next to her so that she didn’t lose sight of her precious bundle. A gray queen dropped back to steady Morningflower with her shoulder.

Tallstar slowed the pace, but only a little. In spite of his obvious exhaustion, and the fact that every rib showed under his fur, he burned with a fierce energy that lent swiftness to his paws.

Fireheart could understand part of the reason for his urgency. The sun was steadily climbing above the horizon. Some of the WindClan cats were sick, some old, and all of them were weak from hunger. If they were going to cross the Thunderpath without losing any cats, they would have to do it quickly, before the monsters came in their swarms.

By the time Fireheart and Morningflower arrived at the hedge, WindClan was gathered around its leader.

“We cross the Thunderpath here,” Tallstar announced above the noise of a monster racing past. The WindClan leader squeezed under the hedge. Deadfoot, Graystripe, and a younger warrior followed him.

Morningflower leaned toward Fireheart and took hold of her kit. She had stopped panting now, and as she took the kit from Fireheart, she brushed her cheek gratefully against his. He dipped his head to the tortoiseshell queen and followed Graystripe under the hedge.

Tallstar and Deadfoot sat staring wordlessly at the wide gray path. Graystripe stood beside them. He flicked his tail toward the younger warrior. “This is Onewhisker,” he told Fireheart. Heathertail stood nearby, watching the young warrior with obvious affection. Fireheart wondered if the two were kin in the future.

A monster sped past, almost drowning out Graystripe ’s words and whipping up stinging dust.

Through streaming eyes, Fireheart mewed a greeting to Onewhisker and turned his attention to the Thunderpath. “We should try to get the Clan over in small groups,” he meowed. “Graystripe and I will stay with any that need help.” He looked at the Clan leader. “If you agree, Tallstar,” he added.

Tallstar nodded. “The strongest group will go first,” he meowed.

The other WindClan cats began to appear through the hedge. Before long the whole Clan was clustered beside them, pressed against the sharp twigs, as far back from the Thunderpath as possible.

Fireheart and Graystripe moved to the edge, watching for a break in the line of monsters. The Thunderpath was much busier than it had been when they’d crossed last night.

Onewhisker led the first group forward.

“Do you want us to cross with you?” Fireheart offered. He could smell the young tom’s fear. The mottled brown tabby shook his head. The cats beside him peered along the Thunderpath first one way, then the other. All was quiet, and the group dashed safely over to the other side.

Two warriors came next, accompanied by a pair of skinny elders. “Now!” Fireheart ordered as a monster flashed safely past.

The four WindClan cats stepped out onto the empty Thunderpath. The elders winced as they padded across on paws raw from the damp tunnel. Fireheart willed them on breathlessly as they neared the other side. A monster was zooming toward them.

“Look out!” Graystripe yowled, and even the two elders bounded forward, fur bristling, and hurled themselves onto the other side a heartbeat before the monster raced past.

Furzepaw helped the gray kit onto her shoulders. “Hold on tight, Eaglekit,” she warned, before bounding quickly across. The gray queen, who had crossed earlier when Morningflower had decided she no longer needed help, nuzzled Eaglekit and gave Furzepaw a grateful look.

Two larger groups crossed, leaving just one more. Ivypool and Heathertail had split up, each leading one of the larger groups. Only once they were safely over would Tallstar and Deadfoot cross. Morningflower and her kit stepped up to Fireheart’s side. Behind her trembled three very elderly cats.

“We’ll cross with you,” Fireheart meowed. He looked at Graystripe, who nodded. “Tell us when it’s safe to go, Graystripe.” Fireheart leaned forward to take Morningflower’s kit, but she pulled back, her ears flat. Fireheart looked deep into her frightened amber eyes and understood. She and her kit would live or die together.

“Now!” At Graystripe’s yowl, Fireheart and Morningflower stepped out onto the Thunderpath. The elders crept out behind them with Graystripe beside them. Time seemed to stand still as the elders hobbled slowly forward on stiff, battle-scarred legs. If a monster comes now, we’re all fresh-kill, Fireheart thought. The other side was still several rabbit leaps away.

“Come on,” urged Graystripe. The elders tried to hurry, but one stumbled, and Graystripe had to nose him back onto his paws.

Fireheart heard the distant roar of a monster. “Go on ahead!” he hissed to Morningflower. “We’ll bring the elders.”

Morningflower stumbled forward. Her kit squealed as it bumped against the hard ground. Fireheart and Graystripe pressed themselves against the elders’ scrawny bodies, nudging them forward. The noise of the approaching monster grew louder and louder.

Fireheart grabbed the nearest elder by the scruff of the neck and dragged him forward, before turning to haul the second closer to the verge. The monster raced closer.

Fireheart closed his eyes and braced himself.

There was a screech and an acrid smell that stung his throat, then a fading roar as the monster sped away. Fireheart opened his eyes and looked around. Graystripe was crouching in the middle of the Thunderpath, unscathed, but staring with eyes as wide as full moons. One elder cowered between them; the other two trembled near the verge. The monster was hurtling away from them, swerving across the Thunderpath. Thank StarClan! It had missed them all.

Fireheart took a shuddering breath. “Come on,” he meowed to the last elder. “Almost there.”

Tallstar bounded across with Deadfoot and gathered his trembling Clan around him on the verge.

Onewhisker touched Fireheart’s nose with his own. “You would have died for us,” he murmured. “WindClan will never forget that.”

“Yeah right,” Heathertail muttered. Fireheart wondered what she meant.

Tallstar’s voice sounded behind them. “Onewhisker is right; we shall honor all of you in our stories. We must keep going,” he continued. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”

As the cats prepared to move off, Fireheart padded over to Morningflower. She was busy licking her kit.

“Is he all right?” Fireheart asked.

“Oh, yes,” answered Morningflower.

“What about you?” asked Fireheart.

Morningflower didn’t answer.

Fireheart turned to the gray queen, who answered his unspoken question. “Don’t worry,” she meowed. “I’ll take the kit next. Furzepaw is doing well with my son.”

The Clan followed the hedgerow along the Thunderpath before turning away to join the track through the woods. The scents here seemed to soothe the WindClan cats, but the journey had taken its toll; they were traveling slower than ever. And when they reached the fence at the far side, it took all Fireheart’s strength to help the weakest cats over.

The sun had passed its highest point by the time Fireheart spotted the Twolegplace in the distance. He sniffed the air hopefully but there was still no scent of Ravenpaw. Fireheart felt a stab of grief, and tried to ignore the nagging thought that he should never have sent his friend here alone.

Clouds billowed up over Highstones, growing blacker as they covered the sinking sun. A cold wind ruffled the cats’ fur, bringing the first drops of rain.

Fireheart looked at the WindClan cats. There was no way they could travel through a long, wet night.

He was tired too, and, for the first time since he’d eaten Yellowfang’s herbs, he was feeling the effects of hunger. A glance at Graystripe told him that his friend felt the same way. The big gray warrior’s tail drooped, and his ears were flattened against the spattering rain. Ivypool was breathing deeply, her fur ruffled.

“Tallstar,” Fireheart called. “Perhaps we should stop soon and shelter for the night.”

The WindClan leader stopped and waited while Fireheart caught up with him. “I agree,” he meowed. “There’s a ditch here; we can shelter in that until sunrise.”

Graystripe and Fireheart exchanged glances. “We might be better sheltering in the hedgerow,” Fireheart suggested. “There are rats in these ditches.”

“A lot of rats,” Ivypool agreed.

Tallstar nodded. “Very well.” He turned to his Clan and announced that they would be spending the night here. The queens and elders flopped down at once, despite the rain, while the warriors and apprentices gathered to discuss hunting patrols.

Fireheart and Graystripe joined them. “I don’t know how good the hunting will be here,” Fireheart meowed. “There are too many Twolegs.”

Graystripe ’s stomach growled as if in agreement. The other warriors turned to him with amused but sympathetic eyes. Then they froze as the grass behind them rustled. The WindClan warriors bristled and arched their backs, unsheathing sharp claws, but Fireheart and Graystripe turned their heads joyfully. The wind carried a scent as familiar as their own den.

“Ravenpaw!” Fireheart gasped as a sleek black cat emerged from the long grass.

“Ravenpaw?” Furzepaw echoed, awe in her voice.

Fireheart raced over to his old friend and nuzzled him. “Thank StarClan you’re safe!” he purred. He stepped back and studied Ravenpaw in surprise. What had happened to the skinny, scared black apprentice? This cat was plump and sleek, and his fur, usually so dull before, now shed the rain like a holly leaf.

“Firepaw!” Ravenpaw meowed in delight.

“Fireheart,” Graystripe corrected him. He stepped forward and touched noses with the black cat. “We’re warriors now! I’m Graystripe and Ivypaw’s Ivypool.”

“Do you know this cat?” snarled Deadfoot.

The hostility in his voice made Fireheart flinch. He looked at the bristling WindClan cats and silently cursed himself for calling Ravenpaw’s name out loud. He just hoped Tallstar’s warriors had been too distracted to hear it. If WindClan mentioned it at a Gathering, it would spread through the Clans like a forest fire. Ravenpaw was supposed to be dead!

“Is he a loner?” asked Onewhisker.

“He can help us find food,” Fireheart meowed quickly, glancing at Ravenpaw.

“Ravenpaw is a friend to all the Clans,” Heathertail promised.

The black cat nodded. “I know all the best places to hunt around here!” he meowed. His fur didn’t even bristle beneath so many hostile gazes. How much he has changed! Fireheart thought.

“Why would a loner help us?” demanded Deadfoot.

“Loners have helped us before,” Graystripe told him. “Another loner once saved us from a rat attack near here.”

Ravenpaw stepped forward and bent his head respectfully as he addressed the WindClan warriors. “Let me help you! I owe my life to Fireheart and Graystripe, and if they’re traveling with you, then you must be friends.” He lifted his eyes and let his gaze rest on the WindClan cats. They returned his stare, more weary now than hostile. The rain was falling harder and, with their fur bedraggled, they looked skinnier than ever.

“I’ll go and find Barley,” Ravenpaw meowed. “He will help, too.” He turned and disappeared through the long grass.

Tallstar’s eyes burned with curiosity, but all he asked Fireheart was, “Can we trust him?”

Fireheart met Tallstar’s gaze. “Completely.”

“You can trust him.” Heathertail’s voice was confident.

Tallstar nodded to his warriors. They let the fur lie flat on their shoulders, and settled down to wait.

Fireheart was almost wet through to his skin when Ravenpaw appeared again. This time Barley was with him. Fireheart greeted the black-and-white loner with a friendly mew. It was good to see him again.

Barley took one look at the dripping cats and meowed, “We need to find you some proper shelter. Follow me!”

Fireheart leaped forward at once, glad to move his stiffening legs. Graystripe was right behind him, but the WindClan cats hung back, fear and suspicion showing in their eyes.

Tallstar blinked at his Clan. “We have to trust him,” he growled, before turning to follow the loner. One by one, the WindClan cats fell in step behind their leader.

Barley and Ravenpaw led them through the hedge into another field. In an overgrown comer, among the brambles and nettles, stood an abandoned Twoleg nest. The walls were full of holes where stones had fallen out, and only half the roof was left.

The WindClan cats stared fearfully at it. “You won’t get me in there!” muttered one of the elders.

“Twolegs never come here now,” Barley reassured them.

“It’ll give us some shelter from the rain,” urged Fireheart.

One of the apprentices whispered loudly, “I’m not surprised he wants to hide in a Twoleg nest — once a kittypet, always a kittypet.”

“Hush, Webpaw!” Furzepaw hissed, her ears flattening against her head. “That’s disrespectful!”

Despite her unexpected defense, Fireheart bristled. He hadn’t heard that insult for several moons. But the story that a kittypet had joined a Clan must have made rich gossip at any Gathering. Of course WindClan would know. He whipped around and glared at the apprentice. “You’ve spent two moons living in a Twoleg tunnel. Does that make you a rat?”

Webpaw drew himself up, ruffling out his fur, but Graystripe stepped between them. “Come on; we’re just getting wetter the longer we stand out here.”

Tallstar meowed, “We’ve faced worse than a Twoleg shelter these past moons. One night here will do us no harm.”

“There’s plenty of warmth and prey,” Heathertail pressed. “It’s safe.”

The WindClan cats murmured nervously among themselves, clearly reluctant, but with a glance at Fireheart, Morningflower picked up her kit and padded into the Twoleg shelter. The gray queen followed after her, nudging her own kit forward out of the rain. The other cats gradually followed until every cat was inside.

Fireheart looked around the gloomy shelter. The ground was bare except for patches where weeds had burrowed their way under the stone walls. The wind and rain found their way through the gaps in the walls and roof, but it was drier and more sheltered than anywhere outside. He watched the WindClan cats sniffing cautiously around. As they began to settle themselves away from the dripping holes and drafty cracks, he glanced at Graystripe, relieved. Only Tallstar and Deadfoot remained on their paws.

“What about food?” asked Deadfoot.

Barley spoke. “You should all be resting,” he meowed. “Raven-”

Fireheart interrupted him before Barley could finish saying Ravenpaw’s name out loud. “Why don’t you two show me and Graystripe the best places to hunt around here?”

“Deadfoot, Onewhisker, and Heathertail will go with you,” meowed Tallstar. Fireheart couldn’t decide if the WindClan leader still didn’t trust these two strangers, or if he was determined to show that his Clan could look after itself.

The seven cats ventured back out into the rain. Hunting would be hard, but Fireheart was starving. Hunger always made him a better hunter. Tonight the voles and mice wouldn’t stand a chance. “Just show me where they are!” he meowed to Barley and Ravenpaw.

The two cats led them into a small patch of woodland. Fireheart breathed in a lungful of the familiar scent. Then he dropped into a hunting crouch and began to stalk into the ferns.

When the hunting party returned, each cat carried a mouthful of fresh-kill. The WindClan cats shared a feast with their new allies that night. Every cat from the eldest to the youngest ate their fill, then curled up together to share tongues in mutual grooming, while outside the wind and rain lashed at the walls of the shelter.

As darkness settled in, Barley got to his paws. “I’m off. Rats to catch!” he meowed.

Fireheart stood and touched the loner’s nose with his own. “Thank you again,” he purred. “This is the second time you’ve helped us.”

“Thanks for sending Ravenpaw to me,” replied Barley. “He’s turning into a fine ratter. And it’s good to share a meal with a fellow cat from time to time.”

“Is he happy here?” asked Fireheart.

“Ask him yourself,” meowed Barley, and with that he turned and disappeared into the night.

Fireheart padded over to Tallstar, who was washing his paws. Fireheart couldn’t help noticing how swollen and painful they looked. “We’ll take it in turns to keep watch tonight, if you like,” he offered, flicking his head toward Graystripe and Ravenpaw. Ivypool was already curled up with Heathertail and Furzepaw, as if she guessed Fireheart would want to spend time with his best friends alone.

Tallstar looked up at him gratefully, exhaustion clouding his eyes. “Thank you,” he meowed. Fireheart blinked respectfully at the WindClan leader and went to tell Ravenpaw and Graystripe.

His offer to Tallstar had been genuine, but it also meant he could be alone with his two friends. He was desperate to get Ravenpaw out of earshot of the WindClan cats and ask him what he had been up to. Graystripe and Ravenpaw bounded over to his side as soon as he called them.

Fireheart led them to a corner of the Twoleg nest, close enough to the entrance for them to keep watch, but far enough away from the other cats that they could talk in private. “So what happened after we left you?” he asked Ravenpaw as soon as the three friends had settled down.

“I headed straight across the WindClan territory, like you suggested.”

“What about the Twolegs’ dogs?” Graystripe put in. “Were they loose?”

“Yes, but it was easy to avoid them,” Ravenpaw told him.

Fireheart was surprised by how casually his friend dismissed the dogs. “Easy?” he echoed.

“I could smell them from a long way off. I just waited until dawn, and once the dogs were tied up again, I tracked down Barley. He’s been great. I think he likes having me around, just like Ivypool promised he would.” Ravenpaw’s expression suddenly clouded. “Which is more than Tigerclaw ever did,” he meowed bitterly. “What did you tell him?”

Fireheart recognized the hunted look in Ravenpaw’s eyes as he spoke about his old mentor. “We said you’d been killed by a ShadowClan patrol,” he answered quietly. Two WindClan apprentices were wandering toward them. Fireheart twitched his ears to warn his friends they had an audience.

“Oh, yes,” meowed Ravenpaw, raising his voice. “We loners eat Clan apprentices whenever we can catch one.”

The WindClan apprentices shot him a scornful look. “You don’t scare us,” they mewed.

“Really?” purred Ravenpaw. “Well, I guess your meat would be tough and stringy, anyway.”

“How come you’re such good friends with a loner?” Webpaw asked Fireheart.

“A wise warrior makes friends wherever he can,” Fireheart replied. “If it weren’t for this loner, we’d still be cold and hungry instead of dry and well fed!” He narrowed his eyes in warning and the apprentices slunk away.

“So ThunderClan thinks I’m dead,” meowed Ravenpaw when they had gone. He gazed down at his paws. “Well, it’s probably for the best.” He lifted his eyes and looked at Fireheart and Graystripe. “I’m glad I’ve seen you again,” he meowed warmly. Fireheart purred, and Graystripe prodded his friend affectionately with a hind paw. “But you look tired,” Ravenpaw continued. “You should get some sleep. I’ll keep watch tonight. I can rest tomorrow.” He stood up and gently licked each of his old friends on the head. Then he padded to the entrance of the shelter, sat down, and stared out into the rain.

Fireheart looked at Graystripe. “Are you tired?”

“Exhausted,” admitted Graystripe. The gray warrior rested his head on his paws and closed his eyes.

Fireheart took a final look at Ravenpaw sitting alone in the entrance. He knew now that he had made the right decision in helping Ravenpaw to leave ThunderClan. Perhaps Bluestar had been right when she’d said Ravenpaw would be better off without the Clan. Each cat has his own destiny, he thought. Ravenpaw was happy, and that was all that mattered.

When Fireheart woke, Ravenpaw was gone. It was past dawn. The gray rain clouds had begun to drift away. Tinged by the rosy glow of the rising sun, they looked like blossoms floating across a pond. Fireheart stared through a gap in the roof and watched them as the WindClan cats stirred and helped themselves to the leftovers of last night’s catch.

A short-tailed brown tom joined Fireheart and gazed up at the clouds with him. Fireheart jumped as a curious yowl suddenly escaped the brown tom’s throat. The noise brought the other WindClan cats crowding around them, murmuring and anxious.

“What is it, Barkface?” prompted Morningflower. “Has StarClan spoken to you?” Fireheart realized that this tom must be WindClan’s medicine cat. He tensed instinctively at the sight of Barkface’s bristling fur.

“The clouds are stained with blood!” rasped Barkface, his eyes wide and glazed. “It is a sign from our ancestors. There is trouble ahead. This day shall bring an unnecessary death.”

Chapter Text

For a moment, none of the cats moved or spoke. Then Deadfoot growled, “Any of the Clans could see those clouds. We can’t be sure that the message is for us.”

Ivypool and Heathertail exchanged a worried look and Furzepaw’s pelt bristled, as if they had heard about this sign and what happened.

Hopeful mews spread through WindClan. Tallstar surveyed his Clan, then meowed calmly, “Whatever StarClan has planned for us, today we return to our home. I can smell more rain in the air. It’s time we set off.” Fireheart felt relieved at the leader’s practical tone. The last thing they needed was hysteria at an ominous prophecy.

Tallstar led the way out into the chilly morning air. Fireheart and Graystripe followed. The WindClan leader was right: the wind carried the promise of more rain, and soon.

“Shall we scout ahead?” Fireheart offered.

“Yes, please,” replied Tallstar. “Let me know if you see dogs, Twolegs, or rats. My Clan is stronger this morning, but we had trouble with dogs on the way out. We must stay alert.” Fireheart could see from the worried look in the leader’s eyes that Barkface’s warning had disturbed him more than his confident words suggested. His Clan might be stronger, but it was in no state to fight off attackers.

“Ivypool and I can keep an eye out behind us,” Heathertail offered.

Fireheart raced away with Graystripe at his heels. They took turns going back to the Clan, telling Tallstar that the way ahead was clear, or warning him to stay back while a Twoleg passed by with a dog. The WindClan cats wordlessly obeyed their leader, plodding on heavy paws in spite of their night’s rest.

By sunhigh dark clouds had gathered once more, and the first drops of rain were beginning to fall. The ground began to slope upward, and when Fireheart pushed his way through a hedge, he recognized the red dirt track that led away from Twoleg territory and into WindClan’s hunting grounds. His spirits soared, and he met Graystripe’s gaze with a look of triumph. Nearly there!

The muffled tramp of pawsteps sounded behind the hedge. Fireheart spun around and darted back into the field. The WindClan cats had caught up with them. Deadfoot was at the head of the group. He looked startled by Fireheart’s sudden appearance.

“This way,” Fireheart meowed, showing him the gap through the dripping leaves. He was eager to see WindClan’s reaction when they glimpsed the uplands on the other side. With Deadfoot leading, the cats began to file slowly through.

Fireheart followed close behind the last cat, but Deadfoot and two warriors had already leaped the ditch and crossed the track, and were pushing into the hedgerow on the other side. Their pace had quickened — they clearly knew where they were. Fireheart had to sprint to catch up. He followed them through the hedge and kept up with them as they bounded toward the long slope that led to the uplands, and their home.

At the foot of the slope, Deadfoot and his warriors paused to wait for the rest of the Clan. They closed their eyes against the rain but held their heads high. Fireheart could see their chests rising and falling as they breathed in the familiar scents sweeping from the uplands.

Fireheart ran back to the rest of the Clan, looking for Morningflower. He spotted her walking beside a tabby warrior who held her kit in his mouth. Every few steps the tortoiseshell queen stretched her head to sniff the wet little bundle. It would not be long now before she could settle her kit into the WindClan nursery.

Fireheart fell into step beside Graystripe at the rear. They glanced happily at each other but didn’t speak, too caught up in WindClan’s excitement at coming home. Even the elders were moving swiftly now, keeping their bodies low and their eyes narrowed against the rain. As the Clan joined Deadfoot at the foot of the slope, the deputy got to his paws and Tallstar took the lead. Without pausing, Tallstar began to follow a narrow sheep trail through the rough grass and heather. Heathertail and Furzepaw were looking around in excitement as if drinking everything in. Clearly they had never been here before.

As the Clan neared the top, some of the warriors raced ahead again. At the brow of the hill, they made proud silhouettes against the stormy sky, while the wind sent ripples through their fur. Ahead stretched their old hunting grounds. Suddenly two apprentices charged past Fireheart and bounded away into the familiar heather.

Tallstar stiffened. “Wait!” he yowled. “There might be hunting parties from the other Clans here!”

As soon as they heard him, the apprentices skidded to a halt and pelted back to join the Clan, their eyes still bright with exhilaration.

From a rock-strewn ridge Fireheart saw the dip in the ground that concealed WindClan’s camp. With a purr of delight Morningflower took her kit from the mouth of the tabby warrior and hurried toward the hollow. Tallstar flicked his tail and three warriors raced forward to escort her as she disappeared over the edge and down into the camp.

The WindClan leader paused while the rest of his Clan rushed into the sheltering bushes below. He turned to Fireheart and Graystripe, his eyes shining. “My Clan is grateful for your help,” he meowed. “You have both proved you are warriors worthy of StarClan. WindClan has come home, and it is time for you to return to yours.”

Fireheart felt a pang of disappointment. He’d wanted to see Morningflower settled in the nursery with her kit. But Tallstar was right: there was no need for them to stay here any longer.

Tallstar spoke again. “There may be hostile hunting parties around. Onewhisker and Deadfoot will escort you to Fourtrees.”

Fireheart bowed his head. “Thank you, Tallstar.”

Heathertail padded up with Ivypool. “May I join them?” she asked her Clan leader.

Tallstar shook his head. “We need every other cat here. Onewhisker and Deadfoot will go.”

She dipped her head reluctantly. “Yes, Tallstar.” Turning to Ivypool, she whispered something in the other warrior’s ear. Ivypool nodded grimly.

Tallstar called to his warriors and gave them their orders. Then he turned his tired eyes once more to Fireheart. “You have served WindClan well. Tell Bluestar that WindClan will not forget it was ThunderClan who brought them home.”

Deadfoot padded away in the direction of Fourtrees. Fireheart and Graystripe walked after him with Onewhisker at their side, while Ivypool took the rear as she had been doing so often. They stayed close together as they followed a narrow path through a solid mass of gorse that provided good shelter against the rain.

Suddenly Onewhisker stopped and sniffed the air. “Rabbit!” he called out joyfully before charging away into the gorse. Deadfoot stopped and waited. Fireheart could see a glint in the deputy’s tired eyes. There was a rush of pawsteps in the distance and the rustle of gorse, then silence.

A moment later Onewhisker returned with a large rabbit dangling from his jaws.

Graystripe leaned toward Fireheart. “A little better than the RiverClan warriors, eh?”

“Much better!” Ivypool said.

Fireheart purred in agreement.

Onewhisker dropped the fresh-kill on the ground. “Anyone hungry?”

“Never thought I’d be offered prey by the WindClan–” Ivypool cut herself off.

They ate the rabbit gratefully. When he’d eaten his share, Fireheart sat up and licked his lips. He felt refreshed by the meal, but a weary coldness was beginning to nag at his bones, and his paws felt sore. If he and Graystripe followed the route they’d come, past Fourtrees, they still had a long way to go. What if they took a shortcut through RiverClan’s hunting grounds? After all, they were on a mission that had been agreed to, at the Gathering at least, by all the Clans. Could RiverClan really object if they passed through their territory? It wasn’t as if they were going to steal prey.

Fireheart looked around at his companions and meowed tentatively, “You know, it’d be quicker if we followed the river.”

Graystripe looked up from washing his paw. “But that would mean crossing into RiverClan territory.”

“We could follow the gorge,” Fireheart explained. “RiverClan doesn’t hunt there; it’s too steep for them to get down to the river.”

Graystripe gently rested a damp paw on the ground. “Even my claws ache,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t mind taking a shorter route.” He turned his yellow eyes hopefully to the WindClan deputy.

“That’s a bad idea. A very bad idea,” Ivypool growled, shaking her head.

Deadfoot looked thoughtful. “Tallstar ordered us to travel with you to Fourtrees,” he meowed.

“If you don’t want to come with us, we’ll understand,” Fireheart answered quickly. “We’ll only be in RiverClan territory for a blink. I can’t see us meeting any trouble.”

Ivypool growled again.

Graystripe nodded, but Deadfoot shook his head. “We couldn’t let you go into RiverClan territory alone,” he meowed. “You’re exhausted. If you did meet trouble, you’re in no state to deal with it.”

“We won’t meet anyone!” Fireheart had convinced himself and was determined to convince Deadfoot too.

Deadfoot gazed at him with wise old eyes. “If we did go that way,” he mused, “it would let RiverClan know that WindClan is back.”

Fireheart pricked his ears in understanding. “And once they’ve smelled fresh WindClan scent, they might not be so keen to come rabbit hunting in your territory again.”

“You really don’t see a problem with bringing fresh WindClan and ThunderClan scent into RiverClan territory?” Ivypool demanded.

Onewhisker licked the last traces of fresh-kill from his lips and remarked, “It’ll mean we’ll be home before moonrise!”

“You just want to make sure you get a good nest in your den!” Deadfoot retorted. His voice was stem but there was a good-natured gleam in his eye.

“Then we’re going through RiverClan territory?” Fireheart asked.

“Yes,” decided Deadfoot. Ivypool groaned. The WindClan deputy changed direction and led the cats along an old badger trail that took them away from the barren uplands. Soon they were in RiverClan’s territory. Even through the wind and the rain, Fireheart could hear the roaring of the river as it crashed and thundered somewhere up ahead.

The cats followed the trail toward the noise. The path shrank until it was little more than a narrow strip of grass on the very edge of a deep gorge. On one side the land stretched upward, steep and rocky; on the other it plunged straight down. Fireheart could see the far side of the gorge only a few fox lengths away. The space looked tantalizingly narrow, and Fireheart wondered if he could leap the gap. Perhaps if he weren’t so tired and hungry. . .His paws prickled with fear at the thought of falling, but he couldn’t resist peering over the side.

Beneath his paws, the ground dropped away in a sheer cliff. Ferns clung to tiny ledges, their leaves glistening, not from rain, but from the spray of the swollen torrent that foamed at the bottom of the gorge.

Fireheart pulled back from the edge, the fur along his spine bristling with fear. Ahead of him Deadfoot, Onewhisker, and Graystripe plodded steadily on, heads down. They would have to follow this path until they could cut away from it, through the small strip of forest that stood between them and ThunderClan territory. Ivypool’s ears were pricked warily, as if she was expecting them to be caught. What is she so afraid of? Fireheart wondered, suddenly realizing it might have been a good idea to listen to the warrior from the future.

Fireheart stumbled as he hurried to catch up. Deadfoot’s ears were pricked and his tail flattened so that it almost dragged along the ground. Onewhisker was clearly nervous too; he kept looking sharply up the slope beside them as if he could hear something. Both WindClan cats seemed to be picking up on Ivypool’s tension. Fireheart could hear nothing but the roaring of the river. He glanced anxiously over his shoulder, his eyes darting from side to side. The WindClan cats’ wariness was making him uneasy.

The steep slope began to flatten out until they could move farther away from the cliff edge. The rain was still driving into their faces, and the darkening sky told Fireheart that the sun was setting, but it would not be long now before they reached the forest. There would be more shelter there. The thought of food and a dry nest cheered Fireheart.

Suddenly a warning yowl rumbled in Deadfoot’s throat. Fireheart stiffened and tasted the air. A RiverClan patrol! A screech sounded from behind them, and the cats spun around to see seven RiverClan warriors charging toward them. Fireheart’ s fur stood on end with horror. The deep gorge with its raging waters was still dangerously close.

A dark brown RiverClan cat landed on top of him. Fireheart rolled away from the gorge, kicking furiously with his back legs. He felt teeth bite into his shoulders and struggled under the weight of the hissing warrior. He scrabbled desperately on the sodden ground, trying to free himself. The RiverClan warrior raked his side with sharp claws. Fireheart twisted and bit into the fur of his attacker. He clamped his jaws tight and heard the warrior yowl, but the other cat’s claws only raked him more fiercely. “This will be the last time you set foot in RiverClan territory,” hissed the brown tom.

Around him Fireheart was aware of his companions struggling fiercely. He knew they were as exhausted as he was from the long trek. He could hear Graystripe yowling violently. Onewhisker hissed with pain and rage. Ivypool was trying to speak with the dark gray she-cat she was fighting. Then, from the forest behind them, another sound reached Fireheart’s ears. It was full of fury — yet it filled Fireheart with a surge of hope. Tigerclaw’s war cry! Fireheart smelled the fast-approaching battle-scent of a ThunderClan patrol — Tigerclaw, Willowpelt, Whitestorm, and Sandpaw.

Yowling and spitting, the ThunderClan cats leaped into the fray. The brown tom released Fireheart and he quickly struggled to his paws. He watched as Tigerclaw pinned a gray tabby tom to the ground, giving a warning bite to the tom’s hind leg. The tom ran screeching away into the bushes. Tigerclaw whipped around and fixed his pale eyes on Leopardfur. The mottled RiverClan deputy was wrestling with Deadfoot. The lame warrior was no match for the ferocious RiverClan she-cat. Fireheart prepared to leap to the rescue, but Tigerclaw was ahead of him. The dark warrior dived forward and grasped Leopardfur’s wide shoulders. With a mighty yowl, he hauled her off the scrawny WindClan deputy.

One of the cats was missing, but he could see blood trickling from Ivypool’s ear. She must have chased the warrior off.

Fireheart heard a vicious squeal behind him. He spun around to see Sandpaw locked in battle with another RiverClan she-cat. Twisting and tussling, the pair rolled over and over on the wet grass, spitting and clawing each other fiercely. Fireheart gasped. They were rolling toward the rocky edge of the gorge! One more roll and they would be over the side.

Fireheart sprang. With a mighty swipe he bundled the RiverClan warrior off Sandpaw and away from the edge. Sandpaw skidded away, closer to the drop. Fireheart lunged forward and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck with his teeth. She squealed with rage as he dragged her away from the gorge, her paws scrabbling on the muddy ground. She sprang to her paws as soon as he stopped and hissed at Fireheart, her eyes burning with fury, “I can win my own battles without your help!”

Ivypool let out a relieved purr, as if whatever terrible thing she’d been trying to stop was over.

Fireheart opened his mouth to explain but a terrible howl made them both turn their heads. Graystripe was leaning perilously over the side of the gorge, his hind legs straining. Beside him, Fireheart glimpsed a white paw clutching at the edge. Graystripe leaned down with his mouth open, trying to get a grip on the paw, but it disappeared out of sight in a terrifying rush. Graystripe cried out after it, his wail echoing along the gorge.

All the cats stopped fighting at the sound of Graystripe’s agonized call. Fireheart froze, panting with shock and exhaustion. The RiverClan cats scrambled to the edge of the gorge. Slowly Fireheart followed them and looked over the side. Just below, he saw the dark gray head of a RiverClan warrior–the seventh cat on the patrol who had vanished.

She gripped the side of the cliff with all four paws, her jaws clamped tightly around the scruff of another cat, whose eyes bulged in shock and fear.

With a cold feeling of horror, Fireheart recalled the words of the WindClan medicine cat: “This day shall bring an unnecessary death.”

Leopardfur lifted her head and yowled into the wind. Then, seeming to realize that wouldn’t help, she reached over the side with her forepaws. Fireheart reached down to help her. While she hooked her claws into the brown tom’s pelt, he grabbed onto the dark gray she-cat. Together, they slowly pulled the other RiverClan warriors over the edge of the cliff and back onto solid ground. Behind him, he heard Ivypool let out a shocked purr, sounding happier than he’d ever heard her.

Once the cats were safe, Graystripe scrambled backward until all four paws were on safe ground. His wet fur was bristling and his eyes were wide with shock. “I tried to grab him. . .he just lost his footing. . .I didn’t mean to. . The words tumbled out breathlessly. Fireheart bounded across to his friend and pressed his nose into his flank for comfort, but Graystripe backed blindly away.

One by one, the other cats turned away from the edge and looked at Graystripe. The RiverClan cats’ eyes were narrowed with fury, their shoulders tense. Willowpelt and Whitestorm moved instinctively toward Graystripe, taking up defensive positions on either side of him.

Leopardfur growled deep in her throat, but it was a warning to her own cats. They were to stay back. The RiverClan deputy stared at the two warriors she and Fireheart had rescued, who were both crouched on the ground in exhaustion. “Minnowtail, what were you thinking?” she demanded.

Minnowtail didn’t flinch. “I wasn’t about to let Whiteclaw die.”

“So you jumped off the edge of the gorge?”

“I’m immortal, remember?” Minnowtail pointed out. Another time traveler? Fireheart thought. “If I had fallen, I would have been fine, but Whiteclaw could have been killed.”

“I don’t care if you’re immortal!” Leopardfur hissed. “RiverClan warriors don’t take such dangerous risks. We could have lost both of you.”

Whiteclaw winced. “At least she saved me.”

“And you,” Leopardfur continued, glaring at him. “You should have known better than to get so close to the edge. That ThunderClan cat wasn’t going to save you!”

“He tried to,” Whiteclaw murmured. “It was an accident. He didn’t mean for it to happen.”

The fur on Leopardfur’s shoulders relaxed. She sighed. “I’m glad you’re still alive,” she told Whiteclaw quietly. She turned to Minnowtail. “I’m sorry I thought you and your apprentice couldn’t be trusted. I was wrong. What you have done here today has proven that.”

Minnowtail dipped her head. “Then as your Clanmate, please don’t turn this into something worse than what could have been. This close to leafbare, the last thing we need is a war.”

Leopardfur growled. Then she turned to Tigerclaw and Deadfoot, staring at them. “This could have been a tragedy,” she told him. “None of our Clans can afford to lose more warriors. So take your cats and leave. Now.” Tigerclaw defiantly returned Leopardfur’s stare. He showed no fear, but merely gave the smallest of nods.Leopardfur flicked the tip of her tail, then turned and padded away. Two of the RiverClan cats helped their exhausted Clanmates stand and walk away before they followed her, and the whole patrol disappeared into the bushes. Minnowtail turned and nodded to Ivypool respectfully before vanishing with her Clanmates.

“We should leave,” meowed Deadfoot, limping forward. “Your three young warriors served us well, and my Clan thanks you.” But the formal words of gratitude sounded hollow after the near-tragedy they had just witnessed. Tigerclaw nodded, and the two WindClan warriors began to head back toward their own territory. Fireheart meowed a quiet farewell to Onewhisker as he passed. Onewhisker glanced briefly at him, and walked on.

Fireheart noticed that Sandpaw was standing at the edge of the gorge, staring down at the torrent below. Her paws seemed frozen to the ground, and her eyes remained fixed on the steep drop. Fireheart guessed she had realized how close she had come to sharing what had almost been Whiteclaw’s fate.

Fireheart started toward her but Tigerclaw growled, “Follow me!”

The tabby warrior charged away through the trees, and the rest of his patrol followed after him, but Fireheart hesitated beside Graystripe. “Come on,” he urged. “We should keep up!” Graystripe shrugged, his eyes dull and clouded with pain, and began to pad after the others, dragging his paws as if they were made from stone.

Soon the cats ahead of them were out of sight, but Fireheart was able to track them by their scent. Tigerclaw was leading them back toward ThunderClan territory, straight through RiverClan’s strip of forest. Fireheart guessed there was no need to worry about RiverClan patrols right now. The damage had been done. It would be pointless to take the long way around by Fourtrees.

Tigerclaw had halted the patrol and was waiting for Fireheart and Graystripe at the border of ThunderClan’ s territory.

“I thought I told you to follow me,” he growled.

“Graystripe was-” Fireheart began.

“The sooner Graystripe gets back to camp, the better,” interrupted Tigerclaw.

Graystripe said nothing, but Fireheart bristled at the deputy’s harsh tone. “Whiteclaw wasn’t his fault!”

Tigerclaw turned away. “I know,” he meowed. “But it’s done. Come on, and this time keep up!” He leaped away, crossing the scent markers that bounded ThunderClan territory.

Fireheart had been looking forward to this moment since leaving WindClan’s den among the Thunderpaths. Now he hardly noticed as he pounded past the markers, keeping one eye on Graystripe.

The rain eased as they followed the familiar trail to the camp. When the patrol emerged from the gorse tunnel, some of the other Clan cats bounded out of their dens, their tails held high in greeting.

“Did you find WindClan? Are they safe?” Mousefur called. Fireheart nodded absently, but felt too hollow to reply. Mousefur’s tail dropped. The other cats hung back at the edge of the clearing. The expressions on the faces of the returning cats told them that something serious had happened.

“Come with me,” Tigerclaw ordered Fireheart and Graystripe, leading them toward Bluestar’s den. He ignored Ivypool altogether, but she came anyways. Fireheart kept close to Graystripe so that his fur brushed against his friend. Graystripe just padded onward, neither drawing closer to Fireheart nor moving away.

A warm mew welcomed them from the shadows beyond the lichen. The three cats pushed their way into the snug cave.

“Welcome!” Bluestar leaped up, purring. “Did you find WindClan? Did you bring them back?”

“Yes, Bluestar,” Fireheart replied quietly. “They are safe in their camp. Tallstar told me to thank you.”

“Good, good,” meowed Bluestar. Her eyes darkened as she noticed Tigerclaw’s grim expression. “What has happened?”

“Fireheart decided to return home through RiverClan territory,” growled Tigerclaw.

Graystripe looked up for the first time. “It wasn’t just Fireheart who decided — ” he began.

Tigerclaw interrupted him. “They were found by a RiverClan patrol. If my patrol hadn’t heard their yelps in time, they wouldn’t have made it home at all.”

“So you rescued them,” meowed Bluestar, relaxing. “Thank you, Tigerclaw.”

“It’s not that simple.” Tigerclaw snorted. “They were fighting beside the gorge. A RiverClan warrior who was battling Graystripe fell over the edge.” Fireheart noticed Graystripe flinch at Tigerclaw’s words.

Bluestar’s eyes widened. “Dead?” she asked, looking horrified.

Fireheart meowed quickly, “It was an accident! Graystripe would never kill a cat over a border fight!”

“I doubt Leopardfur sees it that way.” Tigerclaw turned on Fireheart, his tail lashing from side to side. “What were you thinking? Traveling through RiverClan territory! And with WindClan cats. You’ve sent a message that we are their allies, which will only drive RiverClan and ShadowClan closer together.”

“At least Whiteclaw didn’t die,” Ivypool murmured.

“The RiverClan warrior survived falling into the gorge?”

Ivypool shook her head. “Another warrior, Minnowtail, knew what was going to happen, she climbed down the gorge and somehow managed to hold onto Whiteclaw until Leopardfur and Fireheart could pull them both back up.”

“Then we can thank StarClan both survived,” Bluestar murmured.

Tigerclaw growled. “It wasn’t StarClan that saved them. Minnowtail is apparently from the future RiverClan. She was confident that she would have survived had she fallen into the gorge. But saved or not, that doesn’t justify the fact that these mousebrains brought WindClan cats with them.”

“WindClan was with you in RiverClan territory?” Bluestar looked even more alarmed. “And you met more cats from the future?”

“Just two warriors. Tallstar gave us an escort home; we were tired....” Fireheart murmured.

“You should not have been in RiverClan territory,” Tigerclaw snarled. “Especially with WindClan cats.”

“It wasn’t an alliance. They were escorting us back home!” Fireheart protested.

“Does RiverClan know that?” spat Tigerclaw.

“RiverClan knew we were going to find WindClan and bring them back. They agreed to it at the Gathering. They shouldn’t have attacked us — it was a special mission, like the journey to Highstones.”

“They didn’t agree to let you travel through their territory!” spat Tigerclaw. “You still don’t understand Clan ways, do you?”

“He understands them better than you do!” Ivypool accused. She was standing nose to nose with Tigerclaw, her fur bushed in fury.

Bluestar stood up. Her eyes flashed as she looked around at the four cats, but her voice was calm.

“You should not have entered RiverClan’s hunting grounds. It was a dangerous thing to do.” She looked sternly from Fireheart to Graystripe to Ivypool. Fireheart searched her eyes for a harsher reproach, but could find none. He felt torn between gratitude and guilt. He had potentially caused a rift with RiverClan that might threaten the safety of his Clan for many moons.

Bluestar went on, flicking her tail uneasily. “At the same time, you did well to find WindClan and bring them back. But we will need to prepare ourselves for an attack from RiverClan. We need to start training more warriors. Fireheart and Graystripe, Frostfur tells me two of her kits are almost ready to begin their training. I want each of you to take a kit as your apprentice.”

Fireheart felt stunned. What an honor! He couldn’t believe Bluestar had suggested it — especially now. He glanced furtively at Tigerclaw. The deputy sat rigid as a rock.

Graystripe raised his head. “But none of Frostfur’s kits are six moons yet!”

“It won’t be long before they are. The divisions at the last Gathering troubled me, and today. . .” Bluestar’s voice trailed off, and Fireheart noticed Graystripe look down at his paws once more.

Tigerclaw was staring at Bluestar, his amber eyes hard. “Wouldn’t it be better to ask more experienced warriors like Longtail or Darkstripe to take on another apprentice?” he asked. “These two are hardly more than apprentices themselves!”

“I did consider that,” replied Bluestar. “But Longtail will be busy enough with Swiftpaw, and Darkstripe is getting Dustpaw ready to become a full warrior. And of course, we could give apprentices to Ivypool or Cinderheart, but I don’t think it’s wise to give apprentices to cats from the future, at least right now.”

“What about Runningwind?” Tigerclaw asked.

“Runningwind is a fine hunter and a loyal warrior,” Bluestar answered. “But I don’t think he has the patience for mentoring. ThunderClan has better use for his skills.”

Ivypool shrugged. “I have the feeling he’d do a decent job.”

“And you think these two have got what it takes to train ThunderClan warriors?” Tigerclaw meowed scornfully.

Fireheart flinched. Tigerclaw was eyeing him alone as he spoke. Does he think a kittypet is not fit to train Clanborn cats? he wondered angrily.

“They would be better mentors than you!” Ivypool snapped. “At least they wouldn’t bully their apprentices for no reason.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tigerclaw growled.

Ivypool snorted. “I’m sure you do. After, my friends and I were sent back to fix the wrongs of the past. And the way you treated Ravenpaw was unthinkable.”

“Enough!” Bluestar ordered. She stared back at her deputy. “We shall find out how they can handle apprentices. Don’t forget, they brought WindClan home. And of course, Tigerclaw,” she added, “I am relying on you to oversee the training.” Tigerclaw nodded, and Bluestar turned back to Fireheart and Graystripe. “Get something to eat,” she ordered. “Then rest. We’ll have the naming ceremony for the kits at moonhigh.”

Ivypool was the first to leave. Fireheart led Graystripe out of the den, leaving Tigerclaw behind with Bluestar. The rain had eased to a fine drizzle.

“I’m starving,” meowed Fireheart. He could smell the warm scent of fresh-kill in the clearing. “Are you coming to get something to eat?”

Graystripe stood behind him, his eyes distant and sad. He slowly shook his head. “I just want to sleep,” he muttered.

Once his stomach was full, Fireheart pushed his way into the warriors’ den. Graystripe was curled up in a ball, his head tucked beneath his paws. Fireheart’ s eyes felt heavy, but his fur was still soaked, and he forced himself to wash thoroughly before settling into his warm nest.

Lionblaze and Cinderheart were watching him. “What happened at the gorge?” Cinderheart asked gently.

Unsurprised that they knew where he’d been, Fireheart replied, “A RiverClan warrior fell and almost died, but a she-cat named Minnowtail saved him.”

“Minnowtail?” Lionblaze echoed in surprise.

Fireheart nodded. “She knew what was going to happen.”

“Minnowtail and Mossypaw must be the cats Half Moon sent to RiverClan,” Cinderheart guessed. “We were sent with our apprentices, so the same thing must have happened with them.”

“Did you learn who the WindClan time travelers are?” Lionblaze asked.

“Their names are Heathertail and Furzepaw,” Fireheart told him.

Lionblaze flinched. “Heathertail?” he groaned. “Why her?”

“Heathertail is a brave and loyal warrior,” Cinderheart reminded him. “I know you two still have guilt from when you used to meet in the tunnels, but Half Moon must have known you were both worthy of coming here.”

“You’re right,” Lionblaze admitted.

Cinderheart gave him a comforting lick. “If you see her at the next Gathering, you two should talk. It’s best for every cat if you patch things up with her.”

Lionblaze said something else, but Fireheart didn’t hear it. Instead sleep pulled him into warm, peaceful darkness.

Willowpelt woke Fireheart with a gentle prod. “Time for the ceremony,” she whispered.

Fireheart lifted his head and blinked. “Thanks, Willowpelt,” he meowed as she ducked out of the den.

He nudged Graystripe. “Ceremony,” he hissed, then stood and stretched up on his toes until his legs quivered. He was about to become a mentor! Excitement tingled in his paws.

Graystripe stirred and uncurled slowly, like an old cat. Suddenly Fireheart’s paws seemed to remember their long journey and began to ache again.

At least the rain had stopped. In silence, Fireheart and Graystripe padded into the clearing. The moon shone above the trees, turning the wet branches silver.

“Well done for bringing WindClan home!” The cheery voice made Fireheart jump. He turned to see Halftail settling down beside him. “You must come and share the story with the elders one night.”

Fireheart nodded absently, then looked back into the clearing. Frostfur was already sitting below the Highrock. A kit sat on either side of her: Fireheart recognized the smudgy gray of Cinderkit’s fur and Brackenkit’s ginger. The white queen twisted her head and licked behind their ears. Cinderkit shook her head impatiently as her mother fussed over her.

Once more, excitement made Fireheart’s fur tingle.

Beside him Graystripe sat staring at the ground. “Aren’t you excited?” Fireheart asked.

Graystripe shrugged.

“Graystripe” — Fireheart lowered his voice — “what happened wasn’t your fault. It was the worst place for an attack, and the RiverClan cats would have known that. Sandpaw nearly fell over the edge too,” he added.

He glanced at Sandpaw sitting nearby. Beside her, Dustpaw stared at Fireheart with raw jealousy in his eyes. Fireheart couldn’t blame him. He was about to become a mentor when Dustpaw hadn’t even been given his warrior name. But he flinched when Dustpaw leaned toward Sandpaw and whispered, loud enough for Fireheart to hear, “I feel sorry for Fireheart’s apprentice. Imagine a Clan cat being trained by a kittypet!”

But for once Sandpaw didn’t react. She just shot an uncomfortable glance at Fireheart.

Fireheart turned back to Graystripe. “Bluestar doesn’t blame you,” he insisted. “She knows you’re a good warrior. She’s giving you your own apprentice.”

Graystripe lifted his eyes and replied bitterly, “She’s just doing it because ThunderClan needs more apprentices. And why do we need them? Because I’ve given RiverClan an excuse to hate us!”

Fireheart was shocked by the harshness in Graystripe’s tone. Bluestar’s meow summoned them before he could say anything more. Fireheart padded toward his Clan leader, Graystripe trailing after him.

When they reached the center of the clearing, Bluestar gazed around at the assembly of cats. “This moonhigh, we gather together to name two new apprentices. Come forward, you two.”

Cinderkit darted from her mother’s side into the clearing, her fluffy tail held high and her blue eyes wide. Brackenkit came forward more slowly. His ears were pricked, and he frowned with seriousness as he walked to the foot of the Highrock.

Fireheart’s heart began to pound in his chest — which one of these kits would he be given? He couldn’t help feeling that the solemn-faced Brackenkit would be easier to train, but there was something about the Cinderkit’s clumsy enthusiasm that reminded him of himself when he had first joined the Clan.

“From this day forward,” Bluestar meowed, gazing down at Cinderkit, “until she has earned her warrior name, this apprentice will be called Cinderpaw.”

“Cinderpaw!” The gray kit couldn’t help mewing her new name out loud. A quietening hiss came from Frostfur, and Cinderpaw ducked her head apologetically. Nearby, Cinderheart was watching her, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Fireheart,” meowed Bluestar, “you are ready for your first apprentice. You will begin Cinderpaw’s training.” Pride swelled in Fireheart’s chest. “You are fortunate, Fireheart, to have had more than one mentor. I expect you to pass on everything I taught you to this young apprentice” — Fireheart suddenly began to feel a bit overwhelmed. Bluestar’s words carried a weight of responsibility he wasn’t sure he was ready for — “and share with her the skills you learned from Tigerclaw and Lionheart.”

At the mention of Lionheart, Fireheart pictured the golden warrior looking down on him from Silverpelt with warm, encouraging eyes. He lifted his head and returned Bluestar’s gaze as steadily as he could.

“And this apprentice” — Bluestar turned her gaze toward Brackenkit — “will be known as Brackenpaw.” Brackenpaw didn’t move or make a sound. Cinderheart let out an unsurprised purr.

“Graystripe, you will train Brackenpaw. Our lost friend Lionheart was your mentor. I hope that his skill and wisdom will pass through you to your new apprentice.”

Graystripe lifted his head high at Bluestar’s words, and for a moment a gleam of pride showed in his eyes. He stepped forward and touched his new apprentice’s nose with his own. Brackenpaw returned the touch politely. Only his eyes, which shone like stars, gave away the fact that this young cat was as excited as his sister.

As soon as Fireheart saw the pair touch noses, he realized he should have done the same. He stepped forward quickly. Cinderpaw jerked her head up and their noses collided painfully. Cinderpaw touched his nose again, this time less awkwardly, but Fireheart’s eyes were beginning to water. He could see that Cinderpaw was trying to stop her whiskers from twitching with amusement. Behind them, he heard Cinderheart let out a mrrow of laughter, and a flush of embarrassment washed over him. I’m a mentor, he reminded himself.

Fireheart looked around at the rest of the Clan. Every cat seemed to be nodding approvingly. Then his eyes found Tigerclaw. From the edge of the clearing, the deputy’s amber gaze seemed to mock him.

Fireheart looked hastily down at Cinderpaw, who was staring at him with undisguised pride. He couldn’t help but notice how similar she looked to Cinderheart. Fireheart’s fur suddenly began to prickle. He wanted to be a great warrior and a good mentor more than anything else, but it seemed painfully clear that Tigerclaw was just waiting for him to fail.

Chapter Text

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 YELLOWFANG — old dark gray she-cat with a broad, flattened face

CATS JAYFEATHER— gray tabby tom with blind blue eyes

WARRIORS (toms, and she-cats without kits)

SWEETMINT — tortoiseshell she-cat

GOLDENFLOWER — pale ginger coat.

NIGHTHUNTER — black she-cat

APPRENTICE, LIGHTPAW

MISTFLOW – gray she-cat 

WHITESTORM— big white tom. 

APPRENTICE, SANDPAW

OWLTUFT — brown tabby tom

NEEDLENOSE — tortoiseshell she-cat with a thin stripe down her muzzle and nose

APPRENTICE, STRIPEPAW

NUTFUR — light brown she-cat

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.

CINDERHEART— gray tabby she-cat

LIONBLAZE— golden tabby tom with amber eyes

APPRENTICE, DOVEPAW

FIREHEART — handsome ginger tom.

APPRENTICE, CINDERPAW

GRAYSTRIPE — long-haired solid gray tom.

APPRENTICE, BRACKENPAW

IVYPOOL— silver-and-white tabby she-cat with dark blue eyes

APPRENTICES (more than six moons old, in training to become warriors)

DUSTPAW — dark brown tabby tom.

STRIPEPAW — black-and-white she-cat

SANDPAW — pale ginger she-cat.

DOVEPAW— pale gray she-cat with green eyes

SWIFTPAW — black-and-white tom.

LIGHTPAW — gray-and-white tom

CINDERPAW — dark gray she-cat.

BRACKENPAW — golden brown tabby tom.

QUEENS (she-cats expecting or nursing kits)

FROSTFUR— beautiful white coat and blue eyes, mother to Cinderpaw, Brackenpaw, Thornkit, and Brightkit.

BRINDLEFACE— pretty tabby, mother to Ashkit, Fernkit, Tulipkit.

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, Virtually blind and deaf. 

DAPPLETAIL — once-pretty tortoiseshell she-cat with a lovely dappled coat.

SHADOWCLAN

LEADER NIGHTSTAR— black tom.

DEPUTY CINDERFUR — thin gray tom

APPRENTICE, NIGHTPAW

MEDICINE RUNNINGNOSE — small gray-and-white tom.

CAT

WARRIORS 

BLACKFOOT — large white tom with huge jet-black paws.

APPRENTICE, BROWNPAW

FERNSHADE —tortoiseshell she-cat

APPRENTICE, LITTLEPAW

FLINTFANG—older gray tom

ROWANBERRY—brown-and-cream she-cat

APPRENTICE, WHITEPAW

RUSSETFUR—dark ginger she-cat

APPRENTICE, VOLEPAW

BOULDER— silver tabby tom.

APPRENTICE, WETPAW

SCORCHFUR—dark gray tom

REDWILLOW—mottled brown-and-ginger tom

QUEENS 

BRIGHTFLOWER— black-and-white she-cat, mother to Marigoldkit and Mintkit.

DARKFLOWER — black she-cat.

TALLPOPPY — long-legged light brown tabby she-cat.

ELDERS

ASHFUR — thin gray tom.

DAWNCLOUD— small tabby.

WINDCLAN

LEADER TALLSTAR — a black-and-white tom with a very long tail.

DEPUTY DEADFOOT — a black tom with a twisted paw.

MEDICINE BARKFACE — a short-tailed brown tom.

CAT 

WARRIORS

PIGEONFLIGHT — a dark gray tom with white patches.

SORRELSHINE — a gray-and-brown she-cat.

WRENFLIGHT — a brown she-cat.

FLYTAIL — a snowy-white tom.

RABBITEAR — a pale brown she-cat with a fluffy white belly and yellow eyes.

BRISTLEBARK — a black tom.

MUDCLAW — a mottled dark brown tom.

APPRENTICE, WEBPAW

TORNEAR— a tabby tom.

APPRENTICE, RUNNINGPAW

ONEWHISKER— a young brown tabby tom.

APPRENTICE, WHITEPAW

HEATHERTAIL—light brown tabby she-cat with blue eyes

APPRENTICE, FURZEPAW (gray-and-white she-cat)

QUEENS

ASHFOOT — a gray queen, mother to Eaglekit.

MORNINGFLOWER — a tortoiseshell queen, mother to Gorsekit.

ELDERS

LARKSPLASH — a tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat.

STAGLEAP — a dark brown tom with amber eyes.

DOESPRING — light brown she-cat.

RYESTALK — gray tabby she-cat with amber eyes.

BRACKENDUST — brown tabby tom with brown eyes.

RIVERCLAN

LEADER CROOKEDSTAR — a huge light-colored tabby with a twisted jaw.

DEPUTY LEOPARDFUR — unusually spotted golden tabby she-cat.

WARRIORS 

BLACKCLAW— smoky black tom. 

APPRENTICE, HEAVYPAW

SWANSOAR — silver tabby

STONEFUR — a gray tom with battle-scarred ears.

APPRENTICE, SHADEPAW

MOSSLIGHT — a gray-and-white she-cat

LOUDBELLY — a dark brown tom.

SILVERSTREAM — a pretty slender silver tabby.

WILLOWMIST — smoky black she-cat.

WHITECLAW — a dark brown tom with white paws and amber eyes.

MINNOWTAIL—dark gray she-cat

APPRENTICE, MOSSYPAW (brown-and-white she-cat)

QUEENS

MINNOWSCALE — dark gray she-cat, mother to Longkit and Icekit

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.

RAVENPAW — sleek black cat with a white-tipped tail who lives on the farm with Barley. 

BROKENSTAR — long-haired dark brown tabby.

CLAWFACE — battle-scarred brown tom.

STUMPYTAIL — brown tabby tom.

TANGLEBURR—gray-and-brown she-cat, formerly of ShadowClan

PRINCESS — light brown tabby with a distinctive white chest and paws — a kittypet.

SMUDGE — plump, friendly black-and-white kitten who lives in a house at the edge of the forest.

Chapter Text

Fireheart woke to find Graystripe sitting beside him, hunched on his belly like a rabbit, his shoulders stiff and his fur fluffed out. “Graystripe?” he meowed quietly.

Graystripe jumped.

“Are you okay?”

Graystripe sat up straight. “I’m fine.” Fireheart suspected that his friend’s cheery mew wasn’t heartfelt, but at least he was trying to be more positive.

“It looks cold,” Fireheart meowed. Graystripe’s words had billowed out in clouds. Fireheart was still snuggled down among the warm bodies of the other warriors.

“It is!” Graystripe bent to lick his chest.

Fireheart sat up and shook his head. The air tasted of frost. “What are you going to do with Brackenpaw today?” he asked.

“Show him the forest,” answered Graystripe.

“I could bring Cinderpaw, and we could travel together.”

“It might be better if we travel alone today,” answered Graystripe.

Fireheart felt a bit hurt. They had been shown ThunderClan’s hunting grounds together as apprentices. He would have liked to do it together again as mentors. But if Graystripe wanted to be by himself, then Fireheart could hardly blame him. “Fine,” he mewed. “I’ll see you later. We can share a mouse and compare apprentices.”

"That'd be good,” Graystripe meowed.

Fireheart crept out of the den. The air outside was even colder. His breath swirled from his muzzle like smoke. He shivered, ruffling out his fur, and stretched one leg at a time. The ground under his paws felt like stone as he trotted over to the apprentices’ den. Cinderpaw was fast asleep inside, a fluffy gray heap that rose and fell as she breathed.

“Cinderpaw,” Fireheart called quietly, and the little gray cat lifted her head at once. Fireheart backed out, and in a moment Cinderpaw bounded from the den, wide-awake and enthusiastic.

“What are we doing today?” she mewed, looking up at him with her ears pricked.

“I thought I’d take you on a tour of ThunderClan territory.”

“Will we see the Thunderpath?” asked Cinderpaw eagerly.

“Er, yes, we will,” Fireheart replied. He couldn’t help thinking Cinderpaw would be disappointed when she saw what a dirty, stinking place it was. “Are you hungry?” he asked, wondering if he should tell her to eat first.

“No!” Cinderpaw shook her head.

“Oh, okay. We’ll eat later,” Fireheart meowed. “Well, follow me.”

“Yes, Fireheart.” The young cat looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. The pang of sadness that had been lingering in Fireheart’s stomach since talking with Graystripe was swept away by a warm feeling of pride. He turned and padded toward the camp entrance.

Cinderheart was waiting there, watching calmly.

Cinderpaw raced past him and charged through the gorse tunnel. Fireheart had to break into a run to catch up. “I thought I said follow me!” he called as she scrambled up the side of the ravine.

“But I want to see the view from the top,” Cinderpaw protested.

Fireheart leaped after her, Cinderheart at his side. They overtook the apprentice easily and climbed to the top. Fireheart washed a forepaw, keeping an eye on her as she scrambled from rock to rock.

“What are you doing here?” he asked Cinderheart in surprise.

“I wanted to come with you,” she replied. “I’ve heard a lot about Cinderpaw and I wanted to see if she was like the stories.”

He looked from her to his apprentice. “And…?”

“So far, Cinderpaw is a lot like how I heard. She has so much life and energy,” Cinderheart purred, her eyes distant.

By the time his apprentice reached the top of the camp ravine she was panting, but no less enthusiastic. “Look at the trees! They look like they’re made from moonstone,” she mewed breathlessly.

She was right. The trees below them sparkled white in the sunshine. Fireheart took a deep breath of cold air. “You should try to save your energy,” he warned. “We have a long way to go today.”

“Oh, yes. Okay. Which way now?” She kneaded the ground with impatient paws, ready to dart away into the woods.

“Follow me,” meowed Fireheart. He narrowed his eyes playfully. “And this time I do mean follow!” He led the way to a trail along the edge of the ravine, into the sandy hollow where he had learned to hunt and fight.

“This is where most of our training sessions will be held,” he explained. During greenleaf, the trees that circled the clearing filtered the sunshine into a warm dappled light. Now cold daylight streamed down onto the frozen red earth.

“A river ran here many moons ago. A stream still flows beyond that rise there,” meowed Fireheart, pointing with his muzzle. “It’s dry most of the summer. That’s where I caught my first prey.”

“What did you catch?” Cinderpaw didn’t wait for an answer. “Will the stream be frozen? Let’s look and see if there’s ice!” She charged down into the hollow and headed toward the rise.

“Wow, the stories did not do her justice,” Cinderheart mewed.

“You’ll see it another time!” Fireheart called. But Cinderpaw kept running, and Fireheart had to race after her. He stopped beside her at the top of the rise and together they looked down at the stream. Ice had formed at the edges, but the speed of the water as it slid over its sandy bed had stopped it from freezing over completely.

“You wouldn’t catch much there now,” mewed Cinderpaw. “Except fish maybe.”

The sight of the spot where he had caught his first prey filled Fireheart with happy memories. He watched Cinderpaw stand at the edge of the stream and crane her neck to peer into the black water. “If I were you, I’d leave fishing to RiverClan,” Fireheart warned her. “If they like getting their fur wet, then let them. I prefer dry paws.”

“Swimming isn’t as bad as you think,” Cinderheart told him. “And it can be useful for strengthening a broken…” Her voice trailed off and she gave Cinderpaw a thoughtful look.

Cinderpaw padded restlessly around in a circle. “What now?”

Her excitement, and his own apprentice memories, filled Fireheart with energy. He bounded away, calling over his shoulder, “The Owl Tree!” Cinderpaw charged after him, her short fluffy tail sticking out behind her.

They crossed the stream over a fallen tree Fireheart had used many times before. “There are stepping-stones farther down, but this is a quicker route. Be careful though!” The pale white trunk was stripped of its bark. “It gets slippery when it’s wet or icy.”

He let Cinderpaw cross first, keeping close behind in case she lost her pawhold. The stream wasn’t particularly deep, but it would be cold as ice, and Cinderpaw was still too small to cope with a soaking.

She crossed the log easily, and Fireheart felt a glow of pride as he watched his apprentice jump down onto the forest floor at the far end. “Well done,” he purred.

Cinderpaw’s eyes shone. “Thanks,” she mewed. “Now, where’s this Owl Tree?”

“This way!” Fireheart bounded away through the undergrowth. The ferns had turned brown since greenleaf. By the end of leaf-fail, they would be flattened by rain and wind, but now they still stood tall and crisp. The three cats wove their way beneath the arching fronds.

Ahead, a massive oak towered above the surrounding trees. Cinderpaw tipped her head back, looking for the top. “Does an owl really live here?” she mewed.

“Yes,” replied Fireheart. “Can you see the hole in the trunk up there?”

Cinderpaw narrowed her eyes to peer through the branches. “How do you know it’s not a squirrel hole?”

“Smell!” Fireheart told her.

Cinderpaw sniffed loudly but shook her head, her eyes curious as she looked up at Fireheart.

“I’ll show you what squirrels smell like another time,” Fireheart meowed. “You won’t smell any around here. No squirrel would dare make its nest so near an owl hole. Look at the ground; what do you see?”

Cinderpaw looked down, puzzled. “Leaves?”

“Try burrowing under the leaves.”

“Yeah, you’ll find some useful proof of owls,” Cinderheart added, her eyes gleaming.

The forest floor was carpeted with brown oak leaves, crisp with frost. Cinderpaw began snuffling among them and then shoved her nose in right up to her ears. When she sat up there was something the size and shape of a pinecone in her mouth. “Yuck, smells like crowfood!” she spat. Fireheart purred with amusement. “You knew it was there, didn’t you?”

“Bluestar played the same trick on me when I was an apprentice. You’ll never forget the stench.”

“What is it?”

“An owl pod,” Fireheart explained. He remembered what Bluestar had told him. “Owls eat the same prey as us, but they can’t digest the bones and fur, so their bellies roll the leftovers into pods and they spit them out. If you find one of those under a tree, it means you’ve found an owl.”

“Why would you want to find an owl?” squeaked Cinderpaw in alarm. Fireheart ’s whiskers twitched as he looked into her wide eyes, as blue as her mother’s. Frostfur must have told her the elders’ tale of how owls carried off young kits who strayed from their mother’s side.

“Owls get a better view of the forest than we do. On windy nights, when scents are hard to follow, you can look out for owls and follow where they hunt.” Cinderpaw’s eyes were still wide, but the fear had left them, and she nodded. She does listen sometimes! Fireheart thought with relief.

Cinderheart swished her tail. “You just have to be careful not to hunt right in front of them,” she pointed out. “If they see a cat, they’ll change their target.”

“Where next?” mewed Cinderpaw.

“The Great Sycamore,” Fireheart decided. They traveled through the woods as the sun rose into the pale blue sky, crossing a Twolegpath and another tiny stream. Eventually they arrived at the sycamore tree.

“It’s huge!” Cinderpaw gasped.

“Smallear says he climbed to the top branch when he was an apprentice,” Fireheart meowed.

“No way!” mewed Cinderpaw.

“Mind you, when Smallear was an apprentice, this tree was probably only a sapling!” Fireheart joked.

Looking thoughtfully at the tree, Cinderheart said, “I saw the tree when Bluestar was an apprentice. It was pretty much the same size.”

Fireheart was still gazing up when a rustling sound behind him told him Cinderpaw had dashed off again, with Cinderheart apparently following after her. He sighed and chased after her through the bracken. His nose detected a familiar scent that made him nervous. Cinderpaw was heading toward Snakerocks.

Adders! Fireheart picked up his pace.

He emerged from the trees and looked around anxiously. Cinderpaw was standing on a boulder at the bottom of the steep, rocky slope. “Come on; I’ll race you to the top!” she mewed.

Fireheart froze, horror-struck, as she crouched, ready to spring onto the next boulder. “Cinderpaw! Get down from there!” he yowled.

He held his breath as Cinderpaw turned and scrambled down again. She stood trembling, her fur on end, as Fireheart rushed over to her. “This place is called Snakerocks,” he puffed.

Cinderpaw looked up at him, her eyes huge. “Snakerocks?”

“Adders live up there. A bite from one of those would kill a cat as small as you!” Fireheart gave Cinderpaw a quick lick on top of her head.

Cinderheart was staring at a cave formed by the rocks. Her face darkened.

“Is she okay?” Cinderpaw muttered to Fireheart.

He sighed. “I’m not sure. Cinderheart?” The gray warrior didn’t react. Nudging her with his tail, he repeated, “Cinderheart?”

She shuddered. “Pack pack. Kill kill.”

Fireheart gasped. “Wha-what?”

“A dog pack will come here, a few seasons from now,” Cinderheart said ominously. “Two apprentices will be angry they haven’t been made apprentices despite being long since ready. One cat will die a warrior’s death at the jaws of savages, and the other will be changed forever.”

Cinderpaw stumbled backwards. “Was that a prophecy?”

Fireheart shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He nudged Cinderheart again, calling her name a few more times before she finally turned to look at him.

Confusion was written on her face, as if she weren’t sure what had just happened. “Are we at Snakerocks?” she asked. When Fireheart nodded, she shook out her fur. “We should leave. This place is nowhere safe for any cat.”

Trembling harder, Cinderpaw swished her tail in agreement. “I’m with Cinderheart. I don’t like it here.”

Fireheart brushed against his apprentice. “Come on. Let’s have a look at the Thunderpath.”

Cinderpaw stopped shaking at once. “The Thunderpath?”

“Yep,” meowed Fireheart. “Follow me!” He led the others through the ferns, along a trail that skirted Snakerocks and took them to the part of the forest where the Thunderpath cut through like a hard, gray river of stone.

Fireheart kept one eye on Cinderpaw as they peered out from the edge of the forest. He could see from her twitching tail that Cinderpaw was desperate to creep forward and sniff the Thunderpath ahead of them. A familiar roar was beginning to ruffle his ear fur, and he could feel the ground trembling beneath his paws. “Stay where you are!” he warned. “There’s a monster coming.” He remembered Sweetmint telling him how Bluestar’s sister had been killed by a monster.

Cinderpaw opened her mouth a little. “Yuck!” she mewed, screwing up her nose and flattening her ears. The rumbling noise was coming closer, and a shape appeared on the horizon. “Is that a monster?” she mewed. Fireheart nodded.

Cinderpaw unsheathed her claws to grip the earth as the monster roared closer. She shut her eyes tight as it charged past, stirring the air around them into a storm of wind and thunder. She kept her eyes shut until the noise had faded into the distance.

Fireheart shook his head to clear his scent glands. “Sniff the air,” he meowed. “Can you smell anything apart from the Thunderpath stench?” He waited while Cinderpaw lifted her head and took several deep breaths.

After a few moments she mewed, “I remember that scent from when Brokenstar attacked our camp. And it was on us when Clawface took us from the nursery. It’s ShadowClan! Isn’t that their territory, beyond the Thunderpath?”

“Yes,” Fireheart answered, feeling his fur tingle at the thought of being so close to hostile Clan territory. “We’d better get out of here.”

He decided to take Cinderpaw the long way home past Twolegplace, so she could see Tallpines and the Treecut place.

Thankfully, Cinderheart seemed to be recovered from whatever had happened to her at Snakerocks. Fireheart knew she was from the future, but her reaction seemed to be more than just a story come to life. It was as if she’d lived through something terrible that had happened there.

As they padded beneath the thin pine trees, the scents of Twolegplace made Fireheart uneasy, even though he’d lived in a place not far from there as a kit. “Stay alert,” he warned Cinderpaw as she crept along behind him. “Twolegs sometimes walk here with dogs.”

The three cats crouched under the trees to look at the fences that bordered the Twoleg territory. The crisp air carried a scent to Fireheart’s nose that stirred an odd feeling of warmth inside him, although he didn’t know why.

“Look!” Cinderpaw pointed with her nose at a she-cat padding across the forest floor. The light brown tabby had a distinctive white chest and white front paws. Her belly was swollen, heavy with unborn kits.

“Kittypet!” sneered Cinderpaw, her fur fluffed out. “Let’s chase her out!”

Meanwhile, Cinderheart was purring at the sight of the she-cat. Was she important in the future?

Fireheart expected to feel the familiar rush of aggression at the sight of a stranger on ThunderClan territory, but his hackles stayed flat. For some reason he couldn’t understand, he knew this cat wasn’t a threat. Before Cinderpaw could attack, Fireheart deliberately brushed against a stalk of crunchy bracken.

The she-cat looked up, disturbed by the crackling noise. Her eyes widened with alarm; then she whipped around and set off at a lumbering pace, out of the trees. Within moments she was heaving herself over one of the Twoleg fences.

“Rats!” complained Cinderpaw. “I wanted to chase her! I bet Brackenpaw will have chased hundreds of things today.”

“Right, chasing things all day is just like my–like Brackenpaw,” Cinderheart corrected.

“Yeah, but he probably didn’t nearly get bitten by an adder,” replied Fireheart, twitching his tail at her. “Now come on; I’m getting hungry.”

Cinderpaw followed him through Tallpines, grumbling about the pine needles pricking her paws. Fireheart warned her to keep quiet, since there was no undergrowth here to hide in and he felt every Clan cat’s discomfort at being in the open. They followed one of the stinking tracks gouged out by the Treecut monster and stopped at the edge of the Treecut place. It was silent, as Fireheart knew it would be until next greenleaf. Until then, only the track marks — deep and wide and frozen into the soil — would remind ThunderClan of the monster that lived in their forest.

By the time they arrived back at camp, Fireheart was exhausted; his muscles were still weary from the long journey with WindClan. Cinderpaw looked tired too. She stifled a yawn and padded away to find Brackenpaw.

Fireheart spotted Graystripe beckoning to him from beside the nettle clump.

“Here, I’ve got you some fresh-kill,” Graystripe meowed. He hooked a dead mouse with his claw and flung it toward Fireheart.

Fireheart caught it in his teeth and lay down next to Graystripe. “Good day?” he mumbled with his mouth full.

“Better than yesterday,” answered Graystripe. Fireheart glanced up at him, worried, but Graystripe went on: “I enjoyed it, actually. Brackenpaw’s keen to learn, that’s for sure!”

“So is Cinderpaw.” Fireheart went back to chewing.

“Mind you,” Graystripe went on with a sparkle in his eye, “I kept forgetting I was the mentor and not the apprentice!”

“Me too,” Fireheart admitted.

“Something strange did happen, though,” Graystripe mused. “While we were near Twolegplace, a black she-cat appeared. She said she wanted to meet us while we were both young.”

Fireheart frowned. “Black she-cat…Did she have green eyes?”

Graystripe nodded. “How did you know?”

“Because there’s a mysterious black she-cat who travels around Twolegplace,” Fireheart replied. “She told me once when I was a kit that I had a special destiny waiting for me. At the time, it seemed strange, but then Bluestar invited me to join ThunderClan. And now, the way she was talking to you…is she from the future as well?”

Graystripe snorted. “That’s crazy! Why would a cat from the future be in Twolegplace? If she’s a warrior, wouldn’t that be the last place she would want to go?”

“Maybe you’re right,” Fireheart meowed after a few heartbeats. “All the time travelers we’ve met so far have been in the Clans themselves. It doesn’t make sense for one to be around a bunch of rogues and kittypets.”

They shared tongues until the moon rose and the coldness of the night drove them into their den. Graystripe was snoring within moments, but Fireheart felt strangely awake. The image of the pregnant she-cat kept returning to his mind, and even though he was surrounded by the familiar smells of ThunderClan, her soft kittypet scent lingered in his nostrils.

He fell asleep at last, but his dreams all carried the same scent, until finally he dreamed of his days as a kit. He remembered lying beside his mother’s belly, curled in a bed softer than any forest moss with his brothers and sisters. And still the scent of the she-cat lingered.

Fireheart opened his eyes, suddenly jolted out of his sleep. Of course! The she-cat he had seen in the woods. . .was his sister!

*  *  *  *  *

Fireheart woke at dawn with the image of his sister still clear in his mind. He pushed his way out of the den, hoping the routine of the day would distract him. It was another cold, frosty morning. Whitestorm and Longtail were waiting near the camp entrance, preparing to leave on patrol. Mousefur padded past with Sweetmint and Nighthunter on her way to join them and greeted Fireheart with a cheery mew. Whitestorm called for Sandpaw, who came racing out of her den just in time to follow the patrol as it pounded out of the camp. It was a scene Fireheart had watched many times, but for once he didn’t yearn to join them as they thundered away into the morning-fresh forest.

He padded across the clearing, wondering if Cinderpaw was awake yet. Brindleface was just squeezing out of the narrow nursery entrance. A speckled kit followed her, then one more. A third kit, pale gray with darker flecks like the other, tumbled out and fell onto the ground.

Brindleface picked it up by its scruff and placed it gently back on its paws. The tenderness of Brindleface’s action brought Fireheart’s dream flooding back. His mother had probably done the same for him. He knew that Brindleface’s fourth kit had died soon after it was born, and she seemed to love the remaining kits even more fiercely now. According to Lionblaze, even Jayfeather had been unable to save the kit, and he’d been devastated by his failure, much like Lionblaze had been by his failure to save Lionheart during ShadowClan’s attack.

Fireheart was overwhelmed by a pang of envy at the thought that the other cats here all shared something he did not — they were all Clanborn. Fireheart had always been proud of his loyalty to the Clan that had taken him in and given him a life he would never have known as a kittypet. He still felt that loyalty — he would die to protect ThunderClan — but no one in the Clan understood or even respected his kittypet roots. Fireheart felt certain the she-cat he had seen yesterday would. With an ache in his heart, he wondered what memories they might share.

Fireheart heard Graystripe’s heavy pawsteps behind him. He turned to greet his friend, stretching his head to touch Graystripe’s nose, and asked, “Could you take Cinderpaw for the day?”

Graystripe looked curiously at Fireheart. “Why?”

“Oh, it’s nothing important,” replied Fireheart as casually as he could. “I just wanted to check out something I saw yesterday. Watch out for Cinderpaw, though; she doesn’t listen to orders very well. Don’t take your eyes off her or she’ll be charging off in every direction.”

Graystripe’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “She sounds like a pawful! Still, it’ll be good for Brackenpaw. He never charges off anywhere without thinking about it carefully first.”

“That sounds like the Brackenpaw I know,” Lionblaze purred sleepily. Fireheart saw him watching them with narrowed eyes, before the golden tom pressed closer to Cinderheart and wrapped his tail over his nose.

“Thanks, Graystripe!” Fireheart bounded away toward the camp entrance before his friend could remember to ask him where he was going.

As the Twolegplace came into view through the trees, Fireheart dropped into a crouch. He opened his mouth and breathed in the cold morning air. No sign of a ThunderClan patrol, and no Twoleg scents either.

He relaxed a little.

Slowly he approached the Twoleg fence where he had seen the she-cat disappear. He hesitated at the bottom and looked around, sniffing the air once more. Then he leaped, landing on a fence post in one easy jump. No Twolegs to be seen — just an empty garden with its strongly scented plants.

Fireheart felt exposed on the post. The branch of a tree hung low overhead. Its leaves had gone, but it would be easier to hide there. Silently he pulled himself up and lay down to wait, flattening himself against the rough bark.

Fireheart could see a swinging flap in the entrance to the Twolegplace. He had used one just like it as a kit. He fixed his gaze on the flap, hoping his sister’s face would appear at any moment. The sun rose slowly into the morning sky, but Fireheart started to feel cold. The damp branch was drawing the heat from his body. Perhaps the Twolegs were keeping his sister shut in. After all, her kitting would be soon. Fireheart licked a paw and wondered if he should go back to the camp.

Suddenly he heard a loud clatter. Fireheart looked up and saw his sister pop out through the swinging flap. The fur along his spine rippled with anticipation, and Fireheart fought to stop himself leaping down into her garden straightaway. He knew he would frighten her, as he had done yesterday. He smelled like a forest cat now, not a friendly kittypet.

Fireheart waited until his sister had reached the end of the grass; then he crept to the tip of the branch and slipped down onto the fence. Quietly he jumped into the bushes below. The she-cat’s scent brought his dream flooding back to him.

How could he get her attention without frightening her? Desperately he searched his mind, trying to think of the name his sister had been given. He could remember only his own kittypet name. Fireheart called softly from the bushes, “It’s me, Rusty!”

The she-cat stopped dead and looked around. Fireheart took a deep breath and crept out from the bushes.

The cat’s eyes widened with terror. Fireheart knew how he must appear to her — lean and wild, with the sharp forest scents on his pelt. The she-cat raised her hackles and hissed ferociously. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling impressed by her courage.

In a flash, he remembered his sister’s name. “Princess! It’s me, Rusty, your brother! Do you remember me?”

Princess remained tense. Fireheart guessed she was wondering how this strange cat could know these names. He dropped into a submissive crouch, hope soaring in his chest as he watched his sister’s expression slowly change from fear to curiosity.

“Rusty?” Princess sniffed the air, wide-eyed and wary. Fireheart took a careful step forward. Princess did not move, so Fireheart edged closer. Still, his sister held her ground until Fireheart was standing only a mouse length away.

“You don’t smell like Rusty,” she mewed.

“I don’t live with Twolegs anymore. I’ve been living in the forest with ThunderClan. I carry their scent now.” She’s probably never heard of the Clans, Fireheart realized, remembering his own innocence before he’d met Graystripe in the woods.

Princess stretched her nose forward and rubbed her muzzle cautiously along his cheek. “But our mother’s smell is still there,” she murmured, half to herself. Her words filled Fireheart with happiness, until her eyes narrowed and she took a step backward, her ears flat with distrust. “Why are you here?” she asked.

“I saw you yesterday, in the woods,” Fireheart explained. “I had to come back to speak with you.”

“Why?”

Fireheart looked at her in surprise. “Because you’re my sister.” Surely she must feel something for him?

Princess studied him for a moment. To Fireheart’s relief, her guarded expression lifted. “You’re very thin,” she mewed critically.

“Thinner than a kittypet, maybe, but not thin for a Clan — a forest — cat,” Fireheart replied. “Your scent was in my dreams last night. I dreamed of you and our brothers and sister and. . .” Fireheart paused. “Where is our mother?”

“She’s still with her house folk,” answered Princess.

“What about...?”

Princess guessed what he was going to ask. “ . . .our brothers and sisters? Most of them live near here. I see them in their gardens from time to time.”

They sat silently for a moment; then Fireheart asked, “Do you remember the soft bedding of our mother’s basket?” He felt a flicker of guilt about longing for such kittypet softness, but Princess purred, “Oh, yes. I wish I could have it for my own kitting.”

Fireheart’s discomfort faded. It felt good to be able to talk of such a tender memory without shame. “Will this litter be your first?”

Princess nodded, uncertainty showing in her eyes. Fireheart felt a wave of sympathy. Even though they were the same age, she seemed to him very young and naive. “You’ll be fine,” he mewed, remembering Brindleface’s kitting. “You look as if your Twolegs treat you well. I’m sure your kits will be healthy and safe.”

Princess moved closer to him, pressing her fur against his flank. Fireheart felt his heart swell with emotion. For the first time since he was a kit, he caught a glimpse of what the Clan cats must take for granted: the closeness of kinship, a common bond determined by birth and heritage.

Suddenly Fireheart wanted his sister to know about the life he led now. “Do you know about the Clans?”

Princess gazed at him, mystified. “You mentioned a ThunderClan. The black she-cat said something about there being four Clans in this forest.”

Fireheart nodded, realizing he wasn’t surprised that the black she-cat knew this. “There are four Clans altogether.” He went on, the words tumbling out. “In the Clan, we take care of each other. Younger cats hunt for elders, warriors protect the hunting grounds from other Clans. I trained all greenleaf to become a warrior. Now I have an apprentice of my own.” Fireheart could see by her bemused expression that his sister couldn’t understand everything he was telling her, yet her eyes brightened with pleasure as he spoke.

“It sounds as if you enjoy your life,” she mewed in awe.

“He enjoys it more than even he will admit.” Fireheart spun around to see the black she-cat standing next to him.

Shocked that she’d been able to sneak up on him so easily, he growled, “Who are you? How did you–?”

“It’s easy to sneak up on a warrior while he’s in Twolegplace,” she pointed out. “I imagine your senses are a bit overwhelmed here, though it would be worse for Dovepaw.”

“How do you know about Dovepaw?”

The black she-cat smiled. “I’ve been keeping an eye on her and the others when they hunt close to here.”

Fireheart frowned. “By others, do you mean the time travelers?”

“Time travelers?” “So they told you?” Princess and the black she-cat asked at the same time.

He winced. “Sorry, Princess, it’s a bit complicated, but all four Clans have had cats from the future sent to help them.”

“All four Clans have time travelers to help them?” the black she-cat echoed. “I thought it was just ThunderClan.”

“No, the other Clans got future cats sent to them later on,” Fireheart explained.

“Which cats are here?”

Fireheart thought for a moment. “Scorchfur and Redwillow of ShadowClan, Heathertail and Furzepaw of WindClan, Minnowtail, and most likely her apprentice, of RiverClan, and then Dovepaw, Ivypool, Cinderheart, Lionblaze, and Jayfeather of ThunderClan.”

The black she-cat had nodded calmly at the names she’d heard until he told her the last three cats in ThunderClan. Then a series of emotions flickered in her eyes: fear, guilt, grief, pain, and lastly, a deep regret and longing.

“StarClan sent the Three here?” the black she-cat murmured. “They’ve entrusted the them to use their powers wisely in another time, then.”

Before Fireheart could even try to figure out what she meant by that, Princess interrupted. “What does any of that mean?”

“For one thing, it means that you have more kin than just Fireheart in ThunderClan,” the black she-cat told her. “And it also means that I will have to be far more careful. Dovepaw may not know who I am, but I can’t risk revealing myself to others yet.”

Fireheart hissed. “You haven’t even revealed yourself to me yet!” he pointed out. “I can guess that you’re a time traveler too, but I don’t even know your name.”

“Only four cats here know my real name,” she said quietly. “But every cat in Twolegplace calls me Healer.”

“Are you a medicine cat?”

“I’m not as skilled as I could be, though better than I once was,” Healer replied cryptically. “I care for the cats who live here: delivering kits, treating injuries, and providing wisdom when it’s needed.”

“Will you help me?” Princess asked nervously. She clearly didn’t understand the rest of the conversation, though she was trying.

Healer nodded. “Of course. Even though I already know that everything will be fine.”

A Twoleg voice called from the house. Fireheart instantly darted under the nearest bush. Healer stood watching him.

“I should go,” Princess mewed. “They’ll be worried if I don’t go back, and I have many tiny mouths to feed. I can feel them moving inside me.” She glanced at her swollen belly, her eyes soft.

Fireheart looked out from beneath the bush. “Go, then. I have to return to my Clan anyway. But I’ll come back and see you.”

“Yes, I’d like that!” Princess called over her shoulder. She was already trotting back toward her Twoleg nest. “Good-bye!”

“See you soon,” Fireheart called. His sister disappeared from view, and he heard the swinging flap slap shut behind her.

Once the garden was silent, Fireheart crept through the bushes to the fence. He jumped over it and ran into the forest. Memories of kithood scents crowded his mind, suddenly more real than the scents of the forest around him.

Healer ran beside him, as if guessing he was still curious about her.

“Why are you hiding from ThunderClan?” Fireheart demanded. “What happened in the future that was so bad?”

She flinched. “I can’t tell you that. But I can tell you that I have been protecting cats in the Clans and in Twolegplace for seasons. In the same leaf-bare night, I saved a kit from freezing to death in the snow and then also saved my adopted grandkits from a terrible sickness.”

“Grandkits?” 

“It’s a non-Clan term,” she said dismissively. “Surge and Spin have grown up safe and happy despite the wars that ravage Twolegplace. Meanwhile, a few seasons after I saved them, I managed to save two kits who had greencough, though I could not save their mother. Now one of those kits has kits of her own. And Sweetmint, Nighthunter, and Mistflow should have all died before they became warriors, and I can only guess that Jayfeather was responsible for saving their lives, but all of them have had kits.

“A darkness that spread to all the desperate cats in Twolegplace has been halted because I saved one young cat from Tigerclaw a long time ago. So just because I cannot answer all of your questions does not mean I’m a threat to anyone. I would give my life to save the cats who live here, though I can’t die until I return to my time.”

She stopped speaking, her breath coming in heavy pants. Fireheart rested his tail on her shoulder, feeling a strange sense of familiarity, along with the need to reassure her.

“Even though you can’t tell me everything, I’m grateful for your help,” he promised. “The other time travelers have pretty much only been here since I have, but you’ve been in the past since–”

“Since Bluestar was an apprentice,” Healer answered.

He felt another stab of sympathy and respect for her. “Have you been alone all this time?”

“A friend was sent with me, though no cat, not even the time travelers know about him,” she explained. “And the young cat I saved from Tigerpaw, I adopted as my son, which was definitely strange. That cat then rescued and adopted Surge and Spin after their mother was killed by a monster.”

Fireheart dipped his head. He reached out to press his muzzle to hers. “You have the thanks of all ThunderClan, Healer. Hopefully someday you will be able to join us.”

She flinched. “I don’t deserve to go–I can’t.” Spinning around, she darted away, returning a heartbeat later with something that smelled strongly of fox. She rubbed it against his pelt until he stunk of it. “Wash that off in the stream before returning to camp,” she ordered, before leaving for good.

He listened to her, making sure to clean himself extra thoroughly, not enthusiastic about leaving it on any longer than he had to, before going back to camp.

Fireheart paused at the top of the ravine and looked down at the ThunderClan camp. He didn’t feel ready to go back yet. He was worried that it would all seem strange to him. I’ll go and hunt, he thought. Cinderpaw would be safe with Graystripe for a while longer, and the Clan would welcome any extra fresh-kill. He turned away and headed back into the forest.

When he finally returned to camp, he carried a vole and a wood pigeon in his mouth. The sun was setting, and the Clan cats were gathering for their evening meal. Graystripe sat alone beside the nettle clump, a fat chaffinch at his paws. Fireheart nodded to him as he padded across the clearing to the pile of fresh-kill that had already been collected.

Tigerclaw was sitting below the Highrock, his amber eyes narrow. “I noticed that Cinderpaw spent the day with Graystripe,” he meowed as Fireheart dropped his catch onto the pile. “Where were you?”

Fireheart returned Tigerclaw’s gaze. “It seemed a good day for hunting — too good to waste,” he replied, his heart thudding in his chest. “The Clan needs all the fresh-kill it can get at the moment.”

Tigerclaw nodded, suspicion darkening his eyes. “Yes, but we also need warriors. Cinderpaw’s training is your responsibility.”

“I understand, Tigerclaw,” Fireheart meowed. He dipped his head respectfully. “I’ll take her out tomorrow.”

“Good.” The deputy turned his head and looked around the camp. Fireheart picked up a mouse and carried it over to eat next to Graystripe.

“Find what you were looking for?” asked Graystripe absently.

“Yes.” Fireheart felt a pang of sorrow for the pain in his friend’s eyes. “Are you thinking about that RiverClan warrior?”

“I do try not to,” answered Graystripe quietly. “It’s just when I’m alone I can’t help remembering Barkface’s prediction of an unnecessary death and trouble ahead — ”

“Here,” Fireheart interrupted, and pushed his mouse toward Graystripe. “That chaffinch looks like it’ll be half feathers, and I’m not that hungry. Want to swap?” Graystripe shot him a grateful glance, and the two friends exchanged prey and began to eat. “Try to remember that Whiteclaw is still alive. There was an accident, but Minnowtail saved him.”

Graystripe didn’t reply.

As he crunched on the chaffinch, Fireheart scanned the clearing. He could see Sandpaw and Dustpaw outside the apprentices’ den. Dustpaw was busy ripping apart a rabbit. Fireheart caught Sandpaw’s eye but she looked away.

Cinderpaw lay beside the old tree stump where he’d shared many meals as an apprentice. She was chatting enthusiastically to Brackenpaw, who nodded from time to time while plucking the feathers from a sparrow. Seeing the two young cats — brother and sister — lying together, so at ease, reminded Fireheart once more of Princess, and for the first time the familiar sights of his clan made Fireheart feel uneasy. He had washed his sister’s smell from his fur while he was in the stream before returning to camp, but it was her scent that somehow lingered in his nostrils as the sun disappeared over the distant horizon. He had found the closeness he had missed, but it had given shape to a sense of loneliness that, until now, had lain vague and nameless in his heart. Were the deep-rooted memories he shared with Princess stronger than his loyalty to the Clan? Or would he truly have more kin in his Clan someday?

Chapter Text

“Another day of sunshine!” Fireheart purred to Graystripe, feeling his flame-colored pelt glow in the weak morning sun. Thanks to the fine weather, he had visited Princess nearly every day recently, slipping away to see her between patrols, hunting, and training sessions. Now he walked with his friend along the short trail to the sandy hollow where Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw would be waiting.

“Let’s hope it stays clear for the rest of leaf-bare,” Graystripe meowed. Fireheart knew how much his thick-coated friend hated rain — when Graystripe’s fur got wet, it clung to him and stayed damp long after Fireheart ’s shorter fur had dried off.

The two warriors arrived at the edge of the hollow just as Cinderpaw pounced on a pile of frosty leaves, sending them flying in all directions. She leaped and twisted to catch one as it fluttered back to the ground.

Fireheart and Graystripe glanced at each other, amused.

“At least Cinderpaw will be warmed up and ready for today’s assignment,” Graystripe observed.

Brackenpaw jumped to his paws and looked up at his mentor, his eyes wide. “Good morning, Graystripe,” he meowed. “What is today’s assignment?”

“A hunting mission,” Graystripe told him. He padded down into the hollow, followed by Fireheart.

“Where?” mewed Cinderpaw, dashing toward them. “What are we going to catch?”

“We’re going to Sunningrocks,” Fireheart replied, suddenly sharing her enthusiasm. “And we’ll catch whatever we can.”

“I’d like to catch a vole,” declared Cinderpaw. “I’ve never tasted vole.”

“I’m afraid everything we catch today goes straight back to the elders,” Graystripe warned. “But I’m sure if you asked one of them nicely, they’d be happy to share.”

“Okay,” mewed Cinderpaw. “Which way is Sunningrocks?” She bounded up one side of the hollow and peered into the forest, her tail sticking straight up.

“This way!” meowed Fireheart, leaping up the opposite side.

“Okay.” Cinderpaw raced down the slope, across the hollow, and up to Fireheart’s side, sending fallen leaves flying everywhere.

Graystripe leaped up and caught one as it drifted past his nose. He pinned it to the ground with a purr of satisfaction and saw Brackenpaw staring at him. “Er, never miss a chance to practice your hunting skills,” Graystripe told him quickly.

The four cats made their way along the familiar scent-trails to Sunningrocks. The sun was above the trees by the time they emerged into open territory. Ahead of them, a slope of rock rose out of the soft earth, its smooth surface lined with cracks. The cats had to narrow their eyes as they looked at it. After the shade of the woods, the flat rock face reflected the sun with dazzling glare.

“This is Sunningrocks,” Fireheart announced, blinking. “Come on!”

“Mrrrrr! It feels nice!” mewed Cinderpaw as she raced up the stone slope behind him. Fireheart realized she was right. The stone felt comfortingly warm and smooth after the ice-cold forest floor.

Nearby, Cinderheart was also sitting on one of the rocks, staring out towards RiverClan.

They rested at the top, where the far side fell away steeply to the forest. Fireheart listened for the gentle bubbling of the river that followed the RiverClan border, flowing down from the uplands. It touched the Sunningrocks before turning to run deeper into RiverClan territory. He could barely hear it — perhaps the water was low after the dry weather.

Fireheart stretched out, enjoying the warmth of the rock beneath him and the soft heat of the sun on his pelt. He closed his eyes, feeling proud to be lying here, a place where generations of ThunderClan cats had come to warm themselves, and which they had battled hard to keep.

Graystripe joined him. “Come on,” he meowed to the two apprentices. “Make the most of the sun while it’s here. There are enough cold, damp days ahead of us.” The two apprentices lay down beside their mentors and purred as the warmth seeped into their fur.

“Is this where Redtail died?” asked Brackenpaw.

“Yes,” Fireheart answered cautiously.

“And where Tigerclaw avenged his death by killing Oakheart?” Cinderpaw piped up.

Fireheart’s fur prickled as he remembered Ravenpaw’s account of the fight — that Redtail had been responsible for Oakheart’ s death and then Tigerclaw had killed Redtail, the deputy of his own Clan. Fireheart pushed away the disturbing thoughts and replied simply, “This is the place.” The two apprentices fell silent and looked down the slope in awe.

“Redtail fought bravely to protect his Clan,” Cinderheart meowed. “Fireheart hadn’t realized she was listening. “Honor his courage.”

Suddenly Fireheart heard a noise. He pricked his ears. “Hush,” he hissed. “What can you hear?”

The two apprentices strained their ears forward.

“I think I can hear some scrabbling,” Brackenpaw whispered.

“It might be a vole,” murmured Graystripe. “Can you tell where it’s coming from?”

“Over there!” mewed Cinderpaw, leaping to her paws. The scrabbling noise became more furious and then disappeared.

“I think it heard you,” Fireheart remarked. Cinderpaw looked crestfallen. Brackenpaw purred with amusement at his sister’s clumsiness.

“Never mind,” meowed Graystripe. “Now you know that it’s better to creep up slowly, especially on voles. They’re fast!”

“Sit still and listen,” Fireheart advised. “Next time we hear something, work out where it is and then begin to move toward it very slowly. A mouse could probably hear even the rustling of your fur, so let him think it’s just the wind blowing across the rock.”

“Just make sure to be aware of what your body is doing,” Cinderheart added. “If you get excited and your tail twitches, you’ll definitely scare off your prey then.”

The cats remained where they were, no one daring to move until they heard the scrabbling sound again. His ears pricked, Fireheart rose and crept forward, placing each paw noiselessly in front of the other until he reached the edge of a small crack that ran across the rock face. He paused. The scrabbling noise continued. Fireheart lunged forward and reached down into the crack with a forepaw. He scooped out a fat vole that had been hiding in the shadows and flung it onto the bright stone. It squealed as it landed, but the hard ground stunned it and Fireheart finished it off quickly.

“Wow!” mewed Cinderpaw. “I want to do that!”

“Don’t worry; you’ll have plenty of chances. For now, let’s get back to the forest,” meowed Graystripe.

“Aren’t we going to catch anything else?” Cinderpaw protested.

“Did you hear that vole squeal?” meowed Fireheart. Cinderpaw nodded. “Well, so did every other creature around here. The prey will be hiding for a while. I should have caught it and killed it before it could make a sound.”

“If you let your prey warn off other creatures, it’s just as bad as scaring them off yourself,” Cinderheart told her.

Graystripe’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “I wasn’t going to say a word,” he purred.

Fireheart picked up the dead vole in his mouth, and together the cats headed down the slope and began to trek onward through the forest. After the open warmth of Sunningrocks, the woods seemed chilly, even though sunhigh was approaching. Fireheart smelled fresh markers at the RiverClan border. Beyond them the ground sloped down to meet the river.

A leaf fluttered down toward Brackenpaw. The young cat immediately leaped up and caught it between his paws. He landed, looking pleased with himself.

“Well done!” called Graystripe. “You’ll have no trouble with voles!” Brackenpaw looked doubly pleased.

“Nice catch, Brackenpaw!” Cinderpaw mewed. She nudged her brother’s shoulder with her nose before turning to stare down the wooded slope.

Cinderheart purred warmly. “So you do have an impulsive side.”

“The river’s quiet today,” Fireheart mumbled through his mouthful of vole.

“That’s because it’s frozen,” mewed Cinderpaw excitedly. “I can see it through the trees!”

Fireheart dropped the vole. “Frozen? Completely?” He stared down the wooded slope. The river glittered at the bottom, frosty and still. Could Cinderpaw be right? Fireheart’s paws tingled with excitement. He had never seen the river frozen over.

“Can we have a look?” asked Cinderpaw. Without waiting for an answer, she bounded past the scentmarkers. Fireheart’ s excitement turned to panic as he saw the small gray cat disappear into RiverClan territory. He couldn’t call after her — he didn’t want to alert any RiverClan patrols that might be in the area. But he had to get her back. He left the vole where he’d dropped it and tore after her, Graystripe and Brackenpaw close behind him. Cinderheart followed, but she hung behind the rest of the group.

They caught up with Cinderpaw at the edge of the river. It was almost totally frozen, apart from a narrow channel of dark water that flowed swiftly between two wide fringes of ice. Fireheart remembered what had almost happened to Whiteclaw with a shudder. He was about to suggest they leave when he noticed Graystripe’s ears were pricked.

“Water vole,” the gray warrior hissed. Sure enough, a small vole was scampering along the ice, near the bank.

Fireheart glanced at Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw, afraid that they might try to catch this tiny piece of prey, especially in another Clan’s territory. But neither apprentice moved. Fireheart felt relieved for a moment, and then his heart lurched as Graystripe dashed out onto the ice at hunting speed.

“Come back!” Fireheart hissed.

It was too late. The ice beneath Graystripe’s paws gave a terrifying crack and broke. With a startled yowl, Graystripe fell into the water. He paddled madly for a moment before disappearing into the cold, dark depths of the river.

Brackenpaw stared in horror and Cinderpaw gave a desperate mew. Fireheart didn’t quiet her. He was rigid with fear, staring into the water after his friend. Was Graystripe trapped underneath the ice? Fireheart stepped onto the ice. It felt cold and slippery beneath his paws, impossible to run on. He jumped back onto the bank. Panic gripped him, then a blaze of relief as a drenched gray head appeared in the water farther along.

But relief turned to alarm as Fireheart saw that Graystripe was being carried downriver, turning and bobbing in the freezing waters. His paws thrashed helplessly, all his instincts to swim thwarted by the fierce current. Fireheart bounded along the bank, forcing his way through the bracken, but Graystripe was swept farther and farther away.

Cinderheart charged towards him, her fur bristling and her ears pricked. She crouched down, as if she were about to leap after Graystripe.

Suddenly Fireheart heard a yowl from the opposite bank and stopped. A slender silver tabby had leaped onto the ice farther downstream. She padded lightly over the frozen sheet and slid into the river ahead of Graystripe. Amazed, Fireheart watched the she-cat swim strongly against the current, holding her position in the icy water with confident churning paws. As Graystripe was swept past, the tabby grabbed a mouthful of his fur between her teeth.

But to Fireheart’s horror, Graystripe’s weight pulled both cats under. He started running again, his eyes fixed on the river. Where were they? Then a silver-striped head appeared amid the rolling waters, pushing through the waves. The tabby was swimming against the current, dragging Graystripe with her. Fireheart could hardly believe that such a slender cat could swim with such a weight. Cinderheart jumped into the river and helped the RiverClan cat tow Graystripe towards the ice. The tabby grabbed the ice on Fireheart’s side of the river with her forepaws, her neck craning awkwardly as she held Graystripe between her teeth. Slipping and sliding, she hauled herself out of the river. Graystripe hung limply in the water, twisting and turning as the current dragged at his fur, but the tabby kept a firm grip.

Fireheart slid down the bank, raced across the ice, and skidded to a halt beside her. Without a word he reached forward and took hold of Graystripe in his teeth. Together the two cats heaved his soaking body out of the water, while Cinderheart pushed him up from her position still in the river, and dragged him to the safety of the riverbank.

Fireheart bent over his friend to see if he was breathing. He felt dizzy with relief as he saw Graystripe’s slick gray flank rising and falling. Graystripe coughed and spluttered and spat out a mouthful of river water. Then he lay still.

“Graystripe!” Fireheart meowed urgently.

“I’m okay,” wheezed Graystripe. His mew was breathless, but reassuring.

Fireheart sighed and sat down. He looked closely at the silver tabby. She carried the scent of RiverClan on her. After seeing her swim, Fireheart wasn’t surprised. The tabby returned his gaze coldly, shook herself, and sat down, her sides heaving as she got her breath back. Water streamed from her glossy fur as if her pelt were made from duck feathers.

Graystripe turned his head and looked at his rescuer. “Thanks,” he croaked.

“You idiot!” she spat, flattening her ears. “What are you doing in my territory?”

“Drowning?” replied Graystripe.

“Seriously?” Cinderheart muttered. “That’s your response?” Firestar couldn’t believe how unfazed she was at the RiverClan cat’s appearance. Was this meeting so important it was still talked about in the future?

The silver tabby flicked her ears, and Fireheart saw a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Can’t you drown yourself in your own territory?”

Graystripe’s whiskers twitched. “Ah, but who would rescue me there?” he rasped.

“I could have done it,” Cinderheart pointed out. “Since I can swim.”

The other she-cat gave her an appraising look. “You, a ThunderClan cat, know how to swim?” Cinderheart shrugged. “May I ask why?”

“My medicine cat had me swim to help recover from an injury,” Cinderheart explained. “Then, I just started to enjoy it.”

“Where exactly did you swim? The river’s the only place I can think of that’s deep enough.” Cinderheart didn’t answer her question.

There was a tiny mew behind Fireheart. He turned to see Cinderpaw crouching by a clump of grass farther up the bank. “Where’s Brackenpaw?” he asked.

“Just coming,” answered Cinderpaw, pointing with her nose. Her brother was creeping nervously along the bank toward them.

Fireheart sighed and turned to his friend. “Look, Graystripe, we’ve got to get out of here.”

“I know.” Graystripe pushed himself to his paws and turned to the silver tabby. “Thanks again.”

She dipped her head graciously, but hissed, “Hurry, go now!” She looked over her shoulder. “If my father knew that I’d rescued a ThunderClan intruder he’d shred me for kit bedding!”

“Or he’d think you have noble instincts,” Cinderheart suggested. “It takes great compassion to save a cat from another Clan, especially when that cat is on your territory uninvited.

“Why’d you save me then?” teased Graystripe.

The tabby looked away. “Instinct. I couldn’t watch any cat drown. Now go away!”

“Agreed. It’s time we left,” Cinderheart meowed.

Fireheart stood up. “Thanks. I’d have missed this furball if he’d drowned.” He nudged Graystripe. His friend hadn’t even shaken the icy water from his fur and he was soaked to the skin. “Come on, let’s get back to camp. You’re freezing!”

“Okay, I’m coming!” Graystripe meowed. But before he followed Fireheart up the slope, he turned back to the silver she-cat. “What’s your name? Mine’s Graystripe.”

“Silverstream,” she replied, and bounded away, back onto the ice and over the channel of water to the far side.

“May StarClan light your path,” Cinderheart called.

Fireheart and Graystripe led their apprentices through the bracken, toward the border, Cinderheart bringing up the rear. Fireheart couldn’t help noticing that Graystripe looked back over his shoulder more than once.

Cinderpaw noticed too. The little gray cat glanced up, mischief dancing in her eyes. “What a pretty RiverClan cat she was!”

“Of course you’d encourage him,” Cinderheart muttered.

Graystripe gave her a playful cuff around the ear and she ran on ahead.

“Stay with us,” Fireheart warned in a loud hiss. They were still in RiverClan territory. He flashed Cinderpaw an angry look as she stopped and waited for them. If it weren’t for her, they wouldn’t be here at all, and Graystripe wouldn’t have nearly drowned. He looked at his wet friend. Even though the gray warrior had shaken as much of the water from his fur as he could, his coat was still dripping and ice was beginning to form on the ends of his whiskers.

Fireheart quickened the pace. “Are you okay?” he asked Graystripe.

“F-f-fine!” replied Graystripe, through chattering teeth.

“Sorry,” mewed Cinderpaw softly as she fell into step behind Fireheart.

He sighed. “It’s not your fault.” He felt weighed down with worry. How were they going to explain this to the Clan? No fresh-kill for the elders — there wasn’t time to go back for the vole now — and a soaked Graystripe and Cinderheart. Fireheart shuddered as he thought how close he had come to losing his closest friend. Thank StarClan that Silverstream had been there to save him.

Fireheart wondered why Cinderheart wasn’t as fazed by her swim. Perhaps it was due to her experience and the fact that she had chosen to go in the river.

“The stream near the training hollow is still running with water,” Brackenpaw meowed thoughtfully from the back.

“What?” asked Fireheart, puzzled out of his gloomy thoughts.

“The Clan will probably assume that Graystripe fell in there,” continued the young apprentice.

“We could say he was showing us how to catch fish,” Cinderpaw added.

“I’m not sure any cat would believe Graystripe would get his paws wet on purpose in this weather,” Fireheart pointed out.

“Well, I don’t want the rest of the Clan to know I had to be rescued by a RiverClan cat!” meowed Graystripe with a flash of his old spirit. “And we can’t let them know we were in RiverClan’s territory again.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t be mad,” Cinderheart purred. “After all, it’s not like hunting in our rivals’ territory is a bad example to show the apprentices.”

Fireheart nodded, amused by her remark. “Come on,” he meowed. “Let’s run the rest of the way; it’ll help Graystripe warm up”

The cats raced across the RiverClan border and past Sunningrocks. As the sun began to dip behind the treetops, they arrived back outside the camp.

Graystripe’s fur had dried a little, but frozen droplets hung on his whiskers and tail.

Fireheart led the way through the gorse entrance. His heart sank when he saw Tigerclaw sitting in the clearing watching them.

The deputy fixed his sharp eyes on Fireheart. “No fresh-kill?” he growled. “I thought you were meant to be teaching these two how to hunt today. You look half-drowned, Graystripe. You must have fallen into a river to get that wet.” His nostrils flared and he drew himself up to his full height. “Don’t tell me you’ve been into RiverClan territory again!”

Fireheart lifted his head, about to speak, but Cinderpaw beat him to it.

“It’s my fault, Tigerclaw.” She stared boldly up at the great tabby. “We were hunting on the frozen stream by the training hollow, on the bend by the deep pool. Even that bit was frozen. I slipped and Graystripe came to help me, but the ice wasn’t thick enough for him and it cracked and he fell into the water.” Tigerclaw looked into her clear, bright eyes as she added, “It really is deep there. Fireheart had to pull him out.”

Fireheart cringed, remembering how he had stood motionless with terror at the sight of Graystripe disappearing into the river, and how Cinderheart had the only one on the patrol to even manage to do something.

Tigerclaw nodded and looked at Graystripe. “You’d better get yourself to Yellowfang before you freeze to death.” The ThunderClan deputy stood up and stalked away, and Fireheart breathed a sigh of relief.

Graystripe didn’t hesitate. The long run home hadn’t stopped his teeth from chattering. He bounded away to Yellowfang’s den. Brackenpaw glanced at Cinderpaw and padded off to his nest, his tail drooping with exhaustion.

Fireheart looked at Cinderpaw. “Aren’t you even a bit frightened by Tigerclaw?” he asked curiously.

“Why should I be?” replied Cinderpaw. “He’s a great warrior. I admire him.”

Of course, why shouldn’t she? Fireheart thought.

“Be careful who you admire,” Cinderheart warned. “Trusting the wrong cat can lead to unforeseen consequences.”

Cinderpaw rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be a warrior? You sound like some ancient medicine cat, or a StarClan warrior.”

Cinderheart winced. Clearly, Cinderpaw’s words hit to close to home for some reason. “If you want a warrior, then, with Fireheart’s permission, I can give you and Brackenf-paw some special training. My mentor had to adjust how he trained me when I broke my leg, and I think you would benefit from those lessons.”

“Really?” Cinderpaw purred, her eyes wide. “I’d love that!” Turning to Fireheart, she added, “If that’s alright with you.”

He dipped his head. “I don’t see any harm in it. And perhaps Cinderheart could show me some of it as well.”

“Of course,” Cinderheart agreed. “These are things that are beneficial to any cat.” She dipped her head to him before padding away.

Fireheart took a deep breath before looking at his apprentice. “You lie very well,” he growled sternly, trying his best to act like a mentor.

“Well, I try not to,” mewed Cinderpaw. “I just thought the truth wouldn’t be very helpful here.”

Fireheart had to admit she had a point. He shook his head slowly. “Go and get warm.”

“Yes, Fireheart!” Cinderpaw dipped her head and charged after Brackenpaw.

Fireheart padded over to the warriors’ den. He was worried at how easily the story about Graystripe’s soaking had tumbled from Cinderpaw’s mouth. But he also believed she was a well-meaning and honest cat. He thought of Ravenpaw, another good cat. Had the story he’d told about Tigerclaw killing Redtail simply been just that — a story that tumbled from his mouth in the heat of the moment? Fireheart shook the thought away. Ravenpaw had been terrified when he spoke to Fireheart. He obviously believed his own story. Why else would he have been frightened enough to leave the Clan?

Then he reminded himself again that the time travelers had made it clear that Tigerclaw had done exactly what Ravenpaw had said. Not only that, but they had treated Tigerclaw only with disgust and disdain, and Lionblaze always seemed like he was ready to leap at the dark tabby.

Fireheart chose a few pieces of fresh-kill and carried them over to the nettle clump. He settled himself beside it and began to gnaw thoughtfully on a mouse. The admiration in Cinderpaw’s voice when she had spoken of Tigerclaw worried him. It seemed as though in this time he alone suspected there was more to the ThunderClan deputy than met the eye. Bluestar’s attitude toward Tigerclaw certainly hadn’t changed. She had been treating him with the same trust and respect that she had always shown him. With a flash of frustration, Fireheart ripped another mouthful from his meal.

A loud sneeze made him look up. Graystripe was heading toward him.

“How are you?” Fireheart asked as Graystripe arrived, smelling of one of Yellowfang’s herb concoctions.

Graystripe sat down heavily and coughed.

“I’ve saved you some food,” Fireheart meowed, pushing a plump thrush and a vole toward his friend.

“Yellowfang says I have to stay in camp. She says I have a chill,” Graystripe meowed thickly.

“I’m not surprised. What did she dose you with?”

“Feverfew and lavender. Jayfeather spent the entire time lecturing me.” Graystripe lay down and began to nibble at the thrush. “This’ll be enough for me,” he mumbled. “I’m not very hungry.”

Fireheart looked at his friend in amazement. That wasn’t something he had ever thought he’d hear Graystripe say. “You sure?” he asked. “There’s plenty here.”

Graystripe stared down at the thrush and didn’t reply.

“Are you sure?” Fireheart repeated.

“What?” Graystripe turned his faraway gaze on Fireheart. “Uh, yeah,” he meowed.

He must have a fever, Fireheart decided, shaking his head. Oh, well, at least he was still here, thanks to that RiverClan cat.

*  *  *  *  *

A few days later Fireheart woke to find the first fog of leaf-bare filling the den. When he crept outside, he could barely see the other side of the clearing. He heard pawsteps hurrying toward him, and Mousefur appeared out of the gloom.

“Tigerclaw wants to see you,” she meowed.

“Right, thanks,” answered Fireheart. Alarm shot through him. He’d slipped away to visit Princess yesterday. Had Tigerclaw noticed?

“What was that?” Graystripe’s voice wheezed behind him. He sat down beside Fireheart, sneezed, and yawned.

“Tigerclaw wants to see me.” Fireheart looked at his friend. “You should be asleep.” He was beginning to worry about Graystripe. He ought to have recovered by now. “Did you rest up yesterday?” he asked.

“As much as I could between coughing and sneezing,” complained Graystripe.

“Then why weren’t you in your nest when I got back from” — Fireheart hesitated, remembering he’d spent the afternoon talking with Princess — “training?”

“Do you think I get any peace and quiet in there?” Graystripe flicked his head back at the den. “Warriors trooping in and out all day! I found somewhere quieter, that’s all.”

Fireheart was about to ask where, but Graystripe spoke first. “I wonder what Tigerclaw wants?”

Fireheart’s paws prickled. “I’d better go and find out.”

He could just see the shapes of Tigerclaw, Whitestorm, Nighthunter, and Cinderheart through the mist, sitting below the Highrock. As Fireheart padded over to them, they stopped talking and Tigerclaw turned to him. “It’s time Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw were assessed,” he growled.

“Already?” Fireheart meowed in surprise. The apprentices had not been training long.

“Bluestar wants to see how their training is progressing. Especially with Graystripe being too ill to train Brackenpaw. If Brackenpaw is falling behind, she needs to know so she can appoint another mentor for him.”

Fireheart’s tail twitched with annoyance. Surely Graystripe would recover soon. It would be unfair to entrust his first apprentice to someone else. “I’ve been taking Brackenpaw out with me and Cinderpaw every day,” he meowed quickly.

Tigerclaw glanced at Whitestorm and nodded. “Yes, but this is your first time as a mentor. It’s a lot for you to take on, and ThunderClan needs well-trained warriors.”

I know, and I’m just a kittypet, not a Clanborn warrior, Fireheart thought bitterly. He looked down at his paws, stinging with resentment. No one had asked him to take on Brackenpaw, and he’d been putting in a lot of effort with both apprentices.

“Fireheart is an excellent mentor,” Cinderheart told the deputy. “If you’ve been watching him as closely as I think you have, you know I’m telling the truth.”

“And he has not been training the apprentices alone,” Nighthunter pointed out. “Cinderheart and Lionblaze have been helping him as well, and they’re teaching special methods that can be used in case of injury. I would have appreciated those lessons when I injured my leg during my training,” she added.

Tigerclaw went on. “Send Brackenpaw and Cinderpaw on a hunting mission through Tallpines, as far as Twolegplace. Keep an eye on them, watch them hunt, and report to me. I’ll be interested to see how much fresh-kill they add to the pile.”

Whitestorm added, “If Cinderpaw’s skills match her enthusiasm, there should be plenty to eat tonight. I hear she is a keen apprentice.”

“Yes, she is,” Fireheart agreed, though he was barely listening. Tigerclaw’s words had set his heart racing. Why was Tigerclaw sending him to Twolegplace again? His own hunting assessment had been held over exactly the same route, and Tigerclaw had seen him sharing words with an old kittypet friend; he’d reported it to Bluestar and she had questioned Fireheart’s loyalty to the Clan. Fireheart felt the fur along his spine begin to prickle. Was this Tigerclaw’s way of warning him that he had been spotted talking to Princess?

Fireheart twisted his head and gave his back a quick lick, brushing his bristling hairs flat with his tongue. He sat up straight again and calmly suggested, “The Sunningrocks would be an equally good place to test their skills. The sun there might have burned away some of this mist, too.”

“No,” growled Tigerclaw. “The dawn patrol reported scenting RiverClan at Sunningrocks. They may have started hunting there again.” Anger flared in his eyes, and his lip curled to reveal sharp teeth. “They will need to be warned off before we do any more training there. For now, Tallpines would be much safer for the assessment.”

Whitestorm nodded in agreement while Fireheart’s ears twitched uncomfortably at this news. RiverClan at Sunningrocks! It was lucky they hadn’t been spotted by enemy patrols when Graystripe fell into the river.

“As for the fog,” Tigerclaw continued smoothly, “hunting in difficult conditions will make the test more interesting.”

“It certainly will,” Nighthunter agreed. “We can’t always choose what conditions we’ll have to hunt in, so they might as well get used to it as soon as possible. In fact, I’m assessing Lightpaw and Swiftpaw today as well.”

“Yes, Tigerclaw, Nighthunter,” meowed Fireheart, ducking his head respectfully to the two warriors. “I’ll tell Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw. We’ll get started right away.”

When Fireheart explained the assessment to the apprentices, Cinderpaw flicked up her tail and ran in an excited circle. “An assessment! Do you think we’re ready?”

“Of course,” Fireheart meowed, hiding his doubts. “You’ve been working hard and learning quickly.”

“But won’t the fog make hunting difficult?” asked Brackenpaw.

Fireheart replied, “There are advantages to the stillness of the air.”

Brackenpaw looked thoughtful, then his eyes began to shine and he mewed, “It’ll be harder to sniff out prey, but it’ll also make it harder for the prey to smell us.”

“Exactly,” Fireheart agreed.

“Shall we go now?” Cinderpaw asked.

“As soon as you like,” answered Fireheart. “But take your time; it’s not a race....” His words were wasted on Cinderpaw, who was already charging toward the camp entrance. “You’ve got till sunset,” he called after her. Brackenpaw glanced at Fireheart and turned to follow his sister with a small sigh.

Fireheart tracked the two apprentices through the Tallpines. The springy layer of pine needles underpaw felt strangely soft after the frozen ground in the rest of the forest. He followed Cinderpaw’ s trail until he could see her stalking eagerly through the forest. Then he picked up Brackenpaw’s scent and followed that. The trails crossed here and there. Fireheart could smell where the apprentices had run fast, where they had sat down, even where they had lingered together at one point.

Before long Fireheart found a spot where Cinderpaw had made a kill. She had taken it with her — as he followed her trail, he could smell the scent of her catch mingling with her own. Then he discovered where Brackenpaw had caught a thrush. The feathers were scattered everywhere. The apprentices were hunting well. Fireheart knew this for sure when he detected a scent thick with fresh-kill. He dug down among the needles at the roots of a pine. There was a stash of prey hidden underneath it, left by Cinderpaw to pick up later. Fireheart felt a small glow of pride at her work. She had caught plenty, and now she was heading for the oak woods behind the Twolegplace.

Fireheart followed. Just beyond the edge of the pine forest, he picked up Brackenpaw’s scent. It was strong, which meant the apprentice was nearby. Fireheart crept forward and peered around a young oak. The apprentice was crouching beneath a tangle of brambles, well disguised among its shadows. Fireheart could just see his tail moving as it twitched from side to side.

Brackenpaw had his eyes fixed on a wood mouse that was scrambling around the roots of a tree. Brackenpaw was taking his tune. Good, thought Fireheart. He watched Brackenpaw draw himself forward, one step at a time. The leaves beneath his paws hardly made a sound. He was as quiet as the mouse itself, which continued to hunt for food, suspecting nothing. Fireheart watched breathlessly, remembering his first hunting mission.

Brackenpaw closed in. The soft rustle of his paws on leaves melted into the background sounds of the forest. Fireheart found himself willing the apprentice on. Brackenpaw was only a rabbit length away from the mouse now, his body pressed flat against the forest floor. The mouse scampered onto a root and looked around. It froze. Something was wrong.

Now! thought Fireheart. Brackenpaw sprang and landed on the mouse, grasping it in his front paws. The mouse didn’t have time to struggle. It was over in a single bite.

Brackenpaw raised his head. Fireheart saw the satisfied expression on the young cat’s face as he breathed the scent of his fresh-kill. Then Brackenpaw darted away between the trees. Fireheart realized he was looking forward to reporting back to Tigerclaw about his apprentices.

“Hi!” The small voice behind him made Fireheart jump into the air. He spun around.

“How are we doing?” asked Cinderpaw, looking up at him with her head to one side.

“You’re not meant to ask that!” Fireheart spat, and licked his ruffled fur. “You’re not supposed to speak to me at all. I’m assessing you, remember?”

“Oh!” mewed Cinderpaw. “Sorry.”

Fireheart sighed. He would never have dared to approach Tigerclaw during his own assessment. He didn’t want to scare Cinderpaw into obedience, as Tigerclaw had done with Ravenpaw, but he wouldn’t mind a little respect every now and then. Sometimes he didn’t feel like Cinderpaw’s mentor at all.

Cinderpaw looked at the ground for a moment, then glanced up at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “Were you really born over there, in Twolegplace?”

The question caught Fireheart off guard. He glanced nervously in the direction of the Twoleg fence, praying that the strange scents of Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw would keep Princess inside her own garden today. “Why d’you ask?” he mewed, stalling.

“Tigerclaw mentioned it, that’s all,” answered Cinderpaw. She seemed genuinely curious, but Fireheart felt a dark quiver of menace at the mention of Tigerclaw’s name. What else had Tigerclaw been telling Cinderpaw about him?

“I was born a kittypet,” Fireheart meowed firmly. “But I’m a warrior now. My life is with the Clan. My old life wasn’t bad, but it’s over, and I’m glad.”

“Oh, okay,” mewed Cinderpaw, sounding unconcerned. “See you later!” She spun around and charged off into the trees.

A leaf crackled behind him and he turned to see a now-familiar black-furred she-cat standing beside him.

“Healer, what are you doing here?” Fireheart asked in surprise. “I thought you weren’t coming through these woods again.”

She shrugged. “I saw Brackenpaw hunting and wanted to see how he did.”

“And…”

“Nothing I didn’t expect,” she replied. “He was always a good hunter. I’m not surprised he’s already got the techniques down.” She paused. “Cinderpaw’s the one who surprised me. I didn’t believe she would actually approach you during an assessment.”

“It surprised me too,” Fireheart admitted. “Sometimes it’s difficult to get her to listen to me.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling this to his new friend.

To his surprise, she nodded sympathetically. “Mentor-apprentice relationships can be difficult to manage. Young cats are often enthusiastic and eager to prove themselves, so they’ll do whatever they can think of, even if it gets them into danger. Others, like Brackenpaw, are surprisingly mature and take their time to think about things, even during their apprenticeships.”

“Did you get along with your mentor?” Fireheart found himself asking.

“I did,” Healer replied. “Of my siblings, I think I had the best overall relationship with my mentor. He let me figure things out on my own when I needed to, and didn’t hold back if he thought I needed a challenge. I will always be grateful for the lessons he taught me.”

Fireheart smiled. “What was Cinderpaw like in your time? Did she still have all this energy?”

Healer’s shoulders drooped. “Unfortunately, I never had the honor of meeting her. She had already joined StarClan before I was born.”

A wave of sadness passed over Fireheart. That was the last thing he had wanted to hear. “How did she die?”

“She died nobly, protecting Cinderheart’s mother, who was kitting, during an invasion,” Healer said somberly.

“At least she succeeded,” Fireheart murmured softly. Meeting Healer’s gaze, he said firmly, “I’ll make sure she doesn’t die this time. I’ll protect her.”

Healer shook her head. “You won’t be able. It’s her destiny.”

“Am I supposed to just accept that?”

“Some things are too hard for a cat to accept,” Healer replied, a deep bitterness in her voice. “But know that everything will work out the it’s meant to. StarClan lights our paths.”

She slipped away through the undergrowth, leaving him to think about what she’d said.

Fireheart stood alone in the woods, his heart thudding as he stared at the Twoleg fence. A moon ago, his words to Cinderpaw about being glad his old life was over would have been utterly true. Now he was not so sure. His fur tingled with the knowledge that some of his happiest moments recently had been spent sharing memories with his gentle kittypet sister. And the more he learned about the future, the sadder and more frightened he became. How was he supposed to keep everyone safe, when the weight of destiny pulled at him and every cat he knew?

*  *  *  *  *

As the sun sank into the forest, Fireheart waited beside the pine tree where Cinderpaw had buried her first lot of fresh-kill. He heard pawsteps and turned to see Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw padding toward him. Prey dangled from their mouths. Brackenpaw could barely hold his catch, it was so big. Fireheart felt a surge of relief. Even Tigerclaw couldn’t criticize the apprentices’ efforts.

“I’ll help carry this lot back,” Fireheart offered, flicking away the covering of pine needles from Cinderpaw’s stash. He dug it up, grasped the fresh-kill between his teeth, and set off back to the camp.

When they arrived in the camp clearing, some of the Clan cats were already taking their share of fresh-kill from the pile. Tigerclaw and his sisters must have been looking out for their return, because they padded over to them as they dropped their catch near the rest.

“They caught all this themselves?” he asked, nudging the pile with a massive paw.

“Oh, yes,” Fireheart replied.

Mistflow purred, sounding as proud as if she were their mother, and Fireheart remembered she’d been in the nursery with them. “They’re becoming excellent hunters.”

“Good,” meowed Tigerclaw. “Come and join me and Bluestar. Bring some fresh-kill for yourself; we’re already eating.”

Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw looked at Fireheart with admiring stares — it was a privilege to eat with the Clan leader and deputy. Fireheart didn’t share their excitement. He’d hoped that he would report to Bluestar alone. The last cat he wanted to share his meal with was Tigerclaw.

“By the way, have you seen Graystripe?” asked Tigerclaw. Fireheart felt a pang of concern as Tigerclaw continued: “He’s supposed to stay in camp while he has this cold, but I haven’t seen him since sunhigh.”

Fireheart shifted his paws. Had Graystripe gone off looking for peace and quiet again? “No,” he admitted. “Perhaps he’s with Yellowfang?”

“Perhaps,” echoed Tigerclaw, and padded away to where Bluestar was gnawing a fat pigeon.

Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw carried some of their prey over to the nursery to greet Frostfur and their littermates. Ivypool and Dovepaw were sitting nearby, sharing tongues.

Frostfur licked both their foreheads. “I’m so proud of both of you,” she purred proudly.

“You caught so much prey!” Brightkit exclaimed in excitement, pressing her muzzle against her sister’s.

Thornkit let out an adorable growl. “No fair, I want to go out hunting.”

Dovepaw snorted. “And here I thought you’d rather go on patrols,” she said, as if it was something he was known for.

“Bluestar will make you apprentices soon,” Brackenpaw promised, nudging his shoulder against Thornkit’s. “But just think, now you’re the oldest kits in the nursery!”

“Is that really something to be proud of?” Thornkit muttered. “No one looks at us with any admiration. We’re just the kits that ShadowClan tried to take, twice. Lightpaw and Swiftpaw were the ones who protected Marigoldkit and Mintkit during ShadowClan’s invasion, and the four of them decided to come after us on their own.”

Frostfur wrapped her tail around his shoulders. “And you helped to make those two ShadowClan kits feel welcome here. Don’t think I didn’t see the way you let Mintkit push you off of him. I was very proud of you for that.”

Thornkit purred. “Thanks, Frostfur!”

“What about me?” Brightkit squeaked. “Aren’t you proud of me, too?”

“Of course I’m proud of you,” Frostfur assured her. “You took very good care of the kits, and you were helpful to Yellowfang and Jayfeather today.”

“Yay!” Brightkit leaped onto Brackenpaw in excitement. “I’m helpful!”

A few tail-lengths away, Nighthunter and Mistflow were eating prey with, Stripepaw and Lightpaw. Stripepaw still looked sad about the loss of Softpaw, as did Nighthunter, though Fireheart guessed that having her sister’s son as an apprentice was helping.

Fireheart finally followed Tigerclaw, trying to push away his growing worry about Graystripe’s disappearances. He selected a small chaffinch from the pile of fresh-kill as he passed, then wished he’d chosen a vole. How was he going to give his report with a mouthful of feathers?

“Welcome, Fireheart,” meowed Bluestar as Fireheart sat down in front of her. He placed the chaffinch on the ground, but decided not to start eating.

“Tigerclaw tells me your apprentices caught plenty of prey.” Bluestar’s gaze was friendly. Tigerclaw, sitting up beside her, glared at him more critically, making Fireheart’s tail twitch.

“Yes. They’ve never hunted in the mist before, but it didn’t seem to put either of them off,” Fireheart meowed. “I watched Brackenpaw catch a wood mouse. His stalking was excellent.”

“And what about Cinderpaw?” asked Bluestar.

Fireheart noticed a steely glint appear in her eyes. Was she worried about Cinderpaw’s abilities? Fireheart replied, “Her hunting skills are developing well. She has lots of enthusiasm, that’s for sure, and she doesn’t seem to be scared of anything.”

“Aren’t you worried that might make her reckless?” asked Bluestar.

“She’s quick and inquisitive, which makes her a good learner. I think that will make up for her” — Fireheart searched anxiously for the right word — “eagerness.”

Bluestar flicked her tail. “Her eagerness, as you say, worries me,” she meowed, flashing a glance at Tigerclaw. “She will need careful guidance in her training.” Fireheart’s spirits plummeted. Was Bluestar unhappy with his mentoring?

Bluestar’s eyes softened. “She was always going to be a challenge. But she is clearly turning into a fine hunter. You have done good work with her, Fireheart. With both of them, in fact.” Fireheart brightened immediately, and Bluestar went on. “I’ve noticed how you’ve taken over Brackenpaw’s training without being asked, and I want you to carry on mentoring them both for the time being.”

Tigerclaw turned his gaze away, but Fireheart didn’t miss the anger that flashed in his eyes. “Thank you, Bluestar,” he meowed.

“I see your missing friend has returned,” Tigerclaw growled without turning his head.

Fireheart spun around to see Graystripe appearing from behind the nursery. “He was probably just getting some peace and quiet,” he suggested. “He’s still feverish, and it can’t be easy being stuck in the camp all day.”

“Easy or not, he should be concentrating on getting better,” meowed Tigerclaw. “Leaf-bare is no time for sickness in the camp. Mousefur was coughing on patrol this morning. I just hope StarClan protects us from greencough this season. We lost six kits to it last year.”

Bluestar nodded her gray head solemnly. “It was very difficult for Speckletail to lose her entire litter, and Goldenflower and Mistflow both lost a kit. Let’s pray this leaf-bare isn’t as long or as hard. It’s never an easy time for the Clans.” She looked wistful for a moment, then told Fireheart, “Take that chaffinch and share it with Graystripe. He’ll want to know how his apprentice did in the assessment.”

“Yes, Bluestar. Thanks,” meowed Fireheart. He picked up the chaffinch and bounded over to the nettle clump where Graystripe had settled himself with a large wood mouse. Graystripe had eaten half of it by the time Fireheart arrived. Perhaps his cold was on the mend.

As Fireheart dropped the chaffinch beside his friend, Graystripe sneezed.

“Cold no better?” asked Fireheart sympathetically.

“Nope,” replied Graystripe with his mouth full. “I guess I’ll have to stay in camp awhile longer.”

Fireheart thought his friend sounded a lot more cheerful than he had before, but he didn’t want to betray his growing suspicion that Graystripe was up to something.

“Brackenpaw did really well in his assessment today,” he meowed.

“Really?” Graystripe took another bite of mouse. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, he’s a great hunter.” Fireheart started to eat his chaffinch. “Graystripe,” he meowed after a long silence, “have you been out of the camp the past few days?”

Graystripe stopped chewing. “Why do you ask?”

Fireheart’s tail twitched uncomfortably. “Well, you weren’t here when I got in from last night’s patrol, and Tigerclaw said he hadn’t seen you since sunhigh today.”

“Tigerclaw?” Graystripe sounded worried.

“I told him you were probably out looking for peace and quiet, or that you might be with Yellowfang,” Fireheart meowed. He took another bite of chaffinch. “Were you?” he asked through the feathers, suddenly desperate for Graystripe to say yes, to stop the suspicion that Graystripe might be keeping a secret from him.

But Graystripe ignored Fireheart’s query. “Well, thanks for covering for me.” He carried on chewing.

Fireheart didn’t ask any more questions, even though he was burning with curiosity. When Graystripe got to his paws and announced he was going to the den, Fireheart was still no wiser about what was on Graystripe ’s mind.

“Okay,” he meowed. “I think I’ll stay here a bit longer.” Graystripe gave him a brief nod and padded away. Fireheart rolled onto his back for a long stretch, scratching the ground above his head with his claws.

He lay on his back for a while, thinking. From the smell of him, Graystripe had given himself a good wash very recently. Was he trying to hide some scent? Fireheart realized that Graystripe had pretty much admitted he had left the camp. But where could he have gone that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell Fireheart? Suddenly his paws prickled — what about his own visits to Princess, in Twoleg territory, of all places, or his always unexpected encounters with Healer! He’d washed himself thoroughly before returning to camp too, and never mentioned the meetings to Graystripe.

Fireheart flipped over and sat up. There was something caught under one of his claws. He lifted his paw and tugged out the piece of dirt with his teeth. It was a catkin, old and shriveled, but definitely a catkin. What was this doing here? Willow trees didn’t grow in ThunderClan’s part of the forest — in fact, the only willows Fireheart had ever seen grew close to the river, in RiverClan territory. Fireheart held his breath as his heart began to pound. Had this come from Graystripe’s coat?

He crept into the warriors’ den. Graystripe was already asleep. Lionblaze and Cinderheart were whispering at the other side of the den, and every so often, one of them would cast a look at Graystripe. Fireheart lay awake beside him and wondered if Graystripe had really been foolish enough to return to RiverClan territory. The look in Leopardfur’s eyes after Whiteclaw’s near death had shown that they needed to be careful. The RiverClan deputy might have been grateful that Fireheart had helped save both of the cats, but it was too dangerous to continue taking such risks. Fireheart shuddered as he resolved to find out exactly where Graystripe was going and why.

Chapter Text

When Fireheart awoke the den felt damp and chilled. One sniff of the air told him rain was on the way. He pushed his way outside, yawning. He hadn’t slept well, worrying about Graystripe. Even now, the thought of his friend alone in RiverClan territory sent a shiver through him.

“Chilly, eh?” Runningwind’s voice startled Fireheart. Fireheart looked over his shoulder, his tail twitching. The lean tabby warrior was padding out of the den.

“Er, yeah,” Fireheart agreed.

“Are you okay?” asked Runningwind. “Not caught your friend’s cold, have you? Mousefur’s streaming with it this morning, and Longtail said Swiftpaw sneezed all through training yesterday.”

Fireheart shook his head. “I’m fine. Just tired after yesterday’s assessment.”

“Ah. Bluestar thought you might be. That’s why she asked me and Cinderheart to help you with Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw’s training today. Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Fireheart meowed.

“Right, then,” Runningwind decided. “I’ll meet you in the hollow after I’ve eaten. If Swiftpaw’s coming down with a cold, we should have the place to ourselves. Are you hungry?” Fireheart shook his head, and Runningwind trotted away to pick through the leftovers from last night’s fresh-kill.

Fireheart went straight to the training hollow and waited for the others to arrive. His mind was not on training; he was still thinking about Graystripe. He felt sure his friend would slip out of camp again today.

A rain-laden wind was beginning to sway the leafless branches above the hollow when Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw arrived, followed by Runningwind and Cinderheart.

“What are we doing today?” asked Cinderpaw, scampering down into the hollow. Fireheart stared at her blankly. He hadn’t thought about it at all.

“Hunting?” Brackenpaw mewed hopefully as he trotted after Cinderpaw.

Runningwind padded across the hollow and joined them. “How about practicing some stalking techniques?” he suggested.

“Good idea,” Fireheart agreed quickly.

“Not the old ‘rabbit hears you, mouse feels you’ lesson again!” Cinderpaw moaned. Cinderheart flicked her ear with her tail, a strange look on her face.

Runningwind silenced her with a look and turned to Fireheart.

Fireheart realized with a jump that Runningwind was waiting for him to start. “Er, I’ll start by showing you the best way to stalk rabbit,” he stammered. He dropped into a crouch and began to move forward, fast and light, until he reached the end of the hollow. He stood and turned to find the other four cats staring at him quizzically.

“Are you sure that’d fool a rabbit?” mewed Cinderpaw, her whiskers twitching.

Fireheart felt confused for a moment until he realized he’d just demonstrated his best bird-stalking technique. A rabbit would have heard the swish of his fur through the undergrowth three fox-lengths away.

“An old and deaf rabbit would be easy pickings,” Cinderheart offered, her blue eyes full of amusement.

Fireheart looked at Runningwind, embarrassed. The tabby warrior frowned. “How about I show you two how to creep up on a shrew?” Cinderpaw turned her bright gaze from Fireheart to Runningwind. Fireheart sighed and padded over to watch.

By sunhigh, Fireheart was still finding it difficult to concentrate on the training session. He kept imagining Graystripe sneaking out of the camp, and longed to follow him. Eventually his restlessness overwhelmed him. He went over to Runningwind and spoke quietly into his ear. “I have a bellyache,” he meowed. “Can you take over the training for the rest of the day? I want to see if Yellowfang has anything for it.”

“I thought you seemed a little distracted,” Runningwind replied. “You go back to camp. I’ll take this pair out hunting.”

Cinderheart was watching him, calm but suspicious. “Yes, it’s probably better if you go,” she agreed. “Once these two finish hunting, I’ll show them some specialized techniques.”

“Thanks, Runningwind, Cinderheart,” meowed Fireheart, feeling a pang of shame that Runningwind had believed him so easily.

“Really? We get specialized training already!” Cinderpaw cheered. “We’ll be even better than Swiftpaw and Lightpaw!”

“Lightpaw’s not sick,” Brackenpaw reminded her. “He and Nighthunter are practicing fighting today.”

Fireheart limped across the hollow, trying to look as if he were in pain. As soon as he was safely among the trees, he broke into a run and raced back to the camp. When Graystripe had returned yesterday, he’d appeared from behind the nursery. Fireheart knew from experience that this was the best place to slip through the camp boundary without being noticed — it was where Yellowfang had escaped from the camp when the Clan had suspected the old medicine cat of Spottedleaf s murder, despite Jayfeather claiming otherwise.

Fireheart padded around the outside of the camp and sniffed at the wall of bracken. His heart sank as he picked up Graystripe’s scent. Graystripe had definitely been sneaking out of the camp this way, and often by the smell of it. At least the scent was stale, which meant he hadn’t been this way today.

Fireheart crouched behind a nearby tree and settled down to wait. The wood was growing darker as rain clouds began to push across the sky. The shadows hid him perfectly, and he made sure he was downwind so Graystripe wouldn’t detect him. His belly really was aching now, tense with guilt and apprehension. He half hoped Graystripe wouldn’t come, half hoped he would just lead him to some quiet spot within ThunderClan’s borders.

Fireheart’s heart lurched as he heard a rustling in the bracken wall. A gray nose was pushing its way through the fronds. Fireheart ducked his head as Graystripe looked around cautiously. After a few moments, the warrior leaped out and set off at a trot toward the training hollow.

Hope flared in Fireheart’s chest. Perhaps Graystripe’s cold was better and he’d decided to join the training session. He set off after him, keeping a safe distance behind, relying on scent rather than sight to track his friend.

But when the trail veered away from the path that led to the training hollow, Fireheart knew that his hope had been in vain. With an ominous sense of dread, he saw the distinctive gray rock loom ahead through the trees: Sunningrocks. Fireheart pricked his ears and opened his mouth, testing the breeze for the smell of enemy cats. At the edge of the trees, he caught a glimpse of a broad-shouldered gray cat slipping past the rocks, toward the RiverClan border. There was no doubt now where Graystripe was heading.

As soon as his friend was out of sight, Fireheart padded forward and peered down the slope to the river. By the swaying of the undergrowth, Fireheart could guess where Graystripe was. He just hoped there weren’t any RiverClan warriors watching too.

Fireheart made his way down through the fronds. The river wasn’t frozen anymore — he could hear the water lapping at the bank and splashing over the boulders. He slowed his pace as he reached the edge of the bracken and peered out at the open shore.

Graystripe was sitting on the pebbles. The gray warrior was looking around, his ears pricked, but Fireheart could tell from the relaxed slope of his shoulders that he wasn’t listening for prey.

A strange cat’s call sounded in the distance. A RiverClan patrol? Fireheart’s fur prickled and his muscles instinctively tensed, but Graystripe didn’t move. Then Fireheart heard a rustle in the bracken beyond the river. Still Graystripe stayed where he was. Fireheart held his breath as a face appeared on the far riverbank. With barely a sound, the silver she-cat emerged from the undergrowth and slipped into the river. Fireheart felt his heart miss a beat. It was Silverstream, the she-cat who had rescued his friend!

She swam easily across the river. Graystripe stood up and mewed with delight, kneading the pebbles with his paws in anticipation. Holding his tail high, he padded to the edge of the water as she climbed onto the shore.

Silverstream shook the drops from her fur, and the two gray cats touched noses gently. Graystripe rubbed his muzzle along her jaw and she lifted her chin happily. Then Silverstream stood on tiptoe and wound her slender body around his. For once Graystripe didn’t seem to mind getting wet at all, because he purred loud enough for Fireheart to hear as Silverstream pressed her damp fur against him.

Fireheart’s hackles bristled with horror. How could Graystripe be so stupid? He was breaking every part of the warrior code by meeting this cat from another Clan.

“Graystripe!” Fireheart hissed as he sprang from the bushes.

The two cats spun around to face him. Silverstream’s ears flattened angrily. Graystripe just stared at him, startled. “You followed me!”

Fireheart ignored his stunned meow. “What are you doing? Don’t you know how dangerous this is?”

Silverstream spoke up. “It’s okay. There won’t be a patrol here till after sunset.” As if to prove her wrong, a smoky black she-cat appeared behind her.

“You can be sure of that, can you? As if you know all your Clan’s movements!” Fireheart growled.

Silverstream lifted her chin. “Actually, I do. My father is Crookedstar, the leader of RiverClan.”

Fireheart froze. “What are you playing at?” he spat at Graystripe. “Could you have chosen worse?”

Graystripe met Fireheart’s eyes for an instant, then turned to Silverstream. “I’d better go,” he mewed.

Silverstream blinked slowly and stretched her head forward to touch his cheek. They closed their eyes and remained still for a moment. Fireheart watched, his paws prickling with alarm. Silverstream whispered something into Graystripe’s ear and the two cats stepped apart. The RiverClan she-cat raised her head and stared challengingly into Fireheart’s eyes before slipping back into the river, shaking her head lightly at her watching Clanmate.

The black she-cat took her place. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you two got caught, stupid furball!” she hissed, rolling her eyes.

“Willowmist, I–”

“Minnowscale, Mistyfoot, and I agreed to keep this secret for our sister as long as she wasn’t caught!” Willowmist snapped. “Silverstream promised that no one else would find out and your apprentice wouldn’t miss out on training.”

“He’s not missing out on training,” Graystripe protested. “And Fireheart’s the only cat who knows.”

Willowmist shook her head, angry. “What about ThunderClan’s time travelers?” she pointed out. “I’m sure they know all about this. Minnowtail and Mossypaw clearly know, but they’ve decided not to say anything about it.”

“Then StarClan approves,” Graystripe said calmly.

“You don’t know that.” Willowmist glared at him. “I’m not going to say anything–I want to protect my sister. But if this goes badly, I will personally shred you. And Minnowscale will happily help.”

With a swish of her tail, she spun around and quickly crossed the river, disappearing through RiverClan territory.

Graystripe bounded over to Fireheart’s side. The two friends didn’t speak as they raced out of RiverClan territory and back past Sunningrocks. As they approached the camp, Graystripe slowed his pace.

Fireheart slowed too. “You must stop seeing her,” he panted. His panic had lessened now they were well away from the RiverClan border, but he was still angry.

“I can’t,” replied Graystripe hoarsely. He coughed, his sides heaving.

“I don’t understand,” Fireheart meowed. “RiverClan is completely hostile to ThunderClan at the moment. You heard Leopardfur after Whiteclaw almost died.” Fireheart winced, knowing that the reminder would be painful for his friend, but he couldn’t stop now. “How do you even know you can trust this RiverClan cat?”

“You don’t know Silverstream,” Graystripe spat back. He stopped and sat down. His eyes glazed with pain. “And there’s no need to remind me about Whiteclaw. Do you think it’s easy knowing I’m responsible for the near death of one of Silverstream’s Clanmates?” Fireheart snorted impatiently — Whiteclaw was an enemy warrior, not a Clanmate! But Graystripe went on. “Silverstream understands it was an accident. The gorge was no place for a battle. Any cat could have fallen there!”

Fireheart paced around him as Graystripe began to lick the scent of Silverstream from his fur. “It doesn’t matter what Silverstream thinks! What about your loyalty to ThunderClan?” he demanded. “You’re breaking the Clan code by seeing her!”

Graystripe stopped washing. “You think I don’t know that?” he hissed. “Do you doubt my loyalty to ThunderClan?”

“What else can I think? You can’t see her without lying to the Clan. And what if we have a battle with RiverClan? Have you thought about that?”

“You worry too much,” Graystripe snapped. “It won’t come to that. Now that Brokenstar’s gone and WindClan is back, the Clans will be at peace.”

“RiverClan doesn’t seem to be acting very peacefully,” Fireheart pointed out. “You know they’ve been hunting on Sunningrocks, in our territory.”

“They’ve been hunting on Sunningrocks since before I was kitted,” scoffed Graystripe, twisting to wash the base of his tail.

Fireheart carried on pacing. Graystripe just didn’t seem to understand what he was doing. “Okay. What if a RiverClan patrol catches you?”

“Silverstream won’t let that happen,” answered Graystripe between long licks along his bushy tail.

“For StarClan’s sake, aren’t you even a bit worried?” Fireheart burst out, exasperated.

Graystripe stopped washing and looked up at his friend. “You don’t get it, do you? StarClan must have planned this. Look, Silverstream wants to see me — even after what almost happened to Whiteclaw. We share the same thoughts; it’s as if we were born into the same Clan.”

Fireheart realized it was pointless to argue anymore. “Come on,” he meowed heavily. “We’d better get back before you’re missed again.”

Graystripe got to his paws. Side by side, he and Fireheart walked to the top of the ravine and looked down at the camp. Over and over, one thought echoed in Fireheart’s mind — how could Graystripe love Crookedstar’s daughter, but remain loyal to ThunderClan?

He glanced at Graystripe, and they began to climb down the steep slope home. They crept back into the camp the same way Graystripe had left it. Fireheart held his breath as he squeezed through the boundary wall, angry with Graystripe for making him sneak around like this. His heart sank as they rounded the nursery to find Whitestorm approaching them.

“Graystripe, you should be resting, not hanging around here. That cough of yours has already begun to spread. We don’t want it getting into the nursery!” warned the warrior. Graystripe nodded and padded back toward the warriors’ den. “And you” — Fireheart’s ears flicked nervously as Whitestorm turned to him — “shouldn’t you be training your apprentices?”

“I came back to get something from Yellowfang for a bellyache,” Fireheart mumbled. “Runningwind and Cinderheart are with them.”

“Well, go and get it then,” replied Whitestorm. “And once you have, you can make yourself useful and find some fresh-kill. It’s leaf-bare — we can’t have young warriors hanging around the camp doing nothing!”

“Yes, Whitestorm,” meowed Fireheart. He turned away, relieved to escape any more questions, and ran toward Yellowfang’s den.

Yellowfang was busy mixing herbs. There were several heaps of leaves gathered in front of her. Fireheart stood and watched her for a moment without speaking. He felt sad, drained after the row with Graystripe. He couldn’t help wishing it were Spottedleaf here mixing herbs instead of Yellowfang.

Yellowfang glanced up at him. “My supplies are running low. I might need help to restock.”

“Isn’t that what I’m here for?” Jayfeather asked sarcastically.

“If things get worse, we’ll need you here to treat cats,” Yellowfang reminded him. “Both of us know you’re too talented of a medicine cat to waste your time collecting herbs.”

“Cinderheart could help,” Jayfeather offered. “She knows plenty.”

Yellowfang sighed. “She’s not a medicine cat. Neither of us have trained her.”

“Not yet,” Jayfeather said. He looked towards the warrior. “Was there something you needed?”

Fireheart didn’t reply. He was just wondering if he should confide his worries about Graystripe when Yellowfang interrupted his thoughts.

“It looks like there’s whitecough in the camp,” she growled, prodding impatiently at a dried leaf. “Two cases this morning.”

“Swiftpaw?” asked Fireheart.

The old medicine cat shook her head. “ Swiftpaw’s just got a cold. It’s Speckletail’s kit. And Patchpelt. Not serious at the moment, but we need to concentrate on getting the Clan strong. Leaf-bare always brings the threat of greencough.” Fireheart understood her concern. Greencough was a killer. Yellowfang looked up again. “What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing, just a bellyache, but it doesn’t matter if you’re busy.”

“Bad?” she meowed.

“No,” Fireheart admitted, unable to meet her gaze.

“Then come back when it is.” The medicine cat went back to her mixing. Fireheart turned to leave, but Yellowfang called him back. “Make sure Graystripe stays in his den, will you? He’s a strong young warrior. If he were resting, his cough would be better by now.”

Jayfeather snorted. “Oh, he’s not resting.”

Fireheart’s tail twitched nervously. Had they guessed that Graystripe had been slipping out of the camp? What did Jayfeather and the rest of the time travelers know about it? He waited, his heart thudding, in case she was going to say more, but Yellowfang was frowning at the herbs again, so he padded quietly away.

It was getting dark, and Fireheart knew he had only a short time left for hunting. He quickly caught a shrew, a chaffinch, and a mouse, but hesitated before returning to camp. His fears for Graystripe felt more important than anything Whitestorm might say if he didn’t add something to the fresh-kill pile in time. Fireheart came to a decision — if Graystripe wouldn’t listen to reason, maybe Silverstream would.

He stashed his catch beneath a tree root and covered it with leaves. For the second time that day, he turned toward Sunningrocks. The rain that had been threatening all day finally began to fall. It was drumming steadily on the bracken by the time Fireheart crept down the shadowy slope toward the river.

Even in the rain, Silverstream’s scent was easy to find. Fireheart followed the trail to the place where he had found Graystripe and Silverstream together. Hyper-alert, he padded onto the shore. The dark water rushed past relentlessly, sending a shiver down Fireheart’s spine. He had no desire to swim across. His fur did not have the oily protection from the water that that of the RiverClan cats had, and leaf-bare was no season to get a soaking.

Suddenly Fireheart froze. He smelled RiverClan warriors!

He dropped to a crouch and looked across the river to see Silverstream pushing her way through the trailing branches of a willow. Behind her came two of her Clan, one of them a warrior with massive shoulders and battle-tom ears. The warrior sniffed the air suspiciously and peered around.

Fireheart heard the blood roaring in his ears. Had the warrior picked up his scent?

Very, very quietly, Fireheart backed into the bracken. The RiverClan warrior had stopped smelling the air, but he was still looking around.

Fireheart turned, still crouching, and began to creep away. He heard a small splash behind him. A cat had slipped into the river. Fireheart glanced over his shoulder, his heart pounding. Through the bracken he could see a silver head bobbing toward him. Silverstream! But where were the two other cats? He circled cautiously, tasting the air with an open mouth. No scent of them nearby. They must have moved on. He looked back at Silverstream, swimming determinedly across the river. For a moment Fireheart wondered if this was a trap, wondered if he should run, but his concern about Graystripe made him stay.

The silver tabby climbed onto the bank and hissed quietly, “Fireheart, I know you’re there. I can smell you! It’s okay, Stonefur and Shadepaw have gone.”

Fireheart didn’t move.

“Fireheart, I wouldn’t let anything happen to Graystripe’s closest friend!” She sounded impatient. “Believe me, for StarClan’s sake!”

Fireheart crept slowly from his hiding place.

Silverstream stared at him, her tail twitching. “What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you,” he whispered, painfully aware he was in enemy territory.

Silverstream flicked her ears in alarm. “Is Graystripe okay? Has his cough gotten worse?”

Fireheart was irritated by her concern. He didn’t want to kn ow how much this she-cat cared for his best friend. “He’s fine!” he growled, his caution swept away by anger. “But he won’t be if he carries on meeting you!”

Silverstream bristled. “I won’t let anything bad happen to Graystripe!”

“Oh, really?” Fireheart snorted. “And what could you do to protect him?”

“I am a Clan leader’s daughter,” meowed Silverstream.

“Does that give you the power to control your father’s warriors? You’re hardly more than an apprentice!”

“Like you!” she hissed indignantly.

“Yes, that’s true,” Fireheart admitted. “And that’s why I’m not sure I could protect Graystripe from the anger of his own Clan — or yours — if they find out you’re seeing each other.”

Silverstream tried to glare at him, but her eyes were clouded with emotion. “I can’t stop seeing him,” she meowed. Her voice softened to a whisper. “I love him.”

“But the tension between our Clans is bad enough already!” Fireheart was too angry to feel any sympathy. “We know RiverClan is hunting in our territory. . . .”

The defiant gleam returned to Silverstream’s eyes. “If ThunderClan understood why, they wouldn’t begrudge what we catch there!”

“Why?” Fireheart flashed back at her.

“My Clan is hungry. Our kits cry because their mothers have no milk. The elders are dying for lack of decent prey.”

Fireheart stared, taken aback. “But you’ve got the river!” he protested. Every cat knew that RiverClan enjoyed the best hunting of all — fish from the river, as well as woodland prey in the fields beyond.

“It’s not enough. Twolegs have taken over our territory downstream. They built a camp there all greenleaf and stayed as long as the fish were plentiful. By the time they went, the fishing was scarce. And the damage they’ve done to the forest means that even woodland prey is harder to find.”

Fireheart felt a pang of pity in spite of his anger. He could guess how serious this must be for RiverClan. They were used to their rich diet of fish, and grew fat on it every greenleaf so that they could endure the harsh moons of leaf-bare. He stared at the she-cat with new eyes. She wasn’t slim, he realized — she was skinny. As her wet coat clung to her, he could see her ribs. Suddenly he understood Crookedstar’s hostility to Bluestar’s plan at the Gathering. “That’s why you didn’t want WindClan to come home!”

“Rabbits run on the moorlands all year round,” Silverstream explained. “They were our only hope of making it through leaf-bare without losing kits.” She shook her head slowly before lifting her gaze back to Fireheart.

“Does Graystripe know all this?” he asked.

Silverstream nodded. Fireheart looked at her, perplexed for a moment. But he couldn’t let these feelings get in the way of the warrior code — and neither could his friend. “Whatever problems your Clan has, you still have to stop seeing Graystripe.”

“No,” answered Silverstream, lifting her chin. Her eyes flashed. “How can our love do any harm?”

Fireheart returned her stare. Another shiver ran down his back as the cold rain seeped through his thick pelt.

“You can’t stop them from loving each other,” Minnowtail mewed softly, leaping up to join them. “They’re too important to the future.”

“What are you talking about?” Fireheart demanded. “How important?”

“I can’t tell you, exactly,” she pointed out. “Just know that you can’t stop them or all the Clans could be lost.”

Now Silverstream’s eyes widened in shock. “That makes no sense!”

“No, it doesn’t,” Minnowtail agreed. “But it’s the truth. Your love, and what comes from it, will someday be the key to saving the Clans.”

Suddenly Silverstream hissed, making Fireheart jump. “You must leave, the patrol’s coming.”

Fireheart heard a faint rustle on the other side of the river. It would be pointless — and dangerous — to stay any longer. Though he wanted more answers,the rustling noise was growing closer. Without saying good-bye, he bounded back into the wet bracken and headed home.

He raced back toward the stash of fresh-kill he’d left beneath the oak tree. Halfway home, the scent of a fresh Twoleg trail stopped him in his tracks, reminding him of Princess. He wondered whether there was time to follow the trail back to Twolegplace. He wanted to know if she had kitted yet. But Princess would probably be safely tucked up in her Twoleg nest by now, and the Clan needed fresh-kill. He certainly couldn’t go searching out Healer. She could be anywhere in Twolegplace, or worse, anywhere in Clan territory, since she could apparently go around completely unnoticed. With an uneasy twinge, Fireheart realized that Graystripe wasn’t the only one with divided loyalties.

Rain began to drip from the end of his whiskers. He shook the drops away and bounded on toward his horde of fresh-kill.

The camp was silent by the time he arrived, the cats sheltering in their dens. Fireheart crossed the muddy clearing and dropped his catch on the pile. Taking a piece for himself, he trotted toward the warriors’ en. There was no way he was eating outside tonight.

He pushed his head inside the den. Graystripe was dozing, to Fireheart’s relief. He might actually get better if he wasn’t charging through the forest, looking for Silverstream.

“Yellowfang hasn’t taken any fresh-kill yet.” Whitestorm’s meow sounded from the shadows. “She’s been too busy. I think she would appreciate that mouse you’re carrying.”

Fireheart nodded and backed out again. If Yellowfang was too busy to fetch food, it must mean the sickness in the camp was getting worse. Fireheart raced across the clearing, stopping only to pick up another mouse before hurrying through the fern tunnel.

Tulipkit lay in a nest of moss in the bracken at the edge of the clearing. Yellowfang crouched beside it, trying to persuade it to eat some herbs. The kit snuffled pitifully, blinking up at her with streaming eyes and nose. Fireheart realized this must be the kit with whitecough, though he was Brindleface’s son, not Speckletail’s.

Yellowfang turned when she heard Fireheart arrive. “Is that for me?” she meowed, looking at the mice hanging from Fireheart’s mouth. He nodded and dropped them on the ground. “Thanks. Now that you’re here, why don’t you see if you can persuade this kit to take his medicine?” She padded over to the mice, moving stiffly from her old shoulder injury, and began to gnaw on one hungrily.

Fireheart approached the kit. It looked up at him, opening its tiny mouth in a rasping, painful cough. Fireheart gently pushed a small green herb toward it. “If you want to be a warrior, you’ll have to get used to swallowing these horrible things,” he mewed. “When you make your trip to the Moonstone, you have to eat herbs far worse than this.”

“They’re not that bad,” Jayfeather grumbled from where he was sorting herbs. “I had to take some before a journey to the mountains, and I handled it fine.

The kit looked wonderingly at him through half-closed eyes.

“Think of it as practice,” Fireheart urged. “Practice for when you become a warrior.”

“When I become a warrior?” Tulipkit reached forward and took a tentative mouthful.

Fireheart gave it an encouraging purr.

Yellowfang appeared at his side. “Well done,” she meowed. She gestured with her nose, and Fireheart understood she wanted to talk to him. He followed her to the shelter of the tall rock where she slept. The rain was still falling, and Yellowfang’ s matted gray fur was soaked, her sodden tail dragging in the dirt.

“Bluestar has whitecough,” she meowed gravely.

“But whitecough isn’t that serious, right?”

Yellowfang shook her head. “It came on very quickly,” she meowed, “and it’s affected her badly.” Fireheart’s stomach tightened as he remembered the dwindling number of lives left to the Clan leader. “I warned her to stay away from the other sick cats, but she wanted to see them,” Yellowfang went on. “She’s sleeping in her den at the moment. Sweetmint is with her.”

The fear in Yellowfang’s eyes made Fireheart wonder if she knew the truth about Bluestar’s lives. Fireheart had assumed he was the only cat in the camp whom Bluestar had shared her secret with. The rest of the Clan thought she had five lives left, but perhaps a medicine cat could sense these things instinctively.

The truth was, if Bluestar lost this life, she would have only two more left.

Chapter Text

The rain continued through the night and into the next morning. But by sunhigh, the clouds began to clear. A somber air hung over the clearing as the Clan waited for news of their leader.

Fireheart crept out from the patch of brambles by the boundary wall, where he’d sheltered since dawn. He padded over to Bluestar’s den in the side of Highrock. There was no sound from inside. As he turned away, he ran into Willowpelt carrying food to the nursery. She tipped her head questioningly to one side.

Fireheart knew she was hoping for news of Bluestar. “Nothing to report, I’m afraid.” He shrugged.

Fireheart had given Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw a day’s rest from training. He could see them now, lounging outside their den with their littermates, looking bored. Fireheart knew he had let them down, but he wanted to stay in camp while Bluestar was sick. At least Tigerclaw wasn’t here to criticize his decision. The great deputy had taken out the dawn patrol.

Suddenly the lichen at Bluestar’s den twitched and Sweetmint burst through. She raced across the clearing to Yellowfang’s den and reappeared within moments with the medicine cat behind her.

Fireheart bounded over to Bluestar’s den just as Sweetmint and Yellowfang pushed through the hanging lichen. He stopped outside and sat down, his heart racing. Sweetmint peered out.

“What’s wrong?” Fireheart asked, his voice trembling.

Sweetmint closed her eyes. “She has greencough,” she told him bleakly. “Stand watch and make sure no one comes inside.” She ducked back inside.

Fireheart sat motionless as shock flooded through him. Greencough! Bluestar really was in danger of losing another life.

A sharp yowl outside the camp made him turn and look toward the gorse tunnel. Dustpaw exploded into the clearing and skidded to a halt beside Fireheart. “I’ve come from Tigerclaw,” he panted. “I have a message for Bluestar.”

“She’s sick,” Fireheart replied. “You can’t go in.”

Dustpaw flicked his tail impatiently. “Tigerclaw needs to see her at the Thunderpath. It’s very urgent.” Nearby, Mistflow’s shoulder fur bristled.

“What’s wrong?”

Dustpaw glared at him. “Tigerclaw asked for Bluestar,” he sneered. “Not some kittypet pretending to be a warrior!”

“Stop it, Dustpaw,” Sandpaw growled. “There’s no need for that.”

“I don’t need contempt from a cat he thinks he knows better than a forest-born cat,” Dustpaw snapped back.

Fury shot through Fireheart and he unsheathed his claws. “Bluestar can’t leave the camp,” he growled. He flattened his ears and moved so that he blocked the entrance to his leader’s den.

“Fireheart is right.” Yellowfang’s rough meow sounded behind him. She had come out of Bluestar’s den.

Dustpaw looked at the medicine cat, shrinking beneath her orange gaze. “Tigerclaw has found evidence of ShadowClan warriors in our territory,” he meowed. “They’ve invaded our hunting grounds!”

In spite of his fear for Bluestar, Fireheart felt his lip curl in anger. How dared they? After what ThunderClan had done for them!

“That was not ShadowClan,” Lionblaze corrected. “Brokenstar and his followers want to start a war.”

“How would you know that?” Dustpaw demanded. “Cats can’t read minds.”

“I don’t have to read minds to know what that mangepelt wants,” Lionblaze told him.

Yellowfang wasn’t interested in Dustpaw’s report or Lionblaze’s corrections. She turned to Fireheart, her eyes filled with urgency. “Fireheart,” she meowed. “Tell me, do you know whether there is any catnip in the Twolegplace?”

“Catnip?” Fireheart echoed.

“I need it for Bluestar,” Yellowfang explained. “It’s an herb I haven’t used for moons, but I think it will help her.” The medicine cat had Fireheart’s full attention now. She continued, “It has soft leaves and an irresistible scent. . . .”

Fireheart interrupted her. “Yes, I know where to find some!” He had never seen it in the woods, but as a kit he had rolled in a patch in his Twoleg home.

“Good,” replied Yellowfang. “I need as much as you can carry, and fast.”

“What about Tigerclaw?” demanded Dustpaw.

“Tigerclaw will have to deal with it on his own for the moment!” Yellowfang snapped.

Cinderpaw had been watching them from the tree stump. She bounded up. “Deal with what himself?” she mewed excitedly. Fireheart signaled her to be quiet with an urgent flick of his tail.

Dustpaw ignored the apprentice. “ShadowClan could be in our territory by now!” he hissed.

“ShadowClan isn’t hunting in our territory!” Lionblaze snapped.

Cinderpaw’s eyes widened but she held her tongue.

Yellowfang paused to think. “Where’s Whitestorm?” she asked.

“Patrolling Sunningrocks with Stripepaw, Needlenose, and Mousefur,” Dustpaw answered.

Yellowfang nodded. “With Bluestar sick and Fireheart fetching catnip, we can’t risk sending any more warriors out of the camp. If ShadowClan or even Brokenstar is in our territory, they might attack here. They’ve done it before,” she reminded him grimly.

“If I’m quick getting the catnip,” Fireheart put in, “I could meet Tigerclaw afterward and bring back his message for Bluestar.”

Dustpaw’s eyes flashed. “But he wants Bluestar to see the evidence for herself. ShadowClan has left the remains of fresh-kill on our side of the Thunderpath!”

“That seems very safe,” Lionblaze muttered.

Yellowfang silenced him with a growl. “Bluestar doesn’t need to see the evidence,” she rasped. “The word of her deputy ought to be enough.”

“Tigerclaw just needs to be told that Bluestar can’t come,” meowed Fireheart. “I’ll take the message to him after I’ve fetched the catnip. Where is he?”

“I’ll go!” Dustpaw spat. “Do you think you’re a better messenger than me because you’re a warrior and I’m just an apprentice?” He threw Fireheart a look of pure hatred.

But Yellowfang had no time for quarrels. “The Clan will need protecting while Fireheart is gone!” she hissed at Dustpaw, flattening her ears. “Isn’t that duty important enough for you? Now, where is Tigerclaw?”

“Beside the burned ash tree that overhangs the Thunderpath,” Dustpaw replied sulkily.

“Right,” Yellowfang growled. “Go now, Fireheart! Quickly!”

As Fireheart sped away across the clearing, he heard small pawsteps sprinting after him. “Fireheart, wait!”

“Go back to your den, Cinderpaw,” he meowed over his shoulder without slowing down.

“But I could go and give Tigerclaw the message while you get the catnip!”

Fireheart stopped in his tracks and turned to face his young apprentice. “Cinderpaw, if there are any ShadowClan warriors around, you need to stay in camp.” Cinderpaw looked crushed, but Fireheart didn’t have time to worry about her feelings. “Go back to your den,” he growled. Without waiting to see her reaction, he turned and charged out of the camp.

He raced through Tallpines and wove quickly through the undergrowth that backed onto Twolegplace. As he scrambled onto the fence that bordered his old home, the familiar smell of the garden filled his nostrils. Memories flooded his mind, making him dizzy for a moment. He thought of sunny afternoons playing in the garden with the toys his Twolegs held for him. He almost expected to hear them rattling his dinner and calling his kittypet name. Then he thought of Bluestar, lighting against greencough.

Fireheart leaped down into the garden and bounded across the lawn to the place where he remembered the catnip had grown. He inhaled deeply, his mouth open, and breathed out with relief. The enticing scent was still here somewhere.

Fireheart padded along the row of plants, sniffing the air. He couldn’t see the catnip, and all the time he was getting nearer and nearer to his old Twoleg nest. Fireheart’s steps grew slower. Scents of his kithood mingled with the catnip now, confusing him.

Fireheart shook his head to clear it, and concentrated on the catnip scent. He pushed his way under a large bush, still dripping from the overnight rain, and found a large patch of the soft, fragrant herb. The recent frost had killed some of the leaves, but the sheltering bush had protected enough for Yellowfang to use. Fireheart bit off as many leaves as he could carry. Their flavor seeped deliciously into his mouth, but he was careful not to chew, much as he wanted to. Bluestar would need every drop of their precious juice.

With his jaws full, he turned and raced back up the garden. He leaped over the fence and pelted back through the forest, ignoring the brambles that dragged at his coat. He felt as if his lungs would burst — with his jaws closed to hold the herbs, he could breathe only through his nose.

Yellowfang was waiting for him in the gorse tunnel. Fireheart dropped the catnip at her paws and took a long gulp of air, his sides heaving. With a grateful look, Yellowfang picked up the leaves and rushed away toward Bluestar’s den.

As he sat gasping for air, Fireheart realized he could smell Cinderpaw’ s excited scent in the gorse tunnel. He sniffed the ground around him. Had Cinderpaw left the camp even after he’d warned her about the ShadowClan warriors?

Fireheart dashed to the apprentices’ den and stuck his head inside. Brackenpaw was alone, sleeping.

“Where’s Cinderpaw?” Fireheart meowed.

Brackenpaw lifted his head sleepily. “Uh, what?”

“Cinderpaw! Where is she?”

“Don’t know,” answered Brackenpaw, confused.

Fireheart withdrew his head and looked around the clearing. Frostfur was pacing outside Bluestar’s den, her coat ruffled with agitation.

Fireheart wondered what to do. He didn’t have time to find Cinderpaw himself, and he didn’t want to tell the other warriors that she was missing. Graystripe! he thought suddenly. Graystripe could look for her while he went to find Tigerclaw. Fireheart hurried to the warriors’ den and slipped inside.

Graystripe ’s nest was empty. A flash of anger shot through Fireheart. Where was his friend when he needed him? As if he couldn’t guess! Fireheart snorted crossly. Cinderpaw would have to fend for herself until he had found Tigerclaw and told him Bluestar was sick.

Fireheart raced back through the gorse tunnel and began the journey to the Thunderpath. As he followed the trail up the side of the ravine and into the woods, he was aware that Cinderpaw’s scent hung in the air.

She must have come this way. Of course! She had gone to meet Tigerclaw herself! The fur on Fireheart’s spine prickled with worry and frustration. How could she be so foolish?

Cinderheart and Lionblaze were waiting for him. “Come on!” the gray she-cat hissed, running beside him.

“You know where she went, don’t you?” Fireheart accused.

“I know what will happen, but it might not be too late,” Cinderheart mewed.

As he skirted Snakerocks, Fireheart began to smell the Thunderpath and hear the roar of its monsters.

Suddenly a shrill, high-pitched squeal sounded from the edge of the trees. Fireheart felt the blood run cold in his veins. It was the same cry he had heard in his dream.

At the same time, Cinderheart let out a shocked moan and collapsed sideways onto the ground. Lionblaze froze and nosed at her, worried, while Fireheart continued toward the Thunderpath.

He raced out of the trees and skidded to a halt on the grass border beside the Thunderpath. He looked desperately up and down the verge and spotted an ash tree, charred by lightning. That must be the place where Dustpaw had said Tigerclaw wanted to meet Bluestar. But the deputy was still some way in the distance, padding calmly toward the ash.

Fireheart broke into a run. The verge was very narrow here, with scarcely room for a rabbit, but Fireheart kept going. He called out to Tigerclaw as he ran.

“Did you hear that cry?” But the roar of an approaching monster drowned out his words.

Fireheart shuddered as it passed, waiting for the noise to die away so he could call out again to Tigerclaw. Then he noticed something beside the ash, a dark shape on the thin strip of grass. With a sickening jolt, he recognized the small body lying motionless beside the Thunderpath. It was Cinderpaw.

Fireheart stared in horror. Ahead of him, Tigerclaw had reached the limp body and stood looking down at it, his massive shoulders rigid with shock. Fireheart forced himself nearer. Tentatively he stretched his head forward and sniffed Cinderpaw’s flank. She smelled of Thunderpath. One of her hind legs was twisted and glistening with blood. Fireheart was trembling so much he could hardly stand. Then he saw her side moving. She was still breathing! Speechless with relief, he looked up at Tigerclaw.

“She’s alive,” the deputy growled. He fixed his amber stare on Fireheart. “What was she doing here?”

“She came to find you,” Fireheart whispered.

“You mean you sent her here?”

Fireheart’s eyes widened with surprise. Did Tigerclaw think he would be so stupid? “I told her to stay in camp!” he protested. “She came by herself.” Because I couldn’t make her listen to me! he realized with dismay.

Tigerclaw snorted. “We must get her home.” He bent down with his mouth open, reaching for the small, crumpled body, but Fireheart dipped his head and picked up the apprentice by the scruff of her neck before Tigerclaw could touch her. He began to drag Cinderpaw into the woods as gently as he could, her body hanging limply between his front paws.

A gray head peeked over the grassline, but Fireheart didn’t have a chance to recognize the cat’s scent before they vanished.

Darkstripe came bounding up to them. “I’ve checked Snakerocks again, Tigerclaw. There’s no sign of Shadow-” He broke off when he saw Cinderpaw dangling from Fireheart’s mouth. “What’s happened?”

Fireheart didn’t wait to hear Tigerclaw’s answer. He stumbled away through the trees with his precious burden. He could have prevented this accident! If only he’d made Cinderpaw listen to him, if he’d been a better mentor. Now her body was damaged and bleeding and she made no sound as she dangled from his jaws. Her hind paws scored a shallow trail through the leaves as, carefully, Fireheart carried her home.

*  *  *  *  *

Yellowfang was not in her clearing. The Tulipkit and Swiftpaw, who both had whitecough were curled together in their shelter, fast asleep. Swiftpaw’s tail was wrapped around the younger cat, as if he wanted to protect him even while sick. Fireheart laid Cinderpaw on the cold ground, then made a nest for her in the bracken by circling around and around. When he had finished, he grasped Cinderpaw’s scruff and gently pulled her inside.

“Fireheart?” Yellowfang meowed from the clearing. Tigerclaw must have told her about Cinderpaw. Fireheart hopped out of the nest. “She’s in here,” he croaked, feeling weak with relief at seeing the medicine cat.

“Let me look,” Yellowfang ordered. She brushed past Fireheart and climbed into the bracken to examine Cinderpaw. Fireheart sat down and waited.

At last Yellowfang jumped out. “She’s hurt very badly,” she meowed, her eyes dark with concern. “But I think I might be able to save her.”

It was a tiny hope, like a single sparkling dewdrop clinging to his pelt. Fireheart felt it glisten for a moment before Yellowfang went on: “I can’t promise anything.” She looked deep into Fireheart’s eyes and murmured, “Bluestar is very sick and I can do no more for her. StarClan must decide her fate now.”

Fireheart felt his eyes cloud with emotion; he could hardly see Yellowfang’ s face, but he heard her speak to him again, her voice gentle. “Go and sit with Bluestar,” she meowed. “She was asking for you earlier. I will take care of Cinderpaw.”

Fireheart nodded blindly and turned away. Bluestar had been his mentor, and more than that, there had been a bond between them since their first meeting. But he felt torn. He should be with Cinderpaw, too.

A shadow loomed at the far end of the fern tunnel. Tigerclaw was sitting at the entrance to Yellowfang’s den, his head held high as usual. Fireheart’s shoulders stiffened with anger. Why couldn’t the great warrior show some sign of sorrow? After all, Cinderpaw had come looking for him. And for what? There hadn’t been any evidence of ShadowClan fresh-kill that Fireheart had noticed! He walked past Tigerclaw without a word, and headed across the clearing toward Bluestar’s den.

Near the warrior’s den, Lionblaze was watching over Cinderheart, who was crouched tensely, staring towards the medicine cats’ den. Fireheart wondered exactly what had happened to her, but there wasn’t time to ask.

Longtail was sitting on guard outside Bluestar’s den. He glanced sideways but didn’t try to stop Fireheart as the young warrior pushed through the lichen.

Goldenflower, Swiftpaw’s mother, was inside. Fireheart could see her eyes shining in the gloom, and the pale fur of Bluestar lying curled in her nest. Goldenflower leaned forward and gently licked Bluestar’s head to cool it, like a mother nursing her kit. Fireheart’s heart ached as he thought of Cinderpaw. Would Frostfur be at her daughter’s side by now?

“Yellowfang has given her catnip and feverfew,” Goldenflower murmured to Fireheart. “We can only watch and wait now.” She got to her paws and touched Fireheart’s nose with her muzzle. “Will you be okay to sit with her?” she asked gently. Fireheart nodded and Goldenflower padded softly out of the den.

Fireheart lowered himself onto his belly, stretching his forepaws in front of him so that they just touched his leader’s face. He lay very still, his eyes fixed on Bluestar’s limp body. She didn’t even have the strength to cough now. Fireheart could hear her breathing in the darkness, shallow and rasping, and he listened to the faltering rhythm as the night slowly passed.

Her breathing stopped just before dawn. Fireheart had almost dozed off when he realized the cave was silent. There was no noise from the camp outside either, just a deathly hush, as if the whole Clan were holding its breath.

Bluestar was completely still. Fireheart knew she was with StarClan, preparing for her remaining life. He had watched Bluestar lose a life before. He felt his fur prickle at the eerie peace that seemed to enfold her body, but there was nothing he could do, so he waited.

Suddenly Bluestar gasped. “Fireheart, is that you?” she meowed in a croaky voice.

“Yes, Bluestar,” Fireheart murmured. “I’m here.”

“I have lost another life.” Bluestar’s voice was weak, but the relief made Fireheart want to reach forward and lick her between the ears, as Goldenflower had done. “When I lose the one after this one, I will not be able to return.”

Fireheart swallowed hard. The thought of the Clan losing its great leader pained him, but the thought of losing his mentor and friend hurt even more. “How do you feel? Shall I fetch Yellowfang or Jayfeather?”

Bluestar shook her head slowly. “The fever has gone. I am well enough. I just need to rest.”

“Very well,” meowed Fireheart. Light was beginning to filter through the lichen, and his head swam from his wakeful night.

“You must be tired,” meowed Bluestar. “Go and get some sleep.”

“Yes.” Fireheart heaved himself up. His legs felt stiff from lying so long. “Is there anything you need?”

“No. Just tell Yellowfang and Jayfeather what has happened,” answered Bluestar. “Thank you for sitting with me.”

Fireheart tried to purr but it caught in his throat. There would be time for more words later. He pushed his way out through the lichen.

Outside a harsh brightness made him blink. It had snowed in the night. Fireheart stared in amazement.

He had never seen snow before — his Twoleg owners had kept him shut inside when he was a very young kit whenever it was cold. But he’d heard the Clan elders talk of it. He nodded to Darkstripe, who had replaced Longtail guarding Bluestar’s den, and stepped into the strange powder. It felt wet and cold, crunching loudly under his paws.

Tigerclaw was standing in the clearing. It was still snowing and the flakes settled on the tabby’s thick fur without melting. Fireheart could hear him giving orders for the nursery wall to be padded with leaves to keep out the cold. “Then I want a hole to be scraped out where we can store prey,” the ThunderClan deputy instructed. “Use snow to line it, and cover it with more snow once it has been filled. We may as well make use of the snow while it’s here.”

Warriors raced around Tigerclaw, following his orders. “Nighthunter, Mousefur, Longtail! Organize some hunting parties. We need as much fresh-kill as we can get before the prey takes to their burrows for good!” Tigerclaw spotted Fireheart padding across the clearing. “Fireheart, wait,” he called. “Oh, I suppose you’ll have to rest. I can’t imagine you’ll be any use on a hunting party this morning.”

“There’s no need for that, Tigerclaw,” Mistflow told him sternly. “Fireheart was performing a noble duty in watching over Bluestar while she needed it. I once did the same for you when an illness nearly brought you to StarClan,” she meowed. “You weren’t so quick to insult me then.”

“You’re my sister and you felt an obligation to watch me,” he growled. “The kittypet wasted a night he could have spent resting so he could be of use to the Clan.”

Fireheart stared at the dark warrior, hostility rising like bile in his throat. “I’m going to see how Cinderpaw is,” he growled.

Tigerclaw held his gaze for a moment. “How’s Bluestar?”

Mistrust ruffled Fireheart’s fur like a cold breeze. He’d heard Bluestar lie to Tigerclaw once before about how many lives she had left. “I’m no medicine cat,” he answered. “I can’t say.”

“StarClan grant her quick healing,” Mistflow sighed.

Tigerclaw snorted impatiently, then turned away and went back to giving orders. Fireheart walked over to Yellowfang’s den, relieved to escape the frenetic bustle of the camp. His heart began to pound as he wondered what state he would find Cinderpaw in. “Yellowfang,” he called.

“Hush!” Yellowfang sprang from Cinderpaw’s bracken nest. “She’s sleeping at last. She’s had a hard night. I couldn’t give her poppy seeds to ease the pain until she’d recovered from the shock.”

“But she’s going to live?” Fireheart’s legs felt wobbly with relief.

“I can’t be for sure for a few days. She’s hurt inside, and one of her hind legs is badly broken.”

“But it’ll mend, won’t it?” Fireheart pleaded desperately. “She’ll be training again by newleaf?”

Yellowfang shook her head, her yellow eyes sympathetic. “Fireheart, whatever happens, Cinderpaw will never be a warrior now.”

“How can you say that?” Jayfeather snapped, pelting into the den. “Cinderpaw has every right to be a warrior if she wants!”

“Her injuries are severe, and her leg will never properly heal,” Yellowfang pointed out with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

“Cinderheart has been teaching both Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw special techniques to compensate for an injured leg. Cinderheart herself still became a warrior after she broke her hind leg, and she’s one of the finest warriors in the Clan. Deadfoot of WindClan became deputy and he’s more than a match for any cat. I know you’re upset that you were forced into the position of medicine cat, just as I once was, but you have no right to say that Cinderpaw can’t become a warrior!” As he finished his rant, Jayfeather was panting.

Yellowfang dipped her head. “Perhaps you’re right,” she agreed. “It would be cruel to decide what Cinderpaw’s future does or does not hold before we know how she will recover.”

Fireheart’s head spun. He was dizzy with lack of sleep, and this devastating news sapped the last of his energy. Cinderpaw had been entrusted to him for her warrior training. Memories of the naming ceremony pricked like cruel thorns — Cinderpaw’s excitement, Frostfur’s motherly pride. . .“Does Frostfur know?” he meowed, feeling hollow.

“Yes, she was here till dawn. She’s back in the nursery now; there are other kits to tend to. I’ll ask one of the elders to sit with Cinderpaw. She needs to be kept warm.”

“I can do that.” Fireheart padded over to the nest where Cinderpaw was sleeping and looked inside. She squirmed, and her blood-smeared sides heaved, as though she were fighting a battle as she slept. Jayfeather began to gently lick the blood from her fur.

Yellowfang gently nudged Fireheart with her nose. “You need to get some sleep,” she rasped. “Leave Cinderpaw to me.”

Fireheart stayed where he was. “Bluestar lost another life,” he burst out. Yellowfang blinked for a moment, then lifted her head to StarClan. She didn’t utter a word, but Fireheart could see the anguish in her orange eyes. “You know, don’t you?” he murmured.

Yellowfang lowered his chin and gazed into his eyes. “That Bluestar only has lives? Yes, I know. A medicine cat can tell these things.”

“Will the rest of the Clan be able to tell as well?” Fireheart asked, thinking of Tigerclaw.

Yellowfang narrowed her eyes. “No. She will be no weaker in this life than she was in any of her others.”

Fireheart blinked gratefully at her.

“Now,” Yellowfang ordered, “do you want some poppy seeds to help you sleep?”

Fireheart shook his head. Part of him longed for the deep, easy sleep they would bring. But if Tigerclaw or even was right and cats from ShadowClan really were about to attack ThunderCIan’s borders, he did not want to dull his senses. He might be needed to defend the camp.

Graystripe was back in the warriors’ den. Fireheart did not speak to him; his rage at finding him missing the night before lingered like a dull bruise. He padded silently to his nest, circled once, and settled down to wash.

Graystripe looked up. “You’re back, then.” He sounded edgy, as if he wanted to say more.

Fireheart stopped licking his forepaw and stared at Graystripe.

“You tried to warn Silverstream off,” Graystripe hissed furiously. Willowpelt, who was dozing on the other side of the den, opened one eye, then closed it again.

Graystripe lowered his voice. “Stay out of it, will you?” he spat. “I’m going to keep on seeing her, whatever you do or say.”

Fireheart snorted and flashed a resentful glance at his friend. His talk with Silverstream seemed so long ago, he’d almost forgotten it. But he hadn’t forgotten that Graystripe had been missing when he’d needed help finding Cinderpaw. He laid his head angrily on his muddy forepaws and closed his eyes. Cinderpaw was battling against her injuries and Bluestar was on her eighth life. As far as Fireheart was concerned, Graystripe could do what he liked.

Chapter Text

Graystripe had already left his nest when Fireheart awoke the next day. He could tell it was sunhigh by the light that glowed through the branches. He rose, his body still weary with grief, and pushed his head out of the den. Snow must have been falling all morning, for it lay thick on the ground and had drifted against the den. Fireheart found himself gazing out over a white wall that was as high as his shoulder.

The usual bustle of the camp seemed muted. Fireheart could see Willowpelt and Halftail whispering on the far side of the clearing. Mousefur was picking her way laboriously toward the store of fresh-kill, a rabbit dangling from her jaws. She stopped and sneezed, then carried on. Brightkit and Thornkit were sharing tongues with Brackenpaw by the apprentices’ den. The grim expressions on their faces made them look much older than they actually were.

Fireheart lifted one paw and rested it on top of the snow. It felt hard at first, but when he pressed down, the thin covering of ice cracked and he gasped as his leg plunged into the drift. Fireheart snorted as he found himself up to his muzzle in snow. Shaking his head and lifting his chin, he leaped forward, only to sink into more deep snow. He struggled on, alarm rising in his chest. He felt as if he were drowning in snow! Then, all of a sudden, there was solid ground under his paws. He had reached the edge of the clearing. The snow here was only a mouse-length deep, and Fireheart sat down with a soft crunch, relieved.

He tensed when he saw Graystripe plowing through the snow toward him. The gray warrior seemed unbothered by it, protected from its damp chill by his thick pelt. His face was shadowed with sorrow. “Have you heard about Bluestar?” he asked as he neared. “She lost a life to greencough.”

Fireheart flicked his ears impatiently. He could have told his friend that last night. “I know,” he snapped. “I was with her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” mewed Graystripe, shocked.

“You weren’t exactly in a friendly mood last night, if you remember. Anyway, if you weren’t always off breaking the warrior code, you might know what was going on in your own Clan,” he snarled.

Graystripe’s ears twitched uncomfortably. “I’ve just seen Cinderpaw,” he meowed. “I’m sorry she’s so sick.”

“How is she?”

“She looked bad, but Yellowfang said she’s pulling through,” replied Graystripe.

Fireheart stared anxiously across the clearing and stood up. He wanted to see his apprentice for himself

Graystripe meowed, “She’s asleep now. Frostfur’s with her, and Yellowfang doesn’t want anyone else disturbing her.”

Fireheart flinched involuntarily. How was he going to tell Frostfur that it was his fault that Cinderpaw went to the Thunderpath? Instinctively, Fireheart turned to Graystripe, seeking reassurance. But Graystripe was trudging across the snowy clearing toward the nursery. Off to see Silverstream, Fireheart guessed resentfully, sheathing and unsheathing his claws as he watched his friend disappear from sight.

Fireheart noticed Speckletail, the oldest queen from the nursery and the mother of the kit with whitecough, only when she stopped right in front of him. “Is Tigerclaw inside?” she asked, pointing with her nose to the warriors’ den.

Fireheart shook his head.

Speckletail mewed, “There’s greencough in the nursery. Another of Brindleface’s kits is sick.”

“Greencough!” Fireheart gasped, shaken from his anger. “Will they die?”

“They might. But leaf-bare always brings greencough,” Speckletail pointed out gently.

“Surely there’s something we can do!” Fireheart protested.

“Yellowfang will do what she can,” answered Speckletail. “But in the end, it’s up to StarClan.”

A new flash of fury flared in Fireheart’s belly as Speckletail turned away and padded back to the nursery. How could the Clan tolerate these tragedies? He felt overwhelmed by the need to leave the camp, to escape the gloomy air that the rest of the Clan seemed content to breathe.

He jumped up and raced blindly across the snowy clearing, through the gorse tunnel and out into the forest. He was startled to find himself heading instinctively for the training hollow. The thought that he should be there, teaching Cinderpaw, was more than he could bear. As he veered to avoid it, he heard the voices of Whitestorm and Sandpaw.. Had no cat stopped to grieve for Bluestar’s lost life? Fireheart’s throat tightened as he fought back his rage and ran on, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and the camp.

He finally stopped beneath Tallpines, his sides heaving with the effort of running through the snow. There was stillness here that calmed him. Even the birds had stopped singing. Fireheart felt as if he were the only creature in the world.

He didn’t know where he was going; he just padded on, letting the woods soothe him. As he walked, his mind cleared. He could do nothing for Cinderpaw, and Graystripe was out of reach, but he might be able to help Yellowfang fight the greencough. He would fetch some more catnip.

Fireheart turned his steps toward his old kittypet home, weaving through the brambles in the oak woods that backed onto Twolegplace. He leaped to the top of the fence at the end of his old home, nudging a ridge of snow into the garden below. It fell with a soft clump. Fireheart peered down into the garden. He could see tracks, smaller than a cat’s. A squirrel had been out hunting for its store of nuts.

It didn’t take Fireheart long to pluck a generous mouthful of leaves from the catnip bush. He wanted to take as much as he could. Its soft leaves might not survive this weather; this could be his last chance to gather it.

With his mouth crammed, Fireheart stared toward the swinging flap he had used as a kit. He wondered if his Twoleg housefolk still lived there. They’d been kind to him. He had spent his first leaf-bare cosseted in their nest, warm and safe from the cruelties of Thunderpaths and greencough.

The scent of this catnip must be going to my head, he thought sharply. He bounded up the garden and onto the fence with a single leap. He was unnerved by how much the thought of his Twoleg home had stirred him. Did he really want the safety and predictability of a kittypet’s life? Of course not! Fireheart shook the thought away. But the idea of returning to camp didn’t appeal to him yet.

Suddenly he thought of Princess.

Fireheart raced along the edge of the woods to the part of Twolegplace where his sister’s garden lay. When her fence was in sight, he dug down through the snow and buried the catnip beneath a layer of dead leaves to protect it from the cold. He was still panting from his run when he leaped onto the fence and called out to Princess. Then he scrambled back down into the woods to wait for her.

The snow made his paws ache with cold as he paced restlessly under an oak tree. Perhaps she is kitting, he told himself, or shut inside. He had just persuaded himself he wasn’t going to see her today when he heard her familiar mew. He looked up to see her standing on top of her fence. Fireheart felt a shiver of anticipation. Her belly was no longer swollen. Princess must have kitted.

He breathed in her scent as she approached and felt it warm him. “You’ve kitted!” he meowed.

Princess gently touched his nose with hers. “Yes,” she mewed softly.

“Did it go okay? Are the kits all right?”

Princess purred. “It was fine. I have five healthy kits,” she meowed, her eyes glowing with pleasure. Fireheart licked her head and she mewed, “I didn’t expect to see you out in this weather.”

“I came to find some catnip,” Fireheart told her. “There’s greencough in the camp.”

Princess’s eyes clouded with worry. “Are many of your Clan ill?”

“Three so far.” Fireheart hesitated for a moment, then meowed sadly, “Our leader lost another life last night.”

“Another life?” echoed Princess. “What do you mean? I thought it was only an old she-cat’s tale that cats have nine lives.”

“Bluestar was granted nine lives by StarClan because she’s leader of our Clan,” Fireheart explained.

Princess looked at him in awe. “Then it’s true!”

“Only for Clan leaders. The rest of us have only one life, like you, and like Cinderpaw. ...” Fireheart’s voice trailed away.

“Cinderpaw?” Princess must have detected the grief in his voice.

Fireheart gazed into her eyes, and the thoughts that had been troubling him began to tumble out. “My apprentice,” he meowed. “She was hit on the Thunderpath last night.” His voice cracked as he remembered finding her broken, bleeding body. “She’s badly hurt. She might still die. And even if she survives, she’ll struggle to become a warrior.”

Princess moved closer and nuzzled him. “You spoke so fondly of her last time you were here,” she mewed. “She sounded full of fun and energy.”

“The accident shouldn’t have happened,” Fireheart growled. “I was supposed to meet Tigerclaw. He’d asked for Bluestar, but Bluestar was ill, so I offered to go instead. I had to fetch catnip first, and Cinderpaw went in my place.” Princess looked alarmed and Fireheart added quickly, “I told her not to. But perhaps if I’d been a better mentor she’d have listened to me.”

“I’m sure you’re a good mentor.” Princess tried to soothe him, but Fireheart hardly heard her.

“I don’t know why Tigerclaw wanted Bluestar to meet him in such a dangerous place!” he spat. “He said there was evidence that ShadowClan had invaded our territory, but when I arrived there was no scent of them at all!”

“Was it a trap?” Princess suggested.

Fireheart looked into his sister’s questioning eyes and suddenly began to wonder. “Why would Tigerclaw want to hurt Cinderpaw?”

“It was Bluestar he asked for,” Princess pointed out.

Fireheart’s fur bristled. Could his sister be right? Tigerclaw had summoned Bluestar to the narrowest part of the Thunderpath verge. Surely even Tigerclaw wouldn’t deliberately put his Clan leader in danger? 

“Princess is correct,” Healer announced, running easily along the top of the fence. She hopped down and padded over to join them. “Tigerclaw did plan to use the Thunderpath as a trap for Bluestar. It was just as well that she was too ill to go herself.”

“Why would Tigerclaw do that?” Princess growled. Fireheart was surprised at the anger in her voice. “Isn’t he already the second most powerful cat in the Clan?”

“Tigerclaw will always want more power,” Healer sighed.

Fireheart groaned. “It was bad enough that he murdered Redtail and was turning the Clan against Ravenpaw, but now, he’s decided that he wants all the power for himself.” He shook the thought away. “Everything’s so confusing at the moment. Even Graystripe’s hardly speaking to me.”

“Why?”

Fireheart shrugged. “It’s too complicated to explain.” Princess nestled next to him in the snow, pressing her soft fur against his. “I just feel like such an outsider at the moment,” Fireheart went on gloomily. “It’s not easy being different.”

“Different?” Princess looked puzzled.

“Being bom a kittypet, when the other cats are all Clanborn.”

Healer shook her head. “Not every cat is Clanborn. With the exception of Cinderheart, all of the time travelers in ThunderClan are related to you. They have kittypet blood in them.”

“You seem like a Clanborn cat to me,” mewed Princess. Fireheart blinked gratefully at her. She went on, “But if you’re not happy in the Clan, you can always come home with me. My housefolk would look after you, I’m sure.”

Fireheart pictured himself living his old kittypet life, warm, cozy, and safe. But he couldn’t forget how he’d watched the woods from his Twoleg garden and dreamed of being out in the forest. A breeze stirred his thick fur and carried the scent of a mouse to his nose. Fireheart shook his head firmly. “Thank you, Princess,” he meowed. “But I belong with my Clan now. I could never be happy in a Twoleg nest. I would miss the scents of the forest, and sleeping beneath Silverpelt, hunting my own food and sharing it with my Clan.”

His sister’s eyes gleamed. “It sounds like a good life,” she purred. She looked down shyly at her paws. “Sometimes even I stare into the forest and wonder what it feels like to live out there.”

Fireheart purred and stood up. “Then you understand?”

Princess nodded. “Are you going back now?”

“Yes. I must take the catnip to Yellowfang and Jayfeather while it’s fresh.” As Fireheart said the second name, another flash of pain glinted in Healer’s eyes.

Princess stretched her head forward to press her muzzle into his side. “Perhaps my kits will be strong enough to meet you next time you come,” she mewed.

Excitement tingled in Fireheart’s belly. “I hope so!” he meowed.

“They’re very strong,” Healer purred. “Especially that fluffy white one.”

As he turned to leave, Princess called, “Take care, brother. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” Fireheart promised.

*  *  *  *  *

“Good thinking, Fireheart,” purred Whitestorm. He had seen Fireheart pad back into camp with his jaws crammed with catnip.

Fireheart’s mouth had been watering all the way home, although he was beginning to think he’d be happy never to see another catnip bush again. But he was happier than when he’d left the camp. His sister had safely kitted and his head felt clearer.

He was heading toward Yellowfang’s den when Tigerclaw appeared at his side.

“More catnip?” observed the great tabby, his eyes suspicious. “I wondered where you’d gone. Brackenpaw can take that to Yellowfang.”

Brackenpaw was helping to clear away snow nearby.

“Come and take this catnip to Yellowfang,” Tigerclaw ordered the apprentice.

Brackenpaw nodded and bounded over at once.

Fireheart dropped the bunch of leaves onto the ground. “I wanted to visit Cinderpaw,” he meowed to Tigerclaw.

“Later,” growled the deputy. He waited while Brackenpaw, along with Thornkit and Brightkit,  picked up the catnip, and carried it off to Yellowfang’s den. Then he turned back to Fireheart. “I want to know where Graystripe has been going.”

Fireheart felt the heat rising under his fur. “I don’t know,” he replied, holding Tigerclaw’s gaze.

Tigerclaw stared back at him, his eyes cold and hostile. “When you see him,” he hissed, “you can tell him he’s confined to the fallen oak.”

“Yellowfang’s old den?” Fireheart glanced at the tangled branches where the medicine cat had lived when she first came into the ThunderClan camp, when she was still considered a ShadowClan outcast. Swiftpaw was there, still lying beside Tulipkit.

“Cats with whitecough are confined there until they are well again.”

“But Graystripe only has a cold,” Fireheart protested.

“A cold is bad enough. He’ll stay at the fallen oak!” Tigerclaw repeated. “Cats with greencough are to nest with Yellowfang. We must stop this sickness from spreading.” The deputy’s eyes flashed unsympathetically. Fireheart wondered if he thought of illness as a sign of weakness. “It is for the good of the Clan,” Tigerclaw added.

“Yes, Tigerclaw. I’ll tell Graystripe.”

“And keep away from Bluestar,” the deputy warned.

“But the greencough has left her,” Fireheart objected.

“I am aware of that, but her den still reeks of the sickness. I can’t afford to have any of my warriors falling ill. Whitestorm tells me that RiverClan warriors have been scented even closer to the camp. He also told me he had to train Brackenpaw today. I expect you to take charge of Brackenpaw’ s training tomorrow.”

Fireheart nodded. “May I go and see Cinderpaw now?”

Tigerclaw looked at him.

“I doubt if Yellowfang has put her anywhere near the cats with greencough,” Fireheart added with a flash of irritation. “I won’t get infected.”

“Very well,” Tigerclaw agreed, and stalked away.

Fireheart met Brackenpaw with his littermates in the middle of the clearing. “Yellowfang was very grateful for the catnip,” Brackenpaw mewed.

“Good,” answered Fireheart. “By the way, I’m teaching you how to catch birds tomorrow. I hope you’re ready for a bit of tree climbing.”

Brackenpaw’s whiskers twitched excitedly. “Definitely. I’ll meet you at the training hollow.”

“And I’ll see if I can bring you two with us,” Fireheart added to Brightkit and Thornkit. “With all this sickness gathering in the camp, it would do good for both of you to get some fresh air, and you’re bound to be apprenticed soon anyways.”

“Thanks, Fireheart!” they cheered excitedly. Thornkit promptly tackled Brackenpaw, with Brightkit watching them fondly.

Fireheart nodded warmly and carried on to the medicine cats’ den. He spotted Brindleface’s poor kit straightaway. Fernkit lay quietly in a bracken nest, coughing, her noses and eyes streaming.

Yellowfang greeted him. “Thanks for the catnip; we’re going to need it. Patchpelt and Owltuft have greencough now.” She gestured with her nose toward another nest in the bracken. Inside, Fireheart could see the old tom’s matted black-and-white fur.

“How’s Cinderpaw?” he asked, looking back at the medicine cat.

Yellowfang sighed. “She was awake earlier, but not for long. She has an infection in her leg. StarClan knows, I’ve tried everything, but she must fight this one herself.”

Fireheart peered into Cinderpaw’s nest. The little gray cat was twitching in her sleep, her injured leg twisted awkwardly to one side. Jayfeather was rasping his tongue over her forehead comfortingly. Fireheart shuddered, suddenly afraid she might yet lose this struggle. He turned back to Yellowfang, looking for words of encouragement, but the medicine cat sat with her head low. She looked exhausted.

“Do you think Spottedleaf would have been able to save these cats?” she meowed unexpectedly, raising her head to meet his gaze.

Fireheart shivered. He could still sense Spottedleaf’s presence here in the clearing. He remembered how efficiently she’d tended to Ravenpaw’s shoulder wound after the battle with RiverClan, and how carefully she’d advised him about caring for Yellowfang when the old she-cat had first come to the ThunderClan camp. Then he looked at Yellowfang, her shoulders weighed down with experience. “I’m sure there’s nothing Spottedleaf would have done differently,” he told her.

“StarClan knows you have more experience than her,” Jayfeather added. “Between the two of us, we won’t let any of these cats die.”

Fernkit cried out and Yellowfang sprang up. As she passed, Fireheart leaned forward and gently stroked the old cat’s side with his muzzle. She twitched her shoulder gratefully at him. Then, filled with sadness, he turned and padded toward the fern tunnel.

The white pelt of Frostfur appeared at the other end. She must be coming to see Cinderpaw. As he approached the queen, Fireheart lifted his head and looked into her blue eyes. The sorrow in them made his heart twist with pain. “Frostfur?” he began.

The queen stopped.

“I. . .I’m sorry.” Fireheart trembled as he spoke.

Frostfur looked confused. “What for?”

“I should have been able to stop Cinderpaw from going to the Thunderpath.”

Frostfur gazed at him, but her expression gave away nothing except her sadness. “I don’t blame you, Fireheart,” she murmured. Then she lowered her head and carried on toward her kit.

“Besides, the only cat to blame is the cat who set up a meeting by the Thunderpath in the first place,” Jayfeather pointed out.

*  *  *  *  *

Graystripe was back, munching a vole beside the nettle clump.

Fireheart padded over to him. “Tigerclaw says you’ve got to move to the fallen oak, with the whitecough cats,” he meowed. With a prickle of resentment, he remembered how the deputy had questioned him about his friend.

“That won’t be necessary,” replied Graystripe cheerfully. “I’m better now. Yellowfang gave me the all-clear this morning.”

Fireheart looked closely at Graystripe. His eyes were certainly bright again, and his runny nose had dried to an unappealing crust. At any other time Fireheart would have teased him about how much he looked like Runningnose, the ShadowClan medicine cat. Now he spat crossly, “Tigerclaw has noticed your disappearances. You should be more careful. Why can’t you stay away from Silverstream, at least for now?”

Graystripe stopped chewing and stared angrily back at Fireheart. “And why can’t you mind your own business?”

Fireheart closed his eyes and snorted with frustration. Would he ever get through to his friend? Then he wondered if he even cared anymore. After all, Graystripe hadn’t asked about Cinderpaw.

“Well, since you can’t be bothered, I’m taking over your apprentice’s training until you feel like training him yourself,” Fireheart growled. There was no excuse that could possibly justify an apprentice missing out because his mentor was being a mousebrain.

“Bluestar should have never made me a mentor in the first place!” Graystripe hissed. “I didn’t ask for it.”

Fireheart stared at him in shock. Was that really how his friend felt? Had he truly not wanted to train an apprentice?

Fireheart’s stomach growled to tell him he was hungry. He might as well eat. He took a sparrow from the pile of fresh-kill and carried it away to a deserted corner of the camp to eat alone. As he settled down, he thought of Princess, far away in Twolegplace, with her newborn kits. Lonely and anxious, Fireheart stared across the camp and longed to see her again.

*  *  *  *  *

In the following days, Fireheart struggled against the urge to visit his sister. His yearning to be with his kittypet kin was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable. He kept himself busy hunting in the snowy forests, replenishing the camp store.

He had had a successful hunt this afternoon, returning to camp with two mice and a chaffinch as the sun dipped behind the trees. He buried the mice in the snow store and took the chaffinch for his own supper.

As he finished his meal, he noticed Whitestorm padding toward him. “I want you to take Sandpaw out on the dawn patrol,” the great white warrior meowed. “ShadowClan has been scented as close as the Owl Tree.”

“ShadowClan?” Fireheart echoed in alarm. Perhaps Tigerclaw really had found evidence of an invasion after all. “I was planning to take Brackenpaw out again tomorrow.”

“Isn’t Graystripe better now?” asked Whitestorm. “He can take Brackenpaw.”

Of course! thought Fireheart. And perhaps training his apprentice would keep Graystripe away from Silverstream for once. But that meant he would have to go on patrol with Sandpaw. And Fireheart couldn’t help thinking of the furious look Sandpaw had given him when he’d interrupted her fight with the RiverClan warrior beside the gorge. “Just me and Sandpaw?” he asked.

Whitestorm looked at him in surprise. “Sandpaw’s almost a warrior, and you can take care of yourself,” he replied.

Whitestorm had misunderstood Fireheart’ s concern. He wasn’t afraid of being attacked by enemy cats; he was afraid Sandpaw hated him as much as Dustpaw did. But Fireheart didn’t correct him. “Does Sandpaw know?”

“You can tell her,” meowed Whitestorm.

Fireheart’s ear twitched. He didn’t think Sandpaw would be too thrilled by the idea of patrolling with him, but he didn’t argue.

Whitestorm nodded briefly and bounded away toward the warriors’ den. Fireheart sighed and padded over to where Sandpaw was sitting with the other apprentices.

“Sandpaw.” Fireheart shifted uneasily. “Whitestorm wants you to patrol with me at dawn tomorrow.”

He waited for a resentful hiss, but Sandpaw merely looked up at him and meowed, “Fine.” Even Dustpaw looked surprised.

“O-okay,” echoed Fireheart, taken aback. “Meet you at sunrise then.”

“Sunrise,” agreed Sandpaw.

Fireheart decided to share the good news about Sandpaw’s lack of hostility with Graystripe. It might be a chance for them to start talking to each other again. Graystripe was sharing tongues with Runningwind by the clump of nettles.

“Hi, Fireheart,” Runningwind meowed as Fireheart approached.

“Hi.” Fireheart looked expectantly at Graystripe. But Graystripe had turned his head away and was staring at the boundary wall. Fireheart’s heart sank. He dropped his head and turned back toward his nest. He couldn’t wait to be out on patrol tomorrow and away from the camp.

*  *  *  *  *

The sky glowed palest pink above Fireheart’s head as he pushed his way out of the den the next morning.

Sandpaw was waiting for him outside the gorse tunnel.

“Er, hi,” Fireheart meowed, feeling a bit awkward.

“Hi,” Sandpaw answered quietly.

Fireheart sat down. “Let’s wait for the night patrol to get back,” he suggested.

They sat in silence until they heard the familiar rustle of bushes heralding the return of Whitestorm, Longtail, and Mousefur.

“Any sign of ShadowClan?” Fireheart asked.

“We definitely picked up some ShadowClan scents,” answered Whitestorm grimly.

“It’s strange,” meowed Mousefur, frowning. “It’s always the same group of scents. ShadowClan must be sending the same warriors each time.”

“You two had better check out the RiverClan border,” suggested Whitestorm. “We didn’t get a chance to patrol there. Be careful, and remember, you don’t want to start a fight. You’re just looking for signs they’ve been hunting on our land again.”

“Yes, Whitestorm,” meowed Fireheart. Sandpaw nodded respectfully.

Fireheart led the way. “We’ll start at Fourtrees and work our way along the border to Tallpines,” he meowed as they climbed out of the camp ravine.

“Sounds good,” replied Sandpaw. “I’ve never seen Fourtrees in the snow.” Fireheart listened for sarcasm in her voice, but she seemed to be sincere.

They reached the top of the ravine. “Which way now?” Fireheart decided to test her.

“Do you think I don’t know the way to Fourtrees?” Sandpaw protested. Fireheart began to regret acting like a mentor until he noticed a good-humored gleam in her eyes. She charged away through the woods without another word, and Fireheart pelted after her.

It felt good to be running through the woods with another cat again. He had to admit Sandpaw was fast. She was still two fox lengths ahead when she leaped over the trunk of a fallen tree and disappeared.

Fireheart followed, taking the tree in a single bound. As he landed on the other side, something hit him from behind. He skidded in the snow, rolled over, and sprang to his paws.

Sandpaw faced him, her whiskers twitching. “Surprise!”

Fireheart hissed playfully and leaped on top of her. He was impressed by Sandpaw’s strength, but he had the advantage of size. When he finally held her down in the snow, she protested, “Get off, you great lump!”

“Okay, okay,” meowed Fireheart, letting go of her. “But you asked for it!”

Sandpaw sat up, her orange coat dusted with snow. “You look like you’ve been caught in a snowstorm!” she mewed.

“So do you.” They both shook the flakes from their fur. “Come on,” Fireheart meowed. “We’d better get a move on.”

They raced side by side, as far as Fourtrees. By the tune they reached the top of the slope that overlooked the valley, the sky was milky blue. Pale sunlight lit up the snowy hollow. The four bare oaks stood below them, glittering with frost.

Sandpaw stared down, her eyes wide. Fireheart waited, touched by her enthusiasm, until she turned to leave.

“I didn’t know the snow would make everything look so different,” she mewed as they began to follow the RiverClan border toward the river. Fireheart nodded in agreement.

Their pace was slower as they traveled in silence along the line of scent markers, alert for any fresh smells of RiverClan this side of the border. Fireheart paused every few trees to leave a new ThunderClan scent mark.

Suddenly Sandpaw stopped dead. “Fancy a little fresh-kill?” she whispered. Fireheart nodded. The apprentice dropped into a hunting crouch and pulled herself forward through the snow, one slow pawstep after another. Fireheart followed her gaze and saw a young rabbit hopping underneath some brambles. With a quick hiss, Sandpaw pounced, diving into the brambles and pinning the rabbit down with a strong forepaw. In one smooth movement she pulled it toward her to finish it off.

Fireheart bounded over. “Great catch, Sandpaw!”

Sandpaw looked pleased. She dropped the warm fresh-kill to the ground. “Share?”

“Thanks!”

“That’s one of the best things about patrols,” remarked Sandpaw between mouthfuls.

“What?” Fireheart asked.

“You can eat what you catch instead of having to take it back to the Clan,” Sandpaw replied. “I don’t know how many hunting missions I’ve nearly starved on!”

Fireheart purred with amusement.

As they finished the rabbit, Sandpaw gave him a searching look.

“What is it?” he asked nervously.

She sighed. “I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you when you first came to ThunderClan.”

“It’s all right,” he told her, surprised.

“No it’s not,” she said fiercely. “There’s nothing right about the way I acted. Just because you were a kittypet does not mean you didn’t belong here. What I did was wrong and cruel and I am so sorry.”

Fireheart rested his tail on her shoulder. “I forgive you,” he meowed gently. “I’m sure it was difficult for you to accept another stranger into the Clan, and it definitely wasn’t fair that Graystripe and I were made warriors before you. Let’s just put that all behind us now.”

She touched her nose to his, and for a moment, Fireheart couldn’t help but soak in the warmth emanating from her pelt.

They set off again, skirting Sunningrocks to follow the trail into the woods again, close to the RiverClan border. As they reached the top of the bracken-covered slope above the river, Fireheart sent a silent prayer to StarClan that they wouldn’t find Graystripe here.

“Look!” meowed Sandpaw suddenly. Her body stiffened with excitement. “The river — it’s frozen.”

Fireheart’s heart lurched as he remembered Cinderpaw saying the same words before Graystripe’s accident. “We’re not going down to look!” he meowed firmly.

“We don’t have to. You can see from here. Let’s get back and tell the Clan.”

“Why?” Fireheart couldn’t understand Sandpaw’s excitement.

“A patrol of our warriors could cross the river now!” Sandpaw meowed. “We can invade RiverClan’s territory and steal back some of the prey they’ve taken from us.”

Fireheart felt a cold chill ripple the fur on his spine. What would Graystripe think about that? And could Fireheart bring himself to go into battle against the starving RiverClan?

Sandpaw circled him impatiently. “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” replied Fireheart heavily. He leaped after Sandpaw as she raced off into the woods, back to camp.

Sandpaw tore through the gorse tunnel just ahead of Fireheart. Tigerclaw glanced up as they skidded to a halt in the clearing.

Fireheart heard a noise behind him. Graystripe was padding through the camp entrance with Brackenpaw.

A call sounded from below the Highrock. “Fireheart, Sandpaw, how was your patrol?”

Fireheart felt a flood of relief when he saw Bluestar looking her normal self, sitting with her chin high and her tail tucked over her front paws.

Sandpaw bounded over to the Highrock. “The river’s frozen,” she burst out. “We could cross it easily right now!”

Bluestar gazed thoughtfully at the apprentice. Fireheart flinched when he saw the ThunderClan leader’s eyes gleam. “Thank you, Sandpaw,” she meowed.

Fireheart leaned over and murmured into Sandpaw’s ear, “Come on, let’s tell the others.” He guessed that Bluestar would want to discuss the frozen river with her senior warriors.

Sandpaw glanced at him, understanding, and followed him back to the center of the clearing. “This has been such a great day!” she meowed. Fireheart just nodded and glanced anxiously at Graystripe.

“You two look like you had fun!” Dustpaw had emerged from the apprentices’ den. “Drowned another RiverClan cat?” he sneered at Fireheart.

Dustpaw looked at Sandpaw expectantly. Fireheart guessed he was waiting for her to agree with him, like she used to, but Sandpaw wasn’t listening. Fireheart felt a small prickle of satisfaction at the irritated look on Dustpaw’ s face as she meowed breathlessly, “We found out that the river’s frozen. I think Bluestar’s planning a raid on RiverClan!”

At that moment their leader’s call sounded from the Highrock, and the Clan began to gather in the clearing. The sun had reached its high point, which in leaf-bare meant that it was barely above the treetops.

“Sandpaw and Fireheart have brought good news. The river is frozen over,” Bluestar announced. “We will take this opportunity to make a raid on RiverClan’s hunting grounds, to send the message that they must stop stealing our prey. Our warriors will track down one of their patrols and give them a warning that they’ll remember for a long time!”

Fireheart winced as he remembered what Silverstream had told him about her starving Clan. Around him, the other cats raised their voices in eager yowls. Fireheart had not heard the Clan this excited for many moons.

“Tigerclaw!” Bluestar called above the din. “Are our warriors fit enough for a raid on RiverClan?”

Tigerclaw nodded.

“Excellent.” Bluestar lifted her tail. “Then we shall leave at sunset.” The Clan yowled with delight. Fireheart’s paws prickled. Was Bluestar going too? Surely she wouldn’t risk her last life on a border raid?

Fireheart looked over his shoulder at Graystripe. He was staring up at the Highrock, the tip of his tail twitching nervously. As the yowls died away, Graystripe called out, “It feels warmer today. A thaw would make the ice too dangerous to cross.”

Fireheart held his breath as the other cats turned to look curiously at Graystripe.

Tigerclaw stared down at Graystripe, his amber eyes puzzled. “You’re not usually reluctant to fight,” the dark warrior meowed slowly.

Darkstripe craned his neck and added, “Yes, Graystripe — you’re not afraid of those RiverClan fleabags, are you?”

“Graystripe just wants to keep the Clan safe!” Brackenpaw called out in defense of his mentor. Fireheart couldn’t help but be surprised by his loyalty to a cat who spent almost no time training him.

Graystripe fidgeted uncomfortably as the Clan waited for an answer.

“Looks like he’s scared!” hissed Dustpaw from Sandpaw’s side.

Fireheart’s tail flicked angrily, but he managed to keep his voice light as he called, “Yes, of getting his paws wet! Graystripe’s fallen through the ice once this leaf-bare; he’s not keen to do it again, nor does he want it to happen to any of our Clanmates.”

The tension in the Clan dissolved into amused and approving purrs. Graystripe looked down at the ground, his ears flat. Only Tigerclaw kept his suspicious frown.

Bluestar waited until the murmurings had died away. “I must discuss the raid with my senior warriors.” She leaped down from the Highrock, landing so lightly that it was hard to believe that she had been fighting for her lives just days ago. Tigerclaw, Whitestorm, Nighthunter, Mistflow, and Willowpelt followed her to her den, and the rest of the Clan broke away into groups to discuss the proposed attack.

“I suppose you expect me to thank you for embarrassing me!” Fireheart heard Graystripe’s angry hiss in his ear.

“Not at all,” he snapped. “But you could at least be grateful I’m still covering up for you!” He bounded away to the edge of the clearing, his fur bristling with fury.

Sandpaw ran over to join him. “It’s about time we showed those RiverClan cats that they can’t hunt in our territory whenever they like,” she meowed, her eyes shining.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Fireheart answered absently. He couldn’t take his eyes off Graystripe. Was he imagining it, or was the gray warrior edging farther and farther toward the nursery? Was Graystripe planning on slipping away to warn Silverstream?

Fireheart got slowly to his paws and began to pad toward the nursery. Graystripe glared at Fireheart as he approached, but before either warrior could speak, Bluestar’s call sounded once more from the Highrock. Fireheart stopped where he was but didn’t take his eyes off Graystripe.

“Willowpelt agrees with young Graystripe,” Bluestar declared. “A thaw is on the way.” Graystripe lifted his chin and flashed a defiant look at Fireheart, but Fireheart didn’t care. Bluestar was going to call off the raid! Now Graystripe wouldn’t have to choose between his Clan and Silverstream, and Fireheart wouldn’t have to join a raiding party against a Clan he knew was already suffering.

But Bluestar hadn’t finished. “So we will attack at once!”

Fireheart glanced sideways — Graystripe’s look of triumph had turned to one of sheer horror.

Bluestar continued, “We will leave a patrol of warriors here to guard the camp. We have to remember the possible threat from ShadowClan. Five warriors will make the raid. I will remain here.”

Good, thought Fireheart. She wasn’t planning to risk her final lives after all. “Tigerclaw will lead the raiding party. Darkstripe, Willowpelt, and Longtail will go with him. That leaves one more place.” She looked around at the surrounding cats. “Dustpaw will go. He has already shown himself to be a worthy warrior in all but name.

Fireheart couldn’t help but feel relieved. His heart felt heavy at the thought of attacking hungry RiverClan cats, and Dustpaw’s being in the patrol meant that Graystripe wouldn’t have to make a choice.

“There’s no time to lose,” Bluestar yowled. “I can smell the warm winds myself. Tigerclaw will brief you as you travel. Go now!”

Darkstripe, Longtail, and Willowpelt sped after Tigerclaw. Dustpaw followed them as they thundered through the gorse tunnel and headed up the ravine, disappearing toward RiverClan territory.

As Fireheart began to pad toward Graystripe, wanting to speak to him, he heard his name being called by Mistflow. He turned around and approached the senior warrior.

“Greetings, Fireheart,” she meowed calmly. “While my brother is off on his somewhat foolish mission, why don’t you and I see if we can find any prey that hasn’t buried itself in its nest? I need to talk to you.”

Chapter Text

As they padded through the forest, Fireheart moved as quietly as he could, careful not to let any snow crunch beneath his paws.

Scrabbling came from one of the bushes. Mistflow leapt forward and slammed her paws down, stepping back with a dead mouse in her jaws.

Though the thaw in the air brought a small amount of warmth to the forest, Fireheart couldn’t help but shiver and wish he were in his den, the other warriors curled close beside him.

After Fireheart had caught another mouse and Mistflow had brought down a sparrow, the gray warrior stopped and sat down. She curled her tail around her paws and looked at Fireheart expectantly as if he was supposed to start the conversation instead of her.

 “What exactly did you want to talk about?” Fireheart asked her nervously.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked around and scented the air, clearly trying to make sure they were alone.

“Why was Cinderpaw at the Thunderpath?” Mistflow asked eventually.

Fireheart winced. He still felt guilty about his apprentice’s injury. He should have been able to stop her from going in the first place. “Tigerclaw sent a message claiming he had found ShadowClan scent on ThunderClan territory. He wanted to meet Bluestar at the Thunderpath to show her.” A thought occurred to him. “You were there, weren’t you? I remember that you didn’t seem thrilled by what Tigerclaw had suggested.”

“I was there for that part, yes,” she agreed. “But I’m still not sure why Cinderpaw was at the Thunderpath, especially in such a dangerous place.”

“Since Bluestar was so ill, I was going to go myself, after I collected herbs for her and the other sick cats,” Fireheart explained. “Cinderpaw offered to go, but I told her not to…And she didn’t listen to me. I should have stopped her somehow.” He lowered his head, shame flooding his pelt.

Mistflow’s gentle answer made him look up again. “It was not your fault. You had no way of knowing that Cinderpaw would do something so brave, but foolish. StarClan knows what possessed Tigerclaw to choose somewhere so perilous for a meeting place.”

There was no way Fireheart was going to tell her that her brother was a murderer who craved power at any cost. Not only would she never believe him, but even if she did, it would just bring her pain. Mistflow had already lost a kit to greencough, along with her sister’s daughter Softpaw. Fireheart didn’t want her to lose her brother while he was still investigating.

“Tigerclaw is fiercely protective of our borders,” he answered instead. “Perhaps that was the only place he could show Bluestar irrefutable evidence.”

“Perhaps,” Mistflow agreed thoughtfully. “I will have to speak to Bluestar about this and see what she thinks.” She flicked her tail. “We’d better get back to camp.”

The light of the short leaf-bare day was fading when they finally reached the top of the ravine. Fireheart waited for the other warrior to pick their way down first. By the time he padded through the gorse tunnel, Tigerclaw was explaining to the disappointed Clan that the river had thawed.

Fireheart skirted the edge of the clearing, looking for Graystripe. He needed to know if his friend had slipped out of the camp. Instinctively he headed for the nursery. As he approached the tangled mass of brambles, he heard a familiar meow. “Fireheart!”

Fireheart felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps Graystripe was actually grateful he hadn’t had to take the final place in the raiding party? He followed his friend’s voice into the shadows behind the nursery.

Fireheart mewed quietly into the gloom, but he couldn’t see Graystripe anywhere. Suddenly something crashed into his side with a mighty thump. Fireheart spun around, all his senses alert. He saw Graystripe with his hackles raised, silhouetted in the dimness.

Graystripe lunged again. Fireheart ducked just in time as Graystripe swung a wide gray paw at his ear.

“What are you doing?” Fireheart spluttered.

Graystripe flattened his ears and hissed, “You didn’t trust me! You thought I would betray ThunderClan!” He aimed another swipe. This one caught the tip of Fireheart’s ear.

Pain and fury shot through him. “I just wanted to save you from having to make a choice!” he spat. “Although it’s true that I’m not sure where your loyalties lie right now.”

Graystripe flew at him and knocked him backward. The two cats tussled, claws unsheathed. “I make my own choices,” Graystripe snarled.

Fireheart struggled free and leaped onto Graystripe’s back. “I was trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting!”

Blinded by anger, Fireheart prepared to dig his claws into Graystripe’s pelt, but a familiar golden-furred cat stepped in between them and growled, “That’s enough!”

“Lionblaze?” the fighting cats gasped. The warrior thrust them apart.

“I was hoping you’d have settled this on your own, but clearly you can’t do that yet,” he hissed at them. “And StarClan knows that we don’t need such pointless conflict between you two, so I suppose I have to give you more specifics about the future.”

Fireheart stared at him, panting. “Why now? What do you mean?”

“Minnowtail already told you that Graystripe and Silverstream’s relationship is important to the future of all the Clans,” Lionblaze began.

“It is?” Graystripe said in surprise.

Lionblaze ignored him. “That’s specifically because you two will have kits who are half-Clan: half-ThunderClan, half-RiverClan. These kits will go on to be great heroes who will go on a journey that will lead to the salvation of all the Clans. They will be faced with many trials, but they will overcome all of them.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Fireheart spat. “How can half-Clan cats be loyal? Wouldn’t they be torn between Clans?”

“Jayfeather and I never have been,” Lionblaze said. “Our mother was your daughter, and our father was a WindClan warrior. We didn’t know until after we became warriors, but it change anything. Even now, beyond our time, we still serve ThunderClan with everything we have.”

Fireheart wasn’t sure how to respond. His future daughter was mates with a WindClan cat? How was that possible? He looked towards Graystripe. “I want to trust…I really do, but you’re never in camp. Since you met Silverstream, I’ve only seen you take Brackenpaw out for training once. He deserves better than that.”

Graystripe’s eyes were clouded with guilt. “You’re right,” he whispered. “Brackenpaw does deserve better. He’s an amazing apprentice, loyal and hard-working, but I never wanted an apprentice in the first place. I didn’t–and still don’t– feel ready for it.”

Lionblaze dipped his head. “You should tell Bluestar. If she realized how you felt, she wouldn’t make keep mentoring him.”

“I will,” Graystripe agreed. “I’ll talk to her right now. But, Fireheart, will you come with me?”

Fireheart touched his muzzle to Graystripe’s shoulder. “Of course.”

*  *  *  *  *

Bluestar sat down on the sandy floor and stared at the two warriors in disbelief for a moment. Then she meowed thoughtfully, “I had noticed that you weren’t fulfilling your duties as mentor, but I had hoped it was because of your illness.”

“It wasn’t that,” Graystripe admitted. “After what almost happened to Whiteclaw, I was already struggling, and receiving an apprentice on top of that when I was barely even a warrior…I resented it and I took that resentment out on Brackenpaw and on Fireheart.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Bluestar sighed. “I apologize for putting such a responsibility on you when you weren’t ready for it. I will assign a new mentor to Brackenpaw, but neither of you deserve to be embarrassed because of my mistake.” She turned towards Fireheart. “Fireheart, you have already been taking Brackenpaw out for training.”

It wasn’t a question, but Fireheart felt the need to nod anyways. “Yes, Bluestar.”

“Very well. Since Cinderpaw is still recovering from her injuries, you will be Brackenpaw’s official mentor from now on. You may tell him this, but as far as the rest of the Clan is concerned, Graystripe is his mentor,” Bluestar announced.

Both warriors dipped their heads. “Thank you, Bluestar,” Graystripe mewed. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“I hope this change means your commitment to ThunderClan will be made clearer,” Bluestar said sternly.

“It will, Bluestar,” Graystripe promised.

“Then you’d best go and tell Brackenpaw about the change before you go to your den,” Bluestar meowed.

Together, Fireheart and Graystripe left, brushing through the ferns.

After informing Brackenpaw what Bluestar had decided, the two warriors crept across the clearing and slipped inside the warriors’ den. Fireheart settled into his nest beside Graystripe and curled himself into a tight ball. He lay there, unmoving, aware of Graystripe’s relaxed body beside his, until sleep finally overcame him.

*  *  *  *  *

Fireheart awoke early the next morning. The sun hadn’t risen yet and the clearing was empty as he padded across to Yellowfang’s den. He wanted to see Cinderpaw.

Yellowfang was asleep, curled up beside Brindleface’s sick kits. They squirmed quietly in their nest, their eyes closed. Fernkit seemed to be doing better, perhaps even ready to return to the nursery, but Tulipkit looked like he was close to joining StarClan. Yellowfang was snoring loudly. Fireheart didn’t want to wake her, so he crept over to Cinderpaw’s nest and peered in.

The little gray cat was asleep too. The blood had been washed from her fur. Fireheart wondered whether she had cleaned it herself or whether Yellowfang had washed it off. Fireheart crouched beside Cinderpaw and watched her breathe. There was something calming about the way her sides rose and fell. She seemed much more peaceful than when he last visited.

He stayed with her until the dawn light filtered through the ferns and he heard the Clan begin to stir. Fireheart got to his paws. He leaned into Cinderpaw’s nest and touched her side softly with his nose.

As he turned to leave, Yellowfang stretched and opened her eyes. “Fireheart?”

“I came to see Cinderpaw,” he whispered.

“She’s doing well,” meowed Yellowfang, pushing herself up.

Fireheart’s eyes clouded with relief. “Thank you, Yellowfang.”

When he reached the clearing, Tigerclaw was addressing a group of warriors and apprentices. He spotted Fireheart straightaway. “Nice of you to show up,” he growled. “Graystripe’s just joined us, too.” Fireheart glanced at his friend, and Graystripe smiled at him. The other warriors watched in silence as Fireheart hurried over and sat down beside Sandpaw.

“During this thaw, the woods will be alive with prey,” Tigerclaw meowed. “They’ll be hungry after sheltering in their burrows. This will be a good chance to catch as much as we can.”

“But there’s still fresh-kill in the snow store,” Dustpaw mewed.

“It’ll be crowfood soon,” Tigerclaw told him. “We need to take every opportunity to hunt. As leaf-bare goes on, the prey will start to disappear, and what stays around will be too thin.” The warriors nodded in agreement.

“Longtail” — Tigerclaw turned his eyes on the pale tabby warrior — “I want you to organize the hunting parties.” Longtail nodded, and Tigerclaw got up and padded toward Bluestar’s den. As Fireheart watched him disappear through the lichen, he couldn’t help wondering if the leader and deputy would discuss Brackenpaw’s official change of mentor.

Longtail’s voice summoned him away from his thoughts. “Fireheart! You and Sandpaw can join Mousefur. Graystripe can hunt with Whitestorm and Brackenpaw. It’s probably best if I don’t put you two in the same group.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want to put friends who hunt well together in the same group,” Ivypool muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Amused purrs rippled through the group, but Fireheart narrowed his eyes angrily. He comforted himself by studying the nick he had left in the pale tabby’s ear when Longtail had taunted him on his first day in the camp.

The two groups left the camp together. As the hunters filed up the trail out of the ravine, Fireheart looked at the sky. The rain clouds he had seen rolling in last night had covered the sun, and the snow underpaw was turning to slush.

Mousefur led Sandpaw and Fireheart through Tallpines. “I’ll take Sandpaw with me,” the brown warrior told Fireheart. “You can hunt alone. Meet us back at camp at sunhigh.”

Fireheart couldn’t help feeling relieved at the thought of being alone. He stalked away through the trees, still hardly able to believe that he and Graystripe had almost fought so bitterly. Fireheart felt happy that his friend had been able to make a choice that would help him be the best warrior he could, though Graystripe would still likely be going off to meet Silverstream. Then again, Lionblaze had promised their kits would be great heroes someday, so perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.

It wasn’t until he felt the softness of leaves beneath his paws that Fireheart realized he’d wandered all the way to the oak woods that backed onto the Twolegplace. Instantly he thought of Princess, and wondered if his paws had carried him to her Two leg nest for a reason.

Fireheart made straight for her fence and called softly down into the garden. Then he jumped back into the woods and waited in the undergrowth for his sister to come looking.

He didn’t have to wait long before there was a scrabbling noise on the fence and he smelled her distinctive scent. Fireheart was about to leap out to meet her when he smelled a second, unfamiliar scent.

The bracken rustled, and Princess appeared. In her mouth she carried a tiny white kit. As Fireheart pushed his way out to meet her, she mewed a warm greeting through the bundle of fur in her teeth.

The kit was very small; Fireheart guessed it would not be weaned for another moon. Princess cleared away some slush with her paw and laid it gently down on the leaves. Then she sat down and wrapped her thick tail around it.

Fireheart was overwhelmed with emotion. This was his own kin, kittypet born like he had been! He walked quietly over to Princess, nuzzled a greeting, then bent down and sniffed the kit. It smelled of warmth and milk — strange but somehow familiar. Fireheart gave it a tender lick on the head and it mewled, opening its pink mouth to reveal tiny white teeth.

Princess looked at Fireheart, her eyes shining. “I have brought him for you, Fireheart,” she meowed softly. “I want you to take him back with you to your Clan so that he can be your new apprentice.”

Fireheart stared at the tiny kit. “I never expected…he began. He dragged his gaze away and stared wordlessly at his sister.

“My housefolk will choose where the rest will live,” Princess went on. “But this is my firstborn and I want to decide his future.” She raised her chin. “Make him a hero, please. Like you!”

The unsettling sense of loneliness that had been dragging at Fireheart for so long began to ebb away. He pictured the white kit among the Clan, as he showed him the ways of the forest and hunted by his side through the thick ferns. At last, there would be another cat in ThunderClan who shared Fireheart’s kittypet roots.

Princess tilted her head. “I know how upset you were about your apprentice. I thought if you had a new apprentice — one who’s your own kin — you wouldn’t feel so lonely.” She stretched her neck and rested her nose against Fireheart’s side. “I don’t understand all your Clan ways, but seeing you, and hearing you talk about your life, I know I would be honored if my son was brought up as a Clan cat.”

As the first flare of happiness settled inside him, Fireheart thought of the rest of his Clan, and how desperately they needed fighting cats. Cinderpaw might never be a warrior now. And though he was training Brackenpaw now, this kit would not be made an apprentice until after Brackenpaw became a warrior. And what if the greencough took more lives than just Bluestar’s? ThunderClan might need this kit.

He was suddenly aware of the rain clinging to his fur. The kit needed shelter, and soon. It looked strong, but it was still too small to withstand the cold and wet for long.

“I’ll take him,” he meowed. “This is a great gift you’ve given to ThunderClan. And I’ll train him to be the finest warrior the Clan has ever seen!” He dipped his head and scooped up the kit by his scruff.

Princess’s eyes shone with gratitude and pride. “Tha nk you, Fireheart,” she purred. “Who knows, maybe he’ll even become a leader and be given nine lives!”

Fireheart gazed fondly at her trusting, hopeful face. Did his sister really believe this might happen? Then a twinge of doubt pricked him. He was taking this tiny kit back to a camp infected by greencough. What if he didn’t even make it to newleaf? But the cozy scent of the kit under his muzzle soothed him. The kit would survive. It was strong, and it shared his blood. Fireheart took a deep breath. He must be quick — the kit was getting cold already. He blinked a farewell at Princess and raced away into the bushes.

The kit was heavier than he’d expected. It dangled from his mouth, bumping against his forelegs with faint protesting squeaks. By the time Fireheart reached the top of the ravine, his neck was aching. He made hi s way down to the camp, putting one paw carefully in front of the other, wary of slipping on the fast-melting snow.

At the entrance, Fireheart hesitated. For the first time he wondered how he would explain this kit to the Clan — he was going to have to admit to visiting his kittypet sister. But it was too late now. He could feel the kit shivering. Fireheart squared his shoulders and padded through the gorse tunnel. The kit let out a deafening wail as a thorn tugged at its fur. Several pairs of eyes turned to look in amazement as Fireheart emerged into the clearing.

Both hunting parties had returned. Mousefur, Whitestorm, Sandpaw, and Brackenpaw were all in the clearing. Only Graystripe was missing. One by one the rest of the Clan were drawn out of their dens by the noise and the unfamiliar scent. None of the cats made a sound. They stared at Fireheart with hostile, puzzled eyes as though he were a stranger.

Fireheart turned slowly in the center of the clearing, the kit still dangling from his mouth, and looked at the ring of questioning eyes. His mouth began to feel dry. Why had he assumed the Clan would accept a kit that wasn’t even forest-born?

Brightkit and Thornkit slipped out of the nursery and raced over to him. “A new kit!” Brightkit squealed, delight in her voice.

“Now Ashkit and Fernkit won’t be the youngest!” Thornkit exclaimed.

Brightkit began nosing at the kit. “Poor thing is freezing,” she murmured. She nudged Fireheart until he put the kit down, then pressed against it. “Come on, Thornkit!” Her brother purred and pressed against the kit’s other side.

The rest of the Clan wasn’t acting so friendly, and Fireheart felt a rush of relief when Bluestar emerged from Yellowfang’s den. But her eyes widened in surprise as she saw him. “What is this?” she demanded.

A tremor of foreboding ran along Fireheart’s spine. He placed the kit between his front paws and wrapped his tail over it to keep it warm. “It’s my sister’s firstborn,” he replied.

“Your sister!” Tigerclaw glared at him accusingly.

“You have a sister?” called Speckletail. “Where?”

“The same place as Fireheart was born, of course,” Longtail hissed with disgust. “Twolegplace!”

“Is that true?” Bluestar asked, her eyes widening further.

“Yes,” Fireheart admitted. “My sister gave it to me to bring to the Clan.”

“And why would she do that?” Bluestar asked with menacing calm.

Fireheart stammered nervously. “I told her about Clan life — how great it was....” His voice trailed away under Bluestar’s incredulous gaze.

“How long have you been visiting Twolegplace?”

“Not long, just since leaf-bare began. But only to see my sister. My loyalty still lies with ThunderClan.”

“Loyalty?” Darkstripe’s yowl rang out across the clearing. “And yet you bring a kittypet here?”

“Isn’t having one kittypet in the Clan enough?” croaked one of the elders.

“Trust a kittypet to find another kittypet!” snarled Dustpaw, ruffling his fur indignantly. He turned to Sandpaw and nudged her with his nose.

Sandpaw glanced uncomfortably at Fireheart. “Fireheart is a brave and strong warrior,” she pointed out. “Surely this kit has just as much potential.”

“Why have you brought it here?” Tigerclaw growled.

“We need warriors. ...” The tiny kit squirmed between the two older kits as he spoke, and Fireheart realized how ridiculous he must sound. He bowed his head as yowls of scorn met his words.

When the insults had died away, Runningwind spoke up. “The Clan has enough to worry about already without this.”

“It’ll be nothing but a burden,” Mousefur agreed. “It’ll be at least five moons before it’s ready to begin training.”

Whitestorm nodded his head in agreement. “You shouldn’t have brought this kittypet here, Fireheart,” he meowed. “It’ll be too soft for Clan life.”

Fireheart bristled. “I was born a kittypet. Am I soft?” He thought that he’d begun to challenge the Clan’s prejudice against kittypets, but he was wrong. He couldn’t see one friendly face in the crowd.

A voice sounded from behind Whitestorm. “If it carries Fireheart’s blood, it’ll make a good Clan cat.”

Fireheart felt relief surge through his body. It was Graystripe! A brief flame of hope flared in Fireheart’s chest as Whitestorm stood aside and the other cats turned to look at the gray warrior. Graystripe stared around the circle of cats, meeting their gazes one by one with wide, steady eyes.

Bluestar stepped forward, her blue eyes clouded with worry. “Fireheart, I believe that you meant no disloyalty to the Clan by visiting your sister, but why did you agree to bring her kit here? It is not your place to make decisions like this. What you have done affects the whole Clan.”

Fireheart looked at Graystripe, hoping for more support, but it was the apprentices who spoke up next.

“Of course it needs to be taken care of–it’s a kit!” Swiftpaw hissed, ignoring his mentor’s disapproving growl.

“Fireheart has been nothing but a strong member of this Clan!” Lightpaw added.

“My littermates and I were taken by ShadowClan when we were kits. Did you see us as burdens then?” Brackenpaw challenged. “The warrior code tells us to protect kits regardless of where they come from. Fireheart clearly recognizes that better than you do.”

Fireheart craned his head around, and most cat turned their gaze away from him. Fireheart began to panic. Had he endangered his own position in the Clan by bringing Princess’s kit here?

Bluestar spoke again. “Tigerclaw, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” meowed Tigerclaw. Fireheart felt his heart sink at the note of arrogant satisfaction in the deputy’s voice. “I think he should get rid of it at once.”

Lionblaze snarled. “Shut up, Tigerclaw!”

“Goldenflower?”

“It certainly looks too small to survive until newleaf,” the ginger queen remarked.

“It’ll have greencough by sunrise!” added Mousefur.

“Or it’ll eat our fresh-kill until next snowfall and then die of cold!” spat Runningwind.

Mistflow stepped forward from the crowd, Nighthunter by her side. “You all seem to forget that no kit is strong when it is first born. In our Clan, the mothers and other warriors watch over it until it is strong enough to take care of itself.”

“If you think that it’s wise to throw away an opportunity to train another warrior, you’re all fools,” Nighthunter put in.

Ivypool growled. “He’ll be plenty strong when he’s grown.”

“One of the best trackers in the Clan,” Dovepaw added. Fireheart noticed how fluffed out her pelt was despite the rain and realized it was similar to the kit’s.

Bluestar dipped her head. “That’s enough. I must think about this.” She padded to her den and disappeared inside. The rest of the Clan slipped away, muttering darkly.

Fireheart picked up the bedraggled kit and carried him to the warriors’ den, Brightkit and Thornkit following. The kit was shivering and mewling pathetically. Fireheart curled his body around the little scrap and closed his eyes, but hostile faces of the Clan swam around his mind, filling his heart with dread. He thought he had been lonely before, but now it seemed as if almost the entire Clan had disowned him.

Graystripe pushed his way into the den and settled down into his nest. Fireheart glanced nervously at him. Graystripe had been one of the only cats to speak in his defense, and Fireheart wanted to thank him. After an pause, in which the kit cried and cried, Fireheart said, “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

Graystripe shrugged. “Always,” he meowed. He twisted his head around and began to wash his tail.

The kit carried on mewling, his cries growing louder. Some of the other warriors padded into the den to escape the rain outside. Willowpelt glanced briefly at Fireheart and the kits, but she didn’t speak.

“Can’t you shut that thing up?” complained Darkstripe as he prodded the moss in his nest.

“Oh, calm down, Dirtstripe!” Ivypool snapped. “Maybe if the Clan weren’t being such fox-hearts, he would be in the nursery. Then no cat would be disturbed by his wailings."

Fireheart licked the kit desperately, while Thornkit and Brightkit pressed against it as much as they could, sharing their warmth. It must be very hungry by now. A rustle in the den wall made him lift his head. It was Frostfur. She crept over to Fireheart’s nest and looked down at the miserable kit.

Suddenly she dipped her head and sniffed the kit’s soft fur. “He’d be better off in the nursery,” she murmured. “Brindleface has milk to spare. I could ask her to feed it.

Fireheart stared at the queen in surprise.

Frostfur gazed back at him, her eyes warm. “I haven’t forgotten that you rescued my kits from ShadowClan.” With an amused look at her two kits, she added, “Clearly, neither have they.”

Fireheart picked up the kit yet again and followed Frostfur and her kits out of the warriors’ den. The rain was even heavier now. Together they padded quickly to the nursery. Frostfur disappeared through its narrow entrance, and Fireheart squeezed in after her. He paused inside the thicket of brambles, blinking until his eyes got used to the dim light.

Inside the dry, dark cocoon, Brindleface was curled around her two healthy kits. She looked suspiciously at Fireheart, then at the kit that dangled from his jaws.

Frostfur whispered to Fireheart, “One of Brindleface’s kits almost died last night.” Fireheart remembered the sick kits squirming beside Yellowfang and wondered, with a pang, which one had almost gone, before recognizing Fernkit and Ashkit. StarClan, please save Tulipkit! He put Princess’s kit down and turned to Brindleface. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

The queen blinked at him, her grief raw in her eyes.

“Brindleface,” Frostfur began, “I can only guess at how much pain you feel. But this kit is starving, and you have milk. Will you feed him?”

Brindleface shook her head and shut her eyes tight as if to deny Fireheart’s presence in her den.

“Please!” Brightkit and Thornkit begged.

Frostfur stretched her head forward and pressed her muzzle gently against Brindleface’s cheek. “I know he won’t replace your son,” she whispered. “But he needs your warmth and care.”

Fireheart waited anxiously. The kit’s cries grew louder. It could smell Brindleface’s milk and began to squirm blindly toward her soft belly. It nuzzled its way between Brindleface’s other two kits. Brindleface looked down as it wriggled forward, following her milk-scent. She watched, without resisting, as he latched onto her belly and began to suckle. Fireheart ached with relief and gratitude as he saw Brindleface’s eyes soften and the white kittypet began to purr, kneading her swollen stomach with tiny paws.

Frostfur nodded. “Thank you, Brindleface. Can I tell Bluestar that you will care for the kit?”

“Yes,” replied Brindleface quietly, not taking her eyes off the white kit. She nudged him closer to her belly with one hind paw.

Fireheart purred and bent his head to nose her shoulder. “Thank you. I promise I’ll bring you extra fresh-kill every day.”

“We’ll help!” Brightkit and Thornkit peeped.

“I’ll go and tell Bluestar,” meowed Frostfur.

Fireheart looked up at the white queen, stirred by her kindness. “Thank you,” he mewed.

“No kit deserves to starve, Clanborn or not.” Frostfur turned. “It wasn’t just saving my kits from ShadowClan that I was grateful for,” she told him. “I also appreciated that you took them with you and Brackenpaw for training. It helped keep them healthy and gave them a chance to get some exercise and practice.” She pushed her way out of the brambles.

“You can go now,” Brindleface murmured to Fireheart. “Your kit will be safe with me.”

Fireheart nodded and followed Frostfur out into the rain. He thought about returning to his den, but until he’d heard Bluestar’s decision about the kit, he knew he could not settle.

As he paced around the clearing, his fur matting into wet clumps, he saw Frostfur slip out of Bluestar’s den and hurry back to the nursery.

Willowpelt was preparing to lead evening patrol out of the camp when Bluestar finally came out of her den. Fireheart stopped, his heart pounding so fast he thought his legs would give way under him. Bluestar leaped onto the Highrock and began the familiar summons. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather below the Highrock.”

The patrol turned away from the camp entrance and padded after Willowpelt, back toward the Highrock. The rest of the Clan began to leave their dry nests, grumbling about the rain. Tigerclaw leaped onto the rock beside Bluestar, his face grim.

They’re going to make me take him back, thought Fireheart. His breath began to come in shallow gasps. Darker thoughts pushed their way into Fireheart’s mind. What if Bluestar asks Tigerclaw to abandon him in the forest? He’ll never survive. Oh, Star Clan, what am I going to say to Princess?

When all the cats were settled, Bluestar spoke. “Cats of ThunderClan, no cat can deny that we need warriors. We have lost one cat to greencough already, and there are many moons until newleaf. Cinderpaw has been gravely injured, and she will never be a warrior. As Graystripe rightly pointed out. . .”

Fireheart heard Dustpaw whispering nearby, “Graystripe’s turning into a kittypet himself these days!” He turned his head sharply, but a warning hiss from one of the elders silenced Dustpaw before Fireheart could say anything.

“As Graystripe pointed out,” Bluestar repeated, “this kittypet carries Fireheart’s blood. There is every chance the kit will make a fine warrior.” Some of the Clan glanced at Fireheart, who had barely heard Bluestar’s compliment. Hope was surging in his chest, making him dizzy.

Bluestar paused for a moment to survey the cats in front of her. “I have decided we will take this kit into the Clan,” she declared.

No cat made a sound. Fireheart wanted to yowl his thanks to StarClan, but he held his tongue. He took his first deep breath since sunhigh. His own kin was going to be part of ThunderClan!

“Brindleface has offered to nurse it,” Bluestar went on, “so Fireheart will take on the duty of providing for her.” The Clan leader met Fireheart’s eyes, but he couldn’t read her expression. “Finally, the kit should have a name. It shall be known as Cloudkit.”

“Will there be a naming ceremony?” Mousefur called from the crowd.

The time travelers didn’t wait for the answer. “Cloudkit! Cloudkit!” they called.

Fireheart looked eagerly up at the Highrock. Would his sister’s kit be granted this privilege, as he had been when the Clan had formally accepted him?

Bluestar looked down at Mousefur, her eyes cold. “No,” she answered.

Chapter Text

The days leading up to the next full moon dragged by slowly for Fireheart. It already seemed ages since the last Gathering. Rain clouds had kept the moon covered the last time, and the Clans had stayed away from Fourtrees. Meanwhile patrol after patrol reported scenting RiverClan warriors at Sunningrocks, and ShadowClan scent had been discovered again by the Owl Tree, which the time travelers continued to insist was Brokenstar and the cats who had chosen to follow him into exile..

When he wasn’t hunting or patrolling, Fireheart divided his tune between Cloudkit, Cinderpaw, and Brackenpaw. Even though Graystripe was still feigning his role as Brackenpaw’s mentor, Fireheart soon began to notice the young apprentice at loose ends from time to time, his supposed mentor nowhere in sight. “Hunting,” was all Brackenpaw would say when Fireheart asked where Graystripe had gone.

“Why didn’t you go with him?” meowed Fireheart.

“He said I could go tomorrow.”

Fireheart felt the usual prickle of anger at Graystripe’s stubbornness, but he shrugged it away. He wished Graystripe would do better job at pretending to be a mentor, but he took Brackenpaw out whenever he could. The added benefit of this was that it kept the apprentice out of sight. Fireheart knew that Tigerclaw, who had not been told of the new arrangement wouldn’t accept Brackenpaw’s answers so easily.

Finally the full moon appeared in a cloudless sky. Fireheart came back from hunting early. He passed the fallen oak, deserted now that Swiftpaw and Tulipkit had recovered. Swiftpaw had refused to leave the medicine cats’ den until Tulipkit had recovered, only making an exception to defend Fireheart and Cloudkit. Fireheart dropped his catch on the pile and headed toward the medicine cats’ den to visit Cinderpaw. Even the threat of greencough had left the camp, for now. Only Cinderpaw remained with the medicine cat.

Bluestar signaled to him with a flick of her tail, then led them through the gorse tunnel and out of the ravine. The forest glistened in the cold moonlight as they sprinted toward Fourtrees. Clouds of breath billowed from Fireheart’s muzzle, and the forest floor felt frozen beneath his paws.

For the first time since Fireheart had joined the Clan, Bluestar didn’t hesitate at the ridge above Fourtrees to prepare herself for the meeting. Instead her cats followed their leader wordlessly as she plunged straight down the slope into the clearing.

River Clan and ShadowClan had not yet arrived but WindClan was already there. Tallstar greeted Bluestar with a respectful nod.

Fireheart spotted Onewhisker and bounded over to meet him. “Hi!” he meowed. It had been over two moons since he’d last seen the small brown tabby warrior who had battled beside him at the gorge. For the first time in ages, Fireheart recalled Whiteclaw’s near death and felt the familiar bristle of horror as he pictured the RiverClan warrior disappearing beneath the rushing river.

“Where’s Graystripe?” Onewhisker asked. “Is he okay?”

Fireheart could see from the concern in his eyes that the WindClan warrior was thinking about what had almost happened to Whiteclaw too. “He’s fine,” Fireheart answered. “He’s over there with the others.” Fireheart remembered the WindClan queen whose kit he’d helped to carry. “How’s Morningflower?”

“Happy to be home,” replied Onewhisker. “Her kit is growing quickly now.” Fireheart purred with pleasure. “The whole Clan is well,” Onewhisker added. He glanced at Fireheart with an amused gleam in his eyes. “It’s great to eat rabbit again. I hope I never have to taste another rat as long as I live!”

Fireheart detected a fresh scent on the night air. RiverClan was coming. He could smell ShadowClan, too. He scanned the ridge that ran around the edge of the hollow. Sure enough, RiverClan cats were streaming down one side. On the opposite ridge, Fireheart saw ShadowClan cats poised at the top, their coats gleaming in the moonlight. The lean figure of Nightstar stood at the head of the group.

Lionblaze and Cinderheart padded over to join Heathertail. The WindClan she-cat dipped her head to them in greeting and nudged Furzepaw with her tail.

“Go talk to Mossypaw,” she told her apprentice. “I'm sure you're happy to have a fellow apprentice from our time here.”

Furzepaw flicked her tail excitedly. “Thanks, Heathertail!” she purred before bounding off to join the RiverClan time traveler.

“Cinderheart, Lionblaze, it's good to see you,” Heathertail meowed warmly. “I was worried we wouldn't know any cats.”

“It's good to see you too,” Cinderheart mewed. “Ivypool was certainly happy to see you on her mission.”

Lionblaze shook his head. “We don't have time for small talk,” he pointed out. “And there's something I need to say.”

Heathertail's ear twitched. “You always did like to get straight to the point.”

Lionblaze ignored the remark. “I'm sorry for how I treated you back in our time. It was wrong of me to attack you the way I did during the eclipse battle and I shouldn't have blamed you for starting it.”

Heathertail sighed. “It wasn’t your fault. It made a lot of sense to blame me, especially since I discovered the tunnels in the first place.”

“That doesn't make it right,” Lionblaze pointed out.

She reached forward to touch noses with him. “I forgive you, Lionblaze,” she meowed.

“Can we just start over?” he asked quietly.

“I think that's a great idea.” Both she-cats answered at the same time.

Cinderheart smiled at Heathertail. “How have you enjoyed being in the past?”

A wistful look filled Heathertail’s gaze. “It’s great to see my father before he became a massive grump,” she muttered.

“Do you know why he changed?” Lionblaze asked curiously.

Heathertail shook her head. “Maybe because he became leader? He doesn’t really talk to me–at least he wasn’t before I got sent here.”

“Well, make the most of your time,” Cinderheart suggested. “Apparently none of us are going back until Whitewing and Birchfall are made warriors.”

“Good.” A growl rumbled in Heathertail’s throat. “Because I’m going to do everything in my power to save Gorsepaw from Tigerdung.”

“Gorsepaw?” Lionblaze asked.

Cinderheart nudged him. “Onestar’s second apprentice. Tigerstar kills him to make a statement to WindClan.”

“Mangepelt!” Heathertail hissed.

Lionblaze narrowed his eyes. “We’ll save him,” he promised. “But first we have other problems to deal with, like the Clans’ mounting tension.”

“At last,” growled Onewhisker. He’d spotted the arrival of the other Clans as well. “It’s too cold to be hanging around tonight.”

Fireheart nodded absently. He was searching the crowd of RiverClan cats as they entered the clearing, looking for Silverstream. He recognized the pale gray she-cat easily. She skidded to a halt at the bottom of the slope, then followed her father and sisters as they exchanged reserved greetings with the warriors from the other Clans.

Nervously Fireheart scanned the growing throng of cats for Graystripe. Would he dare speak to Silverstream tonight? The gray warrior had his back to Silverstream while he talked with a WindClan warrior.

Fireheart was watching Graystripe so closely that he didn’t hear Deadfoot approach. “Good evening, Fireheart,” meowed the WindClan deputy. “How are you?”

Fireheart turned. “Hello,” he meowed. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Deadfoot nodded. “Good,” he meowed, and limped away.

Onewhisker gave Fireheart a friendly nudge. “You’re privileged!” Fireheart felt a small glimmer of pride.

Bluestar’s yowl sounded from the Great Rock. Fireheart turned and looked up, surprised. The leaders didn’t usually call the meeting so soon. Crookedstar and Nightstar were standing close together on the rock. Bluestar waited beside Tallstar for the cats to gather beneath them. It was the first time Fireheart had seen the WindClan leader at a Gathering, he realized with a jolt.

Fireheart and Onewhisker followed the other cats as they settled themselves beneath the rock. Fireheart looked up expectantly, waiting for Bluestar to welcome Tallstar and WindClan back, but the ThunderClan leader was clearly in no mood to waste time on friendly words.

“RiverClan has been hunting at Sunningrocks,” she began angrily. “Our patrols have scented your warriors many times, Crookedstar. Sunningrocks belongs to ThunderClan!”

Crookedstar met Bluestar’s gaze steadily. “Have you forgotten how recently one of our warriors was nearly killed defending our territory from ThunderClan?”

“You had no need to defend your territory,” Bluestar answered. “My warriors were not hunting there. They were returning home after finding WindClan. It was a mission we all agreed on! According to the warrior code, they should not have been attacked.”

“You speak of the warrior code?” spat Crookedstar. “What about the ThunderClan warrior who has been spying on our territory since then?”

Bluestar was caught off guard. “Warrior?” she echoed. “Have you seen him?”

“Not yet,” Crookedstar hissed. “But we find his scent so often, it won’t be long before we do.”

Fireheart glanced at Graystripe in alarm. He knew only too well which warrior had been detected in Crookedstar’s territory. Would any of the RiverClan warriors recognize his scent tonight?

Graystripe sat motionless, not taking his eyes off the leaders on the Great Rock.

Meanwhile, Willowmist turned to stare at Fireheart pointedly, as if warning him that she would not continue to keep Graystripe’s secret for much longer.

Tigerclaw’s deep growl sounded from the crowd. “We have scented ShadowClan in our territory as well as RiverClan this past moon. And not just one warrior, but a whole patrol, always the same cats.”

The ShadowClan leader’s eyes flashed indignantly. “ShadowClan has not been in your territory. Clearly your warriors can’t tell the difference in the scents of cats outside their own Clan. You have been smelling the scent of rogue cats. They have been stealing prey from our territory as well!”

Tigerclaw snorted in disbelief and Nightstar glared down at him. “Do you doubt the word of ShadowClan, Tigerclaw?” The crowd murmured uncomfortably as Tigerclaw stared back at Nightpelt with unconcealed distrust.

For the first time, Tallstar spoke, his tail twitching uncertainly. “My warriors have also found strange scents in WindClan territory. They seem to be ShadowClan.”

“I knew it!” Tigerclaw snarled. “RiverClan and ShadowClan have united against us!”

“Us? What do you mean by us!” spat Crookedstar. “I think it’s you and WindClan that have formed the alliance! Is that why you were so keen to bring them back? So you can use them to invade the rest of the forest?”

Tallstar’s fur bristled. “That’s not why we returned, and you know it. We have kept to our own hunting grounds these past moons.”

“Then why have we found strange warrior scents in our territory?” Crookedstar growled.

“They don’t belong to WindClan!” hissed Tallstar. “They must be rogue cats, as Nightstar says.”

“But rogue cats would be a convenient excuse for invading our territories, would they not?” Bluestar murmured. She stared dangerously at the RiverClan and ShadowClan leaders.

Crookedstar raised his hackles and Nightstar arched his back. With a flash of alarm, Fireheart saw Tigerclaw stand up and stalk toward the Great Rock, every muscle tensed. Would the leaders really fight at a Gathering?

“Enough!” Cinderheart let out a commanding yowl. “No Clan is invading another’s territory. The culprits are Brokenstar and the group of rogues and former ShadowClan cats who have chosen to follow him. They want to drive the Clans against each other so they can take over the Clans.”

“Those of us who are from the future have been trying to tell you this!” Redwillow added.

“But no one has believed us.” There was annoyance in Heathertail’s meow.

Tigerclaw sneered. “Why should we listen to you–all young warriors who seem like you should still be training. In fact, how do we know that you’re even from the future?”

Fireheart bit back a yowl of protest. He wanted to defend the time travelers, but Tigerclaw would just take his testimony as an excuse to discredit them.

Starlight shone on the Great Rock, and suddenly, a white she-cat was standing there. “Cats of all Clans!” she announced, her voice ringing out across the hollow. “Listen to what these warriors are telling you. They have been sent from the future to protect you from the worst dangers coming to face your Clans. Do not doubt them!”

At that moment a shadow fell over the valley. The cats fell silent as they were plunged into blackness. Fireheart looked up, trembling. A cloud had covered the full moon, completely blocking out its light. The white she-cat was gone.

“StarClan has sent the darkness!” Fireheart recognized the meow of Halftail, a ThunderClan elder.

The ShadowClan medicine cat yowled in agreement, “StarClan is angry. These meetings are meant to be held in peace.”

“Not messed up by stupid furballs,” Jayfeather grumbled.

“Runningnose is right!” It was Yellowfang. “We shouldn’t be fighting among ourselves, especially during leaf-bare. We should be worrying about keeping our Clans safe!” Her voice echoed in the frightened silence. “We must listen to StarClan.”

Tallstar spoke up, a dim silhouette on top of the Great Rock. “This Gathering is over, by the will of StarClan.” The crowd murmured in agreement. The air was thick with the scents of fear and hostility.

“Come, ThunderClan.” Fireheart could barely see Bluestar as she leaped down from the Great Rock and headed for the edge of the clearing. He pushed his way through the other cats and hurried after her. He saw the massive outline of Tigerclaw as the deputy fell in step beside his leader, and the pale gray shapes of the other ThunderClan cats as they gathered behind the two great warriors. No cat spoke as they trekked solemnly up the slope toward home. Fireheart glanced over his shoulder. The other Clans were withdrawing too. By the time he reached the top of the slope, Fourtrees was deserted.

The Clan ran silently through the forest, following the familiar scent-lined trail. Fireheart spotted Graystripe at the back and he slowed his pace. Maybe Graystripe would be more prepared to talk about Silverstream, now that it was clear how tense things were between the Clans. His scent had been detected in RiverClan territory! Graystripe was putting himself and the Clan in danger with his secret meetings.

Fireheart searched for the right words but Graystripe hissed first, “I know what you’re going to say. And I won’t stop seeing her”

“I know. But please be careful!” Fireheart pleaded back. “They’ll soon work out it’s you. Bluestar will guess, or some cat from RiverClan’ll recognize your scent. Tigerclaw’s probably guessed already!”

Graystripe shot Fireheart an anxious glance. “Do you really think so?”

“I don’t know,” Fireheart admitted, relieved to hear a note of fear in Graystripe’s voice. Graystripe had been acting as if he had no idea what might happen if the Clan found out about his affair. “But once he starts thinking about it. . .”

“Okay,” whispered Graystripe. He was silent for a moment. “What if I promise we’ll meet only at Fourtrees? That way our scent will be hard to detect, and I won’t have to go into RiverClan territory. What about that?”

Fireheart felt his heart sink. Graystripe was not going to give up Silverstream that easily. Then he nodded. This had to be better than creeping into hostile Clan territory to see her.

“Does that work?” Graystripe’s eyes flashed in the gloom, but his voice sounded shaky. Fireheart felt a rush of sympathy for the gray warrior. He stretched his head forward to nuzzle Graystripe’s flank, and his friend brushed his head against his shoulder in return.

Even though the cats were tired from the journey, Bluestar called a meeting as soon as they were home. Most of the Clan was still awake anyway. The Gathering had been shorter than usual, and the sudden cloud cover had alarmed even the cats left in the camp.

While Bluestar and Tigerclaw settled themselves on the Highrock, Fireheart hurried over to the nursery. He wanted to know how Cloudkit was. He poked his head through the entrance. It was faintly lit and warm inside. He could see all four kits sleeping in a cozy pile. Tulipkit was on the bottom, as if his littermates had missed him while he’d been quarantined.

“Hello, Fireheart,” Brindleface whispered, a faint shadow shifting in the gloom. “Cloudkit’s much better. Yellowfang gave him feverfew. It was just a chill.” The queen sounded relieved. “What happened at the Gathering?”

“StarClan sent clouds to cover the moon. Bluestar’s called a meeting. Can you come?”

Fireheart listened to Brindleface sniffing her kits. “Yes, I think I can,” she answered finally. “My kits will sleep for a while.”

Fireheart withdrew his head, and together they joined the cats gathered in the clearing. Fireheart felt fur brush against him, and Cinderpaw glanced up at him with wide, worried eyes.

Bluestar had already begun. “The greatest threat seems to be from RiverClan and ShadowClan. We must be prepared for the possibility that these two Clans have united against us.”

Shocked meows rippled through the Clan.

“Do you really think they’ve joined together?” Yellowfang rasped. “RiverClan has the best sources of prey, but I can’t imagine they’d want to share with ShadowClan.” Fireheart remembered Silverstream’s words about RiverClan’s hunger after the Twoleg invasion, but he held his tongue, fearful that Bluestar would want to know where he’d heard such a story.

“They didn’t deny it,” Tigerclaw pointed out.

Bluestar nodded. “Whatever the truth, we must be on full alert. From tonight, each patrol will have four cats, at least three of them warriors. The patrols will be more frequent, two each night, and one during the day, as well as the dawn and dusk patrols. We must put a stop to RiverClan’s and ShadowClan’s raids on our territory, and since they have chosen to ignore our words, we must be prepared to fight.”

The Clan yowled their agreement. Fireheart joined in even though he was worried about what this open hostility might mean for Graystripe. He looked around at the other cats. He could see all their eyes shining — except Graystripe ’s. The gray warrior sat with his head bowed in the shadows at the edge of the clearing.

When the noise died away, Bluestar spoke again. “The first patrol will leave before dawn.” She jumped down from the Highrock. Tigerclaw followed, and the rest of the Clan broke up into small groups. Fireheart could hear them murmuring nervously as he padded to the warriors’ den. The time travelers sounded angry that no one was listening to what they’d been trying to say.

Fireheart settled into his nest, kneading the moss with his paws to make it comfortable. An owl hooted at the top of the ravine. He knew he would not sleep yet. His mind was racing with the accusations that had flown around the Gathering. He understood RiverClan’s anger. They had picked up the scent of ThunderClan cats in their territory, and they were hungry now that their prey had been depleted by the Twoleg invasion.

But what about ShadowClan? It was smaller since ThunderClan had helped them to chase out their tyrannical fonner leader and his band of followers. Brokenstar had even admitted to killing Raggedstar, his own father, to become Clan leader. But the Clan had been left in peace to recover from Brokenstar’s bloody rule. And Fireheart couldn’t help thinking that, with fewer mouths to feed, ShadowClan had no need to raid ThunderClan’s hunting grounds, or anyone else’s. All this just made it more likely for Brokenstar to be behind everything.

As he puzzled over these thoughts, Whitestorm and Darkstripe pushed their way into the den. Before Whitestorm went to his nest, he stopped beside Fireheart. “You’re to join me with Sandpaw and Mousefur on patrol at sunhigh,” he meowed.

“Yes, Whitestorm,” Fireheart answered before resting his chin on his paws. He had to get some sleep — his Clan needed him to be fit and ready to fight.

The clouds that had covered the moon had rolled away by the next morning. Fireheart enjoyed the faint warmth of the sun on his back as he washed himself in the clearing. Cloudkit jumped out of the nursery entrance opposite him, looking bright and happy.

Fireheart thanked StarClan that he had recovered so quickly. Sandpaw had been right about the kit’s resilience. He looked around to see if Longtail and Dustpaw were there to see it too, but the clearing was empty.

Fireheart crossed over to the nursery. “Hi, Cloudkit,” he meowed. “Feeling better?”

“Yep,” squeaked Cloudkit. He spun around in a circle, grasping for his tail with his tiny jaws. A small ball of moss that had been sticking to his fur fell off and rolled along the ground. Cloudkit leaped on it and pawed it into the air. It bounced onto the ground beside Fireheart.

Fireheart knocked it back toward the kit, and Cloudkit sprang up to catch it in his teeth.

“Well done!” Fireheart was impressed. With one paw he scooped the moss ball high into the air, sending it flying across the clearing.

Cloudkit raced after the moss and grabbed it. He rolled onto his back, threw the ball up with his forepaws, and kicked it away with his hind legs. It landed next to the nursery. Cloudkit scrambled up and scooted after it. He crouched a rabbit leap away, his hindquarters bunched in the air.

Fireheart watched as the kit prepared to pounce. Suddenly his fur prickled. A long, dark foreleg was reaching toward the moss ball from behind the nursery.

“Cloudkit,” Fireheart called, “wait!” Shadowy images of rogue cats were still fresh in his mind.

Cloudkit sat up and looked around at him, puzzled.

Tigerclaw emerged from behind the kitten, holding the moss ball between his teeth. He carried the ball over to the kit and dropped it by Cloudkit’s fluffy white paws. “Be careful,” he growled. “You wouldn’t want to lose such a precious plaything.” As he spoke, the dark warrior stared at Fireheart over Cloudkit’s head.

A flash of gray fur erupted from behind Tigerclaw, and Dovepaw spun towards him, waving a paw towards his face. Tigerclaw flinched back and glared at her.

“You and your sister must stop doing that!” he snarled.

Dovepaw shrugged cheerfully. “We’re just practicing our ambush skills.”

“You only seem to practice these skills on me!”

“Well, you are the best warrior in the Clan, right?” Her voice shook with laughter.

“Go take some fresh-kill to the elders!” Tigerclaw spat. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to lose any playthings either.”

Fireheart shivered. What did Tigerclaw mean by that? He seemed to be talking about the moss ball — but did he really mean that Cloudkit was a plaything? An image of Cinderpaw flashed into Fireheart’s mind, a wounded huddle beside the Thunderpath. Was that another plaything he had lost? A cold feeling of dread seeped into his heart as once more he wondered if the ThunderClan deputy was somehow responsible for his apprentice’s accident.

Chapter Text

Snow blanketed the forest floor. Mistflow crept forward, the mouse completely unaware of her presence.

She took a breath, checking her position, then leaped forward. The mouse let out a terrified squeak as her paws slammed it to the forest floor. She killed it with a quick nip.

Undergrowth crackled behind her, and then a cat cannoned into her side, knocking her to the ground.

“Ha! I got you!” Lightpaw purred triumphantly.

Mistflow snorted. “You were supposed to be hunting squirrels and birds, not me.”

“I caught a chaffinch,” he meowed, pawing at the bird he’d dropped a tail-length away. “Then I wanted to see what you’d collected.”

It had been Nighthunter’s idea for Mistflow to go hunting with her son. Her sister had been assigned to Bluestar’s patrol, but her apprentice hadn’t. Mistflow hadn’t minded. She loved her son, and despite his mischievous nature that only seemed to manifest when he wasn’t around younger cats, he was ready to help the Clan.

She wasn’t sure that she would get to spend much time with him. The night before, Softpaw had visited her in her dreams, warning her of danger and darkness.

“A wonderful catch!” she purred. “You’re becoming a fine hunter.”

“Nighthunter is my mentor, remember? She’s the best hunter in ThunderClan!”

“Oh?” Mistflow teased. “What am I, a ball of moss?”

He lifted his chin. “You’re not my mentor. I don’t have to compliment you to get more fun training sessions.”

“Fair enough.” She licked his forehead. “Where’s this fun-loving side of you in camp?” she asked. “You’re young–you’re allowed to play around.”

“I can’t play around when I’m with the others,” Lightpaw mewed. “Mischief only makes it so I’m distracted from protecting everyone else.”

“The safety of the Clan is not your responsibility alone,” Mistflow sighed. “As an apprentice, it’s your job to learn everything your mentor has to teach you so that you can become the best warrior you can be.”

Lightpaw scuffed the earth with his paws. “But I didn’t save Cinderpaw from getting hurt or Clawface from taking her and her littermates. They could have died!”

“And you protected Marigoldkit and Mintkit from ShadowClan multiple times, helped them feel welcome here, and bravely went after the other kits on your own.” Mistflow stroked his shoulder with her tail. “Someday you will need to take the safety of the Clan into your own paws, but for now, you just need to focus on your training. And try to have some fun,” she added. “No one can focus on the things that worry them all the time. It’s not healthy.”

“If you say so,” he mewed. He didn’t seem convinced.

Mistflow prepared to continue trying to reassure him, but a strange scent floated through the air. Her shoulder fur bristled.

“What is it?” Lightpaw asked, picking up on her change of mood.

She bent down to whisper in his ear. “I need you to bring this prey back to the camp. Tell the Clan that Brokenstar and his cats are coming to attack.”

He froze. “Wh-what?” he gasped. She could tell he didn’t want to react, just in case it would be dangerous.

“I love you so much,” she purred, pressing her muzzle to his. “I am very proud of you.”

“Are you saying goodbye?” His voice quivered.

She flicked her tail towards the direction of the camp. “I hope not.”

Lightpaw frowned. He picked up the mouse and the chaffinch and padded away, his movements seemingly unconcerned. Then he disappeared through the trees.

Mistflow sniffed the air again. It was definitely Brokenstar’s scent, along with Clawface’s. She debated whether or not to follow the scent trail, but it turned out that she didn’t have to choose.

“We’re all clear over here,” a tom called from in front of her. “It’s just a weak queen all alone in the forest.”

She hissed. “You’re trespassing, rogue! Leave our territory.”

The tom stepped out from the bushes, his tabby pelt rippling. “No, I don’t think I will,” he purred, curling his lip. “I’ve been waiting for a fight for two moons. You don’t seem like you’ll put up much of a fight.”

“Are you sure you want to find out?” she challenged, lashing her tail back and forth.

A brown tom with green eyes leaped forward to join his friend. “Brokenstar and the others are going to take the camp, Snap,” he meowed.

“That’s perfect, Mowgli. It means we’re free to kill her before we rejoin them.”

“We can’t kill her!” Mowgli protested, his eyes widening in shock. “She’s just a queen!”

Mistflow was beginning to feel annoyed at being referred to as “just a queen.” “You won’t kill me.”

Snap bared his teeth in a snarl. “This is about proving our strength to Brokenstar!” he growled. “No one gets in the way of that!”

“If you feel that way…” Mistflow trailed off and lunged for him.

*  *  *  *  *

“Cloudkit!”

Fireheart heard Brindleface calling from inside the nursery. Tigerclaw turned and padded away.

Cloudkit gave the moss ball a final shove and ran over to the nursery entrance. “’Bye, Fireheart,” he mewed before he disappeared inside.

Fireheart looked up at the sky. It was almost sunhigh, time to join his patrol. He was hungry, but no fresh-kill had been gathered yet. Perhaps he might find something while they were out. He hurried across the clearing and out through the gorse tunnel, frozen leaves crunching beneath his paws.

Sandpaw and Mousefur were already waiting at the foot of the slope. Fireheart raised his tail in greeting, unexpectedly happy to see Sandpaw.

“Hi,” meowed Sandpaw. Mousefur nodded to him.

Whitestorm emerged from the gorse tunnel. “Is the dawn patrol back yet?”

“No sign of them,” answered Mousefur. But as she spoke, Fireheart heard the rustle of undergrowth above them. Out of the bushes came Willowpelt, Runningwind, Darkstripe, and Dustpaw.

“We’ve patrolled the entire RiverClan border,” Willowpelt reported. “No sign of any hunting parties so far. Bluestar’s patrol will check the area again this afternoon.”

“Good,” replied Whitestorm. “We’ll take the ShadowClan border.”

“Hopefully they’ll have the same good sense as RiverClan and stay away,” meowed Darkstripe. “After last night, they must know we’ll be looking out for them.”

“I hope so,” growled Whitestorm. He turned to his patrol. “Are you ready?” Fireheart nodded. Whitestorm flicked the tip of his tail and leaped away into the bracken.

Fireheart followed Mousefur and Whitestorm. They kept up a fast pace as they climbed out of the ravine. Sandpaw was right behind Fireheart; he could feel her warm breath as she scrambled up the boulders.

They had not even reached Snakerocks when Fireheart picked up a sinister, familiar scent. He opened his mouth to warn the others but Mousefur spoke first. “ShadowClan!”

The four cats stopped to smell the rank stench.

“I can’t believe they’ve come back already!” Sandpaw murmured. Fireheart noticed the fur quiver along her spine.

“The scent is recent.” Whitestorm’s eyes glittered with fury. “I had hoped Nightstar might bring some honor to his Clan. But I suppose the cold winds beyond the Thunderpath blow over every ShadowClan cat’s heart.”

Fireheart turned away and began pushing his way into a thick patch of bracken. He rubbed his teeth along the fronds to pick up the scent that hung there. It was ShadowClan all right. The smell was familiar. Very familiar. Fireheart paused. The scent belonged to a ShadowClan warrior he had encountered before, but which one?

Fireheart pushed onward, hoping more scent-markings might jog his memory. Now he could smell something else. Fireheart looked down. On the ground, among the bracken stems, lay a pile of rabbit bones. Clan cats normally buried the bones of their prey as a sign of respect for the life they had taken. Suddenly aware of what this might mean, Fireheart picked up a mouthful and wove back through the bracken. He dropped them at Whitestorm’s paws.

Whitestorm stared at the bones in fury. “Rabbit bones? The warriors who left these want us to know they’ve been hunting on our land! Bluestar must know about this immediately.”

“Will she send a battle party against ShadowClan?” asked Fireheart. He had never seen Whitestorm so angry.

“She should!” hissed the great white warrior. “And I’ll lead it myself if I can. Nightstar has betrayed our trust, and StarClan knows he must be punished.”

*  *  *  *  *

“Bluestar!” Whitestorm flung the rabbit bones down in the middle of the camp clearing.

“Bluestar has already left on patrol,” Tigerclaw told him, stepping out from the shadows.

Halftail and Frostfur came hurrying from their dens to find out what was going on.

Whitestorm stared at Tigerclaw, still furious. “Look at these!” he spat.

Tigerclaw didn’t need to be told what they meant; their scent carried the whole story. His eyes began to burn with anger.

Fireheart hung back at the edge of the clearing and watched the two great warriors. The evidence was certainly ominous, but the discovery of the bones had filled his mind with questions, not anger. It was only three moons since ShadowClan had driven out their cruel leader, with the help of ThunderClan. How could that same Clan possibly be ready to risk war with ThunderClan?

Tigerclaw clearly had no such doubts. Already he was calling Darkstripe and Runningwind to him. “Willowpelt and Mousefur will join us too!” he announced. “We’ll find a ShadowClan patrol and leave them with some wounds that’ll remind them to keep out of our territory in the future.”

Whitestorm nodded.

“These aren’t ShadowClan!” Lionblaze snarled. “It’s Brokenstar and his cats!”

“You’re just afraid of a fight!” Tigerclaw hissed at him. “But we can’t let fear stop us, so you will be coming to fight ShadowClan with us.”

Lionblaze shoved his muzzle against the dark tabby’s. “I’m needed here to protect the camp.”

“You’re needed in battle, mouseheart!”

“Can I come?” Sandpaw meowed. She had been pacing excitedly behind the white warrior. Now she stopped and looked at him with glittering eyes.

“Not this time,” Whitestorm told her.

Frustration flickered across her face. “But what about Fireheart?” she meowed. “He found the bones.”

Tigerclaw narrowed his eyes, his hackles raised. “ Fireheart can stay here and tell Bluestar when she arrives,” he hissed contemptuously.

“You’re going to leave before she gets back?” Fireheart asked.

“Of course,” Tigerclaw spat. “This needs to be settled now!” He turned to Whitestorm and flicked his tail. Fireheart watched as the two warriors charged out of the camp, Needlenose, Nutfur, Owltuft, Darkstripe, Willowpelt, Runningwind, Lionblaze and Mousefur close behind. He could hear their paws pounding the frozen earth as they headed for the side of the ravine.

Fireheart was suddenly aware how empty the camp was. As Frostfur and Halftail came forward and began sniffing the rabbit bones, he meowed, “Who went with Bluestar?”

Frostfur looked up. “Graystripe, Longtail, Swiftpaw, Goldenflower, Nighthunter Sweetmint, and Cinderheart. Mistflow took Lightpaw hunting near Twolegplace, and Ivypool, Stripepaw, and Dovepaw went to the training hollow.”

A cold wind ruffled Fireheart’s fur. He hoped that was what made him shiver. He was the only warrior left in camp. “Will you check the apprentices’ den to see if Dustpaw’s there?” Fireheart asked Sandpaw.

She nodded, bounded across the clearing, and poked her head into the den. “He’s there,” she called back, ducking out again. “Asleep, with Brackenpaw.”

Stars swirled beside her and Whitewing and Birchfall appeared.

“What are you doing back here?” Sandpaw demanded warily.

Birchfall shrugged. “Well, it’s been a day since we were last here, but I assume it has to do with Dovepaw’s warrior ceremony.”

“There’s no ceremony happening right now,” Frostfur said, confused.

“And if there were, it would have to be caused by some sort of battle at this point,” Fireheart realized.

Yellowfang came padding out of her den and lifted her head. Jayfeather emerged behind her, dipping his head to the other future cats. Fireheart relaxed a little at the familiar sight of the old medicine cat. He narrowed his eyes, ready to greet her. But as Yellowfang tasted the air, her eyes clouded with fear. With slow, stiff steps, she approached the rabbit bones and carefully sniffed each one.

Fireheart watched her, wondering why she was so interested in the old bones.

At last she looked up and stared into Fireheart’s eyes. “Brokenstar!” she rasped, in a voice choked with horror.

“Brokenstar?” Fireheart echoed. Then it hit him. That was why the scent in the bracken had been so familiar. It was Brokenstar’s scent. “Are you sure?” he meowed urgently. “Tigerclaw has already left for ShadowClan territory.”

“ShadowClan isn’t to blame for this!” cried Yellowfang. “This is Brokenstar and his old warrior friends. I was ShadowClan’s medicine cat. I was there at their kitting. I know their scents as well as I know my own.” She paused. “You must find Tigerclaw and stop him. He will be making a terrible mistake if he attacks them!”

The blood roared in Fireheart’s ears, making him dizzy. It was just as Lionblaze and the others had said. What should he do? “But I’m the only warrior left!” he meowed breathlessly to Yellowfang. “What if Brokenstar attacks the camp while I’m gone? He’s done it before. He might have left the bones as a trap so that our camp was left unguarded.”

“You’re not the only warrior anymore,” Birchfall told him.

“We stand by ThunderClan’s side!” Whitewing added fiercely.

“You must tell Tigerclaw before he — ” Yellowfang pleaded, but Fireheart shook his head.

“I can’t leave you all alone.”

“Then I shall go!” Yellowfang hissed.

“No! I’ll go!” meowed Sandpaw.

Fireheart looked from one cat to the other. He couldn’t afford to send either — their strength and training were needed here to protect the Clan. But Yellowfang was right; innocent blood couldn’t be shed. Brokenstar was the invader here; ThunderClan had no quarrel with ShadowClan. He would have to send another cat. He closed his eyes and thought hard. The answer came in a moment. “Brackenpaw!” Fireheart hissed, opening his eyes wide. He called the apprentice’s name out loud.

The young cat pushed his way out of his den and padded across the clearing toward Fireheart. “What is it?” he asked, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“I have an urgent mission for you,” Fireheart told him.

Brackenpaw shook himself and stood taller. “Yes, Fireheart,” he mewed.

“You must find Tigerclaw. He’s taken a raiding party to attack a ShadowClan patrol. Stop him and tell him that it was Brokenstar who has been invading our territory!” Brackenpaw’s eyes widened with alarm, but Fireheart went on: “You might have to cross the Thunderpath. I know you haven’t been trained. . . .” Images of Cinderpaw’s broken body flashed in Fireheart’s mind, but he forced them away. He looked deep into Brackenpaw’s eyes. “You must find Tigerclaw,” he repeated, “or there will be a war between the Clans for no reason!”

Brackenpaw nodded, his eyes calm and filled with purpose. “I’ll find him,” the tabby apprentice promised.

“May StarClan go with you,” Fireheart murmured, reaching forward to touch Brackenpaw’s flank with his nose.

Brackenpaw turned and sprinted out through the gorse tunnel. Fireheart watched him go, struggling to keep calm. Cinderpaw. . .the Thunderpath. . .the images kept flashing back. Fireheart shook his head to clear it. There was no time to worry now. If Brokenstar was in ThunderClan territory, the camp had to prepare for an attack.

“What’s happening?” Dustpaw had emerged from the apprentices’ den. Fireheart glanced at him, ran to the head of the clearing, and scrambled up onto the Highrock. The clearing seemed a long way below his trembling legs. He swallowed hard and began the customary call. “Let all cats old enough to. . .” But the words were taking too long! “The camp is in danger. Come here now!” he yowled urgently.

The elders and queens rushed from their dens, followed by their kits. They looked bewildered when they saw Fireheart on top of the Highrock. Cinderpaw limped out of the fern tunnel and looked up at Fireheart with a strong, bright gaze. When Fireheart saw her, the camp suddenly stopped swaying beneath him.

“What’s going on?” demanded One-eye, the oldest ThunderClan cat. “What do you think you’re doing up there?”

Fireheart didn’t hesitate. “Brokenstar is back. He might be in ThunderClan territory right now. All our other warriors are out of the camp. If Brokenstar attacks, we must be ready. Kits and elders stay in the nursery. The rest of you must be ready to fight — ”

“Brokenstar is coming!” Lightpaw’s screech rang out around the camp as the young gray-and-white tom skidded through the entrance. “Mistflow sent me to–”

A menacing yowl from the camp entrance broke off his warning. A lean dark brown tabby with matted fur and torn ears strode into the camp. His bristling tail was bent in the middle like a broken branch.

“Brokenstar!” Fireheart gasped, instinctively unsheathing his claws as every hair on his body stood on end. Lightpaw flinched away from him and backed away until he was back-to-back with Sandpaw. She pressed against him reassuringly.

Five mangy warriors prowled in behind their leader, their eyes glittering with hatred.

“So you’re the only warrior left!” Brokenstar hissed, his lips drawn back in a snarl. “This will be easier than I thought!”

Whitewing, Birchfall, Yellowfang, Dustpaw, Lightpaw, and Sandpaw rushed forward in a defensive row, and the queens lined up behind them. Fireheart saw Cinderpaw hobbling to join them. Dustpaw hissed speedily at the small gray cat as she neared.

“I know you want to fight, and your time will come, but right now, it’ll be safer for every cat if you go protect the kits,” he told her. Cinderpaw scrabbled clumsily away, ears flat, back to the nursery. She took up a protective position with her sister in front of the youngest kits. The elders squeezed inside after them. Brindleface tugged at the brambles with her paws, ignoring the thorns, and covered the entrance before turning to join the rest of her Clan in the clearing.

Fireheart leaped down from the Highrock and raced to Yellowfang’s side. He arched his back and hissed at Brokenstar, “You lost the last time we fought, and you’ll lose again!”

“Never!” Brokenstar spat back. “You might have taken my Clan away from me, but you can’t kill me — I have more lives than you!”

“One ThunderClan life is worth ten of yours!” Fireheart growled. Birchfall cheered in encouragement. He gave a warrior’s yowl and the clearing exploded into battle.

Fireheart leaped straight for Brokenstar and grasped the dark brown tabby with his claws. Life as an outlaw had treated the former Clan leader harshly — Fireheart could feel the ribs of the flea-bitten tom beneath his fur. But Brokenstar was still strong. He twisted around and sank his teeth into Fireheart’s hind leg. Fireheart yowled and hissed with rage, but kept his grip. Brokenstar struggled forward, scrabbling with his paws on the frozen ground. Fireheart felt his claws raking along Brokenstar’s bony flanks as the rogue warrior ripped himself free.

Brokenstar’s escape didn’t last long. A newly-returned Mistflow reared up behind him and slammed him to the ground. Before he could do anything to fight back, she fastened her teeth in the back of his neck. Fireheart heard a loud snap and the life drained from Brokenstar’s eyes.

Two toms dragged Mistflow away from their leader. Their pelts were covered in scratches and bites. Mistflow spun around and slashed her claws at them. They backed away from her nervously.

Other claws were grasping at Fireheart’s hind leg. He looked over his shoulder to see who it was. Clawface crouched there, staring at Fireheart with narrowed, mocking eyes.

Fireheart looked back at him in disbelief. He had never expected to see this cat again. He forgot Brokenstar instantly. It was Clawface who had killed Spottedleaf six moons ago; he had murdered the ThunderClan medicine cat in cold blood so that Brokenstar could steal Frostfur’s kits. Rage roared in Fireheart’s ears. As he twisted around and threw himself on top of the scrawny brown tom, Fireheart glimpsed a flash of tortoiseshell fur out of the corner of his eye, and the scent of Spottedleaf hit the roof of his mouth. He felt her spirit beside him. She had come to help him avenge her death.

Fireheart hardly noticed the pain in his leg as he tore it free from Clawface’s grasp and flew at him. The tom reared up and flailed his wide front paws. Thorn-sharp claws caught Fireheart behind his ear. Pain ripped through him like fire, and he staggered. Clawface was on him in an instant, pinning Fireheart to the ground and sinking his teeth into the back of his neck.

Fireheart screeched in agony, “Help me, Spottedleaf! I can’t do it!”

Suddenly the weight was wrenched off his back. Fireheart sprang to his paws and spun around. Graystripe! The gray warrior stood motionless, his eyes filled with horror. Clawface was wrestling with Birchfall. The light brown ThunderClan tom’s amber eyes glittered with delight as he swiped at the murderous former ShadowClan tom. Beside him, Whitewing pinned a black she-cat to the ground and bit her shoulder fiercely.

Fireheart took a step forward. “Is Bluestar with you?” he asked urgently.

Graystripe shook his head. “She sent me back to fetch Tigerclaw,” he replied. “We found bones. Bluestar recognized Brokenstar’s stench and guessed he must be leading the rogue cats. She sent Nighthunter to find him, but she must have followed the patrol’s scent trail.”

In his distraction, Fireheart hadn’t realized that Brokenstar had recovered from losing his life. The former leader screeched and ripped Mistflow backward from where she was handily beating her two opponents. He knocked her paws out from under and wrestled her to the ground. The two rogues scrambled up and came to help him, holding her down. Brokenstar grinned, a mad gleam in his eyes, before pressing the gray she-cat’s muzzle and neck so that she couldn’t take a breath. The warrior was a powerful fighter, but even she couldn’t get free from three cats. She thrashed and struggled, but it was no use.

“A life for a life,” Brokenstar hissed in a sickly smooth tone.

“Get off her!” Stripepaw’s yowl was the only warning the three cats had before they were tackled by Stripepaw, Dovepaw, and Ivypool.

Whitewing released her opponent, who hared into the forest, then ran to check on Mistflow. The gray cat was lying ominously still, and Whitewing shook her head darkly at Fireheart before lunging at Brokenstar herself.

A hiss sounded nearby and two cats crashed into Fireheart. He leaped out of the way. It was Frostfur battling with another of the attacking cats. The queen was fighting with all the power of StarClan. These were the cats who had stolen her kits. Hate shone in her eyes as she struggled. Beside her, Thornkit nipped at the attacker’s paws. Fireheart held himself back — Frostfur didn’t need his help. A moment later the rogue warrior was sent screeching away, through the bracken camp wall.

Frostfur and Thornkit chased after him, but Fireheart called them back. “You have given him enough wounds to remember you!” The queen skidded to a halt by the bracken wall and turned, her sides heaving and her white fur stained with her enemy’s blood. She blocked Thornkit with her tail before he could continue the chase.

Another rogue warrior screeched past Fireheart and headed for the camp wall. Dustpaw and Lightpaw chased after him and the brown apprentice managed to give the mottled tabby a fierce bite before he let him scrabble out of the camp. Only Brokenstar and a few warriors left, Fireheart thought.

Sandpaw had one of the rogue warrior pinned to the ground. The tom was lying motionless beneath her. Watch out! thought Fireheart, remembering his favorite trick of letting an enemy think he had won. But Sandpaw was not deceived. When the tom leaped to his paws, she was ready. She sprang off him, and then lunged, grasping the warrior with her claws to flip him over and rake his belly with her hind legs. Only when he squealed like a kit did she let go of him. The rogue tore out of the camp entrance, still wailing.

Whitewing, Ivypool, Dovepaw, and Stripepaw were still fighting two of the rogues, but toms seemed to have finally have had enough. They struggled free and blundered blindly through the entrance tunnel.

There was an eerie moment of stillness. The ThunderClan cats stood in silence and stared at the blood and fur that was scattered around the clearing. In the middle lay Mistflow’s body. Lightpaw was nosing her, dismay in his eyes. Whitewing rested her tail across his back.

Where was Brokenstar? Fireheart spun around in alarm, scanning the camp. Could he have broken into the nursery? He was about to spring toward the bramble den when a wretched howl from Yellowfang’s den tore the air. Fireheart tore across to the fern tunnel. Jayfeather! He raced into the den, expecting the worst, but saw instead Brokenstar lying in a heap on the ground. The old medicine cat stood over him, facing off against Clawface.

Brokenstar’s eyes were closed and bloody. Fireheart saw his sides heave once, and stop moving. He recognized from the deep stillness in the rogue warrior’s body that Brokenstar was losing another life.

Yellowfang’s claws were unsheathed and glistened red. Her face was twisted and her eyes glazed.

Suddenly Brokenstar gasped and began to breathe again. Fireheart waited for Yellowfang to lunge at him with another killing bite, but she hesitated. Brokenstar didn’t get up.

“I won’t let you hurt him again!” Clawface snarled.

Fireheart ran to the medicine cat’s side. “Is this his last life? Why don’t you finish him off?” he urged. “He murdered his father, banished you from your Clan, and tried to kill you.”

“It’s not his last life,” she rasped, “and even if it were, I couldn’t kill him.”

“Why not? StarClan would honor you for it.” Fireheart could not believe her words. The name Brokenstar had always made this old she-cat bristle with rage.

Yellowfang dragged her gaze from Brokenstar and looked at Fireheart. Her eyes clouded with pain and grief as she murmured, “He is my son.”

“You’re not serious.” Clawface’s voice was filled with denial.

Fireheart felt the ground lurch under his paws. “But medicine cats are forbidden from having kits,” he blurted out.

“I know,” answered Yellowfang. “I never intended to have kits. But then I fell in love with Raggedstar.” Her voice was thick with sorrow. Suddenly Fireheart thought back to the battle when Brokenstar was driven out of the ShadowClan camp. Just before he had been dragged away by Clawface, the cruel leader had told Yellowfang that he had murdered his father. Yellowfang had been devastated, and now Fireheart understood why.

“There were three kits in my litter,” Yellowfang went on. “But only Brokenstar survived. I gave him to a ShadowClan queen to bring up as her own. I thought that losing two of my kits was punishment from StarClan for breaking the warrior code. But I was wrong. My punishment wasn’t that two of my kits died. It was that this one survived!” Yellowfang looked in disgust at Brokenstar’s bleeding body. “And now I cannot kill him. I must accept my fate, as StarClan wishes it.”

Yellowfang staggered, and Fireheart thought she was going to collapse. He pressed his body against her flank to support her and whispered, “Does he know you’re his mother?”

Yellowfang shook her head.

“You fell in love with Raggedstar?” Clawface hissed. “He was completely fox-hearted to you!”

“We loved each other,” Yellowfang murmured. “He only became angry with me because I became a medicine cat instead of remaining a warrior.”

“That’s no excuse!” Jayfeather and Clawface spat at the same time. The two toms exchanged a surprised glance. “Just because some cat makes a decision that someone else disagrees with doesn’t mean they deserve to be treated like a scrap of prey.”

Clawface nodded. “Raggedstar didn’t deserve you.”

Fireheart couldn’t believe the ShadowClan rogue was talking like this. Is there more to him than I thought? he wondered. He remembered how Clawface had rescued Brokenstar from the ShadowClan camp when Oakleaf had taken one of his lives.

Brokenstar began to wail pitifully. “I can’t see!” Fireheart realized with horror that the rogue cat’s eyes had been scratched beyond repair.

Fireheart cautiously approached him. Brokenstar lay still. Fireheart poked him with a forepaw and Yellowfang’ s son moaned again. “Don’t kill me,” he whined. Fireheart backed away, feeling a shudder of revulsion at the warrior’s fear.

Yellowfang took a deep breath. “I will see to him.” She walked over to her wounded son, grasped him by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him to the nest that Patchpelt had left.

“You’re going to be fine, Brokenstar,” Clawface murmured, pressing against his side as if to comfort him.

Fireheart let them go. He wanted to check that Cinderpaw and the kits were all right. He caught sight of a dark shape moving inside the nursery. “Cinderpaw?” he called.

Cinderpaw poked her head out.

“Are you okay?” Fireheart asked.

“Have the rogue cats gone?” she whispered.

“Yes, except Brokenstar and Clawface. Brokenstar’s badly injured. Yellowfang’s seeing to him, and Clawface won’t leave him.” He waited for Cinderpaw’s shocked reaction, but she just shook her head slowly and stared at the ground.

“Are you okay?” Fireheart repeated.

“I should have fought alongside you.” Cinderpaw’s voice was choked with shame.

“You would have been killed!”

“That’s what Dustpaw said. He told me to go and hide with the kits.” The small cat’s eyes were full of despair. “But I wouldn’t have minded being killed. What good am I like this? I’m just a burden on this Clan.”

Fireheart felt a thorn-sharp pang of pity. “He told you to protect the kits,” he reminded her. “You’re the only one there with any proper battle training.” Before he could continue, Yellowfang’s rasping mew sounded from the bracken.

“Cinderpaw,” she called. “Fetch me some cobwebs, quickly!” Cinderpaw turned at once and disappeared inside the rock, returning a moment later with one paw wrapped in a swathe of cobwebs. As quickly as she could, she scrambled awkwardly over to Yellowfang and thrust the cobwebs inside the nest.

“Now get me some of that comfrey root,” ordered Yellowfang.

As Cinderpaw limped back to the split rock, Fireheart turned to leave. There was nothing more he could do here. He must find out how the rest of the Clan was.

Hardly any cat had moved in the camp clearing. Fireheart padded straight to Dustpaw and meowed, “Yellowfang is tending to Brokenstar’s wounds. Cinderpaw’s helping her.” He ignored Dustpaw’s gasp of disbelief. “Go and guard him and Clawface.” Dustpaw ran to the tunnel and disappeared inside.

Fireheart went over to Graystripe. The gray warrior was still staring at Mistflow’s body. “You came back just in time,” Fireheart murmured. “Thank you.”

Graystripe lifted his gaze to Fireheart. “I wasn’t soon enough,” he answered sadly.

Feeling choked, Fireheart watched his friend turn and walk away.

“Mistflow, please wake up!” Lightpaw pleaded. His eyes were shining with unshed tears.

Stripepaw rested her muzzle on his head, grief in her eyes as well. “I’m so sorry, Lightpaw.”

The gray-and-white tom collapsed against her, crying.

The sound of paws pounding through the gorse tunnel broke into his thoughts. Bluestar came rushing into the camp, followed by her patrol. Fireheart felt his shoulders droop with relief at the sight of his Clan leader. She looked around at the blood-spattered clearing, her eyes wide, until her gaze rested on Mistflow’s body. “Brokenstar attacked?” she meowed. Anger filled her mew.

Fireheart nodded. “Brokenstar and two rogues killed Mistflow after she took one of his lives.

“Is he dead?”

“He and Clawface are with Yellowfang,” Fireheart answered, forcing out the words in spite of his exhaustion. “He’s been wounded — his eyes.”

“And the other rogue warriors?”

“We chased them off.”

“Are any others of our Clan badly hurt?” Bluestar demanded, looking once more around the clearing. The cats shook their heads. “Good,” she meowed. “Sweetmint, One-eye, please take Mistflow away for burial once we have sat vigil.”

The two cats nodded.

“Are the other elders safe?” Bluestar asked.

“They’re in the nursery,” Fireheart told her. As he spoke a rustling sounded from the bramble den, and Halftail appeared, followed by the other kits and elders. Fireheart saw Cloudkit tumble out and scamper excitedly across the clearing to Brindleface. She greeted him with a brisk lick, and the kit turned to stare at Mistflow’s body.

“Is she dead?” Cloudkit asked curiously. “Can I go and see?”

“Hush,” whispered Brindleface, tucking her tail around him.

Grief choked Fireheart. “She died a hero,” he whispered. “She took one of Brokenstar’s lives and fought him and two other cats on her own.”

“Where’s Tigerclaw?” Bluestar asked.

“He’s taken a party to attack a ShadowClan patrol,” Fireheart explained. “We found bones on our patrol. They smelled of ShadowClan so Tigerclaw decided to attack. I sent Brackenpaw to stop him when Yellowfang realized it was Brokenstar’s scent on them.” Just like the time travelers kept telling us.

“Brackenpaw?” meowed Bluestar, narrowing her eyes. “Even though he might have to cross the Thunderpath?”

“I was the only warrior left in camp, besides Whitewing and Birchfall. There was no one else I could send.”

Bluestar nodded, the concern in her eyes giving way to understanding. “You didn’t want to leave the camp unguarded?” she meowed. “You did well, Fireheart. I think Brokenstar hoped to lure all our warriors away from the camp. We found bones, too.”

“Graystripe told me.” Fireheart looked around for his friend, but Graystripe had disappeared.

“Send Yellowfang to me when she’s finished with Brokenstar,” Bluestar ordered. She pricked her ears at the noise of more paws in the gorse tunnel. Tigerclaw came racing into the camp, followed by Whitestorm and the rest of the raiding party. Nighthunter brought up the rear. Fireheart craned his neck to peer around the warriors until he saw Brackenpaw, right at the back. The young apprentice looked exhausted but unhurt. Fireheart let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Did Brackenpaw reach you before you found a patrol?” asked Bluestar, walking over to her deputy.

“We hadn’t even entered their territory,” Tigerclaw answered. “We were just about to cross the Thunderpath.” His eyes narrowed. “Did we lose any cat?”

Bluestar nodded.

“Then Brackenpaw was right,” meowed the deputy. “Brokenstar was planning to attack the camp. Is he dead too?”

“No. Yellowfang is tending to his wounds. But Mistflow was killed by Brokenstar.”

Nighthunter let out a sharp gasp. “Nooo!” she screeched. She ran towards her sister’s body. “StarClan, why?” She began to rasp her tongue over Mistflow’s body, grooming her one last time.

“Surely not!” Mousefur exclaimed, exchanging a glance with Runningwind beside her.

“If it weren’t for Mistflow, Brokenstar may have destroyed all of us,” Fireheart whispered. “She fought three cats by herself.”

“You always were a protector,” Nighthunter mewed. She rested her muzzle on Mistflow’s flank.

Tigerclaw’s face darkened. “Tending to his wounds?” he snarled. “He killed my sister! We should kill him, not waste time making him better!”

“We’ll discuss that once I’ve spoken to Yellowfang,” meowed Bluestar calmly.

“You can discuss it with me now, Bluestar.” Yellowfang padded into the clearing, her head drooping with exhaustion.

“Have you left Brokenstar alone?” growled Tigerclaw, his amber eyes flashing.

Yellowfang raised her head and looked at the dark warrior. “Dustpaw is guarding him. And I’ve given him poppy seeds, so he’ll sleep for a while. Brokenstar is blind now, Tigerclaw. There’s no way he’ll try to escape. He’d die of hunger in a week, if a fox or a gang of crows didn’t kill him first.”

“Well, that makes it easier,” Tigerclaw snarled. “We won’t have to kill him ourselves. We can let the forest deal with him.”

Yellowfang turned to Bluestar. “We cannot let him die,” she meowed.

“Why not?”

Fireheart held his breath as he watched the leader’s eyes flick from Yellowfang to Tigerclaw and back again. He wondered if Yellowfang was going to tell Bluestar that Brokenstar was her son.

“If we did, we would be no better than he is,” replied Yellowfang calmly.

Tigerclaw’s tail flicked in anger.

“What do you think, Whitestorm?” Bluestar meowed before Tigerclaw could speak.

“It will be a burden on our Clan to look after him,” Whitestorm answered thoughtfully. “But Yellowfang is right — if we send him out into the forest, or kill him in cold blood, StarClan will know we have stooped as low as he.”

Jayfeather growled. “Clawface is here as well–he refused to leave Brokenstar alone. Perhaps we can help them become better cats if we allow them to stay.”

One-eye stepped forward. “Bluestar,” she meowed in her croaky old voice. “In the past we have sometimes kept prisoners for many moons. We could do it again.” Fireheart remembered that Yellowfang herself had been a prisoner when she first came to the camp. He waited for the medicine cat to remind Bluestar of this, but she said nothing.

“So you would really consider keeping this rogue inside our camp? He killed my sister!” Tigerclaw’ s eyes blazed with rage as he challenged his leader. With a pang, Fireheart couldn’t help agreeing with the dark warrior’s words. The thought of killing Brokenstar appalled him — he knew better than any of these cats what that would mean to Yellowfang — but Brokenstar was a fearsome enemy, even without his sight. Keeping him in the camp would be difficult and dangerous for all the members of the Clan.

“Is he really blind?” Bluestar asked Yellowfang.

“Yes, he is.”

“Has he other wounds?”

Fireheart replied this time. “Mistflow and I clawed him pretty badly,” he admitted. He looked over to Yellowfang and was relieved when the old she-cat dipped her head just enough for him to know she forgave him for wounding her son.

“How long till they heal?” asked Bluestar.

“About a moon,” Yellowfang answered.

“Then you may nurse him till then. After that we will discuss his future again. And from now on, he will be known as Brokentail, not Brokenstar. We cannot take away the lives that StarClan gave him, but this cat is no longer a Clan leader.” Bluestar looked questioningly at Tigerclaw. His tail twitched, but he didn’t speak.

“It is decided,” Bluestar meowed. “He stays.”

Fireheart limped over to the clump of nettles and began to lick his wounds. He would go and see Yellowfang later, when she had finished tending to the other cats.

The weak rays of the setting sun threw long shadows across the clearing. Dustpaw had been relieved from his guard duty by Longtail and Owltuft. Tigerclaw had taken the rest of his unscathed raiding party out in search of fresh-kill. Fireheart’s stomach growled. He looked up at the sound of pawsteps, but it was only Sandpaw and Swiftpaw.

The two cats padded over to Fireheart. “I thought you’d want company,” she meowed.

“Thanks,” he purred. He glanced at Swiftpaw. “Aren’t you going to stay with Lightpaw?”

The black-and-white apprentice shook his head. “He won’t be up to company for a while.”

“I’ve never seen him like this.” Sandpaw sounded concerned. “He’s always been so calm and collected.”

“Lightpaw has always been closer to his mother than most young Clan cats,” Swiftpaw sighed. “Hopefully StarClan will ease his grief.”

Fireheart nodded. “It’s kind of you to be concerned for him.”

“He’s my best friend, and practically a brother to me.”

Bluestar was sitting beneath the Highrock with Whitestorm. Fireheart pushed himself to his paws and walked over to join them. The Clan needed something better to focus on. With a flick of his tail he beckoned to Sandpaw and Dustpaw, who was licking his own scratches beside the tree stump. Dustpaw flashed him a doubtful look but got up wearily and followed him.

Fireheart signaled to Dustpaw again, along with Stripepaw and Dovepaw to come closer. The tabby apprentice narrowed his eyes and padded forward to stand beside Sandpaw.

“Bluestar,” Fireheart began hesitantly as the other two apprentices followed, “The oldest apprentices fought like warriors when Brokentail attacked. We would have been in much more trouble without their strength and courage.” Dustpaw’s eyes widened and Sandpaw looked at the ground as Fireheart spoke.

A purr rumbled from Whitestorm’s throat. “It’s not like you to be shy,” he meowed to his apprentice.

Sandpaw’s ears twitched uncomfortably. “Fireheart and Lightpaw are the ones who saved the Clan,” she burst out. “They alerted the camp so that we were ready for Brokentail’s attack.”

It was Fireheart’s turn to feel embarrassed. He was relieved when Tigerclaw and the hunting party trotted into the camp at that moment, carrying plenty of fresh-kill.

Bluestar nodded at Tigerclaw and then turned to face the apprentices. “It makes me proud to know that ThunderClan has such fine warriors,” she meowed. “It’s time you all took your warrior names. We shall have the naming ceremony now, while the sun is setting, and then we can eat before we sit vigil.”

Sandpaw and Dustpaw looked excitedly at each other. Dovepaw purred, while Stripepaw looked towards Nighthunter and Lightpaw, her expression conflicted. Fireheart lifted his chin and purred. Bluestar called to the Clan, and Fireheart felt even happier when he saw Graystripe appear from the warriors’ den. He hadn’t left the camp after all.

The Clan gathered around the edge of the clearing. Elders and queens sat with the apprentices and kits on one side; Fireheart waited with the warriors on the other. Whitewing and Birchfall sat with Lionblaze, Cinderheart, Ivypool, and Jayfeather at the edge of the group. Fireheart looked at Cloudkit nestled beside Brindleface. The kit’s eyes shone with excitement, and Fireheart felt a rush of pride that his kin-kit could see him sitting with the Clan warriors. Bluestar stood in the center with Sandpaw, Dustpaw, Stripepaw, and Dovepaw.

The last arc of sun glowed pink on the horizon. The Clan waited silently as it dipped out of sight, leaving the darkening sky pricked with stars.

Bluestar looked up and fixed her eyes on the brightest star in Silverpelt. “I, Bluestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on these two apprentices. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your code, and I commend them to you as warriors in their turn.” She gazed down at the pair of young cats in front of her. “Sandpaw, Dustpaw, Stripepaw, Dovepaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Sandpaw stared back, her eyes gleaming. “I do,” she replied.

Dustpaw echoed her words, his voice strong and low. “I do.”

“I do.” Both Stripepaw and Dovepaw spoke as one.

“Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior names: Sandpaw, from this moment you will be known as Sandstorm. StarClan honors your courage and your spirit, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.” Bluestar stepped forward and rested her muzzle on top of Sandstorm’s bowed head.

Sandstorm licked Bluestar’s shoulder respectfully before she turned and walked toward Whitestorm. Fireheart saw her eyes flash proudly at her mentor as she settled down beside him in her new place with the warriors.

Bluestar turned her eyes to the dark brown tabby. “Dustpaw, from this moment you will be known as Dustpelt. StarClan honors your bravery and your honesty, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.” She touched his head with her muzzle, and he too gave the leader’s shoulder a respectful lick before joining the other warriors.

The voices of the Clan rose in tribute, sending clouds of misty breath into the night air. As one they chanted the new warrior names. “Sandstorm! Dustpelt! Sandstorm! Dustpelt!”

Now Bluestar looked at Stripepaw. “Stripepaw, from this moment you will be known as Stripestalk. StarClan honors your strength and your resilience, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.” She rested her muzzle on Stripestalk’s bowed head.

Stripestalk licked her shoulder before rejoining her kin by Mistflow’s body.

“Dovepaw, from this moment forward, you will be known as Dovewing. StarClan welcomes your wisdom and your sacrifice, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

“Stripestalk! Dovewing! Stripestalk! Dovewing!”

“In the tradition of our ancestors,” meowed Bluestar, raising her voice, “Sandstorm, Dustpelt, and Dovewing must sit in silent vigil until dawn, and guard the camp alone while we sleep. Stripestalk, if you would prefer, you may take your vigil with Mistflow.”

Stripestalk dipped her head. “Thank you, Bluestar.”

“But before they begin their vigil, the Clan will share a meal. It has been a long day and we have reason to be proud of these cats who defended our camp against the rogues. Fireheart, StarClan thanks you for your courage. You are a great warrior, and I’m proud to count you as a member of my Clan. Whitewing, Birchfall, ThunderClan thanks you for coming just in time to help us fight.”

The cats meowed again. A purr burst from Fireheart’ s throat as he looked around at his Clan. Only Tigerclaw and Darkstripe eyed him with hostility, but for once he felt untouched by their jealousy. Bluestar had praised him, and that was enough.

One by one the cats stepped forward to take some of the fresh-kill Tigerclaw’ s party had brought.

Fireheart walked over to Sandstorm. “We can eat together as warriors tonight,” he meowed happily. “If that’s okay with you?” he added. Sandstorm purred at him and Fireheart felt a prickle of pleasure.

“Choose something for me,” she called as Fireheart dashed away to the pile of fresh-kill. “I’m starving!”

Fireheart picked out a mouse for Sandstorm, temptingly plump for so late in leaf-bare. He took a bluetit for himself and turned to carry his catch back to Sandstorm. Then his heart sank — Dustpelt, Whitestorm, and Darkstripe had joined her. He’d been foolish to expect they would share their meal alone. This was a time for the whole Clan to share together in celebration.

The thought reminded Fireheart of Cinderpaw. He looked around and realized that he hadn’t seen her at the naming ceremony. She must still be in Yellowfang’s clearing. He bounded over to Sandstorm and dropped the fresh -kill beside her. “I ’ll be back in five rabbit hops,” he meowed. “I want to take something to Cinderpaw.”

“Sure.” Sandstorm shrugged.

Fireheart quickly collected a vole from the fresh-kill pile and carried it across the clearing. He was surprised to see Yellowfang sitting in her den. She’d been at the naming ceremony, so she must have come straight back afterward.

“I hope that’s not for me,” she growled as Fireheart approached. “I’ve already had my share.”

Fireheart dropped the vole on the ground. “I brought it for Cinderpaw,” he answered. “I thought she might want something. She wasn’t at the naming ceremony.”

“I’ve given her some mouse, but you’re welcome to give her that as well.”

Fireheart looked around the fem-shaded clearing. Brokenstar’s brown fur was just visible through the stems of Patchpelt’s old nest. The warrior was not moving.

“He’s still asleep.” Yellowfang’s tone was brisk, the voice of a medicine cat rather than a mother. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling relieved. He wanted to believe Yellowfang’s loyalties still lay with ThunderClan.

“Hopefully he’ll stay like that for a while,” Jayfeather growled. “The Clans have suffered enough because of him.”

Clawface hissed at him. “Can’t you leave the wounded blind cat alone?”

“Thanks to him, I was once a wounded blind cat,” Jayfeather meowed snidely. “He can handle a few extra jabs.”

“Enough, you two,” Yellowfang muttered. “Keep quiet or I’ll ask Bluestar to make you share my old nest, and it hasn’t been tended to since I left it.”

Shaking his head, Fireheart picked up the vole and carried it to Cinderpaw’ s nest. “Hey, Cinderpaw,” he meowed softly into the bracken.

The gray cat stirred and pushed herself to a sitting position. “Fireheart.”

Fireheart stepped through the fronds and sat in the small space beside her. He dropped the vole at her paws. “Here,” he meowed. “Yellowfang’s not the only one trying to fatten you up!”

“Thanks,” Cinderpaw mewed. But she left the vole lying beside her paw and didn’t even bend down to sniff it.

“Are you still thinking about the battle?” Fireheart asked gently.

Cinderpaw shrugged. “I am just a burden, aren’t I?” She looked up at Fireheart with sad, round eyes.

“Who’s a burden?” Yellowfang’s growl interrupted them as the old gray medicine cat poked her head into the nest. “Are you upsetting my helper?” she meowed at Fireheart. “I don’t know how I would have coped today if it hadn’t been for this one.” She looked warmly at Cinderpaw, her yellow eyes soft. “I even had her mixing herbs this evening!”

Cinderpaw looked down shyly and dipped her head to take a bite of the vole.

“I think I might keep her with me awhile longer,” Yellowfang went on. “She’s becoming more useful every day. Besides, I’m getting used to her company. She’s certainly easier to get along with than Jayfeather.”

Cinderpaw glanced up at the old medicine cat, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Only because you’re deaf enough to put up with my chattering!” Yellowfang pretended to spit crossly at the young cat, and Cinderpaw added to Fireheart, “Well, that’s what she keeps telling me, anyway.”

“She might be deaf enough, but I’m certainly not!” Jayfeather purred from where he crouched at the front of the den. “I had to deal with this enough when Cinderheart was injured.”

Fireheart was surprised to feel a pang of envy at the close bond these cats had developed. He’d always thought of himself as Yellowfang’s only real friend in the Clan, but now it looked like she had another. But at least Cinderpaw had somewhere to stay — if she didn’t want to train to be a warrior, she’d feel out of place in the apprentices’ den.

Fireheart stood up. It was time he went back to Sandstorm. “Will you be okay here with Brokentail and Clawface?” he asked.

Yellowfang gave him a disdainful look. “I think we can manage, don’t you, Cinderpaw?”

“He wouldn’t dare cause trouble,” she agreed confidently. “And Longtail’s here to help.”

“And me,” Jayfeather added.

Clawface dipped his head. “I swear that I will not flee the camp as long as Brokenstar is here.”

Fireheart couldn’t help but admire his loyalty to his former leader.

Yellowfang ducked her head out of the nest, and Fireheart squeezed out after her. “ ’Bye, Cinderpaw!” he called.

“ ’Bye, and thanks for the food.”

“No problem,” he meowed. He turned to Yellowfang. “Have you got anything for this bite on my neck?”

Yellowfang looked closely at his wound. “Looks like a nasty one,” she growled.

“It’s from Clawface,” Fireheart confessed.

Yellowfang nodded. “Wait there.” She padded quickly to her den and returned with a bundle of herbs wrapped in leaves. “Can you manage them yourself? Just chew them up and rub the juice into the wounds. It’ll sting, but nothing a brave warrior can’t handle!”

“Brave warriors can’t always handle stinging herbs,” Jayfeather put in. “Just ask Toadstep how he handled being treated for nettle sting.”

“Thanks, Yellowfang.” Fireheart picked up the bundle in his teeth.

Yellowfang led him to the tunnel entrance. “I appreciate your coming,” she meowed, glancing at Cinderpaw’s nest. “She was feeling pretty low, I think. She felt bad after the battle, and then the naming ceremony.”

Fireheart nodded. He understood. He gave a last wary glance at where Brokentail lay. “You sure you’ll be safe?” he asked again through the bundle of herbs.

“He’s blind,” meowed Yellowfang. She sighed, and then added more brightly, “And I’m not that old!”

*  *  *  *  *

Once the Clan finished their meal, they gathered around Mistflow for the first part of her vigil. Yellowfang and Jayfeather were putting herbs in her fur.

“We are gathered here to celebrate and remember Mistflow and her life,” Bluestar announced. “Who wishes to begin?”

One-eye lifted her muzzle. “Mistflow was the best apprentice I could have asked for. She was early to every patrol and training session and eager to learn. When she practiced her battle skills with the younger apprentices, she gave them a challenge, but she was also gentle.”

"When we lost our kits to greencough, Mistflow stayed strong for all of us," Speckletail put in. "She even chose to watch over all the kits whenever any of us needed some time out of the camp."

Goldenflower looked at her son. "I could always talk to her. No one had more kindness and compassion than she did."

“She was my sister and my best friend,” Nighthunter rasped. “We raised our kits together, and I always knew I could confide in her.”

“There was no one else I’d rather fight beside in battle. We fought together better than anyone else,” Tigerclaw meowed.

Lightpaw whimpered. “She was my mother. I loved her so much!” Swiftpaw, Brackenpaw, Brightkit, and Thornkit pressed around him. It was clear how close they all were.

Needlenose stepped forward. “Mistflow always took the apprentices on special patrols. Sometimes we got to set up an ambush or hunt special prey.”

Longtail purred. “One time we all ambushed after he’d been hunting at Snakerocks!”

“She brought us to catch magpies that had foolishly decided to make a nest by the training hollow,” Sandstorm remembered. “She was only a few days from having her kits at that point but she really wanted to do one more special patrol.”

Fireheart felt his heart sink when he thought about how he had only a few memories of Mistflow. She’d been in the nursery for his apprenticeship, and he’d only hunted with her once.

Then he remembered his trip back to camp. “Mistflow came to bring me to ThunderClan,” he meowed. “She could have stayed to watch over Lightkit, but she came to get me instead.”

“I treasured her friendship.” Whitestorm spoke in a low rumble. “Since I was the only kit in my litter, Mistflow was like the sister I never had.”

“She had a wisdom beyond her moons,” Bluestar sighed. “I will miss her greatly.”

Having finished, she nodded to the medicine cats. “May StarClan light your path,” Yellowfang meowed somberly. “May you find good hunting, swift running, and shelter when you sleep.”

Nighthunter returned to grooming her sister. For the first time, Tigerclaw joined her. Fireheart felt another pang of sadness at seeing the softer side of the warrior.

“ThunderClan has lost a special Clanmate today,” Bluestar mewed. “We will never forget her.”

Chapter Text

As evening came, one day after the attack, hunger drew Fireheart from the den. He picked a thrush from the pile of fresh-kill and settled down by the nettle clump to eat it. It was dark now, and the snow had eased. Once his eyes had adjusted to the night, Fireheart could see the camp entrance clearly.

He spotted Graystripe as soon as he appeared, and watched him walk to the pile of fresh-kill. The gray warrior was carrying prey. Perhaps he’d just been hunting after all.

Graystripe dropped most of his catch onto the pile. He kept a large mouse for himself and took it to a sheltered spot near the camp wall. Fireheart’s brief hope faded. The distracted look in Graystripe’s eyes told him that his suspicions were right — Graystripe had been with Silverstream.

Fireheart got to his paws and padded into the den. He had no trouble falling into a deep sleep. And as he slept, he dreamed again.

The snowy forest spread out around him, glowing white beneath the cold moon. Fireheart stood on a tall, jagged rock. Beside him stood Cloudkit — a fully grown warrior, his thick white pelt rippling in the wind. Frost sparkled on the stone beneath their paws.

“Watch!” Fireheart hissed to Cloudkit. A wood mouse scuttled around the frozen roots of a tree. Cloudkit followed his gaze and leaped silently from the rock onto the forest floor. Fireheart watched the white tom prowl toward the prey. Suddenly he smelled a scent so warm and familiar, his fur quivered. He felt warm breath on his ear and turned sharply. Mistflow was standing beside him.

Her gray pelt shone silver in the moonlight as she touched her soft pink nose to his. “Fireheart,” she whispered. “I have a warning for you from StarClan.” Her tone was somber and her eyes burned into his. “A battle is coming, Fireheart. Beware a warrior you cannot trust, whose ambition overshadows his loyalty to his Clan.”

“Mistflow!” he gasped. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

She shook her head gently. “I died fighting for my Clan, protecting my son. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He dropped his head. “I should have done more.”

“You did all you could,” she assured him. “StarClan will light your path.”

The squeal of a mouse made Fireheart jump and look around. Cloudkit must have made his kill. He turned back to Spottedleaf but she had disappeared.

Fireheart woke up with a start and turned to the nest beside him. Graystripe was curled up, fast asleep, his nose tucked under his thick tail. Mistflow’s words echoed in Fireheart’s mind: “Beware a warrior you cannot trust!”

He shivered. The bitter cold of the forest seemed to cling to his fur even here, and the familiar scent of Mistflow lingered in his nostrils. He missed her already. Graystripe stirred beside him, muttering in his sleep, and Fireheart flinched. He knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep again, but he stayed in his nest and watched his friend sleeping until the dawn light began to shine through the walls of the den.

As the den grew lighter , Willowpelt woke up. Fireheart watched as she rose and stretched, then pushed her way out of the den. He gave a last glance at Graystripe’s sleeping form, and followed her.

“It’s stopped snowing,” he meowed, desperate to break the ghostly silence that enfolded the snowbound camp. His voice echoed around the clearing, and Willowpelt nodded.

A rustling noise accompanied the scent of Tigerclaw and Runningwind as they emerged from the den. They settled themselves beside Willowpelt to wash. Ready for the dawn patrol, Fireheart thought. He wondered if he should offer to join them, since he could do with a run through the woods, but part of him wanted to stay behind and keep an eye on Graystripe. Mistflow’s words still lay heavy in his heart. He couldn’t shake off the idea that Graystripe was the warrior he could not trust. Graystripe insisted his relationship with Silverstream didn’t change his loyalty to the Clan, but how could it not? He was breaking the warrior code just by seeing her!

But as he looked at Tigerclaw, he remembered the second part of Mistflow’s warning. Graystripe may be threatening his loyalty to ThunderClan because of Silverstream, but he did not have the ambition that would cause him to betray any cat. Could Mistflow be warning Fireheart about her brother? Had she learned the truth about him once she’d joined StarClan?

Suddenly Tigerclaw lifted his head as though he had smelled something. Fireheart tensed. His ears twitched — he could hear paws crunching through the snow in the distance, moving fast. The breeze carried the scent of WindClan. The pawsteps grew louder. As one, the warriors stiffened — a cat was rushing toward them through the gorse tunnel. Tigerclaw arched his back and hissed as Onewhisker burst into the clearing.

The WindClan warrior skidded to a halt in front of them, his eyes filled with dread. “ShadowClan and RiverClan!” he gasped. “They’re attacking our camp! We’re outnumbered and fighting for our lives. Tallstar refuses to be driven off this time. You must help or my Clan will be wiped out!”

Bluestar bounded out of her den. All eyes turned from Onewhisker to her. “I heard,” she meowed. Without mounting the Highrock, the ThunderClan leader gave the yowl she used to call the Clan together. Onewhisker’s fear-scent filled the clearing as he watched the cats emerge into the morning light.

As soon as the Clan had gathered, Bluestar began. “There’s no time to waste. It’s as we feared — ShadowClan and RiverClan have joined together, and now they’re attacking the WindClan camp. We must help them.” She paused and looked around at the faces staring back at her in dismay. Onewhisker stood beside her, listening silently with wide, hopeful eyes.

Fireheart was appalled. After the rogue cats had been discovered, he’d thought Nightstar could be trusted. Now it seemed the ShadowClan leader had broken the warrior code after all by uniting with RiverClan to drive WindClan from their home yet again.

“But we are leaf-bare-weak!” protested Patchpelt. “We’ve taken a risk for WindClan once before. Let them take care of themselves this time.” A few murmurs of agreement rose from the elders and queens.

It was Tigerclaw who answered him, stepping forward to stand beside Bluestar. “You’re right to be cautious, Patchpelt. But if ShadowClan and RiverClan have united, it is only a matter of time before they turn on us. It’s better we fight now, with WindClan, than later, alone!”

“Tigerclaw is right.” Lionblaze seemed to be forcing out the words painfully. “It’s the job of warriors to protect those who need it.”

Bluestar looked at Patchpelt, who closed his eyes and lifted his tail, accepting Tigerclaw and Lionblaze’s words.

Yellowfang pushed her way forward and spoke quietly to the leader. “I think you should remain behind in camp, Bluestar. The fever from the greencough may have gone, but you’ll still be weak.” The two cats exchanged a look that Fireheart understood with a jolt. Bluestar was on her eighth and almost-final life. For the sake of the Clan, she could not afford to risk it in battle.

Bluestar nodded briskly. “Tigerclaw, I want you to organize two parties, one to head the attack, one to back it up. We need to get there as fast as we can!”

“Yes, Bluestar.” Tigerclaw turned to the warriors. “Whitestorm, you’ll head the second party; I’ll head the first. I’ll take Darkstripe, Mousefur, Needlenose, Cinderheart Longtail, Dustpelt, Sandstorm, Dovewing, and Fireheart.” Fireheart lifted his head as Tigerclaw called his name, feeling a thrill run through him. He was to join the lead party!

He spotted Lionblaze murmuring softly to Cinderheart. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“There’s no way I’m going to miss a good fight,” she whispered back. “We both know I don’t handle sitting out a fight well.”

“Just be careful,” he pressed, nuzzling her.

“You!” Tigerclaw called to Onewhisker. “What’s your name?” The WindClan warrior looked startled by Tigerclaw’s tone.

Fireheart answered for him. “Onewhisker,” he meowed.

Tigerclaw nodded, barely pausing to look at Fireheart. “Onewhisker, you’ll be in my party. The rest of the ThunderClan warriors will join Whitestorm. You too, Brackenpaw.”

“Are we all ready?” called Tigerclaw. The warriors raised their heads and let out a battle cry. Tigerclaw charged for the gorse tunnel and they raced after him.

Up the ravine they climbed, into the forest. They were heading for Fourtrees and the uplands beyond. Fireheart glanced over his shoulder as he ran through the trees. Graystripe was near the back, his face grim, his eyes staring blankly ahead. Fireheart wondered if Silverstream would be at the battle. Fireheart felt a pang of sorrow for his friend, but this time he had no doubts about his own readiness to fight. After bringing WindClan home, he couldn’t help feeling responsible for them. He would not let any Clan drive them back to those Thunderpath tunnels.

Softpaw’s scent filled his nostrils this time, and Fireheart’s fur prickled. “Beware a warrior you cannot trust!” This was going to be a difficult battle in more ways than one. Graystripe would have no choice about proving his loyalty now.

Even though the snow had stopped falling, it was hard work getting through the drifts. An icy crust had formed over the top of the snow, but the warriors were heavy enough to break through and sink into the softer snow underneath.

“Tigerclaw!” Willowpelt’s yowl sounded from the rear. The deputy halted and turned.

“We’re being followed!” Willowpelt called.

Her words sent a quiver of alarm through Fireheart. Had they run into a trap? Quietly the patrol retraced their pawsteps, alert and suspicious. A snow-laden branch creaked above, making Brackenpaw jump.

“Wait,” hissed Tigerclaw.

The cats crouched in the deep snow. Fireheart could hear the noise of pawsteps heading toward them. They sounded light, like small paws stepping delicately over the top of the ice crust. With a sinking heart, Fireheart guessed who it was a heartbeat before Cloudkit and Brindleface’s three kits appeared from behind a log.

Tigerclaw reared up at them and the kits squealed in fright. The warrior recognized them instantly and dropped down onto all four paws. “What are you doing here!” he spat.

“We wanted to join the battle,” mewed Cloudkit. Fireheart winced.

“Fireheart!” called Tigerclaw. Fireheart hurried forward, and the dark warrior spat impatiently, “You brought this kit into the Clan; you deal with it.”

Fireheart looked into Tigerclaw’s blazing eyes. He knew that the deputy was trying to force him to choose: Fireheart could either join the battle party and fight for the Clan or take care of his kittypet kin. The whole patrol waited in silence for Fireheart to speak.

Fireheart knew he would choose to fight for the Clan, but he couldn’t sacrifice his sister’s kit. Cloudkit and the others must be taken home safely by another cat. But which warrior could the raiding party do without?

“Brackenpaw,” Fireheart called to Graystripe’s apprentice. “Please take these kits home!” Fireheart waited for Graystripe to object, but the gray warrior remained silent as Fireheart ordered his apprentice back to camp.

Brackenpaw’s tail drooped and Fireheart felt a stab of guilt. “There’ll be plenty more battles for you to fight,” he promised.

“But Fireheart, you said one day we’d fight side by side!” Cloudkit’s protest rang through the trees. Tigerclaw shot Fireheart a mocking look. Fireheart felt his fur prickle uncomfortably as amusement rippled through the patrol at the tiny kit’s words. But he refused to show his embarrassment. “One day we will,” he meowed. “But not today!”

The white kit’s shoulders sagged and Fireheart let out a sigh of relief as he watched Cloudkit reluctantly join the other kits following Brackenpaw back to the camp.

But before they had gone more than a few pawsteps, a white-and-ginger shape burst out in front of them.

“There you mouse-brains are!” Brightkit announced loudly.

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Thornkit added, looking up at Tigerclaw. “So sorry they held you up. We’ll take them back to camp.”

Tigerclaw curled his lip. “Of course…let the kits take the kits back to camp. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Brightkit rolled her eyes in a surprising show of defiance. “If you trusted Brackenpaw, my littermate, to bring them back, then you can trust us.”

“She’s right,” Sandstorm agreed from her position near Fireheart. “They’re the same age. I say we let them deal with this.”

Before Tigerclaw could say anything, Whitestorm dipped his head. “Very well. We will trust you to handle this. Be careful, young ones.”

Brightkit and Thornkit nodded. They turned and touched noses with their brother. “Good luck, Brackenpaw. May StarClan go with you!” Brightkit meowed.

“Bite some cats for me!” Thornkit added.

Brackenpaw purred. “Thanks!” As his littermates disappeared with the kits, he took his position in the line again, excitement in his eyes. Cinderheart gave him a lick.

“I’m surprised by your choice, Fireheart,” Tigerclaw sneered, apparently feeling the need to restore his own importance. “I didn’t expect you to be so keen to fight this battle.”

Fireheart stared at Tigerclaw and felt the blood pulse through him, so that his whole body throbbed with rage. “If only you were keen too!” he retorted. “You’d give the battle cry instead of keeping us here while WindClan warriors die!”

Tigerclaw flashed him a look of loathing, threw back his head, and yowled to the sky before charging on toward the WindClan camp. Fireheart and the others raced after him, past Fourtrees to the steep slope that led to the uplands. They bounded up, their paws made noiseless by the snow.

When they reached the top, Fireheart was battered by a howling wind that turned his ears inside out.

The WindClan hunting grounds looked more barren than ever, the gorse hidden by a layer of snow.

“Fireheart! You know the way to the WindClan camp!” yowled Tigerclaw above the wind. “Lead us there.” He slowed to let Fireheart pass. Fireheart wondered if the deputy didn’t trust Onewhisker enough to let the WindClan warrior guide them. He looked back at Graystripe, hoping for some help, but the gray warrior had his head bowed low and his shoulders hunched miserably as the wind buffeted his thick fur. There would be little help there. Ivypool wasn’t here either, having gone hunting alone before Onewhisker had arrived. Fireheart turned his eyes to StarClan and sent up a prayer for guidance.

He was surprised to find that he recognized the shape of the land even beneath the snow. There was the badger set and the rock Graystripe had climbed to get a better view. He followed the contours he remembered from his journey with Graystripe until he reached the dip in the land that marked the WindClan camp.

Fireheart paused at the rim of the hollow. “Down there!” he yowled. For a heartbeat the wind dropped, and from below they heard the sounds of battle — screams and howls as cat furiously fought with cat.

Tigerclaw addressed the warriors in a fierce hiss that carried through the blizzard. “Whitestorm, wait until you hear my battle cry! Onewhisker, you lead us through the camp entrance; we’ll take care of the rest.”

Onewhisker began to race down the slope toward the snow-covered bushes. Tigerclaw thundered after him, Darkstripe at his heels. Fireheart charged behind the sleek gray tabby, through the narrow tunnel that led into the WindClan camp. The gorse was as dense and sharp as he remembered. Graystripe and the other warriors stayed at the top of the slope, a fresh wave of attack ready to strike after the initial barrage.

Fireheart skidded to a halt, reeling at the sight that greeted him in the camp clearing. Last time he’d been here, in search of the scent trail that would lead them to the missing Clan, the place had been deserted and silent. Now the clearing swarmed with writhing, screeching, fighting cats. Onewhisker had been right — the WindClan cats were hopelessly outnumbered. A fresh party of ShadowClan and RiverClan warriors waited at the edge of the clearing, but WindClan could spare no backup group. The whole Clan was fighting, apprentices and elders, warriors and queens. Even Eaglekit and Gorsekit were fighting side by side with Furzepaw.

Fireheart spotted Morningflower wrestling with a ShadowClan warrior. The WindClan queen looked exhausted and frightened, her fur standing in ragged clumps. Still, she nimbly turned and scratched her attacker, but he was much bigger and knocked her easily to the ground with a heavy blow.

With a howl, Fireheart leaped and landed squarely on the shoulders of the ShadowClan tom. He clung on while the surprised warrior spun and tried to shake him loose. Morningflower raked the tom with her claws as Fireheart dragged him to the ground. The ShadowClan warrior screeched and ripped himself free. He ran into the prickly camp wall and pushed his way through. Morningflower shot a grateful glance at Fireheart and turned back to the battle.

Fireheart looked around, shaking drops of blood from his nose. The fresh patrols of ShadowClan and RiverClan cats had joined the fight now. ThunderClan’s arrival had evened the numbers for a while, but now the second party was needed. Fireheart heard Tigerclaw’s battle cry ring out, and a moment later Whitestorm exploded into the clearing, followed by Graystripe, Runningwind, Owltuft, and the rest of the ThunderClan warriors.

Fireheart grabbed a RiverClan warrior, tripping him with one paw and holding him down with another. He rolled the tom over and thrashed at his belly with his hind claws. The RiverClan cat leaped away and crashed into a WindClan warrior. The warrior turned in surprise. Fireheart recognized Onewhisker straightaway and watched as he reared and attacked the RiverClan tom without a moment’s pause. Fireheart could see the fire in Onewhisker’s eyes. He could leave him to finish this fight.

A familiar hiss caught Fireheart’s attention. Graystripe was battling with a gray ShadowClan cat. It was Wetpaw, an apprentice who had helped them fight to rid ShadowClan of Brokenstar. The two cats were well matched. Graystripe thrust Wetfoot away with his back legs and spun around, looking for another cat to attack. Fireheart could see a RiverClan cat right behind Graystripe. Above the din of battle, he heard the blood roar in his ears. Would Graystripe attack one of Silverstream’s fellow warriors?

Graystripe leaped, and Fireheart held his breath. But instead of jumping onto the RiverClan cat, Graystripe sailed over him and landed instead on the back of another ShadowClan warrior.

Fireheart heard Tigerclaw call his name. He twisted his head and saw the warrior at the other end of the clearing. The fighting was thick up there, with cats from all Clans battling together.

As he charged through to the ThunderClan deputy, Fireheart felt Leopardfur grasp his hind leg, pulling him down.

“You!” hissed the RiverClan deputy. They had last met at the gorge, where Whiteclaw had almost died. The two of them had worked together to pull both Whiteclaw and Minnowtail to safety, but now Leopardfur clearly felt no sense of gratitude.

“Why are you doing this?” Fireheart gasped. “I helped you!”

“I don’t owe you or any other cat a debt!” Leopardfur spat.

Fireheart threw her off and flipped over onto his back. Too late, he realized that he’d exposed his soft belly. Leopardfur didn’t waste a moment. She reared up and came down on Fireheart with all her might. Fireheart felt the wind knocked out of him before the thorn-sharp claws dug into his belly. He screamed in agony. As his eyes rolled he saw Tigerclaw at the side of the clearing, watching him with cold, expressionless eyes.

“Tigerclaw,” Fireheart howled. “Help me!”

But Tigerclaw didn’t move. He just stared as Leopardfur clawed Fireheart again and again.

Sandstorm and Minnowtail were wrestling a few tail-lengths away. Both cats were watching the confrontation, and when Tigerclaw did nothing, Minnowtail let out a low growl and shoved Sandstorm towards Leopardfur. The RiverClan warrior turned and pelted towards the thickest part of the fight.

Though surprised, Sandstorm snarled and grabbed Leopardfur with her claws. She yanked the RiverClan deputy away from Fireheart, swiping at her shoulders. Leopardfur stumbled before recovering and rearing up, trying to grapple Sandstorm. His friend didn’t flinch, instead butting Leopardfur’s stomach so hard that she dropped back to all fours, panting.

Sheer rage gave Fireheart the strength he needed to recover. He fought through the pain, drew back his hind legs, and launched himself against Leopardfur’s side as hard as he could. Fireheart saw a look of shock on the deputy’s face as his attack lifted the warrior and flung her halfway across the clearing. Fireheart struggled to his paws and glared at Tigerclaw, burning with pain and rage. Tigerclaw met his gaze with a look of undisguised hatred, and leaped away into the thick of the battle.

“What did I just see?” Sandstorm demanded, her eyes blazing with anger and disbelief.

Fireheart felt fear scorch through him. He couldn’t tell her the truth. It was too dangerous! “Me getting my belly clawed out?” he tried, forcing the anger from his face and trying to look innocent.

Sandstorm shook her head. “That’s not what I meant,” she hissed. “What I think I saw was my Clan deputy leaving you at the mercy of an enemy warrior when he could have helped you. Why would he do that?”

She was right and Fireheart knew it. “It’s too dangerous,” he murmured. The sounds of the battle around him seemed muted. “If I tell you, it’ll put you in danger.”

“I’m a warrior,” she pointed out. “I can handle dangerous.”

Not this you can’t, Fireheart thought. “Please don’t make me!” he begged.

“Fireheart.” Sandstorm’s gaze softened. “Whatever the truth is, whatever burden you’re carrying because you’re afraid no one will believe, you can trust me with it. I will help you no matter what.”

“Okay.” Fireheart sighed. “I will tell soon, but not right now. This is not the time or place.”

Her fur bristling as she agreed, Sandstorm turned and tackled Boulder.

A blow on the back of his head knocked Fireheart off balance. He staggered and turned to see Stonefur. The RiverClan warrior was preparing to aim another swipe. Fireheart ducked out of the way and shoved Stonefur straight into Whitestorm. The ThunderClan cat whipped around and grasped Stonefur by the scruff of his neck. Fireheart tried to dart forward and help the white-furred warrior, but claws held him back, digging into his haunches. He twisted to see who it was and glimpsed gray fur. It was Silverstream.

The she-cat’s face was twisted with battle rage as she reared up at him. Blood was dripping into her eyes, and Fireheart could tell that she hadn’t recognized him. She drew back a paw and he saw her long claws flash as she prepared to swipe him. As Fireheart screwed up his eyes, bracing himself for the blow, he heard an achingly familiar yowl. “Silverstream! No!”

Graystripe, thought Fireheart.

Silverstream hesitated, shook her head, and recognized Fireheart with a muted gasp. She dropped back down to all four paws, her eyes wide with shock.

Fireheart reacted instinctively, his blood aflame with battle. Without thinking, he leaped onto the back of the RiverClan she-cat and pinned her to the ground. She didn’t struggle as he drew back his head and prepared to give her a vicious bite on her shoulder. But as Fireheart raised his head he felt Graystripe’s eyes boring into him. The gray warrior was watching in horror from the edge of the battle.

The look of pain and disbelief in his friend’s eyes brought Fireheart to his senses. “Make this look good!” he hissed in her ear. He raised a paw, sheathed his claws, and slashed his paw down her side before he loosened his grip on Silverstream. The she-cat let out a convincingly-pained scream. Then she slipped away from him and disappeared into the surrounding gorse. Fireheart stared, still in shock, as Graystripe raced after her.

Fireheart felt as if he were still being watched. He looked around and his eyes met Darkstripe’s on the other side of the clearing. Fireheart flinched. Graystripe’s affair had forced him into disloyalty to ThunderClan after all — he had let an enemy warrior go! How much had Darkstripe seen? A heartbeat later, Scorchfur and Redwillow darted from the throng and tackled Darkstripe together, triumph and delight in their eyes as they pinned him down.

Just then Fireheart heard Runningwind yowl for help. The tabby warrior was grappling desperately with Nightstar, ShadowClan’s treacherous leader. Fireheart darted through the throng to Runningwind’s side.

Without pausing to think, Fireheart leaped, grabbing Nightstar from behind. The black warrior howled in rage as Fireheart pulled him backward and sank his claws deep into Nightstar’s fur. He had fought side by side with this warrior only a few moons ago to help him drive out Brokenstar. Now he sank his teeth into Nightstar’s shoulder with the same ferocity he had used against the former ShadowClan leader.

Nightstar squealed and twisted in Fireheart’s grip. This tom had not been made leader for nothing, thought Fireheart, struggling to hang on. Nightstar scrabbled free, but Runningwind was ready. He pounced, and together the two warriors rolled across the frozen clearing. Fireheart watched them struggle and twist, timing his moment perfectly so that when he finally leaped, he landed squarely on Nightstar’s back. He grasped him more firmly this time, ready for the warrior to wriggle free. But Runningwind also had a grip. Together they scratched and bit the ShadowClan leader till he screeched out loud. Then they released him, springing backward with their claws still unsheathed.

Nightstar leaped to his paws and spun around, hissing. Fireheart saw the fury in his eyes, but the ShadowClan leader knew he was beaten. He backed away, his eyes darting around the clearing where his warriors were suffering similar treatment from the other ThunderClan warriors. He gave the yowl of retreat. Instantly his warriors stopped fighting and, like their leader, backed into the gorse that surrounded the camp. The RiverClan warriors were left alone to fend off ThunderClan and WindClan.

Fireheart paused to catch his breath, blinking blood from his eyes. Whitestorm was grappling with Leopardfur now, with Mousefur at his side. Sandstorm was battling with a RiverClan warrior almost twice her size. But her opponent was only half her speed. Fireheart watched Sandstorm nip and twist around him until the RiverClan warrior looked overwhelmed. He wasn’t surprised: she had dealt with one of Brokenstar’s rogues during their invasion before, and just moments earlier hadn’t had any trouble fighting Leopardfur.

Dustpelt was fighting a smoky-black tom nearby. Fireheart recognized Blackclaw, one of the RiverClan warriors he had seen chasing rabbits in the uplands. Dustpelt was stubbornly refusing to be cowed by the blows and bites aimed at him. Each time he was struck, the young warrior turned and gave as good as he got. It looked as if he didn’t need any help, and Fireheart guessed Dustpelt would not thank him for interfering in this fight.

Dovewing and Cinderheart fought together, having relieved the kits of their battle duties. Heathertail and Furzepaw now wrestled with Willowmist and Swansoar. Brackenpaw battled like a warrior, chasing a dark brown RiverClan tom with quick slashes and bites. 

Where was Crookedstar? Fireheart searched the clearing for the RiverClan leader. It wasn’t hard to find him. Now that ShadowClan had run away, the clearing was less crowded. Fireheart soon spotted the lightcolored tabby with the twisted jaw. He and Minnowtail were crouching low, face-to-face with Tigerclaw and Lionblaze. The two toms stared at each Crookedstar, their tails thrashing menacingly. Fireheart’s blood pounded through his veins as he waited for one of them to make a move.

But it was Minnowtail who struck first. Moving like a fish, she slid underneath Tigerclaw and sprang upward beneath him. He was too big to go flying like Leopardfur had, but the movement unbalanced him and fell to one side. Minnowtail pressed her advantage and shoved him farther away. He rolled directly into the waiting claws of Mossypaw, who purred and bit his ear. With a growl, Tigerclaw leapt to his paws and turned back towards Crookedstar, but the RiverClan she-cats blocked his way.

With Tigerclaw occupied, now it was just Lionblaze and Crookedstar.

It was Crookedstar who leaped first, but Lionblaze jumped nimbly aside and Crookedstar missed. Lionblaze was more accurate; he turned and lunged at Crookedstar’s back.

The ThunderClan warrior grasped the RiverClan leader, thrusting him to the ground, and Crookedstar went limp beneath him. Fireheart watched breathlessly as Lionblaze bared his teeth, lunged forward, and sank them deep into Crookedstar’s shoulder.

Fireheart gasped. Had Lionblaze really beaten the RiverClan leader? Crookedstar’s pained screech told Fireheart that Lionblaze had hurt him. But it was a blow to win the battle. Lionblaze released his opponent and let him race, yowling, toward the camp entrance. As soon as Crookedstar’s tail shot out of sight, his warriors struggled free and pelted after him. Minnowtail and Mossypaw each struck one more blow at Tigerclaw before turning to follow their Clanmates.

In a heartbeat, the WindClan camp fell silent apart from the howling of the wind above the gorse. Fireheart stared around him. The ThunderClan warriors were tired and battered, but the WindClan cats looked far worse. Every one of them was bleeding, while some lay unmoving on the frozen ground. Barkface, their medicine cat, wasted no time in rushing from one cat to another, attending to their injuries.

Tallstar limped toward Tigerclaw, blood dripping from his cheek. As he watched the WindClan leader, Fireheart remembered his dream from moons ago — Tallstar had been silhouetted against a bright fire, like a warrior sent from StarClan to save them. “Fire will save the Clan,” according to Spottedleaf’s prophecy. But looking at the WindClan cats, exhausted and beaten, Fireheart wondered if his dream had misled him. How could these cats represent the fire that StarClan promised would save his Clan? Surely it was ThunderClan who had just saved WindClan — again?

Tallstar spoke quietly to Tigerclaw. Fireheart couldn’t hear the words they shared, but he could guess by Tallstar’s bowed head that the WindClan leader was acknowledging the debt he owed to ThunderClan. Tigerclaw sat up straight and accepted the thanks with his chin held high. Fireheart felt a wave of revulsion at the dark warrior’s arrogance. It hadn’t been Tigerclaw who had won this battle. He would never forget that Tigerclaw had stood by and watched while Leopardfur had nearly ripped him to shreds.

“Here.” Fireheart was shaken from his thoughts by the soft voice of Willowpelt offering him a mouthful of the medicine cat’s herbs. Fireheart purred his thanks as Willowpelt began squeezing juice from the herbs into the bite marks on Fireheart’s shoulders. The juice stung, but the smell took him straight back to another time, with Spottedleaf. She had given him the same herb to treat Yellowfang so many moons ago. As the odor of the herbs wafted up, Fireheart remembered his dream from the night before. “Beware a warrior. . .” Mistflow had warned him. Beware a warrior?

The truth washed over Fireheart like a chill wind — it truly wasn’t Graystripe he should have been wary of, but Tigerclaw! He knew what Tigerclaw was capable of! Suddenly Fireheart was sure Ravenpaw and Ivypool had been telling the truth, whatever Bluestar had said. Seeing the dark warrior’s performance today, Fireheart realized that Tigerclaw could easily have killed Redtail and walked away without remorse.

“You fought well, Fireheart!” Runningwind interrupted his thoughts. The brown tabby blinked warmly at Fireheart as he promised, “I’ll make sure Bluestar hears about it!”

“Yes,” agreed Willowpelt. “You’re a fine warrior. StarClan will honor you for this.” Fireheart looked at them both, his ears twitching with pleasure. It was a relief to feel part of the Clan again.

Suddenly Fireheart’s fur prickled. Darkstripe was stalking across the clearing toward Tigerclaw. He sat down behind Tallstar and waited until the WindClan leader walked away; then he leaned forward and whispered urgently into Tigerclaw’ s ear. The two warriors kept glancing toward Fireheart.

He saw, thought Fireheart, feeling dizzy with horror. He saw me let Silverstream go.

“Are you okay?” asked Willowpelt.

Fireheart realized he’d shivered. “Er, yes, sorry. Just thinking.” Tigerclaw was stalking toward him, his eyes shining with spiteful satisfaction.

“Well, if you’re sure, I’ll go and see to some others,” meowed Willowpelt.

“Yes — fine,” meowed Fireheart. “Thanks.”

Willowpelt picked up her herbs and padded away. Runningwind followed her.

Tigerclaw flattened his ears and drew back his lip in a snarl as he looked down at Fireheart. “Darkstripe says you let a RiverClan she-cat escape!”

“Are you sure about that?” Fireheart growled. “If he was truly watching me fight, then he knew I clawed her before I let her go.”

“I don’t remember that.” Darkstripe sounded delighted.

Fireheart realized there was nothing he could say. No matter how difficult Graystripe had made things for him, there was no way he was going to betray his friend to this warrior. He longed to yowl back that Tigerclaw had stood and watched while a RiverClan warrior tried to kill him. But who would believe him? Sandstorm and Minnowtail were the only cats who had seen what happened. Darkstripe padded up to stand beside Tigerclaw. Fireheart longed for the wisdom and fairness of Bluestar, but she was far away, back at the ThunderClan camp.

He took a deep breath, preparing to speak again as Tigerclaw stared menacingly down at him. Then it dawned on Fireheart that any disloyalty he had shown on Graystripe’s behalf meant nothing to this great warrior. That wasn’t the real reason for Tigerclaw’s persecution of him. The deputy was still afraid of what Fireheart might have learned from Ravenpaw about Redtail’s death all those moons ago. But unlike Ravenpaw, Fireheart wasn’t going to give in to fear. His eyes challenged the dark deputy, and he growled, “She escaped, yes, like Crookedstar escaped from you. Why? Did you want me to kill her?”

Tigerclaw’s tail lashed the cold ground. “Darkstripe says you didn’t even scratch her.”

Fireheart shrugged. “He may want to asked Jayfeather for some tips on dealing with blindness. Better yet, perhaps Darkstripe should chase after the she-cat and ask her if it’s true!”

Darkstripe looked ready to spit, but he remained silent as Tigerclaw spoke. “He doesn’t need to. Darkstripe tells me your young gray friend chased after her. Perhaps he’ll be able to tell us how badly she was scratched.”

For the first time since they’d entered the battle Fireheart felt the chill of the wind. The gleam in Tigerclaw’s eye hinted at a veiled threat. Had the dark warrior guessed about Graystripe’s love for Silverstream?

Fireheart was still searching for words when Graystripe appeared, squeezing through the camp entrance.

“Look who’s back,” sneered Tigerclaw. “Do you want to ask him how the she-cat is?”

“Great StarClan!” Graystripe meowed, running to join them. “Fireheart, I’ve never seen such a bad claw wound on any cat!” He turned to Tigerclaw. “You would be thrilled if you’d seen it,” he added.

“What are you meowing about?” Darkstripe demanded. “That’s not–”

Tigerclaw cut him off. “If she was that injured, you had no need to chase her. Next time, stay with your Clanmates to finish the battle!” Not bothering to disguise the scorn in his eyes, Tigerclaw stalked away with Darkstripe behind him.

Fireheart looked over at Graystripe. His friend’s face was lined with exhaustion and worry. Fireheart padded across the clearing to meet him. Would Graystripe still be resentful of Fireheart’s interference? Would he be angry that Fireheart had tried to attack Silverstream, or grateful that he’d let her go?

Graystripe stood silently, his broad head hanging down. Fireheart reached forward with his nose and gently touched his friend’s cold, gray flank. He felt Graystripe’s rumbling purr and looked up. Graystripe gazed back at him. His eyes were sad, but there was no trace of the exhaustion that Fireheart had seen in them lately.

“Is she okay?” Fireheart asked under his breath.

“Yes,” whispered Graystripe. “And thanks for letting her go.”

Fireheart blinked at him. “I’m glad she wasn’t hurt,” he meowed.

Graystripe held his gaze for a moment, then meowed, “Fireheart, you were right. The battle wasn’t easy. It felt like I was fighting Silverstream’ s Clan mates, not enemy warriors.” He lowered his eyes, ashamed. “But I still can’t give her up.”

The gray warrior’s words filled Fireheart with foreboding, but he couldn’t help sympathizing with his friend. “This is something you have to work out by yourself,” he meowed. “It’s not my place to judge you.” Graystripe looked up as Fireheart went on. “Graystripe, whatever you decide to do, I will always be your friend.”

Graystripe stared at him, his eyes clouded with relief and gratitude. Then, without speaking, the two warriors lay down, side to side, in the unfamiliar clearing. For the first time in moons, their fur was pressed together in friendship. Above them, the snow-heavy gorse offered them a brief shelter from the storm that raged over their heads.

Chapter Text

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.

Just then, a pale ginger she-cat emerged from the bushes nearby. Fireheart tensed as he saw the determined look on her face.

“You’ve been avoiding me since the battle!” she hissed fiercely. “I know that telling me the truth while we were surrounded by fighting cats from every Clan wasn’t the best time to talk, but there has been plenty of time since then.”

“Sandstorm, I’m sorry but–”

“No!” she growled. “I want the truth, now!”

During their battle against RiverClan and ShadowClan, Fireheart had been attacked and pinned down by the RiverClan deputy Leopardfur. The ThunderClan deputy had watched him struggle but done nothing to help. Sandstorm, along with the time-traveling RiverClan warrior Minnowtail, had seen everything, and after saving him from the ferocious deputy, she wanted him to give her a reason why Tigerclaw would have just let him struggle alone.

Fireheart knew very well what the reason was, but the truth was dangerous. If Tigerclaw found out that Sandstorm knew what he had done, he might go after her, like he had done to his former apprentice, Ravenpaw.

“If I tell you, you won’t be safe,” Fireheart protested, though it sounded weak even to him.

“I already saw Tigerclaw watching you be shredded by an enemy warrior, another deputy, no less,” Sandstorm pointed out. “If he knows that I saw that, I may already be in danger.”

She’s right. Fireheart knew perfectly well that Tigerclaw would do anything to keep his dark nature a secret. “The truth…it’s not easy to believe,” he rasped. “Even Bluestar thought I was wrong.”

“Bluestar knows?” Sandstorm’s gaze softened and she pressed against Fireheart’s side. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’ll believe you.” In a voice that was barely a whisper, she breathed, “Let me help you carry your burden.”

All the fight he had left, all his resistance faded. “Redtail’s death wasn’t an accident,” he said after a moment. “And it wasn’t Oakheart who killed him. Tigerclaw did.”

“What!” Sandstorm let out a shocked hiss.

“Tigerclaw wanted power, so after Oakheart died in the battle at Sunningrocks, Tigerclaw took Redtail by surprise and killed him. Ravenpaw saw everything.”

A multitude of emotions flashed in Sandstorm’s eyes. Disbelief, shock, and horror came first, before she settled into a mixture of fury and realization. “That’s why Tigerclaw was treating Ravenpaw so badly the last few moons,” she whispered, her claws raking the cold earth.

“Yes.” Fireheart nodded warily.

“And that’s why he started treating you worse after you and Graystripe became warriors. It all makes sense now.”

Fireheart winced. He didn’t want it to make sense. Finding out the Clan deputy, the second most powerful cat in the Clan, and someone every cat should be able to trust with their lives, was evil and had murdered his way into power and was willing to kill again to keep it, shouldn’t make sense.

“You really believe me?” he asked in disbelief.

Sandstorm nodded. “I do. Nothing else would cause you to try so hard to keep a secret. Nothing else would scare you so much.”

“You can’t let Tigerclaw realize you know the truth,” he said quickly.

“So I should try to avoid acting like Lionblaze and the other.”

Lionblaze, Cinderheart, Jayfeather, Ivypool, and Dovewing were time travelers. They had been sent from a future ThunderClan and already knew about Tigerclaw’s crimes. Naturally, this meant they had a tendency to snarl or fight with him in front of the Clans. Until Ravenpaw had told Fireheart about Tigerclaw, he hadn’t understood why the other cats acted so strangely. Now he wished he could do the same.

“That would probably be a wise idea,” Fireheart agreed. He shivered, feeling the leaf-bare cold against his pelt. “Did you have any other secrets you wanted to discuss, or can we go back to camp?”

She smiled faintly. “We might as well go back to camp. My paws feel like their about to freeze and fall off.”

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. Sandstorm gave a purr of amusement. 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.

Well, he wasn’t actually without an apprentice, but the rest of the Clan didn’t know that. Since Graystripe had been sneaking off to see the RiverClan warrior Silverstream, Bluestar had given Graystripe’s apprentice Brackenpaw to Fireheart. In order to protect both cats, however, she had decided not to perform a public ceremony, and Graystripe still brought Brackenpaw out for sessions every once in a while. Brackenpaw seemed to relish these sessions, since it meant he actually got to spend time with his intended mentor.

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.” As Sandstorm came to stand beside Fireheart, the deputy added, “You too, Sandstorm.”

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 | 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 partially 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, since he knew Tigerclaw had killed Redtail.

“If you think I’m disloyal, tell Bluestar,” he meowed challengingly, as Sandstorm bristled.

“From what I heard, Fireheart made sure that RiverClan she-cat wouldn’t forget him in a heartbeat,” Sandstorm added. “Graystripe chased her all the way to the border.”

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.

“Are you sure about that?” Sandstorm asked. “After all, Fireheart did drive off Nightstar, which led to the entire ShadowClan patrol leaving the battle.”

“Scaring an old fool like him is hardly the same as beating me!” Tigerclaw spat.

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, too quietly for Sandstorm to hear. “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 three 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. Lionblaze had helped both cats see that fighting about her wasn’t worth the pain it would cause them. 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.”

“And I suppose that ShadowClan is still reeling after driving out Brokentail and his supporters,” Sandstorm added thoughtfully.

“I know.” Fireheart flicked his ears in reluctant sympathy, understanding that his friend would want to defend Silverstream’s Clan, though he was surprised that Sandstorm would defend ShadowClan. “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...” He shuddered, then frowned and looked towards Sandstorm. “Does she–?”

“I know the truth,” Sandstorm said quickly, before he could finish. “You don’t need to pretend around me.”

Fireheart pressed closer to his side, comforting Graystripe, 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 and Sandstorm. “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 | 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.

“Just how do you plan to ask Ravenpaw for details?” Sandstorm demanded. “It’s not like you can bound into StarClan and ask him. You’re not a medicine cat!”

Fireheart exchanged a look with Graystripe, wincing. He’d forgotten to tell Sandstorm that part of the story. “Well, actually, Ravenpaw isn’t in StarClan.”

“But you said he was dead!”

“No, he said that he acted as bait and was most likely dead,” Graystripe corrected.

Nodding, Fireheart meowed. “Thanks to Tigerclaw, I had to get him away from the Clan. We sent him to live with Barley, to keep him safe.”

Sandstorm frowned. “You’re not serious.”

“Oh, we’re serious,” Graystripe assured her.

“Okay, so you’re going to visit Ravenpaw at the barn beyond all Clan territory and hope no one misses you?” Sandstorm muttered. “That seems unwise.”

“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. I haven’t been there for you enough, and I want to help. If you’re determined to go, then I’m coming with you.”

Sandstorm flicked her tail. “I’ll stay and try to keep Tigerclaw from noticing you’re gone. Though maybe StarClan can help us.”

*  *  *  *  *

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. The only exception seemed to be Furzepaw and Mossypaw. The youngest of the time travelers, they didn’t seem to be as effected by the others’ hostility. They spoke urgently and quietly, in a way Fireheart remembered seeing the other time travelers doing.

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.

Among the WindClan cats, he recognized the gray queen Ashfoot. She was sharing tongues with Onewhisker and Bristlebark.

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. She was standing next to her sister Willowmist, a smoky black she-cat. Fireheart had only met the other cat once, when she was warning Graystripe about making sure nothing happened to Silverstream.

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 and Clawface? Will you tell the other Clans that we’re sheltering them?”

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, first the ThunderClan warrior Mistflow had taken one of his lives, and then Yellowfang, their 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.

He wondered how they would feel about Clawface, who had refused to abandon his chosen leader in an enemy Clan. The brown warrior spent most of his time helping sort herbs, whenever Jayfeather let him, and for some reason, he was even teaching the blind medicine cat some fighting techniques. Fireheart guessed the warrior was just looking for ways to keep busy, since no cat trusted him enough to let him out of camp.

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 and Clawface are 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 | 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 the prisoners. These are matters for our Clan alone.”

Nighthunter raised her muzzle angrily. “What about Mistflow?” she demanded. “She deserves to be recognized as a hero.”

“And I will proclaim her as such,” Bluestar promised. “But not in connection with Brokentail’s attack.”

She waited until meows of agreement came from the assembled cats. Nighthunter dipped her head. Then the leader 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, Ashfoot, and Bristlebark, and Fireheart let the fur lie flat on his shoulders again.

Willowmist shot him a resigned look. Clearly she knew as well as he did that there was no point in trying to stop the two cats in love.

Dovewing wasted no time in joining her fellow time travelers. They greeted her enthusiastically before continuing their conversation.

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.

“| remember a leaf-bare even worse than this.” It was an old black tabby 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. “And we have a new warrior. Furzepaw has completed her training and become Furzepelt.”

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, ShadowCIan’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.

“Furzepelt! Furzepelt!” The ThunderClan and WindClan cats called out the new RiverClan warrior’s name, though the loudest calls came from Dovewing and Mossypaw.

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.

“ThunderCIan’s cats are also recovering,” Bluestar went on. “And since the last Gathering, four of our apprentices have become warriors. They will now be known as Dustpelt, Sandstorm, Stripestalk, and Dovewing.”

Yowls of approval came up from the mass of cats below the Great Rock — once again mostly, Fireheart noticed, from ThunderClan and WindClan. He caught a glimpse of Sandstorm, sitting with her pale ginger head raised proudly. Furzepelt and Mossypaw gave Dovewing friendly nudges.

“I have one other announcement,” Bluestar said, her voice becoming serious. “There was a raid made on ThunderClan’s border near the Twolegplace by a group of rogues. During the fight, some of the rogues tried to kill our apprentice Lightpaw, but his mother Mistflow fought them off. Unfortunately, her wounds were severe, and she died. ThunderClan mourns her loss, but we know that StarClan has received her as a hero.

“Mistflow! Mistflow! Mistflow!” Cats from every Clan called out this time. It was clear that she had been well-liked and respected by everyone. Nighthunter was shouting the loudest, with Tigerclaw leaving his position at the base of the Great Rock to join her. Lightpaw’s calls were softer, and Fireheart could see grief in his eyes. Swiftpaw pressed against his friend in support.

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.

In ShadowClan, Littlepaw and Wetpaw had become Littlecloud and Wetfoot, while Crookedstar announced that Mossypaw was now Mossyfoot.

Fireheart couldn’t help but wonder how the leaders had known what to name the future apprentices. Bluestar had learned from Dovewing when she’d had some kind of strange vision at the Moonstone, and he doubted Dovewing had done the same for her friends.

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. Lightpaw was hissing something in his ear. At any other time Fireheart might have called them 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?”

“Hush!” Sandstorm hissed. She had joined them to check that they were ready to go. “I can’t keep Tigerclaw distracted if you announce your plans to the entire Gathering, mouse-brain.”

Graystripe rolled his eyes. “I’m sure everyone’s too distracted right now.” He looked around meaningfully.

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.

“Let’s go,” he meowed to Graystripe. “Before any other cat sees us.”

“Tell Ravenpaw hello for me and that I hope he’s doing all right,” Sandstorm called quietly. Fireheart nodded in agreement.

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.

Chapter Text

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 YELLOWFANG — old dark gray she-cat with a broad, flattened face

CATS JAYFEATHER— gray tabby tom with blind blue eyes

WARRIORS (toms, and she-cats without kits)

SWEETMINT — tortoiseshell she-cat

GOLDENFLOWER — pale ginger coat.

NIGHTHUNTER — black she-cat

APPRENTICE, LIGHTPAW

WHITESTORM— big white tom. 

OWLTUFT — brown tabby tom

NEEDLENOSE — tortoiseshell she-cat with a thin stripe down her muzzle and nose

NUTFUR — light brown she-cat

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.

CINDERHEART— gray tabby she-cat

LIONBLAZE— golden tabby tom with amber eyes

FIREHEART — handsome ginger tom.

APPRENTICE, BRACKENPAW

GRAYSTRIPE — long-haired solid gray tom.

DUSTPELT — dark brown tabby tom.

SANDSTORM — pale ginger she-cat.

STRIPESTALK — black-and-white she-cat

IVYPOOL— silver-and-white tabby she-cat with dark blue eyes

DOVEWING— pale gray she-cat with green eyes

APPRENTICES (more than six moons old, in training to become warriors)

SWIFTPAW — black-and-white tom.

LIGHTPAW — gray-and-white tom

CINDERPAW — dark gray she-cat.

BRACKENPAW — golden brown tabby tom.

QUEENS (she-cats expecting or nursing kits)

FROSTFUR— beautiful white coat and blue eyes, mother to Cinderpaw, Brackenpaw, Thornkit, and Brightkit.

BRINDLEFACE— pretty tabby, mother to Ashkit, Fernkit, Tulipkit.

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, Virtually blind and deaf. 

DAPPLETAIL — once-pretty tortoiseshell she-cat with a lovely dappled coat.

PRISONERS

BROKENTAIL — long-haired dark brown tabby.

CLAWFACE — battle-scarred brown tom.

SHADOWCLAN

LEADER NIGHTSTAR— black tom.

DEPUTY CINDERFUR — thin gray tom

MEDICINE RUNNINGNOSE — small gray-and-white tom.

CAT

WARRIORS 

BLACKFOOT — large white tom with huge jet-black paws.

APPRENTICE, BROWNPAW

FERNSHADE —tortoiseshell she-cat

FLINTFANG—older gray tom

ROWANBERRY—brown-and-cream she-cat

APPRENTICE, WHITEPAW

RUSSETFUR—dark ginger she-cat

APPRENTICE, VOLEPAW

BOULDER— silver tabby tom.

APPRENTICE, WETPAW

SCORCHFUR—dark gray tom

REDWILLOW—mottled brown-and-ginger tom

NIGHTWING-black she-cat with green eyes

WETFOOT—gray tabby tom

LITTLECLOUD—very small tabby tom

QUEENS 

BRIGHTFLOWER— black-and-white she-cat, mother to Marigoldkit and Mintkit.

DARKFLOWER — black she-cat.

TALLPOPPY — long-legged light brown tabby she-cat.

ELDERS

ASHFUR — thin gray tom.

DAWNCLOUD— small tabby.

WINDCLAN

LEADER TALLSTAR — a black-and-white tom with a very long tail.

DEPUTY DEADFOOT — a black tom with a twisted paw.

MEDICINE BARKFACE — a short-tailed brown tom.

CAT 

WARRIORS

PIGEONFLIGHT — a dark gray tom with white patches.

SORRELSHINE — a gray-and-brown she-cat.

WRENFLIGHT — a brown she-cat.

FLYTAIL — a snowy-white tom.

RABBITEAR — a pale brown she-cat with a fluffy white belly and yellow eyes.

BRISTLEBARK — a black tom.

MUDCLAW — a mottled dark brown tom.

APPRENTICE, WEBPAW

TORNEAR— a tabby tom.

APPRENTICE, RUNNINGPAW

ONEWHISKER— a young brown tabby tom.

APPRENTICE, WHITEPAW

HEATHERTAIL—light brown tabby she-cat with blue eyes

FURZEPELT—gray-and-white she-cat

QUEENS

ASHFOOT — a gray queen, mother to Eaglekit.

MORNINGFLOWER — a tortoiseshell queen, mother to Gorsekit.

ELDERS

STAGLEAP — a dark brown tom with amber eyes.

DOESPRING — light brown she-cat.

RYESTALK — gray tabby she-cat with amber eyes.

BRACKENDUST — brown tabby tom with brown eyes.

CROWFUR – black tom with a silver muzzle

RIVERCLAN

LEADER CROOKEDSTAR — a huge light-colored tabby with a twisted jaw.

DEPUTY LEOPARDFUR — unusually spotted golden tabby she-cat.

WARRIORS 

BLACKCLAW— smoky black tom. 

APPRENTICE, HEAVYPAW

SWANSOAR — silver tabby

STONEFUR — a gray tom with battle-scarred ears.

APPRENTICE, SHADEPAW

MOSSLIGHT — a gray-and-white she-cat

LOUDBELLY — a dark brown tom.

SILVERSTREAM — a pretty slender silver tabby.

WILLOWMIST — smoky black she-cat.

WHITECLAW — a dark brown tom with white paws and amber eyes.

MINNOWTAIL—dark gray she-cat

MOSSYFOOT—brown-and-white she-cat

QUEENS

MINNOWSCALE — dark gray she-cat, mother to Longkit and Icekit

MOSSPELT — tortoiseshell she-cat, mother to Dawnkit, Robinkit, and Woodkit

MISTYFOOT — dark gray she-cat, mother to Perchkit, Pikekit, Primrosekit, and Reedkit.

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.

RAVENPAW — sleek black cat with a white-tipped tail who lives on the farm with Barley. 

STUMPYTAIL — brown tabby tom, formerly of ShadowClan.

TANGLEBURR—gray-and-brown she-cat, formerly of ShadowClan

SNAP—a huge, thick-furred, ginger tabby tom with amber eyes, and a broad head

MOWGLI—scrawny, sleek, brown tom with green eyes and a distinctive, pointed muzzle.

JET—a black tom with blue eyes

SCRATCH—a brown tabby tom with green eyes and a black paw

PRINCESS — light brown tabby with a distinctive white chest and paws — a kittypet.

SMUDGE — plump, friendly black-and-white kitten who lives in a house at the edge of the forest.

HEALER — black she-cat with green eyes

CAVERN — scrawny, sleek, ginger-and-white patched tom with green eyes.

SCORCH—small black tom with one white paw and ice-blue eyes.

SURGE — light gray-and-ginger she-cat with white patches and yellow eyes, mother to Robin and Red

SPIN — gray-and-white tom with blue eyes

VIOLET—pale orange tabby she-cat with thin, darker orange stripes and white paws

Chapter Text

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! But his friend wasn’t the only one he could smell here. Another familiar scent, stronger than Ravenpaw’s was here too, mixed with several scents he didn’t know. “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.”

“It’s very important.” Healer stepped calmly out of the shadows.

“Yes, it is,” Fireheart agreed, startled to see the most mysterious of the time travelers. “What are you doing here?”

A pair of kits peeked out from either side of her. “We’re here to meet Uncle Barley!” a black she-kit with a ginger chest and underbelly announced.

“Mother and Uncle Spin aren’t allowed to come to the barn anymore,” the dark ginger tom-kit added. “So Grandma Healer and Auntie Violet brought us instead.” Fireheart guessed the pale ginger she-cat who had appeared behind the kits must be this “Auntie Violet”.

Graystripe was staring at the four strangers with wide eyes. “Do you know these cats?” he asked Fireheart.

“I know Healer,” he replied, indicating her with his tail. “But I’ve never met these other three.”

Healer sighed. Pointing to each of the kits in turn, she explained, “Robin and Red are my daughter Surge’s kits. She would have brought them herself, but Barley is still mad about a small incident she and Spin caused.”

“Most cats would not consider nearly setting the barn on fire a small incident,” Barley muttered.

“They were kits!”

“It was last leaf-bare!” he protested. “They were definitely not kits and should have known better.”

Violet rested her tail on his shoulder. Fireheart could see an ugly scar on her belly. “They were still young, brother,” she soothed.

“You have a brother?” Fireheart and Graystripe exclaimed.

“She’s not the only one!” Robin announced cheerfully. “Hollyleaf has brothers too!”

Fireheart frowned. “Who is–” The way Healer shrank back made it very clear who Hollyleaf was. “You really were a warrior, then?”

Hollyleaf ducked back. “Yes.” Her voice was scarcely a whisper.

“Who are your brothers?” Graystripe asked. He might not have known what was going on, but he did enjoy a good secret.

“I can’t tell you that,” Hollyleaf said, her voice stronger now. “Whatever Half Moon did to shield me from being discovered from the other time travelers does not mean I can just reveal everything about myself on a whim.”

“StarClan would expect us to keep our wits about us,” Red squeaked.

Ravenpaw gave the kit a curious look. “Who said that?”

“He did,” Hollyleaf meowed, looking towards Fireheart. “He said it to my mother and she said it to me and my littermates while we were kits. Though I’m not sure it was very effective.”

Robin lit up. “You mean like the way to tried to hunt foxes or catch mice but almost got shredded by dogs or went all the way to RiverClan to help them all by herself?”

Barley let out mrrow of amusement. Hollyleaf frowned at the kit. “Robin!”

“You’ve had an adventurous life, haven’t you?” Graystripe purred.

“Says the one who has already rescued kits from ShadowClan, saved ShadowClan and ThunderClan from Brokenstar, and saved WindClan twice,” Hollyleaf shot back.

“Okay, so we’ve all done a lot of crazy things in our time in ThunderClan,” Fireheart acknowledged, shooting Graystripe a look. He didn’t want to upset Hollyleaf. She seemed incredibly nervous. “Would you like me to continue calling you Healer?” he asked gently.

She froze, then nodded, a relieved look on her face. “I would appreciate that. Until I rejoin ThunderClan, I am not allowed to reclaim my warrior name. My presence here must remain a secret still.”

“So you’re another time traveler?" Graystripe put in. When she nodded, he turned to Ravenpaw. “Did you know about this?”

He shrugged. “She came to visit Barley with Violet soon after I came to the barn and told me everything then. I still can’t believe there are cats from the future living in the Clans, and in Twolegplace,” he added.

“We all have our role to play,” Hollyleaf said seriously.

Violet had been talking with her brother, but she looked towards the warriors now. “If I’m not mistaken, I believe you came here for a reason.”

 Irritation pricked Fireheart’s pelt as he realized he had gotten distracted. “Right.” 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, with Violet beside him.

“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.”

“Can we help?” Red begged. “I want to listen to your story too!”

Hollyleaf groaned. “Absolutely not! You are not old enough to hunt mice yet. They’re bigger than you!”

Robin made an expression that Fireheart could describe as attemptedly heart-breaking. “At least let us listen to the warriors! We never get to hear Clan stories!”

“I tell you stories all the time,” Hollyleaf pointed out.

“But we never get to hear about Tigerclaw from someone who was actually there. This is Ravenpaw!” Robin mewed. There was so much excitement in her voice that Fireheart was surprised that she wasn’t running around the barn to calm herself down.

Hollyleaf thought for a moment. “I don’t think this is the kind of story you want to hear. You’re too young.”

“Please!” both kits begged.

The tension in Hollyleaf’s shoulders lightened. “Very well. But I don’t want to hear it when you have nightmares later.”

“We won’t!” The two kits plopped to the floor of the barn. Clearly they were going to wait there until Ravenpaw began his story.

*  *  *  *  *

“I know Tigerclaw killed Redtail,” Ravenpaw insisted. “I was there, and I saw him do it.”

The five cats were crouched in the hayloft of the Twoleg bam. Hunting had not taken very long. After the desperate struggle to find prey in the snow-covered forest, the bam seemed to the hungry ThunderClan warriors to be overflowing with mice. Now Fireheart was warm, and his stomach felt comfortably full. Robin and Red were still in the same spot they’d sat down earlier, having shared a mouse Hollyleaf had caught for them before she’d vanished. 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.

“Ooh! I know why!” Robin squeaked.

Red jabbed her with a paw. “Don’t even think about it!” he growled. “Grandma Hollyleaf said not to spill anymore secrets.”

“So what did Redtail do after Oakheart said that?” asked Graystripe, bringing their attention back to the story.

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 hack 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.”

Fireheart frowned. “No, I think he did say something about rocks. We just didn’t know what he meant. But that’s why Bluestar wouldn’t listen to us,” he 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.

The kits had fallen asleep at some point. They were curled in a heap, purring contentedly.

“We’d better get Violet and Healer,” Graystripe said, amused.

The two she-cats and Barley slipped into the barn, as if they had been summoned. “That won’t be necessary,” Violet meowed.

“It’s been a long night for every cat,” Barley purred. “You’re welcome to stay for the night.”

“We’d love to,” Violet mewed, pressing her muzzle to his. “It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you.”

“You could come to visit more often,” he reminded her. “I’ve invited you many times.”

She snorted. “You’ve banished my mate from the barn for the foreseeable future,” she reminded him. “If you let him come back, then I will visit you more often.”

Hollyleaf rolled her eyes at their banter. “You two are lucky you don’t have the same pressure my littermates and I faced when we were younger.” Thoughtfully, she added, “I suppose we still carry heavy responsibilities. But there is no cause more noble than protecting others, and I would not trade it in a heartbeat.”

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.”

“Come visit me in Twolegplace soon,” Hollyleaf said. “Your older brother would love to meet you.”

For a moment, he stared at her, too shocked to speak. “My…older brother?”

“I know you do not have time for the explanation right how,” she meowed seriously. “But he has been asking to meet you since the first time I startled you when you visited your sister.”

Fireheart dipped his head. “I would like to meet my brother as well, someday. Right now, we must return to our Clan.” He touched his muzzle to hers. “And say goodbye to Robin and Red for me.”

“Of course. They’ll be talking about this for a moon!” Violet laughed.

With Graystripe behind him, Fireheart 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 bam. 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 time travelers couldn’t help him–they were forbidden to share their own testimony until he’d gathered the proof himself.

“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. Seeing Healer again again and learning her true identity had made him realize that there was more than one way to demonstrate loyalty. “In fact, I’m sure she can’t wait to see you again,” he added teasingly.

“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 four 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, and Heathertail.

“Hello, Fireheart,” called Deadfoot, limping up with a puzzled look in his eyes. “You’re a long way from home.” Heathertail didn’t seem confused, as if she’d been expecting this to happen.

“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.

Heathertail glanced at him. “Are you sure?” she asked them. “It would be incredibly mouse-brained of them to come back after how soundly we defeated them.”

“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.”

“I know you’ll always feel the need to help everyone,” Heathertail added, ignoring the surprised looks her Clanmates were giving her. She sniffed at Fireheart’s pelt. “You smell of kits,” she observed. “A strange scent to find on a tom.”

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. And Heathertail seemed dangerously close to discovering they’d been meeting someone. “I visited the nursery before the Gathering.” It wasn’t a lie. He’d gone to visit Cloudkit and his adopted littermates. “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! Not to mention Heathertail catching the kit-scent on our pelts.”

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.

Just then, Dovewing ducked out from beneath a bush. There were three mice in hanging by their tails from her mouth. She set them down gently. “I heard you’d gone to meet Ravenpaw!” she gasped, sounding breathless. Fireheart guessed it had taken her a while to find the prey.

“We did–how did you know?” he demanded. “Did Sandstorm tell you?”

Dovewing shook her head. “I just overheard you all talking. Both of you take one!” she urged, pawing a mouse towards both of them.

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, and relieved to at least have some prey with him, 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. Dovewing, who seemed to already know what was coming, slowed to a more graceful stop.

“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?” When no one answered, his eyes glinted. “Well?” he 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 much,” 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, while the mice you’re carrying smell more like Dovewing than either of you?”

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.”

The three young warriors 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 three brave warriors have been out hunting.” Tigerclaw’s voice was thick with contempt. “They’re full-fed, but they’ve brought home scarcely any 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 much else. We meant to bring back more fresh-kill, but our luck was out.”

Tigerclaw gave a snort of disgust, as if he didn’t believe a word Fireheart had said.

“We did find three mice,” Dovewing put in nervously.

“Three mice for you young warriors, especially you, Dovewing, is pathetic, leaf-bare or not.

“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 three.”

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.

But he did want her to know the truth about Dovewing. “Only Graystripe and I ate the prey we found,” he admitted. “Dovewing didn’t eat a single bite. The mice we brought back were all hers.” Beside him, he felt Graystripe tense, but he relaxed quickly, as if he agreed with Fireheart’s decision.

Bluestar looked at the other two warriors. “Is this true?”

Both of them nodded. “Yes, Bluestar.”

“I’m sorry, Bluestar,” Fireheart 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. Dovewing, even though you didn’t eat anything, you still allowed them to eat what they caught and tried to help them cover it up. You may only eat once before you next go out hunting.” Her gaze softened. “You all 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 three cats turned toward the warriors’ den.

“I’m sorry the mice I caught didn’t stop Tigerclaw from catching us,” Dovewing apologized.

“It’s not your fault he’s a fox-heart,” Fireheart growled. “Bluestar was generous to only assign us to hunting.”

“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.

“No, you didn’t,” Dovewing growled. Her green eyes were glittering with anger.

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. And Dovewing, please don’t encourage him. We have enough problems as it is. You might be immortal, but we aren’t.”

“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, while Dovewing immediately lay down next to her sister. Nearby, Sandstorm, Dustpelt, and Stripestalk 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 tried to distract him, but he didn’t believe me. What did you find?”

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. Stripestalk sighed sleepily and draped her tail over his back reassuringly.

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, Clawface. Fireheart missed her still, along with all the ThunderClan warriors who had died since he had joined, but their 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 tune 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 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, Dustpelt, and Stripestalk had left already.

“You were muttering in your sleep,” Graystripe told him. “Are you okay?” Ivypool and Dovewing, stretching nearby, exchanged a look. Fireheart couldn’t help but wonder fuzzily if they knew about his dreams.

“What?” Fireheart had not yet shaken off the dream. It was always a bitter waking, to realize that his Clanmates were dead, and he would never speak to them again except in his dreams.

“It’s nearly sunhigh,” repeated Graystripe. “We should be out hunting.” The two sisters slipped out through the entrance.

“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?

Chapter Text

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, who was doing well at taking his role in maintaining his cover as 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.

Especially Sandstorm. Ever since she’d saved him from Leopardfur and convinced him to tell her about Tigerclaw, he’d realized just how much he cared about her. Even being in the leaf-bare snow wasn’t enough to freeze the warmth he felt when she smiled at him.

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. Dovewing and Ivypool had already been disappearing through the gorse tunnel with their former mentors. Fireheart had wondered how long the gray tabby she-cat would continue in her duties. 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 previous 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. Until it fully healed, she would not return to any kind of warrior training, though Jayfeather was determined to make sure she was given the chance.

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.

“Nice catch!” Sandstorm complimented, her voice muffled by a chaffinch in her jaws.

“Thanks!” Fireheart rested a forepaw on top of the rabbit in satisfaction. “I’m going to take this back to the fresh-kill pile.”

“So what did Ravenpaw tell you?” Sandstorm asked, as they padded back through the forest.

For a moment, Fireheart wasn’t sure what to tell her. He certainly couldn’t talk about Hollyleaf–Healer’s secrets, and to keep the hidden time traveler safe, he’d just have to continue thinking about her how she’d originally introduced herself to him. It was just bad luck that Robin and Red had been so enthusiastic about meeting warriors.

“Well, he said that Oakheart was killed by a rockfall,” Fireheart explained.

“A rockfall?”

“Yeah, apparently a bunch of rocks crashed on top of Oakheart while he and Redtail were fighting. Redtail escaped unscathed, but Oakheart…”

Sandstorm groaned. “Why didn’t Ravenpaw tell any cat this in the first place?”

“He was badly injured in the fight himself,” he reminded her. “All he managed to tell us was that Redtail was dead, and then he passed out and fell off the Highrock.”

“And then Tigerclaw came and told all of us that Oakheart had killed Redtail and he’d avenged his death,” Sandstorm finished.

“Exactly. I think Ravenpaw might have told some of the apprentices in other Clans the real story at our first Gathering, but I didn’t hear enough to know for sure.”

“So how do you plan to get proof?” Sandstorm meowed. “If Bluestar didn’t believe you before, and Ravenpaw’s only just told you the full story, you’ll need someone else to agree with what he’s saying.” Fireheart didn’t answer, instead staring at her silently. “Please tell me you’re not going to try to talk to a RiverClan cat.”

Fireheart shrugged. “What else are we going to do?”

“But they’re still furious with us after the battle and after Whiteclaw almost died at the gorge!” Sandstorm protested. “No cat is going to just let to walk into the middle of their camp and start asking questions.”

“We’ll find a way,” Fireheart promised. “You don’t have to come with us, if you’re worried.”

She glared at him. “I’m not going with you if it’s both you and Graystripe. Three enemy warriors is asking for disaster. But if you need to talk to them again, bring me with you instead.”

He purred. “Of course. I’d really enjoy having you with me for a special mission like this.”

“Stupid furball,” she laughed, flicking his shoulder with her tail.

 As soon as they 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?” she asked him. “Sandstorm, you can take your chaffinch to the elders. Cinderheart and Lionblaze offered to hunt for the queens and kits.”

Warmed by his leader’s approval, Fireheart nodded to Sandstorm and hauled the rabbit across the clearing. A tunnel of ferns, brown and brittle now, led to the secluded comer 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. Jayfeather was farther in the den, instructing Clawface, somewhat rudely, on the differences between dock and borage.

“Now, Cinderpaw,” came the Yellowfang’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.

“You’re getting pretty good with the herbs,” Jayfeather complimented. “Certainly much better than my sister when she tried to learn to be a medicine cat.”

“Really?” Cinderpaw sounded even more delighted. Jayfeather was even harder to earn a compliment from than Yellowfang.

He nodded. “She wanted to be a medicine cat at first, but she struggled to remember the herbs, and she flinched every time she had to treat another cat’s injuries. I honestly think that she did a better job with medicine cat stuff after she switched and began her training to become a warrior.”

“She got to choose what role she wanted to be, even after she’d already started?” Clawface sounded incredulous at the idea.

“Most cats get a choice in their future,” Jayfeather told him. “Just like Cinderpaw, and just like you.”

Clawface frowned. “I already made my choices.”

“Perhaps.” Jayfeather sounded thoughtful. “But unless StarClan themselves takes the choice out of you paws, and they better not, than you still have a say in your future.”

“Right, you can take her the leaves and the ointment,” meowed Yellowfang to the apprentice. “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 easily becoming a ThunderClan warrior. If she chose to continue her training with him, or another warrior, it would be a long, hard path.

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.”

“It’s the cold,” Jayfeather guessed. “Leaf-bare always does strange things to cats.”

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 knew that it was meant as a trap for Bluestar, and Tigerclaw was responsible.

“And how is…” he trailed off, glancing towards Clawface, who’d gone back to studying the dock and borage.

“He’s doing well,” Yellowfang assured him. “He’s starting to soften a bit. I think not being stuck as a rogue or one of Brokentail’s elite warriors is forcing him to realize what kind of cat he truly wants to be.”

“And how does Cinderpaw feel about him spending so much time in your den?”

Yellowfang sighed. “Clawface does make her nervous, but Jayfeather is the one who spends the most time with him. I think he enjoys having someone he can be grumpy at with no one to care.”

Fireheart snorted. “If it were anyone but Clawface, I would almost feel bad.”

“You may not feel like he deserves a chance, but we must give it to him regardless.” Yellowfang’s voice was calm. “When Tigerclaw and Darkstripe say that you’re weak and disloyal, just because you were born a kittypet, how does it make you feel?”

“Like I have to fight twice as hard to prove myself. Their biased notions make me angry.” Tigerclaw’s tendency to blatantly murder cats help himself gain power also made Fireheart angry, but he chose not to mention that.

“Exactly,” Yellowfang agreed. “But not every cat is strong enough to put in the effort to disprove others’ opinions of them, especially when it’s an opinion shared by everyone around them. Clawface will either become a better cat through this, or he will allow it to fill him with darkness. I intend to help him find the light.”

Fireheart glanced back at the brown warrior. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I,” she agreed.

Just then, Cinderpaw limped back to the den, her forepaws and muzzle covered in what must have been the yarrow ointment. Fireheart licked her forehead warmly.

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. Clawface might have a chance to change now, but Tigerclaw was definitely a threat that needed to be stopped.

*  *  *  *  *

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.”

“Thank StarClan,” Fireheart muttered sarcastically.

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.”

“Seriously? You waited in the same place every time and never got caught?”

Graystripe winced. “It was probably the reason the found my scent.”

Fireheart hoped Silverstream 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 young dark gray she-cat 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 almost 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 three 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. The final cat was Silverstream’s sister Willowmist.

Fireheart had met the black she-cat before. In fact, their first encounter had been the day he’d discovered that Graystripe and Silverstream were meeting. Willowmist had apparently already known and had given Graystripe a piece of her mind and a warning. He’d never met their other sister, Minnowscale, who was currently in the nursery with her kits and hadn’t come to the last few Gatherings, or at least he assumed she hadn’t.

“Hunting patrol,” Graystripe murmured.

All four 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, Willowmist walked behind them and Silverstream took the rear a tail-length or two behind her sister. 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. Suddenly, the bushes behind them rustled wildly, and a black shape exploded towards Graystripe. The attacker bowled him off his paws and pinned him to the ground with her forepaws holding down his chest.

“What are you doing here!” the cat demanded.

“Hey, Willowmist,” Graystripe panted, clearly trying to calm the bristling she-cat down.

“Seriously?” she growled. “You’re in my territory again. And,” she added, glaring at Fireheart, “now you’ve brought your friend with you!”

Fireheart crouched submissively. “We’re sorry to come back here,” he mewed. “But we’re conducting an investigation into Oakheart’s death, and we needed to talk to some cat who was at that battle.”

Willowmist stopped bristling, but continued to hold Graystripe down. “And just why would a couple of ThunderClan cats care about how our deputy died?” she meowed silkily.

Died, not killed, Fireheart thought. “Because finding out the truth about what killed Oakheart will help us figure out who killed Redtail.”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t Oakheart, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Willowmist told him.

“We didn’t think it was,” Graystripe meowed from his position on the ground.

Willowmist glowered at him. “Shut up, fishbrain. I’m angry enough with you as it is. As least Fireheart helped save Whiteclaw and Minnowtail, and he let Silverstream go at the battle in the WindClan camp. I think I can trust him.”

“Thank you?” Fireheart said uncertainly. Why did she trust him?

“Minnowtail said you inexplicably want what’s best for all the Clans,” she continued a moment later, answering his unspoken question. “I don’t understand it, but I can respect it.”

“I appreciate that,” Fireheart meowed. He was getting more nervous with every moment that passed. If he and Graystripe stayed in RiverClan territory for much longer, more 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!”

Willowmist smirked. “That’s what I thought too.”

“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. “And you can let Graystripe up now,” she told her sister.

Willowmist shrugged. “I’ve been wanting to do this him for moons.”

“Seriously, Willowmist?”

“Minnowscale wants to help as well.”

Mistyfoot growled. “Can we go back to the part where there are two ThunderClan cats on our territory, within sight of the camp?”

“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. Willowmist rolled her eyes and stepped away from Graystripe.

Graystripe stood up, shaking his pelt and 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.

Willowmist winced sympathetically. “That was surprisingly inconsiderate,” she observed. “Did he not actually want to help with the investigation?”

“I’m used to it,” Fireheart muttered.

“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.”

“I don’t care for all that bias and stupidity,” Willowmist growled. “So what if you were born in Twolegplace? Crookedstar was taught to hunt and shown that he actually mattered by cats who lived in a barn. My sister and I are only alive because a she-cat from Twolegplace saved us.”

Fireheart stared at her. “You mean Healer?” he asked in surprise. “You’ve met her?”

“Not for a while.” Willowmist shrugged. “She used to visit all the Clans to help treat cats, often saving someone who seemed like they were about to die. But ever since the time travelers showed up, none of us has seen her.”

“I met her,” he said. “I’ve talked to her a couple times.”

Mistyfoot licked her paw and drew it slowly over one ear, keeping her eyes fixed on his face. “All right,” she meowed at last, seeming to want to get them back on track. “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.”

Willowmist nudged her. “Minnowscale is perfectly capable of watching them.”

“Minnowscale has Icekit and Longkit to worry about.”

Shaking her head, Willowmist meowed, “Icekit and Longkit are four moons old. They don’t need as much attention. Your kits will be fine.”

“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 deputy and brother my father could have asked for,” Willowmist purred.

“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.

Willowmist narrowed her eyes. “Why exactly is this so important to you? What do you think happened to Redtail?”

“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.

“Doing something spontaneous like that in the middle of a battle does sound like Oakheart, but I’m not sure what’s so bad about a ThunderClan cat specifically hurting Stonefur.

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.”

“Yes, you can think of a reason,” Willowmist grumbled. “I don’t feel like taking part in some thing so fishbrained.”

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. And Willowmist might have trusted him, but he wasn’t foolish enough to get any closer to her.

“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.”

*  *  *  *  *

Fireheart sniffed the air, looking for fox dung he could use to cover up the fact that he’d been in RiverClan. He wasn’t especially looking forward to the prospect, but it was better that then get caught.

He finally found a promising, and disgusting, scent trail and began to follow it. But before he could, a cat’s voice stopped him.

“Hey, wait!” Turning around, he saw a gray-and-white tom following him. The tom was moving strangely, as though he were following him, but instead of moving straight, he was compelled to walk in circles. “You don’t need to cover yourself in fox dung!”

Suspicion flooded Fireheart and he unsheathed his claws. “Excuse me?” he demanded. “How do you know what I’m doing?”

The tom winced but didn’t answer right away. Instead, he narrowed his eyes, as if thinking, and then padded in a massive circle that brought him to stand directly in front of Fireheart. His eyes lit up in triumph. “I did it!”

“What are you doing here?” Fireheart demanded again.

“My name’s Spin,” the tom replied, dropping a small bundle that he’d been carrying. “I’m Healer’s son. Well, technically grandson, but since Scorch didn’t have a mate, and he was frankly too young to be a father even to adopted kits, Healer was basically our adopted mother.”

“Again with this ‘grand’ word. What does it even mean?” Fireheart wondered aloud. He ignored the fact that it had absolutely nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Spin smiled, before walking in a small circle. “It describes the relationship between a cat and the kits of their kits. For example, I think you already know that Lionblaze and Jayfeather are the kits of your daughter. That makes them your grandsons.”

Warmth filled Fireheart. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. I mean, I knew we were kin, but…” he trailed off. “How come I’ve never heard of something like that before?”

“Because,” Spin sighed, “the Clans don’t seem to care about that relationship so much.”

“True,” Fireheart realized. “Honestly, it doesn’t even seem like my Clan’s kits even know who their fathers are. Lionblaze and Cinderheart are the only cats I can think of who are obviously mates. They do pretty much everything together.”

Spin circled. “I know that this is a strange time in ThunderClan’s history. But if I recall correctly, Goldenflower is expecting kits now, and you know who their father is.”

“Tigerclaw.” Fireheart only knew this because the deputy had been boasting about his soon-to-be born kits. He didn’t actually seem to love the queen, which Fireheart couldn’t help but feel saddened by. “Though she’s not the only queen expecting kits at the moment.”

“Exactly. How can you have a grandparent-grandkit relationship if the parental relationship scarcely lasts beyond kithood? Anyway, that’s not why I’m here,” Spin announced. He nudged the bundle towards Fireheart. “This is for you.”

Fireheart nudged it with one claw. “What is it?”

“Healer didn’t want you to have to use fox dung to hide your meeting from your Clanmates, so she sent some strong-scented flowers that have somehow survived leaf-bare to help you.”

“And just how did she know about these meetings?”

Spin rolled his eyes. “You told her when you went to visit Ravenpaw.”

“Oh, right.” Fireheart suppressed his embarrassment. “And what, she’s just been sending you into the woods everyday just in case that happened to be the right one?”

“Of course not. That would be mouse-brained,” Spin purred, circling again. “Violet and I took turns. Fortunately you didn’t wait very long to go to RiverClan.”

“Right.” He still felt uneasy that non-ThunderClan cats had so easily sneaked into his territory and no one had noticed. “Did those flowers disguise your scents every time?”

Grinning, Spin nodded. “They’re great. They’ll stay strong and fresh for at least another quarter moon.”

“Hopefully I don’t need them that long.”

“Hopefully not,” Spin meowed. “By the way, thank you for letting my sister’s kits listen to Ravenpaw’s story. They were really excited.”

“Of course,” Fireheart purred. “Robin and Red are good kits.” He turned to leave. “Tell them I said hello,” he mewed, before returning to his own camp.

Chapter Text

“I’m so glad I didn't have to actually use fox dung," Fireheart muttered as he pushed through the gorse tunnel into his own camp.

After he’d left Spin, he’d found a small tree hollow where he could store the flowers. It had only taken a couple of them to make him smell like a garden, but at least he wasn’t reeking. No one would guess he’d been in RiverClan territory now.

As he emerged from the gorse tunnel, Fireheart saw Bluestar standing on top of the Highrock. He realized he had just missed hearing her call the Clan together, because other cats were appearing from their dens to gather below her.

Fireheart left his squirrel on the pile of fresh-kill and padded over to join them. Across the clearing, Brindleface’s kits tumbled out of the nursery, followed by Brindleface herself. Fireheart could easily pick out his sister’s son, Cloudkit, by his gleaming white fur. Princess, Fireheart’s sister who still lived in Twolegplace, had no wish to leave the comfortable life of a kittypet, but Fireheart’s tales of Clan life had captivated her, and she had given her eldest son to the Clan.

So far the Clan cats were finding it hard to accept another kittypet among them even though Brindleface treated him like one of her own kits. Fireheart knew from experience how much determination Cloudkit would need to make a place for himself.

As he drew closer, Fireheart heard the white kit complaining loudly to Brindleface. “Why can’t I be an apprentice? I’m nearly as big as that dumb ginger kit of Frostfur’s!”

“That ‘big dumb ginger kit’ is named Thornkit, and he has been very kind to you and your siblings,” Brindleface pointed out. “And so has Brightkit. You should be happy for them.”

“I’ll be happy when I’m an apprentice!”

Fireheart’s interest quickened. Bluestar must be about to perform the apprentice-naming ceremony for Frostfur’s two remaining kits. Their brother and sister, Brackenpaw and Cinderpaw, had been named apprentices a few moons ago, and Fireheart could guess that these two must be desperate for their own naming, which was long overdue. He was glad that he had returned in time to witness it.

“Shh!” Brindleface whispered to Cloudkit, as she gathered her kits around her and found them a place to sit. “You can’t be an apprentice until you’re six moons old.”

“But I want to be an apprentice now!”

Fireheart left Brindleface trying to explain Clan customs to the insistent Cloudkit and went to sit near the front of the gathering, next to Sandstorm.

Her head whipped around in alarm as he took his place. “Fireheart! Where have you been? It shouldn’t have taken you this long to talk to a RiverClan cat!”

“It’s a long story,” he mumbled. “I’ll tell you later.”

“We are gathered here to give two Clan kits their apprentice names.” Bluestar announced, glancing down to where Frostfur was sitting proudly, with her tail curled neatly over her paws. The two kits sat one on each side of her, and as Bluestar spoke. Thornkit, who was definitely the bigger of them, and a ginger cat like his brother Brackenpaw, sprang impatiently to his paws.

“Yes, come forward, both of you,” Bluestar invited warmly.

Thornkit dashed forward and skidded to a stop at the foot of the Highrock. His sister followed more sedately. Brightkit was white like her mother, except for ginger patches along her back, and a ginger tail.

Fireheart closed his eyes for a moment. Not long ago, he had been given Cinderpaw as his apprentice, and then unofficially Brackenpaw. He half wished that he could be mentor to one of these kits, but he knew that Bluestar would not have chosen him for this honor, since he did have an apprentice.

“Mousefur,” meowed Bluestar, “you have told me that you are ready to take on an apprentice. You will be mentor to Thornpaw.”

Fireheart watched as Mousefur, a wiry, compact she-cat with brown fur, stepped forward and went to stand beside the the newly named Thornpaw, who scampered up to meet her.

“Mousefur,” Bluestar went on, “you have shown yourself a brave and intelligent warrior. See that you pass on your courage and wisdom to your new apprentice.”

While Bluestar spoke, Mousefur looked just as proud as Thornpaw. The two of them touched noses and withdrew to the edge of the clearing. Fireheart could hear Thornpaw meowing eagerly, as if he was already plying his mentor with questions.

The Brightkit was still standing beneath the Highrock, looking up at Bluestar. Fireheart was close enough to see her whiskers quivering with anticipation.

“Whitestorm,” Bluestar announced, “you are free to take a new apprentice now that Sandstorm has become a warrior. You will be mentor to Brightpaw.”

The big white cat, who had been stretched out at the front of the gathering, stood up and padded over to Brightpaw. She waited for him with her eyes shining.

“Whitestorm,” meowed Bluestar, “you are a warrior of great skill and experience. I know that you will pass on all you know to this young apprentice.”

“Certainly,” Whitestorm purred. “Welcome, Brightpaw.” He bent to touch noses with her, and escorted her back to the assembled cats.

Whitestorm was a fine choice for mentor, Fireheart thought. He was one of the kindest and most warm-hearted cats in the Clan, something his new apprentice definitely shared. But he couldn’t help but feel surprised that a cat like Owltuft or Willowpelt hadn’t been made mentors instead, considering just how recently Whitestorm had finished training Sandstorm.

The other cats began to gather around, congratulating the two new apprentices and calling them by their new names. Brindleface had brought Cloudkit to congratulate the newcomers. Fireheart heard Brightpaw apologize about leaving Brindleface alone with the fluffy white kit, with Brindleface promising that she could manage and inviting the littermates to come back and visit. Brackenpaw was delightedly rubbing himself against both of his siblings, excited to finally have them join him for official training, besides Fireheart’s somewhat approved invitations.

As he went to join them, Fireheart caught sight of Graystripe at the back of the crowd, beside the tunnel. His friend must have returned to camp unseen while the rest of the Clan were listening to Bluestar.

“It’s all arranged,” Graystripe mewed softly, padding over to Fireheart. “If it’s sunny tomorrow, Silverstream and Mistyfoot will persuade Graypool to leave the camp for some exercise. They’ll meet us at sunhigh.”

“Where?” Fireheart asked, not sure that he wanted to go far into RiverClan territory two days running. It was dangerous to leave so much fresh ThunderClan scent there.

“There’s a quiet glade just over the border, not far from the Twoleg bridge,” Graystripe explained. “Silverstream and I used to meet there, before, you know. . .”

Fireheart understood. Graystripe had been keeping his promise about meeting Silverstream only at Fourtrees, and it was only because of his desire to find out about the Sunningrocks battle that they were taking an extra risk. “Thank you,” he murmured sincerely. “I’m surprised Willowmist isn’t coming,” he commented.

Graystripe winced, flexing his shoulders as if they were sore from the black she-cat’s attack earlier.

Spotting the pale ginger she-cat cheerfully congratulating her former mentor, Fireheart beckoned Sandstorm over to join them.

“What’s going on?” she asked, padding over in a smooth, elegant manner. Fireheart couldn’t help but notice the way her muscles rippled under sleek pelt.

He let out a purr, almost forgetting to answer until Graystripe jabbed his muzzle. “Come on, stupid furball!”

“Right, sorry,” Fireheart apologized. “Apparently we’re meeting Graypool tomorrow to get information that only she knows.”

“Graypool?” Sandstorm hissed. “As in Swansoar, Mosslight, Stonefur, and Mistyfoot’s mother and the RiverClan elder who’s almost as old as Crookedstar himself? That Graypool?”

“Yes, that Graypool!” Graystripe hissed back. “She knows what Fireheart wants to learn, so Mistyfoot and Silverstream are going to convince her to talk to us.”

Sandstorm stared at him. “How in StarClan did you convince Crookedstar’s daughter to help you?”

Before Graystripe could even try to answer such a loaded question, Fireheart flicked his tail across his friend’s mouth. “We told her our suspicions about Redtail and Oakheart’s deaths, and she was happy to help us. She didn’t want an unnecessary war.” With a satisfied grin, he added, “Ravenpaw was right. It was the rockfall that killed Oakheart, not our almighty deputy.”

“Which means that Tigerclaw definitely killed Redtail!” Sandstorm realized.

Fireheart nodded. “And whatever Graypool can tell us may be the key to solving everything.”

Sandstorm stood up, making eye contact with him. “I’m going with you tomorrow. Whatever Graypool is going to tell you, I want you to promise I get to learn it too.”

“I promise,” Fireheart mewed. He’d already told her he’d bring her with him if they needed to talk to RiverClan again, and he had no problem keeping this promise.

“Thank you,” she purred.

Fireheart smiled. “Of course. And now that we’ve settled that, I’m going to get some fresh-kill and congratulate the new apprentices. Would you like to come with me?”

“I would love to.”

As they padded over to the pile of fresh-kill to choose a piece for himself, his paws twitched in anticipation of the next sunhigh, when he would discover what Graypool knew of this mystery. And when he looked back at Graystripe, he could see that his friend was watching them with a cheerful look on his face.

*  *  *  *  *

“This is the place,” Graystripe whispered.

He, Fireheart, and Sandstorm were only a few rabbit-hops over the RiverClan border, on their own side of the river. The ground gave way to a deep hollow, sheltered by thornbushes. Snow had drifted there, and a tiny stream, frozen now into icicles, carved a deep channel between two rocks. Fireheart guessed that when newleaf came and the snow melted, this would be a beautiful and well-hidden place.

The two cats squeezed under one of the thornbushes and scrabbled among the dead leaves to make comfortable nests while they waited. Fireheart had caught a mouse on the way and brought it as a gift for Graypool. He dropped it where the leaves were driest, trying to forget his own hunger, and settled down with his paws tucked under him. He knew he was putting himself and his friends in danger with this meeting, not to mention the fact that he was breaking the warrior code and lying to his Clan — yet he believed that this was all for the sake of his Clan. Fireheart only wished he could be sure that the path he had chosen was the right one.

“Remind me how you knew about this place?” Sandstorm questioned quietly.

“Silverstream told me about it when we made our plan,” he answered, carefully dodging the full truth.

The weak leaf-bare sunlight glittered on the snow in the hollow. Sunhigh had come and gone, and Fireheart was beginning to think the other cats weren’t coming when he caught a RiverClan scent and heard a thin, elderly voice raised in complaint from the direction of the river.

“This is too far for my old bones. I’m going to freeze to death.”

“Nonsense, Graypool, it’s a beautiful day.” That was Silverstream. “The exercise will do you good.”

Fireheart heard a snort of contempt in response. Three cats came into view, picking their way down the side of the hollow. Two of them were Silverstream and Mistyfoot. The third was an elder he had never seen before, a skinny she-cat with patchy fur and a scarred muzzle turning white with age.

“Guess all elders are the same,” Sandstorm joked under her breath. Fireheart let out a quiet purr of laughter.

Halfway down the hollow she paused, stiffening as she sniffed the air. “There are ThunderClan cats here!” she hissed.

Fireheart saw Silverstream and Mistyfoot exchange a worried glance. “Yes, I know,” Mistyfoot soothed the elderly she-cat. “It’s all right.”

Graypool gave her a suspicious look. “What do you mean, all right? What are they doing here?”

“They just want to talk to you,” Mistyfoot said gently. “Trust me.”

For a heartbeat Fireheart was afraid the elder would turn back, yowling, to raise the alann, but to his relief, Graypool’s curiosity was too much for her. She padded after Mistyfoot, shaking her paws with disgust as they sank into the soft snow.

“Graystripe?” Silverstream mewed warily.

Graystripe stuck his head out of the bush. “We’re here.”

The three RiverClan cats pushed their way into the prickly shelter. Graypool tensed as she came face to face with Fireheart and Graystripe, and her yellow eyes flared with hostility.

“This is Fireheart, and this is Graystripe and…Sandstorm,” meowed Silverstream, clearly confused to see another ThunderClan cat.. “They — ”

“Three of them,” Graypool interrupted. “There had better be a good explanation for this.”

“There is,” Mistyfoot assured her. “We were only expecting Fireheart and Graystripe, but they’re decent cats — for ThunderClan, anyway. Give them a chance to explain.”

Both she and Silverstream looked expectantly at Fireheart.

“We need to talk to you,” Fireheart began, feeling his whiskers twitch nervously. He pushed the piece of fresh-kill toward her with one paw. “Here, I brought you this.”

Graypool eyed the mouse. “Well, at least you remember your manners, ThunderClan or not.” She crouched down and began to crunch the fresh-kill, showing teeth broken with age. “Stringy, but it’ll do,” she rasped, gulping.

While she was still eating, Fireheart tried to find the right words for what he needed to say. “I want to ask you about something Oakheart said before he died,” he ventured.

Graypool’s ears twitched.

“I heard what happened in the battle at the Sunningrocks,” Fireheart continued. “Before he died, Oakheart told one of our warriors that no ThunderClan cat should ever harm Stonefur. Do you know what he might have meant?”

Graypool did not reply until she had swallowed the last morsel of mouse and swiped a remarkably pink tongue around her muzzle. Then she sat up and curled her tail around her paws. She fixed a thoughtful gaze on Fireheart for several long moments, until he felt that she could see everything that was in his mind.

“I think you should go,” she mewed at last to the two young RiverClan cats. “Go on, out. You too,” she added to Graystripe and Sandstorm. “I’ll talk to Fireheart alone. I can see he’s the one who needs to know.”

Fireheart bit back a protest. If he insisted that Graystripe should stay, the RiverClan elder might refuse to talk at all. He looked at his friend and saw his own puzzled expression reflected in Graystripe’s yellow eyes. What did Graypool have to say that she didn’t want her own Clan to hear? Fireheart shivered, and not from the cold. Some instinct told him there was a secret here, dark as the shadow of a crow’s wing. But if it was a RiverClan secret, he couldn’t imagine what it could have to do with ThunderClan.

From the glances they exchanged, Silverstream and Mistyfoot were just as confused, but they started to back out from the bush without protest.

“We’ll wait for you near the Twoleg bridge,” Silverstream mewed.

“There’s no need,” Graypool hissed impatiently. “I may be old, but I’m not helpless. I’ll find my own way back.”

Silverstream shrugged and the two RiverClan cats withdrew, with Graystripe following them.

Sandstorm’s fur bushed out. “I’m staying,” she growled.

The RiverClan elder’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I gave my terms. If he wants to know what I know, Fireheart listens alone.”

“You’re not the only one who made a deal,” Sandstorm asserted.

“What are you doing?” Graystripe’s somewhat panicked meow sounded as he poked his head under the bush. “Don’t argue with her!”

“Fireheart promised I would get to learn whatever he did!” Sandstorm hissed. “I’m not leaving now.”

Nervously, Fireheart looked towards Graypool, but to his surprise, she let out a rattling purr. “Ah, I see,” she said, sounding amused. “Very well, Sandstorm. I will allow you to stay and here what I have to say. Graystripe, it’s time for you to leave.”

Graypool sat in silence until the scents of the cats who had left began to fade. “Now,” she began, “Mistyfoot has told you that I’m her mother, and Mosslight and Stonefur’s?”

“Yes.” Fireheart’s initial nervousness was ebbing away, to be replaced with respect for this ancient enemy queen, as he sensed the wisdom beneath her apparent short temper.

“Well,” growled the old cat, “I’m not.” As Fireheart opened his mouth to speak, she went on. “I brought the three of them up as kits, but I didn’t give birth to them. Oakheart brought them to me in the middle of leaf-bare, when they were just a few days old.”

“But where did Oakheart get the kits?” Fireheart blurted out.

Graypool’s eyes narrowed. “He told me he found them in the forest, as if they’d been abandoned by rogue cats or Twolegs,” she meowed. “But I’m not stupid, and my nose has always worked just fine. The kits smelled of the forest all right, but there was another scent underneath. The scent of ThunderClan.”

“Great StarClan!” Sandstorm gasped.

“What? ” Fireheart was so astonished he could hardly speak. “Are you saying that Mistyfoot, Stonefur, and Mosslight came from ThunderClan?”

“Yes.” Graypool gave her chest fur a couple of licks. “That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

Fireheart was stunned. “Did Oakheart steal them?” he asked.

Graypool’s fur bristled, and she drew her lips back in a snarl. “Oakheart was a noble warrior. He would never stoop to stealing kits!”

“We know that!” Sandstorm meowed quickly, attempting to calm the elder.

“I’m sorry.” Alarmed, Fireheart crouched and flattened his ears. “I didn’t mean... It’s just so hard to believe!”

Graypool sniffed, and her fur gradually lay flat again. Fireheart was still struggling with what she had just told him. If Oakheart hadn’t stolen the kits, perhaps rogue cats had taken them from the ThunderClan camp — but why? And why abandon them so quickly, when the scent of their Clan was still on their fur?

“Then. . .if they were ThunderClan kits, why did you look after them?” he stammered. What Clan would willingly take in enemy kits, and in a season when prey was already scarce?

Graypool shrugged. “Because Oakheart asked me to. He may not have been deputy back then, but he was a fine young warrior. I’d recently given birth to kits of my own, but all except one died in the bitter cold. Even Swansoar would have died were it not for Healer.

“I had plenty of milk to spare, and the poor little scraps would never have lived to see the sunrise if some cat hadn’t cared for them. Their ThunderClan scent soon faded,” she went on. “And even if Oakheart hadn’t told the truth about where they came from, I respected him enough not to ask any more questions. Thanks to Oakheart, and to me, they grew into strong kits, and now they’re good warriors — a credit to their Clan.”

“Do they know all this?” Fireheart asked.

“I doubt it,” Sandstorm whispered. “It would be dangerous for them if they did.”

“Now listen to me,” rasped Graypool. “Mistyfoot, Stonefur, Mosslight, and Swansoar know nothing, and if you tell them what I’ve just told you, I’ll rip your liver out and feed it to the crows.” She thrust her head forward and drew her lips back as she spoke, baring her teeth. In spite of her age, Fireheart flinched.

“They never doubted that I’m their real mother,” Graypool growled. “I like to think they even look a bit like me. Even Mosslight looks similar, though not quite as much as her littermates do.”

As she spoke, Fireheart felt something stir in his mind, like the twitch of a fallen leaf that betrayed the mouse sheltering beneath it. He thought that what Graypool had just said should mean something to him, but when he tried to capture the thought it scuttled away. Beside him, Sandstorm perked up, as if she too saw some kind of significance.

“They have always been loyal to RiverClan,” Graypool insisted. “I don’t want that loyalty to be divided now. I’ve heard the gossip about you, Fireheart — I know you were once a kittypet — so you should understand more than any cat what it means to have a paw in two places. My kits might not all be related to me or each other by blood, but they are family all the same.”

Fireheart knew he would never make any cat go through the uncertainties that he suffered himself about not fully belonging to his Clan. “I promise I’ll never tell them,” he meowed solemnly. “I swear it by StarClan.”

“As do I,” Sandstorm promised. “If the truth ever comes out, it won’t be because of us.”

The old cat relaxed and stretched, her front paws extended and her rump in the air. “I accept your word, Fireheart,” she replied. “I don’t know if this has helped you at all. But it might explain why Oakheart would never let a ThunderClan cat harm Mistyfoot or Stone fur. Even if he claimed to know nothing about where they came from, he would have smelled the ThunderClan scent on them as clearly as I did. As far as they’re concerned, they are loyal only to RiverClan, but it would seem that Oakheart’s loyalties were divided on their behalf.”

“I’m very grateful to you,” Fireheart purred, trying to sound as respectful as he could. “I don’t know what this means in relation to what I have to find out, but I really think it’s important, for both our Clans.”

“That’s as may be,” mewed Graypool. She frowned. “But now that I’ve told you everything, you must leave our territory.”

“Of course,” Fireheart meowed. “You won’t even know I’ve been here. And Graypool. . .” He paused before thrusting his way out of the bush and held her pale yellow gaze for a moment. “Thank you.”

Sandstorm dipped her head to the RiverClan she-cat before following. “May StarClan light your path.”

She followed Fireheart as he headed back towards the river. He was thinking hard about what Graypool had told them. Now it made sense that Oakheart hadn’t wanted Redtail to hurt Stonefur. Nothing could be worse than being injured by one’s birth Clan. Not to mention the fact that Redtail must have been old enough to know him when he was a kit.

To his surprise, Sandstorm wanted to talk about what they had learned. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“That Mosslight, Stonefur, and Mistyfoot are half-Clan?” he guessed. “Mistyfoot did say that Oakheart was their father.”

“No, stupid furball!” Sandstorm hissed, sounding impatient. “It means that they must be Bluestar’s kits!”

Fireheart froze. “You can’t be serious!” he exclaimed. “Bluestar’s kits died. And it’s not like we know how many of them there were.”

“You might not know, but I do,” she corrected. “Remember, I’ve been listening to the stories longer than you have. Bluestar had her kits shortly before she became deputy, which would have been a problem, since the Clans have this stupid unofficial rule that nursing queens can’t be deputy. Anyway, Mistflow used to talk about how there were three of them, just like with her and her littermates. Since that leaf-bare was completely terrible, there wasn’t enough prey to feed any cat. But RiverClan was doing better than any of the other Clans. Just a few days before her promotion, Bluestar woke up the entire Clan screeching about how her kits had been taken, and to go with her story, there was a massive hole in the side of the nursery. Then, a few moons later, Mistypaw, Stonepaw, and Mosspaw showed up at various Gatherings. No one thought too much of it, but Mistflow always thought it at least a little suspicious.”

“If you’re right, then the kits would have been too young to remember any of it. Otherwise, it would have put everyone’s stories and secrets at risk.”

A gray-and-white she-cat padded towards them on the ice. “You’re partially right,” Mosslight agreed. “Stonefur and Mistyfoot don’t remember anything. But I was originally supposed to die, so I remember Bluestar, our mother. I remember the ThunderClan camp and Runningwind teaching us the hunter’s crouch. I remember how Bluestar brought us to Sunningrocks to meet our father Oakheart and how she and Healer took turns keeping us warm. And I remember an ancient white-furred she-cat appearing in my dreams and promising me a great destiny since I was going to survive, to live.”

Fireheart exchanged a shocked look with Sandstorm. “Why are you telling us this?”

She gazed at him evenly. “Because you need to stop entering my territory like this. As long as you’re searching for answers, you will continue to cross the border, and at some point you will be caught by someone who isn’t willing to give you a chance to explain yourself first. Remember what almost happened to Whiteclaw. I would not have been so…friendly if your decisions had killed my mate.”

“Whiteclaw’s your mate?” Fireheart spluttered.

“Calm down; it’s normal,” Sandstorm whispered.

“But I didn’t think either of you had mates.”

Mosslight snorted. “To be fair, we were both supposed to be dead, so I guess you’re not wrong.”

“I have to talk to Bluestar, now!” Fireheart exclaimed. “She needs to know what we’ve learned.”

Sandstorm glared at him. “Absolutely not! I know you have to tell her about what we learned about Oakheart’s death and what that means about Redtail’s death, but you cannot talk to her about discovering her long-lost kits in RiverClan!”

“She’d shut you down immediately,” Mosslight agreed. “That would ruin any case your trying to make.”

“Well, I can’t just say nothing,” Fireheart protested.

“You can and you will. Maybe the time will come for you to talk about this someday, but right now you need to be smart…er,” Sandstorm ordered. “Please. I don’t want you to do something that would turn out to be a massive mistake.”

Mosslight nodded her agreement. “My mother invited you to join her Clan for a reason. Don’t make her regret that decision.”

*  *  *  *  *

Fireheart’s mind was spinning as he returned to the camp. Mistyfoot, Stonefur, and Mosslight had ThunderClan blood! And not just that, but they were Bluestar’s kits! But they belonged entirely to RiverClan now, with no idea of their divided heritage. Blood loyalty and Clan loyalty were not always the same, Fireheart reflected. His own kittypet roots did not make his commitment to ThunderClan any less strong.

And perhaps now that Mistyfoot had confirmed how Oakheart had died, Bluestar would be willing to accept that Tigerclaw had killed Redtail. Fireheart decided not to ask her about Graypool, Sandstorm, and Mosslight’s latest revelations too; Bluestar might not be happy to talk to him about what she’d done.

When he reached the clearing, Fireheart left Sandstorm by the fresh-kill pile and made straight for the Highrock. He passed Lightpaw on the way. Now one of the oldest two apprentices, the gray-and-white tom was staring around the clearing, appearing almost as though he were mentally checking that every cat was there and safe. When he saw him, Lightpaw mewed a subdued greeting. As he approached Bluestar’s den, he heard two cats meowing together, and picked up Tigerclaw’s scent along with Bluestar’s. Quickly he pressed himself against the rock, hoping to stay out of sight, as the deputy shouldered his way out past the curtain of lichen that screened the mouth of the den.

“I’ll try a hunting patrol toward the Snakerocks,” the dark tabby called over his shoulder. “No cat has hunted there for a few days.”

“Good idea,” agreed Bluestar, following him out. “Prey is still scarce. May StarClan grant the thaw comes soon.”

Tigerclaw grunted agreement and loped off toward the warriors’ den, not noticing Fireheart where he crouched by the rock.

When he had gone, Fireheart padded up to the mouth of the den. “Bluestar,” he called, as the Clan leader turned to go back inside. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“Very well,” Bluestar meowed calmly. “Come in.”

Fireheart followed her into the den. The curtain of lichen swung back into place, cutting off the bright snow-light. In the dim interior, Bluestar sat facing him. “What is it?” she asked.

Fireheart took a deep breath. “You remember the story that Ravenpaw told, that Redtail killed Oakheart at the battle of the Sunningrocks?”

Bluestar stiffened. “Fireheart, that is over,” she growled. “I told you before, I have reasons enough to be satisfied that this isn’t true.”

“I know.” Fireheart bowed his head respectfully. “But I’ve found out something new.”

Bluestar waited in silence. Fireheart couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “No cat killed Oakheart — not Redtail, not Tigerclaw,” he went on, nervously aware that it was too late now to change his mind. “Oakheart died when a rock collapsed on top of him.”

Bluestar frowned. “How do you know this?”

“I. . .I went to see Ravenpaw again,” Fireheart admitted. “After the last Gathering.” He was ready for anger as he made his confession, but the Clan leader remained calm.

“So that’s why you were late,” she observed.

“I had to find out the truth,” Fireheart meowed quickly. “And I — ”

“Wait a moment,” Bluestar interrupted. “Ravenpaw told you at first that Redtail killed Oakheart. Is he changing his story now?”

“No, not at all,” Fireheart promised. “I misunderstood him. Redtail was partly responsible for Oakheart’s death, because he drove him under the overhanging rock that collapsed on top of him. But he didn’t mean to kill him. And that’s what you couldn’t believe,” he reminded Bluestar. “That Redtail would deliberately kill another cat. Besides. . .”

“Well?” Bluestar sounded as calm as ever.

“I went across the river and spoke to a RiverClan cat,” Fireheart confessed. “Just to be sure. She told me that it’s true: Oakheart died from the rockfall.” He looked at his paws, bracing himself for Bluestar’s fury that he had been trespassing on enemy territory, but when he looked up again, there was nothing in the leader’s eyes except for intense interest.

She gave him a slight nod, and Fireheart went on. “So we know for a fact that Tigerclaw was lying about how Oakheart died — he didn’t kill him himself, in revenge for Redtail. The rockfall killed him. Isn’t it possible that he is lying about Redtail’s death as well?”

As he spoke, Bluestar began to look troubled, narrowing her eyes so that only the faintest sliver of blue showed in the dim light of the den. She let out a long sigh. “Tigerclaw is a fine deputy,” she murmured. “And these are serious charges.”

“I know,” Fireheart agreed quietly. “But can’t you see, Bluestar, how dangerous he is? None of the time travelers like him,” he added, suppressing a pang of guilt at using them to defend his words. They couldn’t tell anyone the truth until after it came out on its own.

Bluestar sank her head onto her chest. She was silent for so long that Fireheart wondered if he should leave, but she had not dismissed him. “I do not wish to doubt him,” she meowed eventually. “Leaf-bare is never a good time for a battle, and the Clan is hungry and cold. We have multiple new litters of kits coming, and Tigerclaw fathers one of them. Kits deserve to know their father.”

“Please just consider it,” Fireheart begged. “If Tigerclaw murdered Redtail to become deputy, who says he’ll be satisfied with that? What if he decides he’s tired of waiting to become leader and goes after you.”

“Tigerclaw is not that foolish,” Bluestar pointed out. “If he did kill Redtail at Sunningrocks, it is because there were few cats around to see him. He would not risk being caught by the Clan.”

Fireheart dropped his gaze. “I suppose you’re right.”

To his surprise, he felt Bluestar rest her tail on his shoulder. “You have never been wrong before, my former apprentice. StarClan has blessed you with strong instincts, some of the strongest I have ever see. I will think on what you have said.” She pointed towards the lichen. “You have had a long day,” she meowed. “Go rest and eat.”

“Thank you, Bluestar,” he purred, grateful that she was thinking about what he had told her and taking it to heart. As he left her den, he added, Thank you, StarClan!

Chapter Text

After stopping at the fresh-kill pile and spotting a vole and a mouse, almost unconsciously, he headed for the tunnel of ferns that led to Yellowfang’s den.

Cinderpaw limped out and almost collided with him. Fireheart fell back on his haunches with a thump, and Cinderpaw skidded to a halt, spraying him with snow.

“Sorry, Fireheart,” she puffed. “I didn’t see you there.”

Fireheart shook the snow off his coat. His heart felt suddenly even lighter at the sight of Cinderpaw, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and fur sticking out in all directions. This was how she used to look, when she was his apprentice; for a while, after the accident, Fireheart had been afraid that this Cinderpaw had vanished forever. “What’s the hurry?” he asked.

“I’m going out to look for herbs for Yellowfang,” Cinderpaw explained. “So many cats have been ill, what with all this snow, that her stocks are getting very low. I want to find as much as I can before it gets dark. And for some reason, Jayfeather asked her to teach him battle moves.”

“Why does he want that?” Fireheart questioned in surprise.

Cinderpaw shrugged. “I wasn’t entirely paying attention,” she admitted. “He said something about ‘the blind fighting the blind’ and wanting payback for a past fight.”

“I’ll come and help you,” Fireheart offered, pushing away his confusion. There was no point in understanding the blind medicine cat, of his grandson. Jayfeather did as Jayfeather wanted. Bluestar had told Fireheart to rest, but he still had plenty of energy, and not even Tigerclaw could find fault if he went to collect herbs for the medicine cats.

“Great!” Cinderpaw meowed happily.

Side by side, they headed across the clearing toward the gorse tunnel. Fireheart had to slow his pace to match Cinderpaw’s, but if she was aware of it she didn’t seem to mind.

Just before they reached the tunnel, Fireheart heard the shrill voices of kits. He turned and stared at the branches of a fallen tree, close to the elders’ den. A trio of kits had surrounded Brokentail, who had been given a nest among the branches.

Ever since Bluestar had offered shelter to Brokentail, he and Clawface had lived alone in his den, with warriors to guard him. Not many cats passed that way, and the kits had no reason to be anywhere near him.

“Rogue! Traitor!” That was Cloudkit’s voice raised in a jeering meow. Fireheart watched in alarm as the white kit darted forward, jabbed Brokentail in the ribs with one paw, and scrambled back out of range. Tulipkit copied him, squealing, “Can’t catch me!”

Darkstripe, whose turn it was to guard the blind cat, made no attempt to send the kits away. He sat a fox-length away, watching with his paws tucked under him and a gleam of amusement in his eyes. Meanwhile, Clawface was crouched a bit farther away, his face grim and his muscles tense, as though he was struggling not to react, unsure how other cats would respond.

Brokentail swung his head from side to side in frustration, but with his cloudy, unseeing eyes he could not retaliate. His dark tabby fur looked dull and patchy, and his broad face was scored with scars, some of them from the clawing that had ruined his eyes. There was no trace of the former arrogant and bloodthirsty leader now.

Fireheart exchanged a worried glance with Cinderpaw. Many cats, he knew, thought Brokentail deserved to suffer, but seeing the former leader so old and helpless, he could not help feeling a scrap of pity.

Anger began to burn inside him as the taunting went on. “Wait for me,” he mewed to Cinderpaw, and hurried over toward the edge of the clearing.

He saw Cloudkit pounce on the blind tom’s tail, worrying it with needle-sharp teeth. Brokentail scrabbled away from him on unsteady legs and swiped one paw in his direction.

In an instant, Darkstripe jumped to his paws, hissing, “Touch that kit, traitor, and I’ll flay your skin in strips!”

Fireheart was too angry to speak. Leaping toward Cloudkit, he grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and swung him around, away from Brokentail.

Cloudkit wailed in protest. “Stop it! That hurts!”

Fireheart dropped him roughly into the snow and let out a low growl through bared teeth. “Go home!” he ordered the other kits. “Go home to your mother. Now!”

The kits stared at him, wide-eyed with fear, and then scuttled off, to disappear into the nursery.

“As for you — ” Fireheart hissed to Cloudkit.

“Leave the kit alone,” Darkstripe interrupted, padding up to stand beside Cloudkit. “He’s not doing any harm.”

“Keep out of this, Darkstripe,” growled Fireheart.

Darkstripe shouldered past him, almost knocking him over, before stalking back to his prisoner. “Kittypet!” he sneered over his shoulder.

Fireheart’s muscles tensed. He wanted to leap at Darkstripe and force the insult back down his throat, but he stopped himself. This was no time for Clan warriors to start fighting each other. Besides, he had to deal with Cloudkit.

“Did you hear that?” he demanded, glaring down at the white kit. “Kittypet?”

“So?” Cloudkit muttered mutinously. “What’s a kittypet?”

Fireheart gulped as he realized that Cloudkit had not yet learned what his origins meant to the Clan. “Well, a kittypet is a cat who lives with Twolegs,” he began carefully. “Some Clan cats don’t believe that a cat who’s born a kittypet will ever make a good warrior. And that includes me, because like you, I was born in Twolegplace.”

As Fireheart spoke, Cloudkit’ s eyes grew wider and wider. “What do you mean?” he meowed. “I was born here!”

Fireheart stared at him. “No, you weren’t,” he meowed. “Your mother is my sister, Princess. She lives in a Twoleg nest. She gave you to the Clan when you were very young, so you could be a warrior.”

For a few moments Cloudkit stood rigid, as if he were a kit made of snow and ice. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Fireheart meowed. “I. . .I thought you knew. I thought Brindleface would have told you.”

Cloudkit backed away a couple of tail-lengths. The shock in his blue eyes was slowly replaced with cold understanding. “So that’s why the other cats hate me,” he spat. “They think I’ll never be any good because I wasn’t born in this dump of a forest. It’s stupid!”

Fireheart struggled to find the right words to reassure him. He couldn’t help remembering how excited Princess had been when she gave her son to the Clan, and how he had promised her that Cloudkit would have a wonderful life ahead of him. Now he was forcing Cloudkit to think about his past, and the difficulties he would have before being accepted by the Clan. What if the kit began to think that Fireheart and Princess had made the wrong decision?

Fireheart sighed. “It may be stupid, but that’s the way it is. I should know. Listen,” he explained patiently. “Warriors like Darkstripe think being a kittypet is something bad. It just means we have to work twice as hard to make them see that kittypet blood is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Cloudkit straightened up. “I don’t care!” he mewed. “I’m going to be the best warrior in the Clan. I’ll fight any cat who says I’m not. I’ll be brave enough to kill outlaws like old Brokentail.”

Fireheart was relieved to see Cloudkit’s spirit overcoming the shock of his discovery. But he wasn’t sure that the kit really understood the meaning of the warrior code. “There’s more to being a warrior than killing,” he warned Cloudkit. “A true warrior — the best warrior — isn’t cruel or mean. He doesn’t claw an enemy who can’t fight back. Where’s the honor in that?”

Cloudkit ducked his head, not meeting Fireheart’ s eyes. Fireheart hoped he had said the right thing. Looking around for Cinderpaw, he saw that she had gone up to Brokentail and was checking his tail where Cloudkit had worried it. “There’s no damage,” she mewed to the blinded tom.

Brokentail crouched motionless, his ruined eyes fixed on his paws, and did not respond. Reluctantly Fireheart went over and nudged the old cat to his paws. “Come on,” he meowed. “Let’s get you back to your den.”

“I’ll help him,” Clawface offered, speaking for the first time. Fireheart nodded in agreement.

Brokentail turned in silence and let his Clanmate guide him back to the leaf-lined hollow under the dead branches. Darkstripe watched them shuffle past with a contemptuous flick of his tail.

“Right, Cinderpaw,” Fireheart meowed when Brokentail was settled. “Let’s go and find those herbs.”

“Where are you going?” Cloudkit piped up, bouncing over to them with all his energy restored. “Can I come?”

When Fireheart hesitated, Cinderpaw mewed, “Oh, let him come, Fireheart. He only gets into trouble because he’s bored. And we could do with some more help.”

Cloudkit’s eyes gleamed with pleasure, and a loud purr rose from his throat, an enormous sound to come from his small, fluffy body.

Fireheart shrugged. “All right. But put one paw wrong, and you’ll be back in the nursery before you can say ‘mouse’!” Looking around, he saw Lightpaw still watching the clearing, his eyes hollow. “Lightpaw, would you like to come with us?” he called.

For a heartbeat, it seemed like the gray-and-white apprentice was about to refuse. Then a hunting patrol made up of Cinderheart, Lionblaze, Owltuft, and Stripestalk entered the camp, their jaws filled with prey. Cinderheart seemed to have somehow managed a catch of three mice, which were dangling from her jaws by their tails. Lionblaze looked immensely proud of his mate.

Some of the tension seemed to leave Lightpaw’s body when he saw his cousin returned safely. “Sure,” he meowed.

Limping steadily, Cinderpaw led the way along the ravine to the hollow where the apprentices had their training sessions. Already the sun was beginning to go down, casting long blue shadows across the snow. Cloudkit scampered ahead of them, peering into holes in the rock and stalking imaginary prey.

“How can you find herbs with snow on the ground?” Fireheart asked. “Won’t everything be frozen?”

“There’ll still be berries,” Cinderpaw pointed out. “Yellowfang told me to look for juniper — that’s good for coughs and bellyaches — and broom to make poultices for broken legs and wounds. Oh, and alder bark for toothache.”

“Berries!” Cloudkit skittered sideways toward them. “I’ll find lots for you!” He dashed away again in the direction of a clump of bushes growing up the side of the hollow.

Cinderpaw flicked her tail in amusement. “He’s keen,” she remarked. “Once he’s apprenticed, he’ll learn quickly.”

Fireheart made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Cloudkit’ s energy reminded him of Cinderpaw when she was first made apprentice. Except Cinderpaw would never have taunted a helpless cat like blind Brokentail.

“Well, if he’s my apprentice, he’d better start listening to me,” he muttered.

“Oh, yes?” Cinderpaw gave Fireheart a teasing look. “You’re a really tough mentor — all your apprentices will be trembling in their fur!”

“Yeah, everyone is scared of you!” Lightpaw added, seeming a bit happier for once.

Fireheart met her laughing eyes and felt himself relaxing. As usual, being with Cinderpaw was lifting his spirits, and it was nice to see the older apprentice finally cheering up. He would stop worrying about Cloudkit and get on with the job they had come to do.

“Cinderpaw!” Cloudkit called from farther along the hollow. “There are berries here — come and look!”

Fireheart craned his neck and saw the white kit crouching beneath a small, dark-leaved bush that pushed its way up between two rocks. Bright scarlet berries grew close to the stems.

“They look tasty,” Cloudkit mewed as the two cats drew nearer. He stretched his jaws wide to take a hungry mouthful.

At the same moment a gasp came from Cinderpaw. To Fireheart’s amazement she shot forward, propelling herself over the snow as fast as her injured leg would allow. “No, Cloudkit!” she yowled.

She barreled into the kit, bowling him over. Cloudkit squealed in shock and the two cats scuffled together on the ground. Fireheart bounded over, anxious that Cloudkit might hurt the injured Cinderpaw, but as he reached them she pushed the kit off her and sat up, panting. “Did you touch one?” she demanded.

“N-No,” Cloudkit stammered, puzzled. “I was only — ”

“Look.” Cinderpaw shoved him around until his nose was a mouse-length from the bush. Fireheart had never heard her sound so fierce. “Look but don’t touch. That’s yew. The berries are so poisonous they are called deathberries. Even one could kill you.”

Cloudkit’s eyes were round as the full moon. Speechless for once, he gazed, horrified, at Cinderpaw.

“Mouse-brain!” Lightpaw reprimanded. “You never eat a plant if you don’t know that it’s safe!

“All right,” Cinderpaw mewed more gently, giving his shoulder a couple of comforting licks. “It didn’t happen this time. But take a good look now, so you don’t make that mistake again. And never — do you hear me, never — eat anything if you don’t know what it is.”

“Yes, Cinderpaw,” Cloudkit promised.

“Go on looking for berries, then.” Cinderpaw nudged the kit to his paws. “And call me as soon as you find anything.”

“And don’t try to eat anything,” Lightpaw added forcefully.

Cloudkit padded off, glancing back over his shoulder once or twice as he went. Fireheart couldn’t remember seeing him so subdued. Bold as the kit was, he had received a real shock. “It’s a good thing you were here, Cinderpaw,” he meowed, feeling a pang of guilt that he hadn’t known enough to warn Cloudkit. “You’ve learned such a lot from Yellowfang.”

“She’s a good teacher,” Cinderpaw replied. She shook several clumps of snow off her fur and began padding up the hollow after Cloudkit. Fireheart walked beside her, once more slowing his pace to match hers.

This time Cinderpaw noticed. “You know, my leg has healed as much as it ever will,” she meowed quietly. “I’ll be sorry to leave Yellowfang’s den, but I can’t stay there forever.” She turned to look at Fireheart. All the mischief had faded from her eyes; instead, there was pain and uncertainty in the blue depths. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Fireheart stretched over to her and rubbed his face comfortingly against hers. “Bluestar will know.”

“Maybe.” Cinderpaw shrugged. “Ever since I was a tiny kit, I wanted to be just like Bluestar. She’s so noble, and she’s given her whole life to the Clan. But Fireheart, what can I give now?”

“I don’t know,” Fireheart admitted.

The life of a cat could be followed clearly through the Clan, from kit to apprentice to warrior, sometimes to queen, and then retired to an honorable old age among the elders. Fireheart had no idea what happened to a cat who was injured too badly for the warrior life, for the long patrols, the hunting and fighting that were required of a warrior. Even the queens who cared for the kits in the nursery had all been warriors once, with skills that enabled them to feed and defend their little ones.

“How can you say that!” Lightpaw spat suddenly. Both Fireheart and Cinderpaw started and turned to stare at him. “So you’re not like every cat. So your leg was injured and it won’t get any better than it is right now. That doesn’t matter! You are still one of the smartest, bravest, most enthusiastic cats I know, and you can do anything you set your mind to.”

Cinderpaw was brave and intelligent, and before her accident she had shown endless energy and commitment to the Clan. Surely that couldn’t all be thrown away? This is Tigerclaw’s fault, Fireheart thought darkly. He laid the trail that led to her accident. “You should go to Bluestar,” he suggested out loud. “Ask her what she thinks.”

“Perhaps I will.” Cinderpaw shrugged, seeming uncertain.

Lightpaw stuck his muzzle in her face. “I’ve seen how you are in the medicine den, and I watched you during your training as a warrior. Nothing could stop you then and it can’t stop you now. Jayfeather made it clear that you still had the chance to be a warrior. The choice is yours. You can’t let doubt and uncertainty cloud your judgement.”

The gray she-cat’s shoulders drooped sadly. “Oh, Lightpaw, I don’t know if I can do that, if the Clan would allow it. Halftail clearly wasn’t able to remain a warrior when he lost his tail.”

“But Halftail didn’t lose his tail until after he became an elder,” Lightpaw pointed out. “He wasn’t a young, energetic apprentice like you. We grew up together; I know what you’re capable of.”

“But my leg is always going to hold me back,” Cinderpaw whispered.

Fireheart couldn’t stand the sadness in her voice any longer. “Cinderheart was training you and Brackenpaw in special techniques to help in case something like this happened,” he remembered. “She only stopped because you needed time to heal, but if you’ve recovered as much as you ever will, then she can start up again.”

Both apprentices stared at him. “Even if she wants to, Cinderheart probably won’t be training anyone for a while,” Lightpaw meowed.

“It’s time for me to except that my destiny revealed itself and there’s nothing I can do about it,” Cinderpaw sighed.

“Cinderpaw!” A shrill meow from Cloudkit interrupted them. “Come and see what I’ve found!”

“Coming, Cloudkit!” Cinderpaw limped away, mewing good-humoredly to Fireheart as she went, “Maybe it’s deadly nightshade this time.” Lightpaw trotted beside her.

Fireheart watched them go. He hoped that Bluestar would be able to find a way to give Cinderpaw a worthwhile life within the Clan. Cinderpaw was right: Bluestar was a great leader, and not just in battle. She truly cared for all her cats.

Knowing that, Fireheart felt even more confused when he remembered everything he had learned. Even if the Clan wouldn’t have allowed her to become deputy while she had been nursing kits, surely she wasn’t the only cat who could take on the role. Why had she felt it so necessary to give them up?

Chapter Text

Fireheart crouched in the nursery, watching a litter of kits suckling their mother. For a moment he was filled with excitement to see the tiny creatures who were the future of the Clan.

Then something stirred in his mind. ThunderClan had no kits as young as these. Where had they come from? He let his gaze travel from the kits to their mother, and saw nothing but a rippling pelt of silver-gray. The queen had no face.

Fireheart choked back a cry of horror. As he stared, the silvery shape of the queen began to fade, leaving nothing but darkness, while a face that radiated evil and triumph stared down on them. The kits squirmed and let out squeals of terror and loss. A bitterly cold wind rose and swept away the warm scents of the nursery. Fireheart leaped to his paws and tried to follow the sound of the helpless kits, lost in the windblown darkness. “I can’t find you!” he wailed. “Where are you?”

Then a light appeared, soft and golden. Fireheart could see another cat sitting in front of him with the tiny kits sheltered between her paws. It was Mistflow. She was glaring at the evil gaze that watched the kits.

Fireheart opened his mouth to speak to her. She gave him a look of infinite kindness. “You must stop thinking about this secret,” Mistflow warned. “Bluestar gave up her kits for a good reason, and ThunderClan was saved because of it.” She nodded at him, and Fireheart found himself scrabbling among the mossy bedding in the warriors’ den.

“Do you have to make so much racket?” Dustpelt was grumbling. “No cat can get a wink of sleep.”

Fireheart sat up. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He couldn’t help glancing toward the center of the den, where Tigerclaw slept. The deputy had complained before about the noise Fireheart made when he was dreaming.

To his relief, Tigerclaw wasn’t there. Fireheart could see from the light that filtered through the branches that the sun was already above the trees. He gave himself a quick wash, trying to hide from Dustpelt how much the dream had shaken him. Frightened, lonely kits. . .kits whose mother faded away. Was it a prophecy? And if so, what could it mean? There were no kits that young in the Clan now. And based off Mistflow’s words had it been about the former ThunderClan kits — Mistyfoot, Mosslight, Stonefur? In a way, their real mother had disappeared.

“Calm down, Dustpelt,” Lionblaze meowed calmly. “He wasn’t that bad tonight.”

“I’m pretty sure I was worse,” Cinderheart added cheerfully. “It was hard to get comfortable.”

Dustpelt scowled. “At least you have an excuse and you won’t be doing it forever. Fireheart’s been like this since we were apprentices!”

Stripestalk sighed and nudged him gently. “Come on, why don’t we go hunting?” The brown warrior nodded, seeming a bit calmer.

While Fireheart was washing, Dustpelt gave him a final glare and pushed his way out through the branches, leaving Fireheart alone except for Longtail and Runningwind, sleeping in their usual places.

There was no sign of Graystripe, Fireheart noticed, and his bedding was cold, as if he had been out since dawn. Gone to meet Silverstream, he guessed. He tried to understand his friend’s strength of feeling, but he couldn’t help worrying, and longing for the old uncomplicated days when they were apprentices together. Fireheart poked his head out of the branches to see the snow-covered camp glittering under the cold winter sun. No sign of a thaw yet.

Beside the nettle patch, Sandstorm was crouching over a piece of fresh-kill. “Good morning, Fireheart,” she greeted him cheerfully. “If you want to eat, you’d better do it quickly, while there’s still some prey left.”

Fireheart realized that his belly was aching with hunger. It felt as if he hadn’t eaten for a moon. He bounded over to the pile of fresh-kill and saw that Sandstorm was right. Only a few pieces remained. He chose a starling and took it back to the nettle patch to eat with Sandstorm. “We’ll have to hunt today,” he meowed between mouthfuls.

“Whitestorm and Mousefur have already gone out with their new apprentices,” Sandstorm told him. “Brightpaw and Thornpaw couldn’t wait!”

Fireheart wondered if Graystripe had taken Brackenpaw out, too, but a moment later the apprentice emerged alone from the apprentices’ den. The light brown tabby looked around before trotting over to Fireheart.

“Have you seen Graystripe?” he called.

“Sorry.” Fireheart shrugged. “He was gone when I woke up.”

“He’s never here,” Brackenpaw mewed sadly. He was very good at acting, sounding as if he genuinely was upset about his former mentor’s absence. “If this goes on, Swiftpaw will be a warrior before me — Brightpaw and Thornpaw too.”

“Rubbish,” Fireheart meowed. He suddenly felt angry with Graystripe and his obsession with the RiverClan she-cat. No warrior had the right to neglect his apprentice like this, even if the apprentice in question was no longer his apprentice. “You’re doing fine, Brackenpaw. You can come out hunting with me, if you like.”

“Thanks,” purred Brackenpaw, beginning to look happier.

“Can I come?” Swiftpaw asked. “Tigerclaw took Longtail and Darkstripe on a separate patrol and left me in camp.”

Fireheart nodded. “Of course,” he replied. “Many paws catches much prey.

“I’ll come too,” offered Sandstonn, gulping down the last of her meal and running her tongue around her jaws. She took the lead as the four cats made their way along the gorse tunnel.

“Now, Brackenpaw,” Fireheart meowed when they had reached the edge of the training hollow. “Where’s a good place to look for prey?”

“Under the trees,” replied Brackenpaw, pointing with a flick of his tail. “That’s where mice and squirrels come for nuts and seeds.”

“Good,” meowed Fireheart. “Let’s see if you’re right.”

They headed farther around the hollow; on the way they passed Brindleface, watching fondly as her kits scrambled about in the snow. “They needed to stretch their legs,” she explained. “All this snow has made them restless.”

Cloudkit was sitting under the yew bush with a couple of his littermates, explaining importantly that those were deathberries, and they must never, never eat them. Feeling amused by the young kit’s seriousness, Fireheart meowed a greeting as he went by.

Beneath the trees at the top of the hollow the snow was not so thick, and streaks of brown earth showed amid the white. As the four cats crept forward, Fireheart heard the scuttering of tiny paws, and scented mouse. Automatically he dropped into a hunting crouch and slid forward, barely putting any weight on his paws so as not to alarm his prey. The mouse remained unaware of the danger, its back to him as it nibbled on a fallen seed. When Fireheart was a tail-length away, he sprang, and turned back triumphantly to his friends with the prey in his jaws.

“Good catch,” called Sandstorm.

“Thanks!” Fireheart purred.

Brackenpaw and Swiftpaw exchanged a knowing look. “Wow, a compliment gets a purr from Fireheart?” Swiftpaw joked.

“Maybe I should try. I wonder what I’d get,” Brackenpaw added, mischief in his eyes.

Fireheart shook his head and scraped earth over his kill so he could collect it later. “The next one’s yours, Brackenpaw,” he meowed, ignoring their teasing. He didn’t see why they were making such a big deal.

Brackenpaw raised his head proudly and began to stalk forward, his eyes darting from side to side. Fireheart spotted a blackbird pecking among the berries at the foot of a holly bush, but this time he held back.

The apprentice noticed the bird almost as soon as Fireheart did. Stealthily, paw by paw, he crept up on it. His haunches rocked from side to side as he readied himself to pounce. Watching, Fireheart thought he held back a heartbeat too long. The blackbird sensed him and fluttered upward, but Brackenpaw hurled himself after it with a mighty leap and batted it out of the air.

Keeping one paw on his prey, he turned to look at Fireheart. “I got the timing wrong,” he admitted. “I waited too long, didn’t I?”

“Maybe,” Fireheart replied. “But don’t look so upset. You caught it, and that’s what counts.”

“It was an amazing leap!” Swiftpaw added cheerfully. “I don’t think most cats in the Clan could make a catch like that.”

“When you get back, you can take it to the elders,” meowed Sandstonn.

Brackenpaw brightened up at that. “Yes, I — ” he began. He was interrupted by a shrill, terrified wailing that came from the direction of the hollow.

Fireheart spun around. “That sounds like a kit!”

With Sandstorm, Swiftpaw, and Brackenpaw at his side, he raced toward the sound. Bursting out of the trees, he launched himself toward the crest of the hollow and looked down.

“Great StarClan!” Sandstorm gasped.

Just below the four cats loomed a bulky black-and-white animal; Fireheart picked up the ra nk scent of a badger. He had never seen one out in the open before, although he had often heard them shuffling noisily in the bushes. With one massive, hook-clawed paw, it was reaching into a gap between two rocks, where Cloudkit was cowering.

“Fireheart!” he wailed. “Help me!”

Fireheart felt as if every hair on his body was bristling. He launched himself down into the hollow, his front paws outstretched for the attack. He was dimly aware of his friends at his heels. Fireheart raked his claws down the badger’s side, and the huge beast rounded on him with a roar, jaws snapping. It was fast; it might even have caught Fireheart if Brackenpaw hadn’t leaped from the side, clawing for its eyes.

Swiftpaw bravely leaped onto its back. Fastening his hind claws to its pelt, he raked the badger’s shoulders and neck with his forepaws. It gasped in pain and Swiftpat bit down on its ear.

The badger whipped its head around to where Sandstorm had sunk her teeth into one of its back legs. Kicking out strongly, it threw her off, and she rolled into the snow.

Fireheart dashed in again to claw the badger’s flank. Drops of scarlet blood fell onto the snow. The badger growled, but it was backing away now, and as Sandstorm got to her paws and advanced, spitting, it turned and lumbered off up the ravine. Swiftpaw jumped off at the last minute and trotted towards them, looking worried.

Fireheart spun around to Cloudkit. “Are you hurt?”

Cloudkit crept out from the cleft in the rock, trembling uncontrollably. “N-No.”

Fireheart felt shaky with relief. “What happened? Where’s Brindleface?”

“I don’t know. We were all playing, and then I turned around and I couldn’t see any of the others. I thought I’d come and find you, and then there was the badger. ...” He let out a terrified mew, and crouched down with his head on his paws.

Fireheart was stretching his neck to give him a comforting lick when he heard Sandstorm say, “Fireheart, look.”

Fireheart turned. Brackenpaw was lying on his side, blood seeping from his hind leg into the snow. Swiftpaw was sniffing at the injury, his eyes narrowed. For a heartbeat, Fireheart thought he might chase after the badger on his own to get revenge.

“It’s nothing,” Brackenpaw grunted, bravely trying to get to his paws.

“Stay still while we look,” Sandstorm ordered. Swiftpaw pressed against him reassuringly.

Fireheart rushed over and examined the wound. To his relief, the slash on Brackenpaw’s leg was long but not deep, and the bleeding had nearly stopped. “You were lucky, thank StarClan,” he meowed. “And you saved me from a nasty bite. It was a brave thing to do, Brackenpaw.”

The apprentice’s eyes shone at Fireheart’s praise. “It wasn’t really brave,” he mewed shakily. “I didn’t have time to think.”

“A warrior couldn’t have done better,” meowed Sandstorm. “You both fought well. But what’s a badger doing out in daylight? They always hunt by night.”

“It must be hungry, like us,” Fireheart guessed. “Otherwise it wouldn’t attack something as big as Cloudkit.” He turned back to the kit and nudged him gently to his paws. “Come on; let’s get you back to camp.”

Sandstorm helped Brackenpaw to get up and padded beside him as he limped to the top of the hollow and toward the ravine. Swiftpaw supported him on his uninjured side. Fireheart followed with Cloudkit, who kept very close to him.

As they reached the ravine, Brindleface burst out of it, frantically calling Cloudkit’s name. Other cats came hurrying behind her, drawn out of the camp by her panic-stricken wailing. Fireheart spotted Runningwind, Dustpelt, and Stripestalk; then his heart sank as Tigerclaw, apparently back from his patrol followed them out of the tunnel. Dovewing was with them as well, amusement shining in her eyes.

Brindleface sprang at Cloudkit and covered him with anxious licks. “Where have you been?” she scolded. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! You shouldn’t run away like that.”

“I didn’t!” Cloudkit protested.

“What’s going on?” Tigerclaw shouldered his way to the front of the group of cats.

Fireheart explained, while Brindleface continued to smooth down Cloudkit’s ruffled fur. “We drove the badger off,” he told the deputy. “Brackenpaw and Swiftpaw were very brave.”

All the while he was speaking, Tigerclaw stared at him with fierce amber eyes, but Fireheart held his head high; this time he had no reason to feel guilty.

“You’d better go to Yellowfang and have that leg seen to,” the deputy grunted to Brackenpaw. “As for you. . .” He swung around and loomed threateningly over Cloudkit. “What were you doing, putting yourself in danger like that? Do you think that warriors have nothing better to do than rescue you?”

Cloudkit flattened his ears. “I’m sorry, Tigerclaw. I didn’t mean to get into danger.”

“Didn’t mean to! Has no cat taught you any better than to go wandering away like that?”

“He’s only a kit,” Brindleface protested mildly, turning her gentle green gaze on the deputy.

Tigerclaw drew his lips back in a snarl. “He’s caused more trouble already than all the rest of the kits put together,” he growled. “It’s time he learned a lesson. He can do some real work for a change.”

Fireheart opened his mouth to object. For once Cloudkit hadn’t meant to cause trouble; his bad fright had been punishment enough for straying away from Brindleface.

But Tigerclaw was still talking. “You can go and look after the elders,” he ordered. “Clear out their dirty bedding and fetch clean moss. Make sure they have enough fresh-kill, and go over their coats for ticks.”

“Ticks!” exclaimed Cloudkit, losing the last of his fear in outrage. “I’m not doing that! Why can’t they see to their own ticks?”

“Because they’re elders,” Tigerclaw hissed. “You need to start understanding a lot more about the ways of the Clan, if you ever want to be an apprentice.” He glared at Cloudkit. “Go on. And keep at it until I tell you to stop.”

Cloudkit looked mutinous for a moment longer, but not even he would defy Tigerclaw twice. He met the deputy’s glare with hot blue eyes, and then ran off toward the tunnel. Brindleface let out a mew of distress and followed him.

“I always said bringing kittypets into the Clan was a bad idea,” Tigerclaw growled to Dustpelt. He glared at Fireheart as he spoke, as if he was daring the young warrior to protest.

“Cloudkit has raised with the Clan for as long as he can remember,” Stripestalk reminded the deputy. “He only recently even learned that he’d been born a kittypet.”

“I don’t care,” Tigerclaw hissed, though his voice was gentler than it would have been if another cat had brought up this point.

Fireheart looked away. “Come on, Brackenpaw,” he mewed, swallowing his anger. There was no point getting into a fight. “Let’s get you to Yellowfang.”

“Swiftpaw and I’ll go back and see if we can find our prey,” offered Sandstorm. “We don’t want that badger to get it!” She started to scramble back up the ravine. Fireheart meowed his thanks after her and set off for the camp with Brackenpaw. The apprentice was limping quite badly, and looked tired.

As they approached the gorse tunnel, Fireheart was surprised to see Brokentail stumbling out with Yellowfang at his side. Surprisingly, Clawface walked behind them. Two guards, Darkstripe and Longtail, followed closely. Tigerclaw must have assigned them to the job after their patrol.

“We must be mad, taking him out like this,” Longtail grumbled. “What if he runs off?”

“Runs off?” rasped Yellowfang. “And I suppose you think hedgehogs can fly? He’s not running anywhere, you stupid furball.” Carefully she cleared the snow from a smooth rock and guided Brokentail to it. He settled down with his blind face raised to the sun and sniffed the air.

“Clawface isn’t blind and helpless,” Darkstripe muttered. “Do you really trust him not try to escape?”

“I already swore I wouldn’t run,” Clawface shot back. “As long as Brokenstar is here, I will stay to protect him.”

“It’s a fine day,” Yellowfang murmured, curling her scrawny gray body close to his. Fireheart had never heard her sound so gentle. “Soon the snow will melt, and new-leaf will be here. Prey will be good and fat. You’ll feel better then.”

Listening, Fireheart recalled what no other cat knew — that Yellowfang was Brokentail’s mother. Even Brokentail himself didn’t know, and now he gave no sign that he had heard Yellowfang’s kind words. Fireheart winced at the pain in the medicine cat’s eyes. She had been forced to give Brokentail up when he was born because medicine cats were forbidden to have kits. And later she had blinded him to save her adopted Clan from the rogue cats’ attack.

But she still loved him, although she meant no more to him than any other cat in ThunderClan. Fireheart could almost have yowled in sympathy with her.

“I’ll have to tell Tigerclaw about this,” Darkstripe meowed fussily, pacing at the foot of the rock where the cats sat. “He didn’t give any orders to let the prisoner leave the camp.”

Stalking up to him, Fireheart pushed his muzzle into Darkstripe’s face. “Bluestar was Clan leader last time I looked,” he spat. “And who do you think she’s going to listen to — you or the medicine cat?”

“I’m betting the medicine cat,” Clawface purred. Fireheart couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the former ShadowClan warrior’s comment. His own Clanmate wouldn’t like that.

Darkstripe reared up on his back legs, his lips drawn back to show his fangs. Behind him, Fireheart heard Brackenpaw hiss in alarm. He tensed, ready for the older warrior to strike, but before a fight could break out Yellowfang interrupted them with a furious growl.

“Stop this nonsense! What’s happened to Brackenpaw?” Her flattened face appeared over the edge of the rock, creased with worry.

“He was clawed by a badger,” Fireheart told her, with a last glare at Darkstripe.

The old medicine cat jumped down stiffly and inspected Brackenpaw’s leg, sniffing all along the wound. “You’ll live,” she grunted. “Go to my den. Jayfeather is collecting herbs, but Cinderpaw’s there, and she’ll give you some herbs to press on that.”

“Thank you, Yellowfang,” Brackenpaw meowed, and limped off.

Fireheart followed, but before he entered the gorse tunnel he looked back. Yellowfang had climbed back onto the rock and was sitting with her flank pressed close against Brokentail, gently licking his fur. Fireheart could just hear her rasping the soft noises that a queen would make to her kits.

He exchanged a glance with Clawface, who seemed to be thinking the same thing he was. Yellowfang’s secret won’t stay that way for long if she insists on showing him so much care and compassion.

But Brokentail was as unresponsive as ever. He would not even turn to the she-cat and share tongues with her.

Sadly, Fireheart padded into the tunnel. There were few bonds stronger than the one between a mother and her kits. Yellowfang clearly still felt that bond, even after all the grief that Brokentail had caused — killing his father, destroying his own Clan with his bloodthirsty leadership, attacking ThunderClan with a band of rogue cats. But in one part of Yellowfang’s mind, he was still her kit.

So why, Fireheart wondered, why had no ThunderClan cats tried to find Mistyfoot, Stonefur, and Mosslight when they disappeared? Had they really thought the kits were dead?

*  *  *  *  *

In Yellowfang ’s den, Fireheart explained what had happened while Cinderpaw inspected the gash on Brackenpaw’s leg and brought him a poultice to put on it.

“You’d better rest here tonight,” the gray she-cat told the apprentice. “But I’m pretty sure your leg will be good as new in a day or two.” She spoke cheerfully, without any bitterness that her own leg would never recover so well. Turning to Fireheart, she added, “I just had Cloudkit in here. He told me he had to go over the elders’ coats for ticks, so I gave him some mouse bile.”

“What’s that for?” asked Brackenpaw.

“If you put some on the ticks, they soon drop off,” Cinderpaw told him. Her blue eyes glimmered with amusement. “But don’t lick your paws afterward. It’s foul stuff.”

“I’m sure Cloudkit will enjoy doing that.” Fireheart grimaced. “It’s a pity that Tigerclaw had to punish him, though, because I don’t think it was his fault that the badger attacked him.”

Cinderpaw shrugged. “There’s no arguing with Tigerclaw.”

“That’s true,” Fireheart agreed. “Anyway, I think I’ll go and make sure that Cloudkit’s okay.”

As soon as he set paw in the elders’ den, his nose wrinkled against the reek of the mouse bile. Smallear was lying on one side while Cloudkit searched his gray fur for ticks. The elder twitched as Cloudkit dabbed some of the bile inside his hind leg. “Watch it, young kit! Keep your claws sheathed.”

“They are sheathed,” muttered Cloudkit, his face screwed up with disgust. “There, that’s got it. You’re done, Smallear.”

Dappletail, who had been watching intently, glanced around at Fireheart. “Your kin is very efficient, Fireheart,” she rasped. “No, Cloudkit,” she added as the kit started toward her, carrying the bile-soaked moss. “I’m sure I’ve no ticks. And I wouldn’t wake One-eye if I were you.” She nodded to where the old cat was sleeping, curled up beside the trunk of the fallen tree. “She won’t thank you for disturbing her.”

Cloudkit looked around hopefully. None of the other elders was there. “Can I go then?” he asked.

“You can see to One-eye later,” Fireheart meowed. “Meanwhile, you’d better get the dirty bedding out of here. Come on; I’ll help you.”

“And make sure the new lot’s dry!” growled Smallear.

Together Fireheart and Cloudkit raked out the old moss and heather and made several trips to carry it out of the camp. Fireheart showed Cloudkit how to clean the mouse bile from his paws by rubbing them in the snow. “Now we’ll go and fetch some fresh moss,” he meowed. “Come on. I know a good place.”

“I’m tired,” Cloudkit complained as he trailed after Fireheart. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Well, too bad, you have to,” Fireheart retorted. “Cheer up; it could be worse. Did I tell you that when I was an apprentice I had to look after Yellowfang all on my own? Jayfeather helped me a little, but for the most part it was all my job.”

“Yellowfang!” Cloudkit’s eyes widened. “Phew, I bet she was a grump! Did she claw you?”

“Only with her tongue,” Fireheart replied. “And that’s sharp enough!”

Cloudkit let out a short purr of laughter. To Fireheart’s relief, he stopped complaining, and when they came to the patch of deep moss he did his share of digging it out of the snow, and copied Fireheart as he showed him how to shake the worst of the moisture off.

They were returning to the camp, their jaws laden with moss, when Fireheart saw a cat slip out of the gorse tunnel and bound up the side of the ravine. The massive body and striped pelt were unmistakable. It was Tigerclaw.

Fireheart narrowed his eyes. The deputy had looked almost furtive, peering around before he left the tunnel and disappearing over the lip of the ravine as fast as possible. Fireheart felt uneasy. Something wasn’t quite right.

“Cloudkit,” he meowed, dropping his wad of moss on the ground, “take your load of bedding in to the elders, and then come back for mine. There’s something I’ve got to do.”

Cloudkit mewed in agreement through his mouthful of moss and carried on toward the tunnel. Fireheart turned and raced back up the slope to the place where Tigerclaw had disappeared.

The Clan deputy was out of sight, but between his scent trail and the massive pawprints in the snow, Fireheart had no difficulty following him. He took care not to catch up, in case Tigerclaw saw or smelled him.

The trail led unwaveringly through Tallpines, past Treecutplace. Fireheart realized with a jolt that Tigerclaw had to be heading for Twolegplace. His heart lurched with fear. Was the deputy on his way to find Princess, Fireheart’s sister? Maybe he was so angry with Cloudkit that he wanted to hurt the kit’s mother. Fireheart had never told the Clan exactly where Princess lived, but it wouldn’t be impossible for Tigerclaw to pick up her scent from his knowledge of Cloudkit’s. He kept low, careful to move silently. As the trail wound through a clump of gorse, movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was a mouse, scuffling under one of the bushes.

Fireheart did not want to stop and hunt, but this mouse was practically begging to be caught. Instinctively his body dropped into a hunting crouch as he crept up on the prey. His pounce landed him squarely on top of it, and he took a moment longer to bury it in the snow before he began to follow Tigerclaw again. Fireheart moved more quickly now, afraid of what the deputy might have done in the time he had delayed.

As he rounded the stump of a fallen tree, he practically collided with Tigerclaw himself, loping along in the opposite direction.

The deputy reared back in surprise. “Mouse-brain!” he hissed. “What are you doing here?”

Fireheart’s first reaction was one of relief. Tigerclaw hadn’t possibly had time to reach Twolegplace and harm Princess already. Then he realized that the deputy was glaring at him with a look of deep suspicion in his amber eyes. He mustn’t know I was following him, Fireheart thought desperately.

“I. . .I came out to show Cloudkit a good place to find bedding,” he stammered. “And then I thought I might as well hunt for a bit.”

“I don’t see any prey,” growled Tigerclaw.

“It’s buried just back there.” Fireheart jerked his head in the direction he had come.

The warrior narrowed his eyes. “Show me.”

Furious that Tigerclaw didn’t believe him, but also deeply relieved at the luck that had led him to catch prey, Fireheart led the way back along the trail and scraped the snow away from the mouse he had just buried. “Satisfied?”

The Clan deputy frowned at him. Fireheart could almost read his thoughts; he was dying to blame Fireheart for something, but couldn’t manage it this time.

At last he grunted, “Get on with it, then.” He dipped his head to pick up Fireheart’s mouse and marched off in the direction of the camp.

Fireheart watched him go, and then started running along the trail again, toward Twolegplace. He could at least find out where Tigerclaw had been. He swiveled his ears backward from time to time; he wouldn’t put it past Tigerclaw to turn back and follow him, but he heard nothing, and gradually he began to relax.

Tigerclaw’s scent trail came to an end near the fences that enclosed the Twoleg territory. Fireheart walked back and forth under the trees, studying the ground. The snow was churned up by the marks of many paws — too many for him to read. There were many strange scents, too. Several cats had been here, and recently.

Fireheart wrinkled his nose in disgust. The cat scents were muddled up with those of long-dead prey and the stink of Twoleg rubbish. Except for Tigerclaw’s own scent, it was impossible to identify any of them. Thinking deeply, Fireheart sat washing his paws. There was no way of telling whether Tigerclaw had met these unknown cats, or whether he had just crossed their trail. He was about to set off for camp again when he heard a meow from behind him.

“Fireheart! Fireheart!”

Springing to his paws, he whirled around. Sitting on the fence at the end of her Twoleg garden was his sister, Princess. Instantly Fireheart raced across to the fence and leaped up beside her.

Princess broke into a deep, throaty purr and rubbed the side of her face against his. “Fireheart, you’re so thin!” she exclaimed, pulling away from him. “Are you getting enough to eat?”

“No, nor is any cat in the Clan,” Fireheart admitted. “Prey is scarce in this weather.”

“Are you hungry now?” his sister asked. “There’s a bowl of food in my Twolegs’ nest. You can have it if you like.”

For a couple of heartbeats Fireheart was tempted. His mouth watered at the thought of filling his belly with food he hadn’t had to catch first. But common sense won. He couldn’t possibly return to camp with Twoleg scents all over him, and the warrior code forbade him to eat before feeding the rest of the Clan. “Thanks, Princess, but I can’t,” he meowed.

“I hope you’re feeding Cloudkit,” Princess mewed anxiously. “I’ve been watching for you for days, so you can tell me how he is.”

“He’s doing well,” Fireheart replied. “He’ll be made an apprentice soon.”

Princess’s eyes shone with pride, and Fireheart felt a prickle of uncertainty in his fur. He knew how much it meant to his sister to have given her firstborn to the Clan. There was no way he could let her have any doubts about how the kit was settling into Clan life. “Cloudkit’s strong and brave,” he told her. “And intelligent.” And nosey, spoiled, disrespectful, he added to himself. But surely Cloudkit would learn soon enough, when he grew used to Clan ways. “I’m sure he’ll make a fine warrior,” he meowed.

Princess purred. “Of course he will, with you to teach him.”

Fireheart’s ears twitched with embarrassment. Princess thought he found it easy being a warrior. She didn’t know the problems he had inside the Clan, or how difficult it was to decide what was the right thing to do when he discovered things that affected the Clan.

“Fireheart! You’re here!” The familiar voices of Robin and Red surprised him, and he had to dig his claws into the fence to keep from falling off.

“Hey, you two, what are you doing here?” he purred. He dropped down on the opposite side of the fence so he could greet them properly.

Robin jumped onto his back, purring so hard she could barely speak out. “Mother and Father wanted to spend some special time together, so they brought us here. Apparently Hol-Healer said you’d been coming around at some point and she guessed we would want to see you again.”

“And she was right!” Red peeped. “You’re the best warrior ever and we wish we could see you everyday!” He was calmer than his sister, thought not by much at the moment.

“Sorry about the surprise,” Princess apologized. “I’ve gotten to know Healer and her family quite well since I had my own kits. Surge knew I missed my kits so she brings them by every so often. My Twolegs don’t mind since these two don’t stay for very long and they don’t get in the way or cause trouble.”

Fireheart snorted. “Kits that don’t cause trouble? That doesn’t sound right.”

“Hey!” Robin squeaked, offended.

“Sorry, little one.” He bent down and licked her muzzle. “I’m just used to the kits in my Clan, who are always getting themselves into chaos. At some point, I’ll have to tell you how four of our kits went into ShadowClan territory to try rescuing four more of our kits who had been taken.”

“Can’t you tell us now?” Red begged.

Fireheart shook his head. “I’d better go,” he mewed. “I’ll come to visit you again soon. And when newleaf comes, I’ll bring Cloudkit with me.” He gave Princess an affectionate lick in farewell and left her purring even harder at the thought of seeing her beloved kit again. Robin and Red were watching him excitedly. It seemed they wanted to meet Cloudkit as well.

Fireheart padded back along Tigerclaw’s scent trail, keeping a lookout for prey as he went. After telling Tigerclaw he was hunting, he knew he had better return to camp with a respectable catch. Gradually he became aware of an unfamiliar sound. He had to pause and think before he realized what it was. Somewhere, water was dripping. Glancing around, he saw a silver globule bulging at the end of a thorn twig. The droplet swelled and glittered in the sunlight before falling to melt a tiny hole in the snow.

Fireheart raised his head. The patter of water was all around him now, and a warm breeze ruffled his fur. With a surge of joy he realized that the harsh season of leaf-bare was drawing to an end. Soon newleaf would come, and prey would be plentiful again. The thaw had begun!

Back in the camp , Fireheart spotted Bluestar leaving the nursery. Quickly he dropped his catch on the pile of fresh-kill and padded over to her.

“Yes, Fireheart, what is it?” the leader asked. Her voice was warm and calm, but  Fireheart could tell she was still unsure what to think about his accusations against Tigerclaw.

He lowered his head respectfully. “Bluestar, I was hunting near Twolegplace, and — ”

“Why there?” Bluestar interrupted. “Sometimes I think you spend too much time near Twolegplace, Fireheart.”

“I — I just thought there might be prey there,” Fireheart stammered. “Anyway, while I was there, I smelled some strange cats.”

At once Bluestar was alert; her ears flicked up and she fixed her eyes intently on Fireheart. “How many cats? What Clan were they from?”

“I’m not sure how many,” Fireheart admitted. “Five or six at least. But they didn’t have the scent of any Clan.” He wrinkled his nose as he remembered. “They smelled of crowfood, which made me sure they weren’t kittypets.”

Bluestar looked thoughtful, and to Fireheart’s relief her hostility toward him seemed to ebb away. “How recent was the scent?” she asked.

“Quite recent. But I didn’t see any cats there.” Except Tigerclaw, he added silently. But Fireheart decided not to tell Bluestar that part of the story. The leader was in no mood to listen to any more accusations against her deputy, and he had no evidence anyway that Tigerclaw had had anything to do with the u nkn own cats.

“Rogues from the Twolegplace, perhaps?” Bluestar guessed. “Thank you, Fireheart. I’ll tell the patrols to keep a lookout when they go that way. I don’t suppose they’re any threat to ThunderClan, but we can’t be too careful.”

Jayfeather padded over from the medicine den. “Oh, they’re a threat,” he growled.

Bluestar frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Jayfeather seemed grumpier than usual, but Fireheart wasn’t sure why. “I don’t know exactly when, but I do know that they will attack ThunderClan.”

Fireheart let out a surprised hiss. “How dare they?”

“It won’t be for a while. There are at least two, well, three more litters of kits that must be born before that will happen,” Jayfeather continued.

“That isn’t exactly much time to prepare for an attack we don’t know much about,” Bluestar pointed out.

“I’m aware,” Jayfeather meowed, rolling his eyes. “Just make sure you aren’t caught unawares. When the attack comes, Tigerclaw will be the first one into the camp.”

Chapter Text

Fireheart padded toward the camp with a vole clamped firmly in his jaws. The sun shone from a brilliantly blue sky, and already, two days after his meeting with Princess and unexpected encounter with Robin and Red, most of the snow was gone. Buds were swelling and a mist of tiny green leaves was beginning to cover the trees. More important, prey was reappearing in the forest. Already it was easier to replenish the pile of fresh-kill, and for the first time in moons the Clan was full-fed.

Fireheart arrived in the clearing to find the queens raking old bedding out of the nursery. When he had dropped his prey on the pile of fresh-kill, he went across to give them a hand, pleased to see that Cloudkit was helping too.

“I’m going to show the other kits the good moss place!” the kit mewed proudly as he staggered past with a load of bedding.

“Good idea,” Fireheart agreed. He’d noticed that even after Tigerclaw relieved him of his duties with the elders, Cloudkit had gone on helping. Maybe at last the kit was feeling some spark of loyalty toward his adopted Clan. “Watch out for badgers, though!”

Just then he saw Goldenflower emerge from the nursery, pushing a ball of soiled moss in front of her. Her belly was round with the weight of the kits she was carrying.

“Hello, Fireheart,” she meowed. “Isn’t it great to see the sun again?”

Fireheart gave the queen’s shoulder a friendly lick. “Soon it’ll be newleaf,” he mewed. “Just in time for your kits. If you — ” He broke off and spun around as he heard Tigerclaw’s voice behind him, speaking his name.

“Fireheart, if you’ve nothing better to do than stand gossiping with the queens, I have a job for you.”

Fireheart bit back an angry response. He’d been hunting all morning, and paused for only a few moments to talk to Goldenflower.

“I want you to take a patrol along the border of RiverClan,” the deputy went on. “No cat has been that way for a few days, and now the snow has gone we need to renew the scent markings. And make sure no RiverClan cats are hunting in our territory. If they are, you know what to do!”

“Yes, Tigerclaw,” Fireheart mewed. Hedgehogs must be growing wings, he thought, if Tigerclaw had chosen him to lead a patrol! Then he realized that Tigerclaw was too clever to behave hostilely toward him in public. The deputy would be careful to treat him just the same as any other Clan warrior, in case Bluestar noticed.

But I still don’t trust you! Fireheart thought. Aloud he meowed, “Whom shall I take with me?”

“Any cat you like. Or do you need me to hold your paw?” Tigerclaw added with a sneer.

“No, Tigerclaw.” By now Fireheart could barely keep his tongue curbed; he would have loved to swipe a claw over the deputy’s scarred muzzle. He mewed a hasty good-bye to Goldenflower, and headed for the warriors’ den. Sandstorm was there, lying on her side and energetically washing, while Graystripe and Runningwind shared tongues nearby. Lionblaze and Cinderheart were sharing a vole a few tail-lengths away. The gray tabby she-cat was also swollen from the kits she was carrying. Fireheart hadn’t realized, likely because she’d tried to hide from the rest of the Clan, that Cinderheart was expecting, but now it was very obvious.

“Who’s up for a patrol?” Fireheart called. “Tigerclaw wants us to check the RiverClan border.”

Graystripe scrambled to his paws right away at the mention of RiverClan, while Runningwind got up more slowly. Sandstorm paused in her washing and looked up at Fireheart. “Just when I was hoping for a bit of peace,” she complained. “I’ve been hunting since dawn.” But her tone was good-humored, not remotely as unfriendly as she was when he had first arrived in the Clan, Fireheart thought, and almost at once she got up and shook herself, her pale ginger fur seeming almost golden in the sunlight. She’s so amazing. “All right,” Sandstorm mewed. “Lead on.”

“What about Brackenpaw?” Fireheart asked Graystripe. “Do you want to bring him along?”

“Whitestorm and Mousefur took the apprentices out,” Runningwind explained. “All of the apprentices — more fool them! They’re hunting fresh-kill for the elders.”

“Well then, we’ll come with you,” Cinderheart offered, pushing herself carefully to her paws.

Lionblaze groaned. “Honestly, Cinderheart. You know I’ll never doubt you, but why do you insist on taking every patrol that leaves the camp? No other queen is this…restless. And it’s not like Thornclaw was your mentor.”

Sandstorm glanced at them in surprise. “You’re talking about the future?” she questioned. “Usually, none of you go anywhere near the topic.”

Cinderheart shrugged. “Talking about who my mentor was is not going to change many important details,” she pointed out.

“So who was your mentor?” Runningwind asked, seeming curious.

Lionblaze turned and pointed with his muzzle towards the kits, who were following Cloudkit to gather moss. Fireheart stared at them. “You’re not serious.”

“Afraid so,” Cinderheart purred. “I had a bit too much energy, so our Clan leader decided to put me with a cat who could match that energy.”

Fireheart led the way out of the camp, feeling a tingle in his paws as he leaped up the side of the ravine. It felt like moons since he’d had a good run without snow to freeze his paws off, and he wanted to stretch his muscles. “We’ll head for the Sunningrocks,” he meowed, “and then follow the border up to Fourtrees.”

He set a brisk pace through the trees, but not so fast that he failed to notice the brilliant green fronds of new bracken beginning to unfurl, or the first pale buds of primroses pushing out of their green coverings. Birdsong filled the air, and the fresh scent of growing things.

“It’s beautiful!” Cinderheart exclaimed. “I’ve missed seeing this forest like this. The first beginnings of newleaf always feel so hopeful.”

Sandstorm stumbled for a heartbeat, and Fireheart turned back to see her expression turn thoughtful. “This forest?” she repeated. “Have you ever lived in another one?”

“Once and twice,” Cinderheart meowed cryptically.

Lionblaze was bristling anxiously. “What she means is that everything is much different now than what were used to in our time.”

Fireheart could tell that Sandstorm wasn’t convinced, and now Runningwind was perking up, but she seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it to push the time travelers.

He slowed down to a walk as the patrol approached the edge of the forest. Ahead of him he could hear the sound of the river, free at last from its bonds of ice. “We’re almost at the border,” he meowed quietly. “From here on we have to keep alert. There may be RiverClan cats about.”

Graystripe stopped and opened his jaws to drink in scent from the breeze. “I can’t smell any,” he reported. Fireheart wondered if he was disappointed that Silverstream wasn’t nearby. “Besides, they’ll have plenty of prey now that the river’s unfrozen,” Graystripe added. “Why should they come and steal ours?”

“I wouldn’t put anything past RiverClan,” growled Runningwind. “They’d steal the fur off your back if you didn’t keep an eye on them.”

Fireheart saw Graystripe beginning to bristle. “Come on, then,” he meowed hastily, trying to distract his friend before he said something that gave away his divided loyalties. “Let’s go.” He raced away through the last of the trees and burst out onto open ground. What he saw there brought him skidding to a halt, and the memory of his dream crashed into his mind like a thunderclap.

In front of the cats, the land sloped gently down to the river — or what had been the river. Swelled by the melting snow, the fast-flowing water had burst the banks and risen until it lapped the grass barely a rabbit-length from Fireheart’s paws. The tips of reeds just showed above it; farther upstream, the Sunningrocks were gray islands in the midst of a shimmering silver lake.

The thaw had certainly come, but now the river was in full flood.

“Great Star Clan!” breathed Sandstorm.

The other fore cats grunted in agreement, but Fireheart was speechless with horror. He had instantly recognized the shining expanse of water, and now he recalled Spottedleaf's ominous words: “Water can quench fire.”

Fear chilled him as he struggled to understand how this flood could threaten his Clan, so that he was hardly aware of Graystripe trying to attract his attention until the big gray cat pressed up close to his side. Panic flared in Graystripe’s amber eyes, and Fireheart didn’t need to ask why. His friend was afraid for Silverstream.

The land was lower on the RiverClan bank, so the floodwaters could spread much farther. As for the camp on the island. . .Fireheart wondered how much of that was underwater. He had grown to like Silverstream in spite of his concerns, and he felt a grudging respect for Mistyfoot and Graypool, too. He didn’t want to imagine them driven out of their camp, or worse, drowned.

“We should have invited Dovewing,” Lionblaze whispered behind.

Cinderheart shook her head. “That wouldn’t be fair to her,” she whispered back.

Runningwind had padded right to the water’s edge and was gazing out across the river. “RiverClan isn’t going to like this,” he remarked. “And a good thing, too. It’ll keep them off our territory.”

Fireheart felt Graystripe tense at the note of satisfaction in Runningwind’s voice. He shot his friend a warning glance. “Well, we can’t patrol the border now,” he pointed out. “We’d better get back to camp and report this. Come on, Graystripe,” he added firmly, seeing the warrior look once more with anguish across the swollen river.

*  *  *  *  *

As soon as Bluestar heard the news she leaped to the top of the Highrock and gave the familiar call:

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

At once cats began to pour out of their dens and into the clearing. Fireheart took his place at the front of the crowd, noticing with a prickle of annoyance that Cloudkit had come bouncing along after Brindleface, although he was too young to attend the meeting. The other three kits were peeking out from the nursery, though they didn’t try to join the other cats. He saw Yellowfang, Jayfeather, and Cinderpaw listening from the mouth of the fern tunnel. Even Brokentail emerged from his den, nudged along by Clawface and watched warily by Mousefur.

The bright morning was coming to an end. Clouds were massing to cover the face of the sun, and the gentle breeze had strengthened until a stiff wind blew across the clearing, flattening the fur of the cats who crouched around the Highrock. Fireheart shivered, and didn’t know whether it was from cold or apprehension.

“Cats of ThunderClan,” meowed Bluestar. “Our camp may be in danger. The snow has gone, but the river has burst its banks. Part of our territory is already flooded.”

A chorus of dismay rose from the Clan, but Bluestar raised her voice above the yowls. “Fireheart, tell the Clan what you have seen.”

Fireheart stood up and described how the river had overflowed near the Sunningrocks.

“It doesn’t sound that dangerous to us,” meowed Darkstripe when he had finished. “We have plenty of territory left for prey. Let RiverClan worry about the floods.”

A murmur of approval broke out, although Fireheart noticed that Tigerclaw stayed silent. He sat at the base of the Highrock, motionless except for the twitching tip of his tail.

“Silence!” spat Bluestar. “The water could spread here before we know it. Something like this is bigger than Clan rivalry. I don’t want to hear that any RiverClan cats have died from these floods.”

Fireheart noticed a hot glow in her eyes as she spoke, as if her words meant more than she had said. Puzzled, he reminded himself how three of the RiverClan warriors were her kits; and now her strength of feeling suggested a current of sympathy running deep within her.

Patchpelt spoke up from among the elders. “I remember the last tune the river overflowed, many moons ago. Cats from all Clans drowned. Prey drowned, too, and we went hungry even though our paws stayed dry. This is not just RiverClan’s problem.”

“Well said, Patchpelt,” meowed Bluestar. “I remember those days, too, and I hoped I would never have to see such times again. But since it has happened, these are my orders: No cat is to go out alone. Kits and apprentices must not leave the camp without at least one warrior. Patrols will go out to discover how far the floods reach — Tigerclaw, see to it.”

“Yes, Bluestar,” meowed the deputy. “I’ll send out hunting patrols, too. We must build up a stock of prey before the water rises any farther.”

“Good idea,” agreed Bluestar. She raised her voice again to address the whole Clan. “The meeting is over. Go to your duties.” She leaped down lightly from the Highrock and padded across to talk with Patchpelt and the other elders.

Fireheart was waiting to see if Tigerclaw would choose him for a patrol when he noticed Graystripe edging away from the circle of cats. Fireheart headed after him, and caught up just as he broke for the gorse tunnel. “Where do you think you’re going?” he hissed in the gray warrior’s ear. “Bluestar just said that no cat should go out alone.”

Graystripe turned a panicky look on him. “Fireheart, I have to see Silverstream,” he protested. “I have to be sure she’s okay.”

Fireheart let out a long sigh of exasperation. He understood how his friend was feeling, but he could hardly have chosen a worse time to go visiting his mate. “How will you get across the river?” he asked.

“I’ll manage,” Graystripe promised grimly. “It’s only water.”

“Don’t be such a mouse-brain!” Fireheart spat, remembering the time Graystripe had fallen through the ice, when Silverstream had rescued him. “You nearly drowned once before. Wasn’t that enough for you?”

Graystripe didn’t answer; he just swung around and made for the tunnel again.

To the side, Dovewing was staring towards RiverClan as if she could see their border. She leaned towards Lionblaze, Cinderheart, and Ivypool, and her next words made Fireheart’s blood run cold with fear and shock.

“The RiverClan camp has flooded!” she hissed to her friends. “Several of the kits have been swept away by the raging waters. They need help!”

“Go!” Lionblaze ordered. “Graystripe is already heading there, and Fireheart will go with him. The three of you will be safer together than you would be alone.”

“Good luck!” Ivypool rubbed her muzzle against her sister’s cheek.

Fireheart glanced over his shoulder. The other cats in the clearing were breaking up into small groups under Tigerclaw’s direction, ready to go out on patrol. “Stop, Graystripe!” he hissed, halting his friend at the entrance to the tunnel. Dovewing quickly joined them. “Wait there.”

Once he was sure Graystripe had done as he asked, he bounded across the clearing toward the deputy. “Hey, Tigerclaw,” he meowed. “Graystripe, Dovewing, and I are ready to go. We’ll check the RiverClan boundary downstream of the Sunningrocks, all right?”

Tigerclaw narrowed his eyes, clearly displeased that Fireheart had taken it upon himself to choose which area he was going to patrol. But he had no reason to refuse, especially with Bluestar in earshot. “All right,” he growled. “Try to bring some prey back, as well.”

“Yes, Tigerclaw,” Fireheart replied, dipping his head before turning to race back to Graystripe. “Okay,” he panted. “We’re on patrol, so at least no cat will wonder where we’ve gone.”

“But you — ” Graystripe began to protest.

“I know you have to go,” Fireheart meowed. “But I’m coming with you.”

Dovewing nodded. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

He felt a prickle of guilt as she spoke. Even on patrol, the three of them wouldn’t be expected to cross Clan boundaries. Bluestar would be furious if she knew that two of her warriors were risking their lives to go into enemy territory when their own Clan needed them so badly. But Fireheart couldn’t just stand there and let Graystripe go alone. His friend could be swept away in the floods and never return.

“Thanks, Fireheart, Dovewing,” murmured Graystripe as they left the tunnel. “I won’t forget this.”

Side by side, the three warriors scrambled up the steep, rocky slope. As they headed into the forest, retracing the steps of their earlier patrol, Fireheart noticed how muddy the ground was underpaw. The melted snow had soaked the earth like the heaviest rainfall, even without the deadly spread of floodwater from the river.

When they reached the edge of the trees Fireheart realized that the water had risen even farther. The Sunningrocks were almost submerged now, and the current swirled around them in tight circles. “We’ll never make it across there,” he meowed.

“Let’s head downstream,” Graystripe suggested. “We might be able to use the stepping stones.”

“We can try,” Fireheart mewed uncertainly. He was about to follow his friend when he thought he heard something — a thin, wailing sound, above the wind and the rushing of the torrent. “Wait,” he called. “Did you hear that?”

Dovewing didn’t wait for him to elaborate. Instead, she spun and pelted away, aiming towards Sunningrocks. She seemed absolutely horrified.

Graystripe looked back, and both cats stood, ears pricked, straining to catch the sound. Then Fireheart heard it again — the panic-stricken mewing of kits in distress.

“Where are they?” he meowed, looking all around and up into the trees. “I can’t see them!”

“There.” Graystripe flicked his tail in the direction Dovewing had gone. “Fireheart, they’ll drown!”

Fireheart saw that the current had driven a mat of twigs and debris up against the Sunningrocks. Two kits balanced precariously on it, their tiny mouths stretched wide as they wailed for help. Even as Fireheart watched, the current tugged at the mat, threatening to sweep it away. A third kit, who looked almost big enough to become an apprentice, was shoving at the mat, desperately trying to push it towards the shore. Dovewing was already there, her eyes closed and her ears flattened to her head as if she were trying to block out the noise of the torrent. “Come on,” he yowled to Graystripe. “We’ve got to reach them somehow.”

Taking a deep breath, he waded into the flood. The water soaked into his fur at once, and a paralyzing, icy chill crept up his legs. The tug of the current made it harder to stay on his paws with every step he took.

Graystripe splashed in behind him, but when the water reached his belly fur he stopped. “Fireheart. . .” he choked out.

Fireheart twisted around to give him a comforting nod. He could understand how the river might terrify Graystripe, after his near-drowning a few moons ago. “Stay there,” he meowed. “I’ll try to push the mat over to you.”

Graystripe nodded, trembling too violently to speak. Fireheart waded forward a few more paces, then launched himself into the current and began to swim, thrashing his legs instinctively to push himself through the black water. They were upstream of the Sunningrocks; if StarClan was kind, he should be carried down toward the kits.

For a moment he lost sight of them in the wind-ruffled waves, though he could still hear their terrified cries. Then the smooth gray bulk of a Sunningrock loomed up beside him. He kicked out strongly, fearing for one panic-stricken heartbeat that he would be swept right past.

The current swirled; Fireheart’s paws worked furiously, and the river tossed him against the rock, driving the breath out of his body. He scrabbled at the rough surface, bracing himself against the rushing water, and found himself face-to-face with the two kits.

They were both very small — still suckling from their mother, Fireheart guessed. One was black and one gray, their fur plastered against their tiny bodies, and their brilliant blue eyes wide with terror. They were crouched on a tangled mat of twigs, leaves, and Twoleg rubbish, but when they saw Fireheart they started to scramble toward him. The mat lurched and their wails grew louder as river water sloshed over them.

The older kit stared at him. She was mainly white-furred, with a few golden patches. “I can’t get it to move!”

“Keep still!” Fireheart gasped, paddling madly against the current. Briefly he wondered if he could climb onto the rock and haul the kits up with him, but he was not sure how long it would be before the Sunningrocks were completely submerged. His best plan was still to push the mat over to Graystripe. Looking back, he saw that his friend had already moved downstream, into a good position to catch the mat as it was swept toward him.

“Here we go,” Fireheart muttered. “StarClan help us!” He pushed himself off from the rock, thrusting at the mat with his muzzle to guide it into the current. The two kits whimpered and flattened themselves against the twigs.

Fireheart put every last scrap of energy into pushing the mat ahead of him with his nose and paws. The white kit braced herself and helped him shove the mat. He could feel exhaustion draining the strength from his limbs. His fur was soaked, and he was so cold he could hardly breathe. Raising his head and blinking water out of his eyes, he realized with horror that he had lost sight of Graystripe and the bank. It seemed as if there was nothing in the world but the churning water, the fragile mat of twigs, and the two terrified kits.

Then he heard Graystripe ’s voice, sounding close by. “Fireheart! Dovewing, here!”

Fireheart thrust again at the mat, trying to propel it toward the voice. It spun away from him, and his head went under. Coughing and choking, he clawed his way back to the surface, to see Graystripe pacing on dry land just a few tail-lengths away.

For a heartbeat Fireheart felt relief that he was nearly there. Even Dovewing opened her eyes and seemed to relax a little. Then he focused his blurred eyes on the kits again, and fear pulsed through him. The mat was beginning to break up.

Fireheart watched helplessly as the twigs underneath the gray kit gave way and the tiny creature was plunged into the torrent.

“No!" Graystripe yowled, launching himself after the drowning kit.

Fireheart lost sight of them. The kit left on the mat squealed desperately, trying to cling to the twigs as they were split apart by the current. With the last of his strength Fireheart drove himself forward, sank his teeth into the little creature’s scruff, and kicked out for dry ground.

Within moments he felt stones under his paws and managed to stand. Stone-limbed with weariness, he staggered out and dropped the black kit on the grass at the edge of the flood. Its eyes were closed; he was not sure if it was still alive.

Dovewing made a massive leap, propelling herself and the white kit out of the water and onto safe ground. She shuddered, while the kit she’d helped began to shake.

Glancing downstream, Fireheart saw Graystripe splashing out of the shallows, with the gray kit gripped firmly in his teeth. He padded up to them and set it gently on the ground.

Fireheart nosed both younger kits. They were lying very still, but when Fireheart looked closer he could see the faint rise and fall of their flanks as they breathed. “Thank StarClan,” he muttered. He began to lick the black kit as he had seen the queens in the nursery do to their little ones, rasping his tongue against the lie of the fur to rouse the kit and warm it. Graystripe crouched beside him and did the same for the gray kit.

“Perchkit, Pikekit, please wake up!” the white kit pleaded, licking her own fur.

Soon the black kit twitched and coughed up a mouthful of river water. It took longer for the gray kit to respond, but at last it too coughed up water and opened its eyes.

“They’re alive!” exclaimed Graystripe, his voice filled with relief.

“Yes, but they won’t live long without their mother,” Fireheart pointed out. He sniffed the black kit carefully. The river water had washed off much of the Clan scent, but he could still detect a faint trace. “RiverClan,” he mewed, unsurprised. “We’ll have to take them home.”

Fireheart’s courage almost deserted him for good at the thought of crossing the swollen river. He had almost drowned rescuing the kits, and he felt exhausted. His limbs were cold and stiff, and his fur was soaked. He wanted nothing more than to creep into his own den and sleep for a moon.

Graystripe, still crouched over the gray kit, looked as if he felt the same. His thick gray fur was flattened against his body, and his amber eyes were wide with anxiety. “Do you think we can get across?” he meowed.

“We’ve got to, or the kits will die.” Forcing himself to his paws, Fireheart picked up the black kit again by its scruff and headed downstream. “Let’s see if we can cross by the stepping-stones, like you said.” Graystripe padded after him, carrying the gray kit through the wet grass at the edge of the floodwater.

“We can make it,” Dovewing meowed reassuringly.

When the river was at its usual level, the stepping-stones were an easy route across for RiverClan cats. The longest leap from rock to rock was no more than a tail-length, and RiverClan controlled the territory here on both sides of the river.

Now floodwater completely covered the stones. But where they had once broken the surface, a dead tree, its bark stripped away, lay across the river. Fireheart guessed that some of its branches had been caught on the submerged stepping-stones. “Thank StarClan!” he exclaimed. “We can use the tree to cross.” He adjusted his grip on the kit and waded out into the flood toward the splintered end of the tree trunk. The kit, seeing the churning water barely a mouse-length below its nose, began to mewl and struggle feebly.

“Keep still, both of you,” growled Graystripe gently, as he set down the gray kit for a moment to adjust his grip. “We’re going to find your mother.”

“I can walk by myself,” the white kit meowed quickly, dodging away from Dovewing. “You don’t need to carry me.

Fireheart wasn’t sure if his terrified kit was even old enough to understand, but at least it went limp again so it was easier to carry. He had to lift his head high to keep the tiny creature clear of the water as he floundered toward the tree. He reached it without needing to swim and sprang upward, clawing for a grip on the soft, rotting wood. Once he had pulled himself up, his main concern was keeping a pawhold on the smooth, slippery trunk. Gingerly placing each of his paws in a straight line, Fireheart padded toward the opposite bank with the river churning beneath him, sucking at the tree as if it wanted to sweep it, and its burden of cats, away downstream. Fireheart glanced back to see Graystripe following with the gray kit, his face creased with determination. The white kit came next, with Dovewing bringing up the rear.

At the far end the trunk divided into a tangle of broken branches. Fireheart ducked down to squeeze through them, being careful not to let the kit’s fur catch on the splinters. It was harder to find a pawhold as the branches tapered, and he ran out of anything that might bear his weight when there was still a gap of a couple of fox-lengths separating him from the far side of the river. Fireheart took a deep breath, flexed his hindlegs, and leaped. His front paws hit the bank while his hind paws kicked madly in the rushing current. As water splashed up, the kit started to struggle again. Fireheart kept his teeth clenched in its neck fur as he sank his front claws into the soft earth and scrabbled upward until he stood safely on the bank. He lurched forward a few paces and set the kit down gently.

Glancing around, he saw Graystripe pulling himself out of the water a little way downstream. He lowered the gray kit to the ground and shook himself. “The river water tastes foul,” he spat.

“Look on the bright side,” Fireheart suggested. “At least it should disguise your scent. The RiverClan cats won’t know — ”

He broke off, remembering the white kit, who was plenty old enough to tell someone if he blurted out that his friend was the ThunderClan warrior who’d been trespassing.

 He was just in time too, as four cats crashed out of the bushes just beyond Graystripe. Fireheart braced himself as he recognized Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy, and the warriors Blackclaw and Stonefur. Willowmist was there too, and she sharply rolled her eyes upon seeing Graystripe. Forcing his tired legs to move, he picked up the black kit and padded along the bank to stand beside Graystripe. The gray warrior hauled himself to his paws, and the two cats set down their burdens and faced their enemies together.

Fireheart wondered if the RiverClan cats had overheard what he was saying to Graystripe. He knew that he, Dovewing, and Graystripe were too exhausted to stand up to a patrol of strong, fresh warriors, and his head spun as he tried to summon enough energy for a fight into his frozen paws. But to his relief, the RiverClan cats halted a few tail-lengths away.

“What’s this?” growled Leopardfur. Her golden-spotted fur bristled, and her ears were flattened against her head.

Beside her, Blackclaw stood with his lips drawn back in a snarl. “Why are you trespassing on our territory?” he demanded.

“We’re not trespassing,” Fireheart meowed quietly. “We pulled two of your kits out of the river and wanted to bring them home.”

“Do you think we nearly drowned ourselves just for fun?” Graystripe blurted out.

Stonefur paced forward until he was close enough to sniff the two kits. “It’s true!” His blue eyes widened. “They’re Mistyfoot’s missing kits!”

Fireheart stiffened in amazement. He knew that Mistyfoot had recently had kits, but hadn’t realized that the kits they had rescued were hers. He was even more thankful now that they had been able to save the kits’ lives, but he knew they mustn’t let any of these cats know that Mistyfoot had friends in ThunderClan.

Leopardfur did not relax the fur on her shoulders. “How do we know you saved the kits?” she snarled. “You might have been trying to steal them.”

Fireheart stared at her. After risking their lives in the floodwater, he couldn’t believe that they were actually being accused of stealing the kits. “Don’t be such a mouse-brain!” he spat. “No cat from ThunderClan tried to steal your kits when we could walk across the river on the ice. Why do you think we’d try it now? We nearly drowned!”

The white kit jumped to her paws. “They saved us!” she squeaked. “Longkit and I split up to rescue the younger kits when they got swept away, but I wasn’t strong enough, and the ThunderClan cats came just in time!”

Leopardfur looked thoughtful, but Blackclaw stalked up and thrust his head aggressively into Fireheart’s face. Fireheart snarled, ready to counter a blow.

“Blackclaw!” Leopardfur meowed sharply. “Back off! We’ll let these cats explain themselves to Crookedstar, and see if he believes them.”

Fireheart opened his mouth to protest, but left the words unspoken. They would have to go with the RiverClan cats; in their exhausted state he and Graystripe had no hope of winning a fight. At least Graystripe would be able to check on Silverstream. “All right,” Fireheart meowed. “I just hope your Clan leader can see the truth when it’s in front of his nose.”

Leopardfur led the way along the bank, while Blackclaw picked up one kit and stalked threateningly alongside Fireheart and Graystripe. Stonefur brought up the rear, carrying the other kit.

Willowmist escorted the white kit, growling into her ear. “I can’t believe you thought it was a good idea to go after the kits alone in a flooded river! You could have drowned, Icekit! Then what would we have told Minnowscale?”

“Sorry,” Icekit mewed. “But we wanted to help, and no one else was close enough.”

“That does not mean you were right to do this on your own!” Fireheart had never seen Willowmist this furious. But if Icekit was Minnowscale’s kit, that meant she and Willowmist were kin. No wonder the black she-cat was so upset. She must have been utterly terrified.

When they reached the island where the RiverClan cats had their camp, Fireheart saw that a wide channel of racing water separated it from the ridge of dry ground, wrenching at the overhanging boughs of the willow trees. No cats were visible through the reeds, and Fireheart could see silver water lapping among the bushes that concealed the camp.

Leopardfur paused, her eyes widening with alarm. “The water has risen since we left camp,” she meowed.

As she spoke, a yowl came from behind them at the top of the slope, where Fireheart and Graystripe had hidden to talk to Silverstream. “Leopardfur! Up here!”

Fireheart turned to see the RiverClan leader, Crookedstar, emerging from the shelter of the bushes. His pale tabby coat was soaked, fur sticking out in all directions, and his twisted jaw made him look as if he were mocking the patrol and their prisoners.

“What happened?” Leopardfur demanded as she reached her leader.

“The camp is flooded,” Crookedstar replied. His voice was flat with defeat. “We’ve had to move up here.”

As he spoke, two or three other cats emerged cautiously from the bushes. Fireheart noticed Graystripe brighten when he saw one of them was Silverstream.

“And what have you brought us?” Crookedstar went on. He narrowed his eyes at Fireheart and Graystripe. “ThunderClan spies? As if we didn’t have enough trouble!”

“They found Mistyfoot’s kits,” Leopardfur told him, nodding to Stonefur and Blackclaw to bring forward the kits. “They claim they pulled them out of the river.”

“I don’t believe a word of it!” spat Blackclaw, setting down the kit he carried. “You can’t trust a ThunderClan cat.”

Mosslight growled at him. “Enough. We judge others based on what they have done, not how we view their Clans. Warriors act with honor.”

At the mention of the kit, Silverstream had turned and disappeared rapidly under the bushes again. Crookedstar padded forward and sniffed the pathetic bundles. By now they had begun to recover from their ordeal and were trying to sit up, though they still looked completely waterlogged.

“Mistyfoot’s kits went missing when the camp flooded,” Crookedstar remarked, turning his cold green gaze on Fireheart and Graystripe. “How do you come to have them?”

Fireheart exchanged an exasperated glance with Graystripe, exhaustion making him short-tempered. “We flew across the river,” he mewed sarcastically.

A loud yowling interrupted him. Mistyfoot broke out of the bushes and came racing over to them. “My kits! Where are my kits?” She crouched over the tiny scraps of fur, staring wildly around as if she thought the other cats would try to take them away from her. Then she began licking them furiously, trying to comfort both of them at once. Stonefur pressed up close against her and mewed comfortingly into her ear.

Silverstream followed more slowly and stood beside her father, Crookedstar, eyeing the ThunderClan cats. Fireheart was relieved to see her gaze pass with apparent indifference over Graystripe. She would not give them away, he was sure.

More cats emerged after her and gathered curiously around. Fireheart recognized Graypool, who gave no sign that she had ever seen him before, and Mudfur, the RiverClan medicine cat, who crouched beside Mistyfoot to examine the kits.

All of the RiverClan cats were wet through, and the fur clinging to their bodies showed they were skinnier than ever. Fireheart had always thought of RiverClan cats as plump and sleek, wellfed on fish from the river. That was until Silverstream told him that Twolegs had stayed by the river during greenleaf and stolen or scared away most of their prey. The Twolegs had left the forest now, during leaf-bare, but RiverClan had been unable to hunt when the river froze. And instead of bringing much-needed food, the thaw had driven them out of their camp completely.

In spite of his pang of pity, Fireheart could also see the unfriendliness in their eyes, the hostility in their flattened ears and twitching tail tips. Fireheart knew he his friends would have to work hard to convince Crookedstar that they had really saved the kits.

The Clan leader was at least prepared to give them a chance to explain. “Tell us what happened,” Crookedstar ordered.

Fireheart began at the point when he had heard the kits wailing and seen them stranded on the mat of debris in the river.

“Since when have ThunderClan cats risked their lives for us?” Blackclaw broke in contemptuously as Fireheart described how he, Dovewing, and Icekit had pushed the kits through the torrent to the riverbank.

Fireheart bit back an angry retort, and Crookedstar hissed at the warrior, “Quiet, Blackclaw! Let him speak. If he’s lying, we’ll find out soon enough.”

“He’s not lying.” Mistyfoot looked up from where she was still nuzzling her kits. “Why should ThunderClan steal kits when all the Clans are finding it hard to feed themselves?”

“Fireheart helped save me when I fell into the gorge,” Whiteclaw added. “I trust him.”

“His story makes sense,” Silverstream observed calmly. “We had to abandon the camp and shelter in these bushes when the water started to rise again,” she explained to Fireheart. “When we came to move Mistyfoot’s kits, we could find only two of them. The other two were missing. The whole nursery floor had been washed away. They must have been swept along the river to where you found them.”

Crookedstar nodded slowly, and Fireheart realized that the hostility of the RiverClan cats was fading — all except for Blackclaw, who turned his back on the ThunderClan warriors with a snort of disgust.

“In that case, we’re grateful to you,” meowed Crookedstar, though he sounded grudging, as if he could hardly bear to be in debt to a group of ThunderClan cats.

“Yes,” mewed Mistyfoot. She looked up again, her eyes glowing softly with gratitude. “Without you, my kits would have died.”

“And my daughter,” a dark gray she-cat added. She was sitting nearby, rasping her tongue firmly across a tom-kit who was crouched in front of her. The tom-kit was slightly smaller than Icekit, and his fur was mostly a pale brown, though it was much darker on the back and top of his head. His eyes, which were wide as he watched the discussion, were two different colors: one, a mild amber, and the other, a light gray. Icekit ran to sit beside him. “Both Longkit and Icekit decided it was their job to rescue their younger denmates from this danger and almost paid with their own lives in the process. While I am somewhat proud to have kits with such courage, I am truly grateful that our own time travelers and these ThunderClan cats intervened to save them as well. Because of such heroism, all of our kits are safe.”

“Well said, Minnowscale,” Mosslight meowed.

Fireheart dipped his head in acknowledgment. Minnowscale? Silverstream’s other sister? Impulsively, he asked, “Is there anything we can do for you? If you can’t go back to your camp, and if prey’s scarce because of the flood — ”

“We need no help from ThunderClan,” growled Crookedstar. “RiverClan cats can look after themselves.”

“Don’t be such a fool.” It was Graypool who spoke, with a glare at her leader. Fireheart felt a new surge of respect for her; he guessed that not many cats would dare to take that tone with Crookedstar. “You’re too proud for your own good,” the elder rasped. “How can we feed ourselves, even with the thaw? There are no fish to eat. The river’s practically poisoned; you know it is.”

“What?” Graystripe exclaimed; Fireheart was too shocked to say anything.

“It’s all the fault of the Twolegs,” Graypool explained to them. “Last newleaf, the river was clean and full of fish. Now it’s filthy with Twoleg rubbish from their camp.”

“And the fish are poisoned,” Mudfur added. “Cats who eat them fall ill. I’ve treated more cats for bellyache this leaf-bare than in all the time since I’ve been the medicine cat.”

“Even Healer can’t help us,” Swansoar growled, fury in his eyes. “We’ve sent cats to speak with her, but she’s told us there’s nothing she can do, so we know the situation is bad.”

Beside him, Minnowtail and Mossyfoot exchanged a confused look. Do they not know who Healer is?

Fireheart stared at Graystripe and Dovewing, and then back at the hungry RiverClan cats. Most of them couldn’t meet his eyes, as if they were ashamed that a cat of another Clan should know about their troubles. “Then let us help,” he urged them all. “We’ll catch prey for you in our territory and bring it to you, until the floods have gone and the river is clean.”

Even as he made the offer, he knew that he was breaking the warrior code that demanded loyalty to his own Clan alone. Bluestar would be furious with him if she found out he was prepared to share ThunderClan’s precious prey like this. But Fireheart couldn’t bring himself to abandon another Clan in their need. Bluestar herself said our welfare depends on having four Clans in the forest, he reminded himself. Surely it’s the will of StarClan.

“Would you really do this for us?” asked Crookedstar slowly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Yes,” Fireheart meowed.

Minnowtail let out a loud snort. “Oh, he’ll do it all right. Believe me, Fireheart has an inexplicable compulsion to help every Clan. In our time, it’s well known that if someone has a problem, he’ll do whatever it takes to fix it.”

Is that a bad thing? Fireheart wondered. Minnowtail certainly sounded confident in her words.

“A strange quality in a warrior,” Mosslight observed.

“And I’ll help too,” promised Graystripe, with a glance at Silverstream.

Dovewing nodded. “And me.”

“Then the Clan thanks you,” grunted Crookedstar. “None of my cats will challenge you in our territory until the floods go down and we can return to our camp. But after that, we will fend for ourselves again.” He turned and led the way back to the bushes. His subdued cats followed him, casting glances back at Fireheart and Graystripe as they went. Not all of them, Fireheart could see, trusted them or believed in their offer of help.

Last to go was Mistyfoot, nudging her kits to their paws and guiding them up the slope. “Thank you both,” she murmured. “I won’t forget this.”

The three ThunderClan warriors were left alone as the RiverClan cats disappeared into the bushes. As they picked their way down the slope again toward the river, Graystripe shook his head in disbelief. “Hunting for another Clan? We must be mad.”

“What else could we do?” Fireheart retorted. “Let them starve?”

“No! But we’ll have to be careful. We’ll be crowfood if Bluestar finds out.”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t find out,” Dovewing meowed.

Or Tigerclaw, Fireheart added silently. He already suspects Graystripe and I have friends in RiverClan. And we could be about to prove him right.

Chapter Text

It was a cold, gray morning. Fireheart dragged himself reluctantly out of his warm nest, and padded over to nudge Graystripe.

“Wha. . .?” Graystripe twitched and settled down again with his tail wrapped over his nose. “Go away, Fireheart.”

Fireheart lowered his head and butted the broad gray shoulder. “Come on, Graystripe,” he whispered into his friend’s ear. “We’ve got to hunt for RiverClan.”

At that, Graystripe levered himself upright and parted his jaws in an enormous yawn. Fireheart felt just as tired as his friend; supplying RiverClan with fresh-kill as well as keeping up with their duties in ThunderClan was taking up all their time and energy. At least taking turns with Dovewing and Ivypool, who’d also offered to help, had helped conserve their strength a bit. They had crossed the river with prey several times, and so far their luck had held. No ThunderClan cat had found out what they were doing.

Stretching, Fireheart glanced cautiously around the den. Most of the warriors were curled among the moss, too sound asleep to ask awkward questions. Tigerclaw was just a mound of dark tabby fur in his nest.

Fireheart slipped out between the branches of the den. At first he thought that all the other cats were asleep; then he saw Brindleface appear at the entrance to the nursery and lift her face to sniff the air. As if she didn’t like the raw, damp wind that greeted her, she retreated almost at once.

Fireheart looked back at Graystripe, who was shaking scraps of moss off his coat. “Okay,” he meowed. “We can go now.”

The two cats bounded across the clearing toward the gorse tunnel. Just as they reached it, a familiar voice behind them called out, “Fireheart! Fireheart!”

Fireheart froze and turned around. Cloudkit was scampering toward him, yowling, “Fireheart! Wait for me!”

“Fireheart,” growled Graystripe, “why does your kin always turn up at the most awkward moment?”

“StarClan knows.” Fireheart sighed.

“Where are you going?” Cloudkit panted excitedly as he skidded to a stop in front of the warriors. “Can I come with you?”

“No,” Graystripe told him. “Only apprentices can go out with warriors.”

Cloudkit shot Graystripe a look of dislike. “But I’ll be an apprentice soon. Won’t I, Fireheart?”

“‘Soon’ isn’t ‘now,’” Fireheart reminded him, struggling to keep calm. If they hung around much longer, the whole Clan would be awake and wanting to know where they were going. “You can’t come this time, Cloudkit. We’re going out on a special warrior mission.”

Cloudkit’s blue eyes grew round with wonder. “Is it a secret?”

“Yes,” hissed Graystripe. “Especially from nosey kits.”

“I wouldn’t tell any cat,” Cloudkit promised eagerly. “Fireheart, please let me come.”

“No.” Fireheart exchanged an exasperated glance with Graystripe. “Look, Cloudkit, go back to the nursery now, and maybe I’ll take you out later for some hunting practice. Okay?”

“Okay. . .I suppose.” Cloudkit looked sulky, but he turned around and trailed off in the direction of the nursery.

Fireheart watched him until he reached the entrance, and then slipped into the mouth of the tunnel. Moments later he was racing up the ravine with Graystripe at his side.

“I just hope Cloudkit doesn’t tell the whole Clan we went out early on a special mission,” puffed Graystripe.

“We’ll worry about that later,” Fireheart panted.

The two warriors headed for the stepping-stones. The fallen tree was still there to help them cross the river, and hunting close by meant they had less distance to carry the fresh-kill, and were less likely to be spotted.

By the time they reached the edge of the forest, the daylight had grown stronger, but the sunrise was hidden behind a mass of gray cloud. There was a spatter of rain in the wind. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling that all sensible prey would be curled up in their holes. He raised his head and sniffed. The breeze carried the scent of squirrel, fresh and not far away. Cautiously he began to stalk through the trees. Soon he caught sight of his prey searching among the debris at the foot of an oak tree. As he watched, it sat up and began to nibble on an acorn held between its front paws.

“If it knows we’re here,” Graystripe breathed in his ear, “it’ll be up that tree in a flash.”

Fireheart nodded. “Circle around,” he murmured. “Come at it from that side.”

Graystripe slid away from him, a silent gray shape in the shadows of the trees. Fireheart flattened himself into the hunter’s crouch with the ease of long practice, and began to creep up on the squirrel. He saw its ears prick, and its head swiveled around as if something had alarmed it; perhaps it had seen a flicker of movement from Graystripe, or caught his scent.

While it was distracted, Fireheart hurled himself across the open ground. His claws pinned the squirrel to the forest floor, and Graystripe ran forward to finish the struggle.

“Well done,” Fireheart grunted.

Graystripe spat out a mouthful of fur. “It’s a bit old and stringy, but it’ll do.”

The two warriors continued their hunt until they had killed a rabbit and a couple of mice. By then, although he could not see the sun, Fireheart knew it must be near sunhigh. “We’d better take this to RiverClan,” he meowed. “They’re bound to miss us back at the camp soon.”

Stumbling slightly under the weight of the squirrel and one of the mice, he led the way to the fallen tree. To his relief, the water was no higher, and the crossing seemed easier now that he had done it several times. All the same, Fireheart felt uneasy as he scrambled through the branches, knowing that he was in full view of any ThunderClan cat who happened to be patrolling the forest’s edge.

He and Graystripe swam the last couple of fox-lengths and pulled themselves out of the river on the RiverClan side. When they had shaken the water out of their fur they slunk quickly toward the bushes where RiverClan had made their temporary camp.

A cat must have been on watch, because as they approached, Leopardfur emerged from the bushes. “Welcome,” she meowed, sounding a lot friendlier than she had when she first came upon them with the two kits they had rescued, along with Icekit.

Fireheart followed her into the shelter of the hawthorn branches, remembering how he and Graystripe had hidden there to wait for Silverstream. The RiverClan cats had worked hard since the floods forced them out of their camp, bringing moss for bedding and scraping out a place beside the roots of a large bush where fresh-kill could be stored. Today this was collection of a several mice, and a couple of voles and blackbirds, which made the ThunderClan warriors’ contribution less necessary. Fireheart dropped his prey onto the pile, and Graystripe did the same.

“Is that more fresh-kill?” Stonefur appeared with Silverstream just behind him. “Great!”

“We have to feed the elders and the nursing queens first,” Leopardfur reminded him.

“I’ll take something for the elders,” Silverstream offered. She turned a long look on Graystripe and meowed, “You can help me. Fetch that rabbit, will you?”

Fireheart felt a sudden jolt of alarm. Surely Silverstream wouldn’t risk spending time alone with Graystripe in the middle of her own camp? On their earlier visits, she had kept her distance.

Graystripe didn’t need another invitation. “Sure,” he mewed, grabbing the rabbit and following Silverstream out of the bushes.

“They’ve got the right idea,” meowed Stonefur. “Fireheart, do you want to bring the squirrel to the nursing queens? Then they can thank you themselves.”

Feeling somewhat dazed, Fireheart agreed. Following Stonefur, he reflected again on how strange it was to look at the RiverClan warrior and know that he was half ThunderClan, especially since Stonefur himself didn’t share that knowledge.

In the makeshift nursery, Fireheart was pleased to see Mistyfoot again, stretched out on her side while her kits suckled contentedly. Minnowscale was there too, grooming her Icekit and Longkit with a cheerful expression on her face. Mosspelt was watching her three kits wrestle each other playfully. But he couldn’t help worrying about Graystripe. Once he had greeted the queens, and helped them divide up the squirrel, he murmured to Stonefur, “Can you show me where Graystripe went? We ought to be getting back, before any cat notices we’re missing.”

“Sure, this way,” meowed Stonefur. He led Fireheart to a spot farther along the ridge where three or four elders were crouched on a bed of heather and bracken, tucking into the fresh-kill. Already not much was left of the rabbit except a few scraps of fur.

Graystripe and Silverstream were watching in silence, sitting side by side but not quite touching, with their tails wrapped around their paws. As soon as they saw Fireheart they sprang up and padded over to him.

Graystripe’s yellow eyes blazed with a mixture of excitement and fear. “Fireheart!” he blurted out. “You won’t believe what Silverstream’s just told me!”

Fireheart glanced behind him, but Stonefur was already disappearing off into the bushes. The elders, having just eaten, looked sleepy, and none of them was paying any attention to Graystripe.

“Okay, what?” Fireheart mewed, his fur starting to prickle with unease. “But keep your voice down.”

Graystripe looked ready to burst out of his skin. “Fireheart,” he whispered, “Silverstream is going to have my kits!”

His heart thudding, Fireheart looked from Graystripe to Silverstream. She quivered with happiness, her green eyes glowing with pride. “Your kits?” he echoed in alarm. “Are you both out of your minds? This is disastrous!”

Graystripe blinked and would not meet his friend’s eyes. “Not. . .not necessarily. I mean, these kits will join us together forever.”

“But you come from different Clans!” Fireheart protested. From the uneasiness in Graystripe’s expression, he guessed that his friend knew very well what difficulties the kits would cause. “You can’t ever claim these kits as your own, Graystripe. And Silverstream,” he added, turning toward the RiverClan cat, “you won’t be able to tell anyone in your Clan who the father is.”

“I don’t care,” Silverstream insisted, giving her chest fur a quick lick. “I’ll know. That’s all that matters.”

Graystripe looked as if he wasn’t too sure of that. “It’s stupid that they can’t know,” he muttered. “We haven’t done anything to be ashamed of.” He pressed himself against Silverstream’s flank and shot Fireheart a helpless glance.

“I know that’s what you feel,” Fireheart agreed heavily. “But it’s no good, Graystripe; you know it isn’t. These will be RiverClan kits.” His heart sank at the thought of the trouble this could cause in the future. When these kits grew to be warriors, Graystripe might have to fight against them! He would be tom between loyalty to his blood kin, and loyalty to his Clan and the warrior code. Fireheart could not see any way for him to keep faith with both.

Had it been the same with Mistyfoot, Stonefur, and Mosslight? he wondered. Had their Bluestar ever had to fight against them? He remembered Oakheart, trying to defend them from ThunderClan attack; how had the RiverClan warrior explained that to them? It was an impossible situation, and now it would all begin again with a new set of kits.

But Fireheart knew it was pointless to say this now. Glancing up and down the line of bushes in case any cat was approaching, he meowed, “It’s time we were going. It must be sunhigh. They’ll miss us back at camp.”

Graystripe touched his nose gently to Silverstream’s. “Fireheart’s right,” he murmured. “We must go. And don’t worry,” he added. “They’ll be the most beautiful kits in the forest.”

Silverstream’s eyes narrowed with affection, and her voice came in a deep purr. “I know. We’ll find a way to get through this.” She stood watching as Fireheart and Graystripe left the bushes and prepared to pad down the slope toward the flooded river. Graystripe kept looking back, as if he could hardly bear to leave her.

Fireheart felt as if he were carrying a cold, heavy stone in his chest. How long can this go on, he wondered, before some cat finds out?

Just then, Crookedstar’s voice sounded outside the bushes. “Let all cats old enough to catch fish gather here for a Clan meeting!”

RiverClan cats emerged from the dens and bushes. Leopardfur took her place beside Crookedstar. Mosslight and Stonefur sat near the nursery with Whiteclaw and Swansoar, while Willowmist sat down beside Silverstream. Blackclaw and Loudbelly sat with the apprentices beside the elders, while Minnowtail and Mossyfoot crouched on the edge of the clearing, seeming separate from their Clanmates. Minnowtail beckoned Fireheart and Graystripe to join the gathered Clan.

“Clanmates, warriors of ThunderClan, we have gathered to celebrate our recovery from this terrible flood. Thanks to all of your hard work, RiverClan is growing strong again, and we no longer need any help to rebuild our camp.” Crookedstar’s words were laced with finality. Fireheart and Graystripe’s job was finished, as was Ivypool and Dovewing’s.

Fireheart dipped his head. “We were happy to do our part,” he meowed. “I promise you will not see us on your territory again.”

“We’d better not!” Blackclaw yowled. Despite everything the ThunderClan cats had done, he’d refused to change his mind about them.

Crookedstar waved his tail to silence his warrior. “Before you leave, there is another reason I have summoned you all here, something even these ThunderClan cats have earned the right to witness.”

Before Fireheart could wonder what he meant, Minnowscale led Icekit and Longkit from the nursery. The young cats’ pelts were sleek and smooth, having been well-groomed by their mother.

They’re becoming apprentices! Fireheart came to the realization at the same time Graystripe did. “Are you sure you want us here for this?” his friend questioned.

To both of their surprise, it was Leopardfur who replied. “If it hadn’t been for you, Icekit would have died trying to save Perchkit and Pikekit, just as Minnowtail and Mossyfoot are the reason Robinkit, Woodkit, and Longkit are alive.”

“Exactly,” Minnowscale agreed. “Our kits only survived because the ones we least expected risked their lives to save them. That is why I requested Crookedstar invite you to witness this event.”

“There must be no more distrust among us,” Crookedstar announced. He beckoned the newest apprentices toward him.

Mosspelt’s kits tumbled into the clearing. “Go Icekit! Go Longkit!” a brown-and-ginger tom cheered.

“Hush, Robinkit, don’t interrupt,” Mosspelt scolded. “If you want to watch, then you must sit quietly. Woodkit!” Her head swiveled to stare at her gray tabby tom-kit, whose tiny claws were unsheathed as his forepaws reached out towards the pale gray she-kit. “Leave your sister’s tail alone. You and Dawnkit need to stay calm if you want to watch. StarClan knows how you have this much energy after everything that’s happened.”

After you almost drowned. The words went unspoken, but Fireheart could still hear them.

Crookedstar purred in amusement. “It is good to see that some of our youngest members are already prepared to join us for an official meeting, one they will soon experience for themselves. But now it is time to begin. Few young cats partake in their apprentice ceremony having already distinguished themselves with their courage and recklessness.” He paused as amusement rippled through the RiverClan cats. “Both of you will need mentors who have an abundance of patience and foresight needed to keep you both out of trouble.

“Icekit, you have reached the age of six moons, and it is time for you to be apprenticed. From this day on, until you receive your warrior name, you will be known as Icepaw.” He paused and swung his muzzle towards the cats who had gathered by the nursery. “Mosslight, you have shown yourself to be a warrior of resilience and adaptability. You will be mentor to Icepaw.”

He paused to let the pair touch noses. Mosslight looked stunned, and Fireheart guessed that Icepaw was her first apprentice. “I promise to teach you everything I know,” she murmured to the young cat.

Icepaw seemed ready to leap out of the clearing. “I can’t wait to start my training!”

As Mosslight drew her apprentice to join their Clanmates, Crookedstar beckoned Longkit forward. “Longkit, you too have reached the age of six moons. From this moment, you will be known as Longpaw.”

Who will his mentor be? Fireheart wondered.

But instead of announcing this, Crookedstar’s face drew grim. “In these dark times, RiverClan has become divided. I have watched as many of you choose to avoid our warriors that StarClan sent, even though you know it is wrong. Minnowtail and Mossyfoot work harder than any cat, bring back twice as much fresh-kill during their hunting patrols, and they have now saved several cats from death. I don’t know why you insist on treating them the way you do, but it is time for that to stop.”

“Is it really?” Blackclaw growled. “Because none of us asked StarClan to send us time travelers; none of us invited them here. We don’t want them.”

“You’re making a mistake!” Mosslight snapped.

“Minnowtail saved my life!” Whiteclaw reminded his Clanmates. “She clung to the side of the gorge and held onto me until Leopardfur and Fireheart could pull us to solid ground. That’s what convinced Leopardfur to trust her; why are you being so stubborn?”

Blackclaw stalked to the center of the gathering, shoving Longpaw aside roughly. “I don’t want cats who don’t exist to change my future. How can we trust what they say? How do we know they won’t make things worse?” Arguing rose up from his Clanmates.

“Enough!” Crookedstar’s commanding yowl silenced everyone. “This is the conflict I have been speaking of. Foolish warriors like you choose to hate these warriors for no good reason, and it must stop.” He turned towards the time travelers. “Mossyfoot, you have shown yourself to be brave and loyal. Though you are a new warrior, you will be mentor to Longpaw.”

“Yes!” The newest apprentice let out a loud cheer, not flinching when Blackclaw snarled at him.

Mossyfoot dipped her head. “I will do my best,” she promised. She walked forward, bending down to touch noses with her new apprentice.

Cheers rang out from her Clanmates. “Longpaw! Icepaw! Longpaw! Icepaw!” Even louder were additional cheers from most of the warriors, several of whom looked ashamed. “Minnowtail! Mossyfoot!” The time travelers and the apprentices stood silently, accepting their Clanmates’ approval with dignity.

Meanwhile, Blackclaw glowered and stalked off towards the fresh-kill pile. He dragged a mouse toward himself and started eating it in angry bites.

Crookedstar flicked his tail towards Mossyfoot and whispered something to her. She nodded before coming over to join Fireheart and Graystripe.

“Hello,” she meowed in a friendly tone. She seemed unfazed by Blackclaw’s hurtful words. “It’s an honor to meet you both.”

Fireheart tilted his head. He hadn’t officially met the brown-and-white she-cat yet. “Every time traveler seems to know Graystripe and I. Are we that well-known in the future?”

Mossyfoot snorted. “Let’s just say you have a reputation.”

“Is that a good thing?” Graystripe muttered.

“Depends on who you ask, father-to-be.”

Graystripe gasped. “You know about that?” His words made Fireheart realize he’d never told his friend about Minnowtail’s words the day he’d come to Silverstream trying to talk her out of seeing Graystripe.

Your love, and what comes from it, will someday be the key to saving the Clans. Fireheart blinked. Graystripe and Silverstream’s kits! They’re what comes from their love. They’ll save the Clans someday. The sudden clarity he felt seemed to prove him correct. Though he struggled to understand all of StarClan’s messages to him, this just made so much sense. Lionblaze himself had confirmed it, but he’d been in disbelief and denial at the time.

“Your kits will be heroes,” he whispered to his friend.

Graystripe blinked at him in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, they will be, now stop talking about it unless you want every cat to hear,” Mossyfoot ordered. She glanced toward her new apprentice. “Longpaw!” she called.

He perked up and ran to join them. “Yes, what is it?”

Mossyfoot nodded her approval at his enthusiasm. “We’re escorting Fireheart and Graystripe back to their territory a different way so that they don’t get caught by their Clanmates. While we don’t need their help anymore, we also don’t want them to get caught either.”

“Great!” he purred. Turning to the ThunderClan warriors, he added, “You saved my sister. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”

“Er, you don’t have to thank us,” Fireheart meowed. “We just did what any warrior would do.”

“Not any warrior,” Mossyfoot corrected. “You see the Clans differently. Someday that will be important.”

*  *  *  *  *

When they reached the camp, jaws laden with prey, Fireheart saw Bluestar standing at the foot of the Highrock. Tigerclaw was leading Cloudkit towards her. A patrol made up of Whitestorm, Longtail, Mousefur, and Cinderheart, who still hadn’t moved into the nursery, was already reporting to her.

“The stream is flooded as far as the Thunderpath,” Fireheart heard Whitestorm say. “If the water doesn’t go down, we won’t be able to make it to the next Gathering.”

“There’s still time before — ” Bluestar broke off when she saw Tigerclaw approach her. “Yes, what is it?”

“I’ve brought this cat to you,” the deputy growled. “A disobedient kit.”

Fireheart hurried to deposit his prey on the fresh-kill pile and join the other cats with Bluestar.

“Disobedient!” echoed Longtail. His eyes met Fireheart’s with an unpleasant gleam. “Just what I’d expect of a kittypet,” he sneered.

“That’s enough,” Bluestar ordered, with the faintest hint of a snarl in her voice. She dipped her head toward the cats in the patrol. “You may go, all of you.” She turned back to Tigerclaw as they moved away. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw this kit leaving camp,” Tigerclaw began, flicking his tail toward Cloudkit, “after you ordered that no kits or apprentices should go out without a warrior. I went to fetch him back, but when I got into the ravine, I realized he was following a scent trail.” He paused, and glared challengingly at Fireheart and Graystripe. “The trail led to the stepping-stones downstream from the Sunningrocks. And what should I see there but this brave kit” — he spat the words out — “watching for cats crossing over from RiverClan.”

Fireheart braced himself for Bluestar’s anger, but the Clan leader remained calm. “Is this true?” she asked.

During the journey back from RiverClan, Fireheart had had time to think. He couldn’t imagine the trouble he would be in if he told Bluestar what had happened. But at least Tigerclaw hadn’t managed to catch him and Graystripe. It was up to Cloudkit to answer for himself. “Yes,” the kit admitted.

Bluestar closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them again, her expression was as unreadable as ever. “Tigerclaw, I’ll deal with this. You may go.”

The deputy looked as if he was going to object, but under Bluestar’s clear gaze he kept silent. He gave her a curt nod and marched off toward the pile of fresh-kill.

“Now, Cloudkit,” meowed Bluestar, turning to the white kit. “Do you know why I ordered kits and apprentices not to go out alone?”

“Because the floods are dangerous,” replied Cloudkit sullenly. “But I — ”

“You disobeyed me and you must be punished. That is the Clan law.”

For a moment Fireheart thought that Cloudkit was about to protest, but to his relief the kit just dipped his head and mewed, “Yes, Bluestar.”

“Tigerclaw got you to help the elders for a few days recently, didn’t he? Very well, you can continue with those duties. It is an honor to serve the other cats in the Clan, and you must learn that it is an honor to obey Clan orders, too. Go now, and see if they have any jobs for you.”

Cloudkit bowed his head again and scampered off across the clearing, his tail held high. Fireheart suspected he quite enjoyed looking after the elders, and that his punishment wasn’t as bad as it might have been. He couldn’t help worrying that Cloudkit still hadn’t learned his lesson about respecting the ways of the Clan.

Bluestar settled down on the ground with her paws tucked under her. “Tell me what happened,” she invited the warriors.

Taking a deep breath, Fireheart explained how he and Graystripe had rescued the RiverClan kits, and been taken to the camp by RiverClan warriors. To be safe, he left out Dovewing’s participation. There was no way he was going to let her get in trouble with them again if that’s what happened.

“Except we couldn’t go into their camp,” he meowed. “It’s underwater. They’re staying in the bushes on higher ground for now.”

“I see...” murmured Bluestar.

“We decided to speak with some of the cats to see if anything had changed, so we met at the stepping-stones before going hunting,” Fireheart lied. “But we didn’t know Cloudkit was following us, otherwise we would have brought him back here first.”

“And how is RiverClan doing now?”

Fireheart let out a relieved breath. “They’re recovering. All their kits are alive and well, and they just named two apprentices. One warrior, Frogleap, died in the floods, but other than that, every cat is safe.”

Bluestar frowned, but she didn’t ask any more. She gave a tiny nod, as if to herself. Then, after a brief hesitation, she dismissed Fireheart. “Find Graystripe and tell him you may both eat,” she ordered. “From what you said, you did not break the warrior code, so I will not punish you. But from now on, wait to ask questions of cats in other Clans until the next Gatherings. There is no point in giving anyone in the Clan reason to accuse you of disloyalty.”

“And what about the disloyalty we know is here?” Fireheart meowed before he could stop himself.

“I’m still trying to decide,” Bluestar murmured. “Jayfeather said we wouldn’t have to worry until after three litters of kits are born, and Cinderheart and Goldenflower’s kits won’t come until after the Gathering.” She paused. “Though if Cinderheart continues to push herself, she may very well give birth early. Even Mistflow wasn’t this bad.” Grief glistened in her eyes as she mentioned the brave she-cat who had been killed defending ThunderClan when Brokenstar had attacked.

Pain and guilt flooded Fireheart. “I should have been able to save her,” he rasped. “I’m so sorry.”

Bluestar rested her tail on his shoulder. “There was nothing you could have done to save her. Mistflow died the way she lived: protecting this Clan and her son. She never wanted to die from some kind of sickness.”

“I’ve never heard you speak of her,” he meowed. “Were you two close?”

She nodded. “We were very close,” she admitted. “Mistflow was one of the only cats I could trust with certain suspicions and we bonded because of it. But then she and Nighthunter both had kits and I distanced myself…it was too hard…” Her voice trailed off.

This is it! “Why was it hard?” Fireheart dared to ask. “Surely a leader can have kits.”

“Of course she can,” Bluestar answered matter-of-factly. “But there has to be a tom in ThunderClan she is interested in enough to have those kits with, and for me…there was no such tom.”

It all became clear. That’s why Bluestar had kits with Oakheart. She fell in love with him just like Graystripe and Silverstream did with each other. His realization must have showed in his eyes, because Bluestar’s narrowed in suspicion.

“What is it, Fireheart?”

“Oh, er, nothing!” Fireheart lied. “I was just trying to figure out who else would be having kits.” That, at least, was partially true. Partially…Oh no! It’s Graystripe and Silverstream’s kits!

Bluestar sighed. “I have thought about that myself. But with Speckletail giving birth just before Jayfeather told us and no other she-cats expecting, I don’t know what to think.” Meeting his gaze, her eyes cleared. “Go rest and eat. You’ve done more than enough for the Clan today.”

*  *  *  *  *

Fireheart felt refreshed after eating a vole, so chose a squirrel and headed toward the medicine cats’ den. Yellowfang was standing outside the cleft in the rock, with Cinderpaw sitting in front of her. Fireheart’s former apprentice looked happy and alert. She was sitting very straight, with her tail wrapped around her paws, and her blue eyes were fixed on Yellowfang as she listened to the old cat. Jayfeather was crouched nearby, sorting herbs while clearly pretending not to be listening.

“We can chew up ragwort leaves and mix them with crushed juniper berries,” rasped Yellowfang. “It makes a good poultice for aching joints. Do you want to try doing it?”

“Okay!” Cinderpaw mewed enthusiastically. She sprang up and sniffed the heap of herbs Yellowfang had laid on the ground. “Does it taste bad?”

“No,” answered Yellowfang, “but try not to swallow it. A bit won’t hurt you, but too much will give you a bellyache. Yes, Fireheart, what do you want?”

Fireheart crossed the clearing, dragging the squirrel between his front paws. Cinderpaw was already crouching in front of the ragwort, chewing vigorously, but she flicked her tail at Fireheart in greeting.

“This is for you,” Fireheart mewed as he dropped the squirrel beside Yellowfang.

“It could have a bit more meat on it,” Yellowfang growled. “Mousebrain! You might have tried to chase it less before it ran off through the forest.”

“Well, it’s done now.” Fireheart didn’t want to talk about his choice of prey, especially a squirrel he hadn’t been the one to catch.

To his relief, Yellowfang seemed happy to change the subject. “I’m glad you’ve come,” she meowed, “because I want a word with you. You see that poultice?” She lifted her muzzle toward the green mash of chewed leaves Cinderpaw was making.

“Yes.”

“It’s for Smallear. He’s in my den now, with the worst case of stiff joints I’ve seen in moons. He can hardly move. And if you ask me, it’s all because his nest was recently lined with damp moss.” Her tone was mild, but her yellow eyes burned into Fireheart’s.

Fireheart felt his heart sink . “This is about Cloudkit, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” mewed Yellowfang. “He’s been careless about the bedding he’s brought in. If you ask me, he hasn’t bothered to shake the water off.”

“But I showed him how — ” Fireheart broke off. He had troubles enough of his own, he thought; it wasn’t fair that he had to keep sorting out Cloudkit as well. He took a deep breath. “I’ll have a word with him,” he promised.

“Do that,” grunted Yellowfang.

Cinderpaw sat up, spitting out scraps of ragwort. “Is that chewed enough?”

Yellowfang inspected her work. “Excellent,” she meowed.

Cinderpaw’ s blue eyes glowed with the praise, while Fireheart glanced appreciatively at the old medicine cat. It gave him a warm glow to see how Yellowfang made Cinderpaw feel useful and needed.

“Now you can fetch the juniper berries,” Yellowfang went on. “Let’s see. . .three should be enough. You know where I keep them?”

“Yes, Yellowfang.” Cinderpaw headed for the split in the rock, bouncing in spite of her limp, her tail lifted high. At the mouth of the den she looked back. “Thanks for the squirrel, Fireheart,” she meowed, before she disappeared.

Yellowfang looked after her approvingly and let out a rusty purr. “Now there’s a cat who knows what she’s doing,” she murmured. “And she’s much more enjoyable company than Jayfeather.”

“I get my attitude from you!” Jayfeather protested, spinning around to glare at her.

“Oh, if only that were true.”

Fireheart agreed with her assessment of Cinderpaw. He wished he could say the same about his own kin. “I’ll go and find Cloudkit right now.” He sighed, touching his nose to Yellowfang’s flank before padding out of her den.

The white kit was not in the nursery, so Fireheart tried the elders’ den. As he entered, he heard Halftail’s voice. “So the leader of TigerClan stalked the fox for a night and a day, and on the second night — Hello, there, Fireheart. Come to listen to the story?”

Fireheart glanced around. Halftail was curled up in the moss with Patchpelt and Dappletail nearby. Cloudkit was crouched in the shelter of the big tabby’s body, his blue eyes wide with wonder as he pictured the mighty black-striped cats of TigerClan. A few scraps of fresh-kill lay on the floor of the den, and from the smell of mouse that clung to Cloudkit’s fur, Fireheart guessed that the elders had let him share.

“No, thanks, Halftail,” he meowed. “I can’t stay. I just wanted to talk to Cloudkit. Yellowfang says he’s been bringing in damp bedding.”

Dappletail let out a snort. “What nonsense!”

“She’s been listening to Smallear,” meowed Patchpelt. “He’d complain if StarClan descended from Silverpelt themselves to bring his bedding.”

Fireheart’s fur prickled with embarrassment. He hadn’t expected to find the elders making excuses for Cloudkit. “Well, have you or haven’t you?” he demanded, glaring at the kit.

Cloudkit blinked up at him. “I tried to get it right, Fireheart.”

“He’s only a kit,” Dappletail pointed out fondly.

“Yes, well. . .” Fireheart scraped his paws on the floor of the den. “Smallear has got aching joints.”

“Smallear has had aching joints for seasons,” meowed Halftail. “Since well before this kit was littered. You mind your own business, Fireheart, and let us mind ours.”

“Sorry,” Fireheart muttered. “I’ll go, then. Cloudkit, just make sure you’re extra careful about damp moss in the future, okay?”

He started backing out of the den. As he left, he heard Cloudkit meow, “Go on, Halftail. What did TigerClan’s leader do then?”

Fireheart was glad to escape into the clearing. He couldn’t help thinking that Cloudkit probably had been careless over the moss, but it looked like the rest of the elders wouldn’t have a word said against him. 

He was trotting over to the heap when he noticed Brokentail lying outside his den. Tigerclaw was beside him, and the two cats were sharing tongues like old friends.

Unexpectedly moved by the sight, Fireheart paused. Was this Tigerclaw’s merciful side making a rare appearance? He could just hear the rumble of Tigerclaw’s voice, though he was too far away to make out the words. Brokentail replied briefly, looking much more relaxed, as if he was responding to the deputy’s friendliness.

Suddenly all of Fireheart’ s old doubts about bringing Tigerclaw to justice welled up inside him. Every cat knew that Tigerclaw was a fierce and courageous fighter, and that he handled the responsibilities of a deputy with effortless confidence. Fireheart had never seen anything to show that he had the compassion of a true leader, until now, with Brokentail. . . .

Then he spotted Clawface lying nearby, his eyes narrowed. He spoke only when spoken to, but he didn’t seem happy. Whatever the conversation was, he didn’t seem to like it.

Fireheart’s mind whirled. Tigerclaw was sharing tongues with Brokentail as though the prisoner was a fellow Clanmate. Clawface wasn’t happy about it. Jayfeather had warned of an attack when three litters had been born to ThunderClan. With Cinderheart and Goldenflower’s litters soon to come and Silverstream’s not far behind, that must mean there wasn’t much time left. And he couldn’t forget the scents he’d found near Princess’s home when he’d followed Tigerclaw. Did that have something to do with it?

What were Tigerclaw and Brokentail planning, and where did Clawface fall?

Chapter Text

Fireheart stepped out of the ferns that enclosed the warriors’ den and stretched out his front paws. It was just after sunrise, and the sky was already a pale eggshell blue, promising fine weather after days of cloud and rain.

Now Fireheart stretched his jaws in a massive yawn and settled down to give himself a thorough wash. Graystripe was still sleeping; soon Fireheart would have to wake him so they could go on patrol. He couldn’t help but feel surprised that his friend hadn’t sneaked off to visit Silverstream.

As Fireheart washed, he saw Bluestar and Tigerclaw sitting at the foot of the Highrock, deep in conversation. Idly he wondered what they were talking about. Then Bluestar gave a flick of her tail to summon him. Fireheart sprang up at once and bounded across the camp.

“Fireheart,” Bluestar meowed as he approached, “Tigerclaw is going to lead a patrol up to Fourtrees,” Bluestar went on before Fireheart could respond. “In two nights the moon will be full, and we need to know if we can make it to the Gathering. Tigerclaw, will you take Fireheart with you?”

Fireheart couldn’t interpret the gleam in the deputy’s amber eyes. He didn’t look pleased — Tigerclaw never did — but there was a certain dark satisfaction, as if he would enjoy putting Fireheart through his paces. Fireheart didn’t care. He was thrilled that Bluestar was trusting him with a real warriors’ mission again. It had been a while since he’d done something beyond hunting and patrolling.

“He can come,” Tigerclaw meowed. “But if he puts a paw wrong, I’ll want to know the reason why.” His dark coat rippled as he heaved himself to his paws. “I’ll find some other cats to go with us.”

Fireheart watched him as he strode across the clearing and disappeared into the warriors’ den.

“This will be an important Gathering,” murmured Bluestar beside him. “We need to find out how the other Clans are coping with the floods. It’s important for our Clan to be there.”

“We’ll find a way, Bluestar,” Fireheart assured her.

But his confidence drained rapidly away a moment later when he saw Tigerclaw reappear from the den. The cats who followed him out were Longtail and Dustpelt. It looked as if Tigerclaw had chosen the other members of the patrol deliberately to disadvantage Fireheart. But at least Darkstripe wasn’t there. At least these two could put aside their differences with him to do what the Clan needed him to do, unlike Darkstripe, who very well may have sabotaged the patrol just to make him look bad.

Fireheart felt a hard lump of apprehension in his stomach. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to go out alone with these three cats. The memory of the battle with RiverClan was still too fresh, when Tigerclaw had watched him struggling with a fierce warrior and made no move to help him. And Longtail had been his enemy ever since he had set paw in the camp. Though he had fought side-by-side with Dustpelt when Brokentail came after ThunderClan again, and the brown warrior had been a little, though not much, nicer to him since he’d suggested Bluestar make him a warrior.

For a moment, fearful pictures of two of the cats turning on him in the depths of the forest and murdering him whirled through Fireheart’s mind. Then he shook himself. He was scaring himself like a kit listening to some elder’s tale. No doubt Tigerclaw would make unreasonable demands of him, and Longtail would enjoy every moment, but Fireheart wasn’t afraid of being challenged. He’d show them that he was a warrior equal to them in every way that mattered!

Saying a respectful good-bye to Bluestar, he raced across the clearing and followed them out of the camp.

The sun rose higher, and the sky turned to a deep blue as the cats journeyed through the forest toward Fourtrees. The ferns were weighted with glittering drops of dew that clung to Fireheart’s fur as he brushed past. Birds sang, and branches rustled with freshly opened leaves. Newleaf had really come at last.

As he padded after Tigerclaw, Fireheart was distracted by tempting movements in the undergrowth as prey scurried to and fro. After a while the deputy let them stop and hunt for themselves. He was in an unusually good mood, Fireheart thought, relaxing enough to praise the flame-pelted warrior as he pounced on a particularly speedy vole. Even Longtail kept his unfriendly comments to himself, while Dustpelt nodded in acknowledgement.

When they went on, Fireheart’s stomach was warm and full from the vole he had eaten. His uneasy feelings vanished. On a day like this he couldn’t help feeling optimistic, sure that they would soon have good news to take back to Bluestar.

Then they reached the top of a slope and looked down toward the stream that crossed ThunderClan territory, separating them from Fourtrees. Tigerclaw let out a long, soft hiss, and Longtail yowled in dismay. Dustpelt glowered at the sight.

Fireheart shared their exasperation. Usually the stream was shallow enough for cats to cross easily, keeping their paws dry by leaping from rock to rock. Now the water had spread into a glistening sheet on either side, while the current churned swiftly along the original course of the stream.

“Fancy crossing that?” spat Longtail. “I don’t.”

Without a word, Tigerclaw began padding upstream, following the edge of the floodwater toward the Thunderpath. The land sloped gently upward, and before long, Fireheart could see that the shining surface was broken by tussocks of grass and clumps of bracken poking above the water.

“This isn’t as deep as when Whitestorm last reported,” Tigerclaw meowed. “We’ll try to cross here.”

Fireheart had his doubts that the water would be shallow enough, but he kept them to himself. He knew if he objected, he would just get the usual sneers about his soft kittypet background. Instead he quietly followed Tigerclaw, who was already wading into the flood. He couldn’t help noticing that Longtail’s ears twitched nervously as he splashed in beside him. Dustpelt was bristling, his anxiety coming off him in waves.

The water felt cold as it lapped at Fireheart’s legs. He picked his way carefully, tracing a zigzag course toward the nearest bank of the stream by springing from one clump of grass to the next. Drops of water glittered in the sunlight as he splashed forward. Once a frog wriggled out from under his paws, almost making him lose his balance, but he righted himself by sinking his claws heavily into a waterlogged tussock.

In front of him, the current was brown where it had stirred up mud from the streambed. It was much too wide for a cat to leap, and the stepping-stones were completely submerged. I hope Tigerclaw doesn’t expect us to swim, Fireheart thought with a wince.

Even as the words went through his mind, he heard Tigerclaw’s yowl from farther upstream. “Come here! Look at this!”

Fireheart splashed toward him. The deputy, with Longtail beside him, was standing at the edge of the stream. A branch was lodged in front of them, swept into place by the current so that it stretched from one bank to the other.

“Just what we need,” Tigerclaw grunted in satisfaction. “Fireheart, check that it’s safe, will you?”

Fireheart gazed doubtfully at the branch. It was much thinner than the fallen tree that he had used to cross to RiverClan’s territory. Twigs poked out in all directions, still with dead leaves dangling from them. Every few moments the whole branch gave a slight jerk, as if the current wanted to sweep it away again.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Dustpelt asked hesitantly.

With any other senior warrior, or even Bluestar, Fireheart would have discussed how safe the branch was before he set paw on it. But no cat questioned an order from Tigerclaw. Even Dustpelt didn’t seem to be questioning him, more like requesting him to reconsider.

“Do you see any other options?” the deputy replied dryly.

“Er, no,” Dustpelt meowed.

Tigerclaw stared down at him. “Then keep quiet or I’ll have you test the branch instead.”

Dustpelt glanced uneasily at Fireheart but didn’t say anything else.

“Scared, kittypet?” Longtail taunted him, though there was less bit than usual in his words.

Determination burned in Fireheart’s belly. He would not show fear in front of these cats and let them have the pleasure of reporting it to the rest of the Clan. Gritting his teeth, he stepped onto the end of the branch.

Immediately it sagged under his paws, and he dug his claws in hard, fighting for balance. He could see brown water racing a mouse-length below, and for a few heartbeats he thought he would plunge straight into it.

Then he steadied himself. He began to move forward cautiously, placing his paws in a straight line one after the other. The slender branch bounced under his weight with every step. Twigs caught in his fur, threatening his balance. We’ll never get to the Gathering like this, Fireheart thought.

Gradually he drew closer to the middle of the stream, where the current was strongest. The branch tapered until it was barely as thick as his tail, making it harder to find a pawhold. Pausing, Fireheart measured the distance left; was he close enough to leap safely yet?

Then the branch lurched under him. Instinctively he gripped tighter with his claws. He heard Dustpelt gasp, and Tigerclaw yowl, “Fireheart! Get back!”

For a heartbeat Fireheart swayed precariously. Then the branch lurched again and suddenly it was free, racing along with the surging water. Fireheart slipped sideways, and thought he heard Tigerclaw yowl once more as the waves closed over his head.

As he plunged into the stream Fireheart managed to keep one clawhold on the branch. He felt as if he were fighting a spiky wooden enemy, twigs that lashed at him and raked through his fur while his breath bubbled into the dark water. His head broke the surface briefly, but before he could gasp in air the branch twisted and rolled him under again.

Terror made him strangely calm, as if time had slowed down. Part of Fireheart’ s mind told him to let go of the branch and fight his way to the surface, but he knew that if he did that he would risk his life; the current was far too strong for him to swim. The force of the water meant there was nothing he could do but dig his claws in and endure. StarClan help me! he thought frantically.

His senses were just beginning to ebb into a tempting darkness when the branch rolled over again and brought him back to the surface. Choking and spitting he clung to it, with water churning along on either side of him. He could not see the bank. He tried to haul himself farther out of the water, but his sodden fur was too heavy and his limbs were growing stiff with cold. He did not know how long he could hold on.

Just as he felt that he was about to let go, something brought the branch to a jarring stop. It shuddered along its whole length, almost throwing Fireheart off. As he clung on desperately, he heard a cat screech his name. Twisting his head, he saw that the other end of the branch was jammed against a rock that jutted out into the stream.

Longtail was crouched on the rock, leaning down toward him. “Move, kittypet!” he growled.

With his last drop of energy, Fireheart scrambled along the length of the branch. Twigs whipped across his face. He felt the branch lurch again and flung himself at the rock, his front paws scraping at it while his hind legs thrust through the water. His paws had barely touched stone when the branch was swept away from underneath him.

For a heartbeat Fireheart thought he would follow it. The rock was smooth; there was no purchase for his paws. Then Longtail reached down and Fireheart felt his teeth meet in the scruff of his neck. Dustpelt dug his claws into Fireheart’s shoulders and began to pull him up the rock. With the other cats’ help he managed to claw his way upward until he was crouching on the top of the rock. Shivering, he coughed up several mouthfuls of stream water before he looked up. “Thanks, Longtail, Dustpelt,” he gasped.

The pale tabby warrior’s face was expressionless. “It was nothing.”

Tigerclaw padded up from behind the rock. “Are you hurt?” he demanded. “Can you walk?”

Shakily, Fireheart pushed himself to his paws. Water streamed off his coat as he shook himself. “I-Fm fine, Tigerclaw,” he stammered. Dustpelt was staring at the deputy, his eyes narrowed to slits.

Tigerclaw stepped backward to avoid the spinning droplets from Fireheart’s fur. “Watch it; we’re all wet enough already.” Approaching Fireheart again he gave a rapid sniff down the length of his body. “Back to camp for you,” he ordered. “In fact, we’ll all go back. No cat can get across that water; you’ve proved that, if nothing else.”

Fireheart nodded and wordlessly followed the deputy back into the forest. Colder and more tired than he could ever remember being before, he wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep in a patch of sunlight.

But while his limbs felt like waterlogged stone, his mind was a whirlpool of fear and suspicion.

Tigerclaw had sent him out onto the branch, when any cat could see it was dangerous. Fireheart couldn’t help wondering if Tigerclaw had deliberately dislodged it, to make sure that he was flung into the swollen stream.

Not if Longtail and Dustpelt were watching, he decided. After all, Longtail had rescued him; much as Fireheart disliked Longtail, he had to admit that the pale tabby would stick rigidly to the Clan code when another warrior needed his help, and the same went for Dustpelt.

Even so, Tigerclaw could have shifted the branch without letting the other warriors see, or perhaps they hadn’t understood what was happening. Fireheart would have liked to ask them, but he knew that if he did the question would be reported to Tigerclaw.

But Dustpelt was still watching the deputy with narrowed eyes. Had he seen something? Was that why he seemed angry now?

Then he glanced at Tigerclaw too, and saw the deputy glaring at him with unmasked hatred. As Fireheart met the amber stare, he saw Tigerclaw’s eyes narrow as if with an unspoken threat. And in that moment Fireheart knew that somehow Tigerclaw had tried to murder him. This time he had failed. But what about next time? Fireheart’s tired brain shied away from what was all too obvious. Next time, Tigerclaw would make sure he did not fail.

*  *  *  *  *

By the time he reached the camp, the warm newleaf sun had dried Fireheart’s fur, but he was so exhausted he could scarcely put one paw in front of another.

Sandstorm, who was sunning herself outside the warriors’ den, sprang up as soon as she saw him and bounded over to his side. “Fireheart!” she exclaimed. “You look awful! What happened?”

“Nothing much,” Fireheart mumbled. “I was — ”

“Fireheart went for a swim, that’s all,” Tigerclaw interrupted. He looked down at the young warrior. “Come on. We need to report to Bluestar.” He strode across to the Highrock with Longtail at his heels. Dustpelt waited closer to the medicine cats’ den. As Fireheart staggered after them, Sandstorm padded close beside him, pressing her warm body against his for support.

“Well?” Bluestar asked when the cats stood in front of her. “Did you find somewhere to cross?”

Tigerclaw shook his massive head. “It’s impossible. The water’s too high.”

“But every Clan should attend the Gathering,” Bluestar pointed out. “StarClan will be angry if we don’t try to find a dry route. Tigerclaw, tell me exactly where you went.”

Tigerclaw began to describe the events of the morning in more detail, including Fireheart’s attempt to cross by the branch. “It was brave but foolish,” he growled. “I thought he’d paid with his life.”

Sandstorm looked around, impressed, but Fireheart knew as well as Tigerclaw that he had had no choice about getting onto the branch.

“Be more careful in the future, Fireheart,” Bluestar warned. “You’d better see Yellowfang in case you’ve caught a chill.”

“I’m fine,” Fireheart told her. “I just need to sleep, that’s all.”

Bluestar’s eyes narrowed. “That was an order, Fireheart.” Her gaze softened when she saw how exhausted he seemed. “You can rest after Yellowfang or Jayfeather tell you you’re all right.”

Stifling a yawn, Fireheart bowed his head respectfully. “Yes, Bluestar.”

“I’ll help you get there, and then you can come to the den when you’ve finished,” meowed Sandstorm, giving him a lick. “I’ll fetch you some fresh-kill.”

Fireheart mewed his thanks and stumbled unsteadily towards Yellowfang’s den, leaning on Sandstorm heavily. He could practically taste her concern for him. Relief at not having to handle it alone swamped him.

Before they reached the clearing, Dustpelt moved to block them. “We need to talk,” he ordered.

Sandstorm watched him warily. “About what?” she questioned. “This isn’t the time for you to call him soft because he’s a kittypet,” she chastened.

“That’s the last thing I have in mind after I helped save him,” Dustpelt grumbled, looking hurt. “I just want to why I had to in the first place. Fireheart, why did Tigerclaw dislodge the branch to make you fall in?”

Beside him, Sandstorm stiffened in horror, but when she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Tigerclaw did what?”

“Thanks to the flooding, there was no safe way to get to the Gathering, but Tigerclaw found this terribly unstable branch and decided to send Fireheart out to test it. Once Fireheart reached the middle of the branch, Tigerclaw dislodged it and Fireheart fell into the water. Longtail didn’t see it, but I did.”

That answers my first question, Fireheart thought.

“Great StarClan!” Sandstorm gasped. She pressed closer to Fireheart, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but soak in her warmth, her touch. His burdens and worries floated away and he was completely happy.

“Hey, Fireheart!” Dustpelt growled. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

“What? Oh, right,” Fireheart forced himself to rejoin the conversation. “Maybe he did it because he doesn’t like me?” The words were feeble even to him.

Sandstorm rolled her eyes at the terrible excuse, but it was Dustpelt who spoke next. “Honestly, Fireheart. I’m not particularly fond of you either, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to try to kill you. That’s not what Clanmates do.”

Clanmates! Did Dustpelt really think about him as a Clanmate? “You’re right,” Fireheart sighed. “Tigerclaw didn’t try to kill me just because he doesn’t like me.” He struggled to collect his thoughts, but his exhaustion was starting to take hold more family. He didn’t think he had enough energy left for this conversation.

Sandstorm must have sensed this. “I’ll tell him,” she murmured, helping Fireheart the last few tail-lengths to the medicine cats’ den. “You just have Yellowfang make sure you’re all right.” She turned and beckoned with her tail for Dustpelt to follow her. The two warriors headed towards the camp entrance.

 The clearing was empty, but when he called Yellowfang’s name the old medicine cat poked her head out of the gap in the rock.

“Fireheart? Great StarClan, you look like a squirrel that’s fallen out of its tree! What happened to you?”

She padded toward him as he explained. Cinderpaw limped out behind her and sat beside Fireheart, her blue eyes wide as she heard how he had nearly drowned.

Seeing her, Fireheart could not help remembering how she had been injured beside the Thunderpath — another accident arranged by Tigerclaw. Not to mention the cold-blooded murder of Redtail. His head spinning with fatigue, Fireheart wondered how he could possibly stop Tigerclaw before another cat died for the deputy’s ruthless ambition.

“Right,” rasped Yellowfang, interrupting his troubled thoughts. “You’re a strong cat, and you probably haven’t taken a chill, but we’ll check you to make sure. Cinderpaw, what should we look for when a cat gets a soaking?”

Cinderpaw sat up straight with her tail wrapped around her paws. Eyes fixed on Yellowfang, she recited, “Poor breathing, sickness, leeches in his fur.”

“Good,” grunted Yellowfang. “Off you go, then.”

Very carefully, Cinderpaw sniffed along the length of Fireheart’s body, parting his fur with one paw to make sure that no leeches had fastened themselves onto his skin. “Breathing okay, Fireheart?” she asked gently. “Do you feel sick?”

“No, everything’s fine,” Fireheart mewed. “I just want to sleep for a moon.”

“I think he’s all right, Yellowfang,” Cinderpaw reported. She pressed her cheek against Fireheart’s and gave him a couple of quick licks. “Just don’t go jumping in any more rivers, eh?”

Yellowfang let out a throaty purr. “All right, Fireheart, you can go and sleep now.”

Cinderpaw flicked up her ears in surprise. “Aren’t you going to check him as well? What if I’ve missed something?”

“No need,” meowed Yellowfang. “I trust you, Cinderpaw.” The old cat stretched, arching her skinny back, and then relaxed. “I’ve been meaning to say something to you for a while,” she went on. “I see so many mouse-brained cats around here that it’s a real joy to find one with some sense. You’ve learned quickly, and you’re good with sick cats.”

“Thank you, Yellowfang!” Cinderpaw burst out, her eyes round with surprise at Yellowfang’s praise.

“Be quiet, I haven’t finished. I’m getting old now, and it’s time I started to think about finding an apprentice. Cinderpaw, how would you feel about becoming ThunderClan’s next medicine cat?”

Cinderpaw leaped to her paws. Her eyes were sparkling and she quivered with excitement. “Do you really mean it?” she whispered.

“Of course I mean it,” Yellowfang growled. “I don’t talk for the pleasure of hearing my own voice, unlike some cats.”

Fireheart watched the two she-cats. “If you want, you can still go back to training to be a warrior,” he meowed. “I’ve seen how strong you are and how determined. The choice is yours.

“In that case, yes,” Cinderpaw murmured, lifting her head with dignity, staring straight at Yellowfang. “I’d like to become a medicine cat better than anything in the whole world!”

Fireheart felt his heart begin to beat faster with happiness. He had worried so much for Cinderpaw, at first when he thought she might die, then when it became clear that her injured leg would make if harder for her to become a warrior. He remembered how she had wondered desperately what she could make of her life, not believing in her own abilities. And now it looked as if Yellowfang had found the perfect solution. Seeing the young she-cat so happy and excited about the future she had chosen was more than Fireheart had ever hoped for.

Fireheart went back to the warriors’ den on lighter paws to share fresh-kill with Sandstorm, who had returned from her conversation with Dustpelt and then to sleep. When he awoke, the light in the den was red from the rays of the setting sun.

Graystripe was nudging him. “Wake up,” his friend meowed. “Bluestar has just called a meeting.”

Fireheart left the den to find Bluestar already standing on the top of the Highrock. Yellowfang was beside her, and when all the cats were assembled it was the old medicine cat who spoke first.

“Cats of ThunderClan,” she rasped, “I have an announcement to make. As you know, I am not a young cat. It’s time I took an apprentice. So I’ve chosen the only cat I can put up with.” Yellowfang let out an amused purr. “And the only cat who can put up with me. Your next medicine cat will be Cinderpaw.”

A chorus of pleased meows broke out. Cinderpaw sat at the foot of the rock, her eyes shining and her fur sleekly groomed. She lowered her head shyly as the Clan congratulated her.

“Cinderpaw.” Bluestar made herself heard above the noise. “Do you accept the post of apprentice to Yellowfang?”

Cinderpaw lifted her head to look up at her leader. “Yes, Bluestar.”

“Then at the half moon you must travel to Mothermouth, to be accepted by StarClan before the other medicine cats. The good wishes of all ThunderClan will go with you.”

Yellowfang half jumped, half slithered down from the rock, and padded up to Cinderpaw to touch noses with her. Then the rest of the Clan gathered around the new apprentice. Fireheart caught sight of Brackenpaw pressing close to his sister, his eyes glowing with pride, and even Tigerclaw went up to her and meowed a few words. It was clear that Cinderpaw was a popular choice for this important position.

“Finally!” the exclamation was Jayfeather’s. “I’ve been waiting for a medicine cat meeting for seasons. Even in my time things never got so bad that the medicine cats stopped meeting for this long!”

“You’re right, it’s like they completely forgot about it,” Cinderheart agreed. She was watching Cinderpaw with a mixture of sadness and happiness, as if she knew something Fireheart didn’t.

As he waited to give Cinderpaw his congratulations, Fireheart could not help wishing that all his own problems could be solved as smoothly.

Chapter Text

The sun began to set for the third time since Fireheart had almost drowned. The young warrior was washing himself outside his den, scraping his tongue across his fur. He kept imagining that he could still taste the muddy water. As he twisted his head to wash his back, he heard the pad of approaching paws, and looked up to see Tigerclaw looming over him.

“Bluestar wants you to go to the Gathering,” the deputy growled. “Meet her outside her den — and bring Sandstorm and Graystripe.” He stalked away before Fireheart could reply.

Fireheart got up and stretched. Glancing around, he spotted Graystripe and Sandstorm eating beside the patch of nettles, and hurried over to join them. “Bluestar has chosen us to go to the Gathering,” he announced.

Sandstorm fin ished off her blackbird and swiped a pink tongue around her jaws. “But can we get to the Gathering?” she meowed, sounding puzzled. “I thought the stream was impossible to cross.”

“Bluestar said StarClan would be angry if we didn’t try,” Fireheart mewed. “She wants to talk to us now — maybe she has a plan.”

Graystripe spoke through a mouthful of vole. “I just hope she doesn’t expect us to swim.” In spite of his words, his eyes shone with excitement as he gulped the rest of the fresh-kill and sprang to his paws. Fireheart knew he must be looking forward to a chance to see Silverstream, and he wondered if they had managed to meet in the time since he and Graystripe had been relieved of their responsibility of helping hunt for RiverClan.

Fireheart thought of Silverstream’s kits, and he wondered how Graystripe would be able to bear seeing them grow up in another Clan. Would Silverstream ever be able to tell them that Graystripe, the ThunderClan warrior, was their father? Fireheart tried to put the questions out of his mind as he and his friends crossed the clearing to the Highrock. Bluestar was sitting outside her den, with Whitestorm, Mousefur, and Willowpelt already by her side. Stripestalk, Dovewing, and Ivypool were conversing nearby. A moment later Tigerclaw and Darkstripe joined them.

“As you know, the moon is full tonight,” Bluestar began when all the cats were gathered around her. “It will be hard to get to Fourtrees, but StarClan would expect us to do all we can to find a dry route. So I’ve chosen warriors only — this will be no journey for elders or apprentices, or queens expecting kits. Darkstripe, you led a patrol to examine the stream this morning. Report what you found.”

“The water’s going down,” meowed Darkstripe. “But not fast enough. We patrolled as far as the Thunderpath, and there’s nowhere a cat could cross without swimming.”

“The stream’s narrower up there,” mewed Willowpelt. “Could we jump across?”

“Maybe, if you grew wings,” Darkstripe replied. “If all you’ve got is your own paws.

“But that has to be the best place to try,” insisted Whitestorm.

Bluestar nodded. “We’ll start there,” she decided. “Maybe StarClan will lead us to a safe place.” She rose to her paws and led her cats quietly out of the camp.

The sun had gone down, and twilight blurred the shapes of the forest. In the distance an owl hooted, and Fireheart could hear the rustle of prey in the undergrowth, but the warriors were too intent on their journey to hunt. Bluestar took them straight through the trees to the place where the stream emerged from a hard stone tunnel underneath the Thunderpath. Their usual route to Fourtrees did not pass this close to the Thunderpath, and Fireheart wondered what his leader was planning to do. When they reached the tunnel, he saw that floodwater spread out on either side, reflecting the pale light of the rising moon. Water covered the Thunderpath as well, and as the cats watched they saw a monster pass by, moving slowly, throwing up a filthy wave from its round black paws.

Once the monster had disappeared into the distance, Bluestar led her cats to the water’s edge on the hard surface of the Thunderpath. She sniffed the water, wrinkling her nose at the stench, and cautiously put one paw into the flood. “It’s shallow enough here,” she meowed. “We can walk up the Thunderpath until we’re on the other side of the stream, and get to Fourtrees along the border with ShadowClan.”

Walk up the Thunderpath! Fireheart felt his coat begin to prickle with fear at the thought of deliberately following the tracks of the monsters. Cinderpaw’s accident had shown him what they could do to a cat, and she had only been at the edge.

“What if another monster comes?” asked Graystripe, voicing Fireheart’s fear.

“We will keep to the side,” Bluestar replied calmly. “You saw how slowly that monster was moving. Maybe they don’t like getting their paws wet.”

Fireheart saw that Graystripe still looked doubtful. He shared his friend’s worries, but there was no point in protesting any more. Tigerclaw would just berate them for being cowards. Dovewing was frowning too, as if remembering something from her time.

“Bluestar, wait,” called Whitestorm as the Clan leader waded into the water. “Remember how low our territory is on the other side of this stream? I can’t help thinking it will be flooded there, too. I don’t think we’ll get to Fourtrees without going onto ShadowClan territory, which is higher.”

Stripestalk, close to Fireheart let out a faint hiss, and Fireheart felt another pang of fear. A band of warriors setting paw across the border of a Clan with which they had recently battled? If a patrol caught them, they would think it was an invasion.

Bluestar paused with water lapping over her paws, and looked back at Whitestorm. “Maybe,” she acknowledged, “but we’ll have to risk it, if it’s the only way.”

She set off again without giving her cats any time to protest. There was nothing to do but follow. Fireheart splashed along the edge of the Thunderpath just behind Whitestorm. Tigerclaw brought up the rear to keep a lookout for monsters coming up from behind.

At first everything was quiet, except for a single monster traveling in the other direction on the opposite side of the Thunderpath. Then Fireheart heard the familiar growling and the splash of an approaching monster.

“Look out!” Tigerclaw yowled from the end of the line.

Fireheart froze, pressing himself against the low wall that edged the Thunderpath as it crossed the stream. Darkstripe scrambled on top of it and crouched there, baring his teeth at the monster as it passed. For a moment its strange, glittering colors were reflected in the stinking water, and a wave washed out from it, soaking Fireheart as far as his belly fur.

Then it was gone, and Fireheart could breathe again.

As they reached the other side of the stream Fireheart could see that Whitestorm was right. The low-lying land on the ThunderClan side was covered with water. There was nothing to do but continue along the edge of the Thunderpath until the land rose and was dry enough to walk on.

Stepping thankfully off the paw-achingly hard Thunderpath, Fireheart raised his head and opened his jaws. A strong, rank stench filled his scent glands — the scent of ShadowClan! They had followed the Thunderpath out of ThunderClan territory, and now a swath of ShadowClan land lay between them and the Gathering at Fourtrees.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Willowpelt murmured uneasily. Her mate, Whitestorm rested his tail on her shoulder reassuringly.

If Bluestar heard the comment, she ignored it, quickening the pace until they were racing across the sodden turf. There were few trees here, and the close-cropped grass offered no cover for trespassing cats. Fireheart’s heart was beating fast, and not only from the speed of their journey. If ShadowClan cats caught them, they would be in trouble, but Fourtrees was not far away, and their luck might hold.

Then he caught sight of a dark shadow streaking over the ground ahead of them, on a course to intercept Bluestar at the head of her patrol. More shadows followed, and a furious yowling split the quiet of the night.

For a heartbeat Bluestar quickened her pace, as if she thought she could outrun the challengers. Then she slowed to a stop. Her warriors did the same. Fireheart stood panting; the shadows drew closer, and he saw that they were ShadowClan cats, headed by their leader, Nightstar.

“Bluestar!” he spat as he halted in front of the ThunderClan leader. “Why have you brought your cats onto ShadowClan land?”

“In these floods, it was the only way to reach Fourtrees,” Bluestar replied, her voice low and steady. “We mean no harm, Nightstar. You know there’s a truce for the Gathering.”

Nightstar hissed, his ears flattened against his head and his fur bristling. “The truce holds at Fourtrees,” he snarled. “There is no truce here.”

Instinctively, Fireheart dropped into a defensive crouch. The ShadowClan cats — apprentices and elders as well as warriors — slipped silently into a semicircle around the smaller band from ThunderClan. Like Nightstar, their coats were bristling and their tails lashed in anger. Their hostile eyes reflected the cold light of the moon. Fireheart knew that if it came to a fight, ThunderClan was hopelessly outnumbered.

“Nightstar, I’m sorry,” meowed Bluestar. “We would never trespass on your territory without good reason. Please let us pass.”

Her words did nothing to appease the ShadowClan cats. Cinderfur, the ShadowClan deputy, moved up beside his leader, a dim shape in the moonlight. “I think they’re here to spy,” he growled softly.

“Spy?” Tigerclaw shouldered his way forward to stand next to Bluestar, his head thrust out toward Cinderfur until their noses were less than a mouse-length apart. “What can we spy on here? We’re nowhere near your camp.”

“Why on earth would they be spying on the night of a Gathering?” Scorchfur muttered. “That’s totally mouse-brained.

Cinderfur curled back his lip to reveal thorn-sharp teeth. “Give us the word, Nightstar, and we’ll tear them apart.”

“You can try,” growled Tigerclaw.

For a few heartbeats Nightstar was silent. Fireheart’s muscles tensed. Beside him, Graystripe growled low in his throat. Mousefur bared her teeth at the nearest ShadowClan warrior, and Sandstorm’s pale golden eyes shone with readiness to fight.

Dovewing and Ivypool were staring at Scorchfur, who gazed back evenly. Redwillow didn’t seem to be a part of this moon’s chosen for this Gathering.

“Keep back,” Nightstar grunted at last to his warriors. “We’ll let them pass. I want ThunderClan cats at the Gathering.” Though his words were friendly, he hissed them through bared teeth. Suddenly suspicious, Fireheart whispered to Graystripe, “What does he mean by that?”

Graystripe shrugged. “Dunno. We’ve seen nothing of ShadowClan since the floods started. Who knows what they’re up to?”

“We’ll even give you an escort,” Nightstar went on, narrowing his eyes. “Just to make sure you get to Fourtrees safely. We wouldn’t want ThunderClan to be scared off by an angry mouse, would we?”

A murmur of agreement rose from the ShadowClan warriors. They shifted so that they surrounded the ThunderClan cats on all sides. With a faint nod, Nightstar set off beside Bluestar. The other cats followed, the ShadowClan patrol matching ThunderClan step for step.

ThunderClan headed for the Gathering completely encircled by their enemies.

Fireheart saw Yellowfang’s mother, Brightflower, creep forward and match her pace to Nightstar’s. “I know what you’re going to do, but you’d better wait until the other Clans make their announcements,” she hissed in his ear.

“And why should I do that?” he questioned, sounding angry. “This wrong must be made known to all the Clans!”

“Because if you give into your anger immediately, you will wrong my kits and our newest warrior. And StarClan help me if I’m going to let that happen!”

Her kits? Fireheart wondered. Then he realized the truth just as two familiar, and much bigger shapes slipped from the circle of ShadowClan cats to join him.

“Hello, Fireheart,” the gray tom meowed. His tortoiseshell sister stood beside him, watching Fireheart grimly.

“You two are apprentices now?” Fireheart meowed, just to confirm his suspicions. The two young cats nodded.

“Yes, we are,” Marigoldpaw told him quietly. “You seem excited.”

Fireheart nodded. “Of course I am! It’s good to see that you’ve begun your training.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but it’s not why wanted to talk to you,” Mintpaw mewed. “We have something to ask you now, before Nightstar gets everyone worked up over it at the Gathering.”

Dread filling him, Fireheart guessed what the question would be right before Marigoldpaw asked, “Why did ThunderClan let Brokenstar stay with them.”

“It’s not that simple,” Fireheart sighed. “Brokentail and the ShadowClan cats that left with him attacked our camp not long before the battle all four Clans had in WindClan’s camp. He tricked most of the warriors into going after ShadowClan by leaving rabbit bones behind on our territory, and WindClan’s, I think, then attacked us while practically no one was there. I don’t know what would have happened, but Yellowfang recognized his scent, and Mistflow fought Brokentail herself, taking one of his lives. In retaliation, Brokentail and two other cats killed her.”

“Oh no!” Marigoldpaw sounded horrified. “Lightpaw must devastated.”

Fireheart lowered his gaze for a heartbeat. “He is. Ever since the battle, he’s been…hollow, I guess. He’s shown some glimmers of life, but for the most part, it’s like he’s wandering through life with no clear purpose.”

“Lightpaw helped protect us,” Mintpaw sighed. “I’m sorry he’s suffering like this.”

“Me too,” Marigoldpaw agreed. “But we don’t have time for that. You have to finish the story.”

Nodding, Fireheart went on. “After that, we managed to drive off most of the attackers, and Yellowfang took another one of Brokentail’s lives and blinded him. But in the process, he was so badly wounded that he didn’t recover when he woke up again. Yellowfang and Bluestar didn’t want to throw him out into the forest because that’s exactly what Brokentail would have done.”

“And what about you?” Mintpaw questioned. “How do you feel about everything that’s happened?”

“It’s difficult,” Fireheart admitted. “Sometimes I see him and Clawface in our camp and I want to rip their pelts off for what they did to you and so many other kits and Rosetail and Spottedleaf. But then I have to remind myself that as a warrior, it’s my responsibility to show honor and courage even to the cats who don’t deserve it.”

Something softened in Marigoldpaw’s eyes and she lifted her muzzle to press it against his. “Thank you, Fireheart,” she mewed. “It’s good to know that.”

“Agreed,” Mintpaw said. “I can’t say I’ll ever approve of ThunderClan protecting Brokentail or forgive him for what he did, but I’m glad to know that there was a good reason.”

*  *  *  *  *

The moon was at its height as Fireheart and the other ThunderClan cats were herded into the hollow beneath the four oak trees. A fierce, cold light poured down over the members of RiverClan and WindClan who were already assembled. All of them turned to stare curiously at the group descending the slope. Fireheart knew that he and the rest of his Clan must look like prisoners. He stalked along proudly, head and tail held high, defying any cat to say that they had been beaten.

To his relief, the ShadowClan cats slipped away into the shadows as soon as they reached the hollow.Marigoldpaw and Mintpaw had rejoined their Clanmates once they’d finished talking to Fireheart. Bluestar headed straight for the Great Rock with Tigerclaw at her side. Fireheart looked around for Graystripe, and found that his friend had already disappeared; a moment later he caught sight of him approaching Silverstream, but the silver tabby was surrounded by other RiverClan cats, and Graystripe could only hover nearby, looking frustrated.

Fireheart suppressed a sigh. He knew how much Graystripe must be longing to see Silverstream again, especially now she was expecting kits, but there was a huge risk in meeting at a Gathering, where any cat could catch them together.

“What’s up with you?” Mousefur made him jump. “You look as if you’ve got something on your mind.”

Fireheart stared at the brown warrior. “I. . .I was thinking about what Nightstar said,” he improvised rapidly. “Why did he say he wants ThunderClan cats here?”

“Well, I’m sure of one thing. He’s not being kind and helpful,” Sandstorm mewed, coming up with Willowpelt beside her. She licked one paw and drew it over her ear. “We’ll find out soon enough.”

“Trouble’s coming,” Willowpelt meowed over one shoulder as she went to join a group of WindClan queens. “I can feel it in my paws.”

Uneasier than ever, Fireheart padded back and forth under the trees, listening with one ear to the cats around him. Most of them were sharing harmless gossip, catching up on news from other Clans, and he heard nothing about what ShadowClan were planning. He noticed, though, that all the ShadowClan cats he passed glared at him, still fiercely hostile. And he caught one or two of them glancing up at the Great Rock as if they were impatient for the meeting to start.

At last a yowling sounded from the top of the rock, and the murmuring from the cats below died away. Fireheart found a place at the edge of the hollow where he had a good view of the four Clan leaders, their silhouettes black against the sky.

Sandstorm settled herself beside him, crouching with her paws tucked under her chest. “Now for it,” she whispered expectantly.

To his surprise, Nightstar gave a very ungracious nod to Bluestar, allowing her to begin with ThunderClan’s announcements.

“ThunderClan has two new apprentices. Brightpaw and Thornpaw have begun their training under Whitestorm and Mousefur. Unfortunately, because of the flooding in our territory, we decided that it was unsafe for our youngest and eldest members to attend tonight.”

The other Clans cheered for ThunderClan’s newest apprentices, but Fireheart couldn’t help but feel bad that the floods had preventing them from coming to the Gathering themselves.

“In addition, two of our queens are expecting kits and will most likely have given birth by the next Gathering.” Bluestar moved back.

Next Crookedstar stepped forward to speak. “RiverClan suffered during the floods. Our camp was destroyed and one of our warriors drowned. However, we give thanks to StarClan that all of our kits survived, in large part due to Minnowtail and Mossyfoot.”

“Minnowtail! Mossyfoot!” The gathered Clans cheered again, with the attending time travelers from each Clan naturally being the loudest.

“In addition, we have two new apprentices. Longpaw and Icepaw have begun their training and are being mentored under Mossyfoot and Mosslight!”

“Longpaw! Icepaw! Longpaw! Icepaw!” The Clans cheered again, but there were some uneasy murmurs mixed in at hearing that a time traveler had been given an apprentice.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Nightstar growled. “How do you know that these future warriors are capable of training our young cats when they’re so far from home?”

Crookedstar didn’t dignify the words with a response. Instead, he dipped his head to Tallstar and moved back.

Tallstar took his place to address the Clans. “WindClan also has a new apprentice, Tawnypaw, who is being trained by Tornear.”

“Tawnypaw! Tawnypaw!” This time all the cheers were enthusiastic. Fireheart wasn’t sure who the new apprentice was until he saw a young golden-brown she-cat ducking her head anxiously at all the cats calling out. Tornear, who was sitting beside her, gave her a reassuring nod.

“WindClan also has a new warrior,” Tallstar went on. “Runningpaw has completed her training and become Runningbrook.”

“Runningbrook! Runningbrook! Runningbrook!” The pale gray she-cat seemed completely at ease with the cheering.

Now it was Nightstar’s turn. “ShadowClan has two new apprentices, Mintpaw and Marigoldpaw, along with a new warrior, Whitethroat.” The words rushed from his throat as if he were chasing them like a rabbit. Fireheart caught Brightflower glowering at her leader.

Nightstar barely let the cheering begin before he stepped forward, stiff-legged with barely suppressed fury. “Cats of all Clans, listen to me!” he demanded. “Listen, and remember. Until last greenleaf, Brokenstar was leader of ShadowClan. He was — ”

Tallstar, the leader of WindClan, stepped forward to stand beside Nightstar. “Why do you speak that hated name?” he growled. His eyes flashed, and Fireheart knew he was remembering how Brokenstar and his warriors had driven WindClan out of their territory.

“Hated, yes,” Nightstar agreed. “And with good reason, which you know as well as any cat, Tallstar. He stole kits from ThunderClan. He forced kits from his own Clan into battle too early, and they died. In the end he was so bloodthirsty that we — his own Clan — drove him out. And where is he now?” Nightstar’s voice rose to a shriek. “Was he left to die in the forest, or scavenge a living among the Two legs? No! Because there are cats here tonight who have taken him in. They are traitors to the warrior code, and to every other cat in the forest!”

Fireheart exchanged an uneasy glance with Sandstorm. He could see what was coming, and by the troubled look she gave him in return, so could she. Mintpaw and Marigoldpaw had warned him, but there could be no doubt now.

“ThunderClan!” Nightstar yowled. “ThunderClan are sheltering Brokenstar!”

Shocked and angry caterwauls rose up from the cats surrounding the Great Rock. Every muscle in Fireheart’s body urged him to creep backward into the bushes and hide from their fury. It took all his strength to stay where he was. Sandstorm pressed against his side, as shaken as he was, and he found her warmth comforting.

On top of the Great Rock, Tallstar whipped around to face Bluestar. “Is this true?” he snarled.

Bluestar did not reply to him at once. With great dignity, she stepped forward and faced Nightstar. The moonlight glowed on her fur, turning it to silver, so that Fireheart could almost believe that a warrior of StarClan had leaped down from Silverpelt to join them. She waited until the noise from below had died down. “How do you know this?” she coolly asked Nightstar when she could make herself heard. “Have you been spying on our camp?”

“Spying!” Nightstar spat the word out. “There’s no need to spy when your apprentices gossip so freely. My warriors heard this at the last Gathering. Do you dare to stand here now and tell me they are wrong?”

As he spoke, Fireheart remembered seeing Swiftpaw and Lightpaw with the ShadowClan apprentices at the end of the last Gathering. No wonder one of the young cats had looked guilty, while the other had been furious, if he had been telling his friends all about ThunderClan’s prisoner, so soon after Bluestar had ordered all her Clan to keep quiet!

Bluestar hesitated. Fireheart felt a pang of sympathy for her. Many of her own Clan had been unhappy with her decision to shelter blind Brokentail. How was she going to defend herself in front of the other Clans?

Tallstar crouched in front of her, his ears flattened. “Is it true?” he repeated.

For a moment Bluestar did not speak. Then she lifted her head defiantly. “Yes, it’s true,” she meowed.

“Traitor!” spat Tallstar. “You know what Brokenstar did to us.”

Bluestar’ s tail tip twitched; even from his place below the rock Fireheart could see the strain in every muscle of her body, and knew she was struggling to keep calm. “No cat dares to call me traitor!” she hissed.

“I dare,” retorted Tallstar. “You are nothing but a traitor to the warrior code, if you are willing to give shelter to that. . .that heap of foxdung!”

All around the clearing WindClan cats leaped to their paws, yowling in support of their leader. “Traitor! Traitor!”

At the foot of the Great Rock, Tigerclaw and Deadfoot, the WindClan deputy, faced each other with their hackles raised, lips drawn back to show their sharp teeth, their noses no more than a mouse-length apart.

Fireheart sprang up too, his fighting instinct sending energy to his paws. He caught a glimpse of Willowpelt snarling at the WindClan queens with whom she had been sharing tongues a few moments before. A couple of ShadowClan warriors paced threateningly toward Darkstripe, and Mousefur leaped to his side, ready to attack.

“Stop!” Bluestar yowled from her place on the Great Rock. “How can you break the truce like this? Would you risk the wrath of StarClan?”

As she spoke, the moonlight began to fade. Every cat in the clearing froze. Looking up, Fireheart saw a wisp of cloud passing over the face of the moon. He shivered. Was that a warning from StarClan, because the Clans seemed about to break the sacred truce? Clouds had covered the moon once before, a sign of StarClan’s anger that had brought the Gathering to an end.

As the cloud passed away the moonlight strengthened again. The moment of crisis had passed. Most of the cats sat down, though they continued to glare at one another. Whitestorm pushed himself between Deadfoot and Tigerclaw, and started to mew urgently into the ThunderClan deputy’s ear.

On the top of the Great Rock, Crookedstar stepped forward to stand beside Bluestar. He looked calm; Fireheart realized that of all the Clans, RiverClan had least reason to hate Brokentail. He had not crossed the river into their territory, or stolen their kits.

“Bluestar,” he meowed, “tell us why you have done this.”

“Brokentail is blind,” Bluestar replied, her voice ringing out so that every cat in the clearing could hear her. “He is an weak, defeated cat. He is no danger, not anymore. Would you have him starve to death in the forest?”

“Yes!” Nightstar’s voice rose, shrill and insistent. “No death is too cruel for him!” Flecks of foam spun from the ShadowClan leader’s lips. He thrust his head aggressively toward Tallstar and snarled, “Will you forgive the cat who drove you out?”

For a moment Fireheart wondered why Nightstar should be so frantic, so intent on whipping up Tallstar’s hatred like this. He was Clan leader now. What harm could a blind prisoner do him?

Tallstar flinched away from the ShadowClan leader, clearly taken aback by his fury. “You know how much this means to my Clan,” he meowed. “We will never forgive Brokenstar.”

“Then I tell you, you’re wrong,” meowed Bluestar. “The warrior code tells us to show compassion. Tallstar, don’t you remember what ThunderClan did for you when you were defeated and driven out? We found you and brought you home, and later we fought beside you against RiverClan. Have you forgotten what you owe us?”

Far from soothing Tallstar, Bluestar’s words angered the WindClan leader more than ever. He stalked up to her, his fur bristling. “Does ThunderClan claim to own us?” he spat out. “Is that why you brought us back, to bow to your wishes and accept your decisions without question? Do you think WindClan has no honor?”

Bluestar bowed her head in the face of the WindClan leader’s fury. “Tallstar,” she meowed. “You’re right that no Clan can own another. That’s not what I meant. But remember how you felt when you were weak, and try to show compassion now. If we drive Brokentail out to die, we’re no better than he is.”

“Compassion?” spat Nightstar. “Don’t give us tales fit for kits, Bluestar! What compassion did Brokenstar ever show?” Yowls of agreement filled the air as he spoke. Nightstar added, “You must drive him out now, Bluestar, or I’ll want to know the reason why.”

Bluestar’s eyes narrowed to glittering blue slits. “Don’t tell me how to run my Clan!”

“I’ll tell you this,” Nightstar growled. “If ThunderClan keeps on sheltering Brokenstar, you can expect trouble. ShadowClan will see to that.”

“And WindClan,” snarled Tallstar.

For a moment Bluestar was silent. Fireheart knew she knew how dangerous it was to make enemies of two Clans at once, especially when some of her own cats were unhappy with her decision to take care of Brokentail. “ThunderClan does not take orders from other Clans,” she meowed at last. “We do what we think is right.”

“Right?” Nightstar jeered. “To shelter that bloodthirsty — ”

“Enough!” Bluestar interrupted. “No more argument. There’s no other business to discuss at this Gathering, or had you forgotten?”

Nightstar and Tallstar exchanged a glance, and while they hesitated Crookedstar stepped forward to dismiss everyone. They let him speak, though Fireheart didn’t think that many cats were listening. The hollow was buzzing with shocked speculation about Brokentail.

Sandstorm pressed closer to Fireheart and mewed in his ear, “I knew there’d be trouble over Brokentail, as soon as Nightstar started to speak.”

“I know,” Fireheart replied. “But Bluestar can’t send him away now. It would look as if she were giving in. No cat would respect her after that, not from ThunderClan or any Clan.”

Sandstorm gave a low purr of agreement. Fireheart tried to concentrate on the rest of the Gathering, but it was difficult. He couldn’t help being aware of the hostile glares on all sides from the cats of WindClan and ShadowClan, and he wished the Gathering were over.

“You’re right,” Furzepelt meowed, having crept away from her Clanmates and come to join them. “If they wanted Brokenstar gone, this was not the way to do it.”

Surprised, Fireheart glanced at her. “You don’t seem angry,” he observed.

“Unlike the rest of your Clanmates, who seem ready to rip us to shreds,” Sandstorm added.

Furzepelt winced. “I hate what Brokenstar did to my Clan, but he’ll be dead soon enough. Nothing my Clan or ShadowClan can do will make it come any faster.”

“What are you talking about?” Sandstorm demanded.

The WindClan time traveler opened her mouth to speak, but one of her Clanmates called out, “Furzepelt, get away from those ThunderClan traitors!” She shrugged apologetically and rejoined her Clanmates.

It seemed a long time before the moon began to sink and cats began to divide into their patrols for the journey home. In silent accord, the ThunderClan warriors bounded up to Bluestar as soon as she left the Great Rock and made a protective circle around her. Fireheart guessed they were all as uncertain as he was that the truce would hold.

As the warriors formed up around Bluestar, Fireheart caught sight of Onewhisker, slipping past on his way to join a group of WindClan cats. Their eyes met, and Onewhisker paused. “I’m sorry about this, Fireheart,” he meowed softly. “I haven’t forgotten how you brought us home.”

“Thanks, Onewhisker,” Fireheart replied. “I wish — ”

He broke off as Tigerclaw pushed his way into the circle of cats, glaring at them and baring his teeth at Onewhisker, who backed away toward the WindClan cats. Fireheart braced himself for a rebuke, but the deputy stalked straight past him.

“I hope you’re satisfied,” Tigerclaw snarled at Bluestar as he took his place beside her. “Now two Clans are yowling for our blood. We should have thrown out that piece of vermin long ago.”

Fireheart couldn’t help feeling surprised by Tigerclaw’s hostility toward the ThunderClan prisoner. Not long before, he had seen Tigerclaw sharing tongues with Brokentail, as if the deputy were reconciled to the cat staying in the Clan. But maybe it wasn’t so surprising that he had been ruffled — as they all had — by the clash with WindClan and ShadowClan.

“Tigerclaw, this is no place to argue among ourselves,” Bluestar told him quietly. “When we get back to camp — ”

“And how do you intend to get back?” It was Nightstar who interrupted, pushing his way past the ThunderClan warriors. “Not the way you came, I hope. If you set one paw on ShadowClan territory, we’ll rip you to pieces.” He turned and slipped away into the shadows without waiting for a reply.

For a moment Bluestar looked confused. There was no other way back to the ThunderClan camp, Fireheart knew, unless they tried to swim the stream. He shivered at the thought of the fierce current that had almost cost him his life. Would they have to stay at Fourtrees until the floodwater went down? Then he caught the scent of RiverClan, and turned to see Crookedstar approaching with some of his warriors.

“I heard that,” the pale tabby tom addressed Bluestar. “Nightstar is wrong. At a time like this, all cats should help one another.” He glanced at Fireheart as he spoke, and Fireheart guessed he was remembering how Fireheart and Graystripe had helped RiverClan by sharing prey. But none of the ThunderClan cats here, except for Bluestar, knew anything about that, and Fireheart heard some uneasy murmurings from the warriors around him.

“I can offer you a way home,” Crookedstar continued. “To get here, we crossed the river by the Twoleg bridge. If you go that way, you can travel through our territory and cross back lower down — there’s a dead tree caught up by the stepping-stones.”

Before Bluestar could speak, Tigerclaw hissed, “And why should we trust RiverClan?”

Crookedstar ignored him, his amber eyes on Bluestar as he waited for her response. She dipped her head respectfully. “Thank you, Crookedstar. We accept your offer.”

The RiverClan leader nodded briefly and turned to escort her out of the clearing. There was still some muttering among the ThunderClan cats as Bluestar led her warriors through the bushes and up the slope out of the hollow. Cats from ShadowClan and WindClan hissed at them, even though RiverClan warriors flanked them protectively on both sides. Fireheart realized with a jolt that the divisions within the forest had shifted in the space of a single Gathering.

He was relieved when they reached the top of the slope and left the hostile Gathering behind them. He noticed Graystripe trying to edge his way closer to Silverstream, but another of the RiverClan queens was in his way, giving Silverstream a lick from time to time.

“You’re sure you’re not tired?” the queen fussed. “It’s a long journey when you’re expecting kits.”

“No, Mosspelt, I’m fine,” Silverstream replied patiently, casting a frustrated glance at Graystripe over her friend’s head.

Tigerclaw brought up the rear of the ThunderClan patrol, swinging his huge head aggressively from side to side as if he expected the RiverClan cats to attack at any moment.

Bluestar, on the other hand, seemed to be quite at ease traveling with the other Clan. Once they were away from Fourtrees she let Crookedstar take the lead, while she dropped back to join Mistyfoot. “I hear you have kits,” she meowed, her voice level. “Are they well?”

Mistyfoot looked slightly surprised to be addressed by the ThunderClan leader. “Two... two of them were swept away in the river,” she stammered. “Fireheart, Graystripe, and Dovewing saved them.”

“I’m sorry. You must have been frightened for them,” Bluestar murmured, her blue eyes soft with sympathy. “I’m glad ThunderClan warriors were able to help. Did your kits recover?”

“Yes, they’re fine now, Bluestar.” Mistyfoot still seemed bewildered at being questioned so closely by the ThunderClan leader. “They’re all fine. They’ll be apprentices soon.”

“And I’m sure they’ll make fine warriors,” Bluestar mewed warmly.

Watching his leader and the RiverClan queen walking step for step, Fireheart couldn’t help thinking how their blue-gray fur shone almost identically in the moonlight. They had the same neat, compact bodies, and when they had to leap over a log that lay in their path they both flexed their limbs with the same economical ripple of muscles. Stonefur, coming up behind, was a copy of his sister, with a silver sheen to his coat and an enviable deftness of movement.

If cats from different Clans could look so alike, Fireheart wondered, why couldn’t they think alike too? Why did there have to be so much quarreling between them? Uncomfortably he remembered the antagonism shown toward his Clan by ShadowClan and WindClan, and their bitterness over Bluestar’s defense of Brokentail. As he padded toward the bridge, alert for the scent of Twolegs, Fireheart felt the cold winds of war beginning to sweep over the forest.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Mosslight’s familiar voice commented.

He turned to see her walking beside him. “What do you mean?”

“My brother and sister look so similar to your leader,” she elaborated. “One wonders how no one has guessed yet.”

“But they can’t figure it out,” he protested. “That would only mean danger for all of you.”

Mosslight watched him, her gaze dark. “My littermates and I aren’t the ones in danger,” she pointed out. “ThunderClan is. And after tonight, things could get very bad.”

Chapter Text

On the second dawn after the Gathering, Fireheart woke in the warriors’ den to find that Graystripe had already left. The hollow in the moss where his friend had been sleeping was quite cold.

Gone to meet Silverstream, Fireheart thought with a sigh of resignation. It was hardly surprising, now that Graystripe knew she was going to have his kits, but it meant that Fireheart would have to cover for his absence again.

Yawning widely, Fireheart pushed his way through the outer branches of the bush, and shook moss from his coat while he looked around the clearing. The sun was beginning to edge its way above the bracken wall, casting long shadows over the bare ground. The sky was pure, cloudless, and blue. Birdsong all around held the promise of easy prey.

Lionblaze was heading towards the fresh-kill pile, his fur ruffled, but he didn’t seem angry. Instead, he swung his broad head around to smile excitedly at Fireheart. “Morning!” he purred. “Today is a great day!”

For a heartbeat, Fireheart couldn’t understand why his grandkit was so happy. Then it dawned on him. “Did Cinderheart–?”

“Yep!” Lionblaze didn’t wait for him to finish. “She had her kits last night. I’m a father!”

“Congratulations!” Fireheart purred excitedly. “How many kits did she have?”

“Two. One tom-kit and one she-kit. And they’re absolutely perfect!” He picked a vole from the pile. “Would you like to meet them?”

Fireheart shook his head reluctantly. “I would love to, but first I need to take Brackenpaw out for a training session.”

“Well, come visit them later,” Lionblaze told him cheerfully. He ducked into the nursery, the vole clamped in his jaws.

“Hey, Brackenpaw!” Fireheart called to the apprentice, who sat blinking at the entrance to his den. “Do you want to go hunting?”

Brackenpaw leaped to his paws and raced across the clearing to Fireheart. “Now?” he asked, delight shining in his eyes.

“Yes, now,” meowed Fireheart, suddenly sharing the young cat’s eagerness. “I could do with a nice fresh mouse, couldn’t you?”

Brackenpaw fell in behind him as they headed for the gorse tunnel. He hadn’t even asked where Graystripe was, Fireheart realized. Graystripe had never taken his duties as mentor seriously, he thought with a pang of worry. He had been more interested in Silverstream right from the start. Meanwhile, Fireheart himself had taken over Brackenpaw’s training. He enjoyed it, and he liked the serious-minded ginger tom, but he was troubled that loyalty to the Clan didn’t mean more to Graystripe.

He put these thoughts aside as he led Brackenpaw up the ravine, avoiding the muddy streambed where the floodwater was drying up. It was hard to be sad or anxious on a bright, warm day like this. With the floods receding more and more every day, there was no longer any danger that ThunderClan would be driven out of their camp by rising water.

At the top of the ravine, Fireheart paused. “Okay, Brackenpaw,” he meowed. “Have a good sniff. What can you smell?”

Brackenpaw stood with his head erect, his eyes closed, and his jaws parted to drink in the breeze. “Mouse,” he mewed at last. “Rabbit, and blackbird, and... some other bird I don’t know.”

“That’s woodpecker,” Fireheart told him. “Anything else?”

Brackenpaw concentrated, and his eyes snapped open in alarm. “Fox!”

“Fresh?”

The apprentice sniffed again and then relaxed, looking a bit ashamed of himself. “No, stale. Two or three days old, I think.”

“Good, Brackenpaw. Now, you head that way, as far as the two old oaks, and I’ll go this way.” He watched Brackenpaw for a few moments as the apprentice moved slowly into the shadow of the trees, stopping every few paces to taste the air. A flutter of wings under a bush distracted Fireheart; turning his head he saw a thrush, flapping to keep its balance as it tugged a worm out of the soil.

Fireheart crouched down and crept toward it paw by paw. The thrush pulled the worm free and started to tuck in; Fireheart bunched his muscles for the pounce.

“Fireheart! Fireheart!”

Brackenpaw’s frantic meow split the silence. His paws crunched on dead leaves as he tore through the trees toward Fireheart. Though Fireheart hurled himself at the thrush it had been given too much warning. It flew up to a low branch, squawking in panic, while Fireheart’s paws thudded onto the empty ground.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Fireheart swung around angrily to face the apprentice. “I’d have caught that thrush, and now listen to it! Every bit of prey in the forest will — ”

“Fireheart!” Brackenpaw gasped out, skidding to a halt in front of him. “They’re coming! I could smell them; then I saw them!”

“Smell who? Who’s coming?”

Brackenpaw’s eyes were round with fear. “ShadowClan and WindClan!” he meowed. “They’re coming to invade our camp!”

“Where? How many warriors? ” Fireheart demanded.

“Over there.” Brackenpaw flicked his tail toward the deeper forest. “I don’t know how many. They’re creeping through the undergrowth.”

“Okay.” Fireheart thought quickly, trying to ignore the sudden thumping of his heart. “Go back to camp. Warn Bluestar and Tigerclaw. We need some warriors out here right now.”

“Yes, Fireheart.” Brackenpaw spun around and raced off down the ravine.

As soon as he had gone, Fireheart headed into the forest, prowling with new caution beneath the arching ferns. At first all seemed quiet, though it wasn’t long before he picked up the rank scent of many intruding cats — the scents of WindClan and ShadowClan.

Somewhere ahead, a bird sounded a stuttering alarm call. Fireheart took cover behind a tree. He could still see nothing. His fur prickled with anticipation.

He bunched his hindquarters and sprang, clawing his way up the trunk of the tree until he could scramble onto a low branch. Crouching there, he peered down through the leaves.

The forest floor seemed empty, with not even a beetle stirring. Then Fireheart caught sight of a fem quivering. Something flashed white and was gone. Moments later a dark head poked out of the undergrowth below the tree. Fireheart recognized Nightstar.

A soft mew came from him. “Follow me!”

The ShadowClan leader emerged from the bracken and raced across a stretch of open ground. A band of cats streamed after him; Fireheart grew even more tense when he saw how many. Warriors from WindClan and ShadowClan bore down on his camp together; Fireheart saw Tallstar and Cinderfur, Deadfoot and Stumpytail, Wetfoot and Onewhisker, Blackfoot and Mudclaw, running side by side as if they were littermates.

Not long ago, these cats had been fighting each other in the snowbound WindClan camp. Now they were united in their hatred of Brokentail and of ThunderClan for sheltering him. The only warriors he couldn’t see now were the time travelers. They’d put everything into this attack.

Fireheart knew he would have to fight them. Even though he thought of the WindClan warriors as his friends, he would have to stand by his leader and his own Clan.

As Fireheart braced himself to spring down, he heard a single furious caterwaul from the direction of the camp, and recognized Tigerclaw’s voice summoning the warriors to battle. For all his distrust of the deputy, Fireheart couldn’t help feeling relieved. Right now, ThunderClan needed all of Tigerclaw’s fierce courage and fighting skills.

Fireheart scrambled down the tree, hit the ground with all four paws, and streaked toward the battle, no longer trying to hide from the invaders. When he broke out of the trees, he saw that the open ground at the top of the ravine was covered with a mass of writhing, spitting cats. Tigerclaw and Nightstar wrestled together, clawing furiously. Darkstripe had pinned down a WindClan warrior. Mousefur flung herself, screeching in fury, on top of Cinderfur. Morningflower, a WindClan queen, raked her claws down Longtail’s flank and sent him howling back down the slope.

Fireheart sprang at Momingflower, anger pounding through his veins. He couldn’t help remembering how he had helped this same queen carry her kit on the way back to WindClan’s camp after Brokenstar had driven out her Clan. She leaped around as Fireheart landed beside her, and pulled back just as she was about to swipe him with her claws. For a few heartbeats both cats stared at each other. Momingflower ’s eyes were filled with sorrow, and Fireheart could see that she too remembered what they had endured together. He could not bring himself to strike her, and after a moment she backed away from him and disappeared into the heaving mass of cats.

Before he could draw breath, a cat slammed into Fireheart from behind, knocking him onto the damp ground. He scrabbled vainly to get up. Twisting his neck, he gazed up into the fierce eyes of the ShadowClan warrior Stumpytail; a heartbeat later the ShadowClan warrior’s teeth sank into his shoulder. Letting out a yowl of pain, Fireheart battered at Stumpytail’s belly with his back legs, clawing out great clumps of his brown tabby fur. Stumpytail’s blood spattered him as the ShadowClan warrior reared back in agony and was gone.

Fireheart scrambled up and looked around, panting. The fiercest fighting had shifted to the bottom of the ravine. The enemy cats were pushing forward, clearly determined to invade the camp. The outnumbered ThunderClan warriors were unable to keep them back. And where was Bluestar?

Then Fireheart saw her. With Whitestorm and Dustpelt, she crouched at the entrance to the gorse tunnel, ready to bar the way with her life. Already Onewhisker and Wetfoot had broken through Tigerclaw’s defense, and as Fireheart stared, horrified, Wetfoot flung himself at Bluestar.

Fireheart raced along the top of the ravine. Out of the whole of ThunderClan, only he and Yellowfang knew that Bluestar had only two remaining of her nine lives. If she died in this battle, ThunderClan would be without a leader — or worse, would be left to the control of Tigerclaw.

When he was above the tunnel entrance, Fireheart plunged straight down the slope, his paws barely touching the treacherously steep rocks, to land, skidding, in the thick of the fight. His teeth tore into Wetfoot’s neck, dragging the warrior off Bluestar. The ThunderClan leader slashed her claws at the gray tabby tom until he scrabbled backward and fled.

A wave of fighting cats bore down on Fireheart and the other cats by the gorse tunnel. Fireheart bit and scratched instinctively without knowing which cat he was fighting. Sharp claws slashed his forehead and blood began trickling into his eyes. He took a gasping breath, feeling as if he were about to suffocate in the rank scent of his enemies.

Then he heard Bluestar meowing close to his ear. “They’re pushing through the wall! Fall back — defend the camp!”

Fireheart scrabbled to keep on his paws as the invaders carried the battle into the tunnel itself. The gorse tore at his fur like hostile claws. It was impossible to fight here, so he turned along his own length and struggled through the gorse into the camp.

In the clearing, Willowpelt, Runningwind, and Sandstorm had rushed to guard the nursery, ready to protect the nursing queens and their kits. Cinderheart emerged, her gaze determined as if she wanted to fight right now, but Lionblaze followed her and whispered something in her ear. She nodded slowly and turned back into the nursery. Longtail, hastily licking his wounds, stood outside the prisoners’ den with Brackenpaw and Clawface beside him. Among the branches of the fallen tree, Fireheart could just make out the dark tabby fur and sightless eyes of the former ShadowClan leader. He couldn’t help feeling a pang of frustration that they were being attacked for the sake of this cruel and murderous cat. At least Clawface appeared ready to help them fight.

Nightstar and Onewhisker were the first to break out of the tunnel, streaking across the open ground toward Brokentail’s den. Tallstar pushed his way through the thorny hedge and joined them. More of the invaders followed.

“Stop them!” Fireheart yowled, rallying the Clan warriors as he raced across the clearing. “They want Brokentail!” He threw himself on Nightstar, rolling the black tom over on the dusty ground. He couldn’t help wondering how many ThunderClan cats really wanted to defend the former ShadowClan leader. Many of them would no doubt be happy to hand him over to the other Clans. But Fireheart also felt sure that they would stay loyal; whatever they felt in their hearts, they would fight for ThunderClan.

He pinned Nightstar down, his teeth buried in the leader’s bony shoulder. Nightstar writhed under him and then heaved upward. Fireheart lost his balance and suddenly found that he was trapped — the warrior, though old, was still ferociously strong.

Nightstar bared his fangs, his eyes gleaming. All of a sudden he reared back, letting Fireheart go.

Shaking blood from his eyes, Fireheart saw that Brackenpaw had leaped at the ShadowClan leader and was clinging to his back with all four paws. Nightstar tried vainly to shake him off and then rolled over, crushing Brackenpaw against the ground. The apprentice let out a furious howl.

Fireheart slashed at Nightstar with claws outstretched, but Tallstar thrust between them, trying to reach Brokentail’s den. To his dismay, Fireheart felt himself being forced backward.

Then Tigerclaw and Lionblaze were there. The huge deputy was bleeding from many wounds and his fur was plastered with mud, but his amber eyes still burned with the fire of battle. He swiped a massive paw at Tallstar, bowling him over and sending him scrambling away. Lionblaze, who somehow had no injuries as always, was waiting there, and he pinned Tallstar down, biting into the WindClan leader’s ear.

More ThunderClan cats appeared: Whitestorm, Mousefur, Runningwind, Owltuft, Stripestalk, Dustpelt, and Bluestar herself. The tide of battle turned. Brightpaw and Thornpaw were fighting together. While Thornpaw slashed at the intruders’ legs, Brightpaw launched herself forward, attacking one of them with a move that Fireheart had taught her and her brothers in one of their sessions during the greencough outbreak. Dovewing and Ivypool had climbed on top of the prisoners’ den, and now they launched themselves at a ShadowClan tortoiseshell she-cat and snowy white WindClan tom. Taken by surprise, their targets both lost their balance and fell to the ground. Clawface, snarling, hurled himself at a brown WindClan she-cat, raking his claws down her side.

Now more ThunderClan cats were coming. Sweetmint, Nighthunter, Needlenose, Swiftpaw, and Lightpaw advanced on the WindClan and ShadowClan cats. The invaders started to retreat, breaking for the tunnel and the gaps in the bracken around the clearing. Fireheart watched, panting, as Onewhisker vanished at the tail end of the fleeing invaders. The battle was over.

Brokentail stayed crouching in his den, his head low as he stared unseeing at the ground. He had made not one sound during the battle. Fireheart wondered if he even knew what his adopted Clan had risked for him.

Close by, Brackenpaw struggled to his paws. Fur hung raggedly from one shoulder, and his coat was smeared with dust and blood, but his eyes glowed.

“Well done,” Fireheart meowed. “You fought like a warrior.”

The apprentice’s eyes shone even brighter.

Meanwhile the battered ThunderClan cats were gathered around Bluestar. All were muddy and bleeding, and they looked as exhausted as Fireheart felt. At first they were silent, their heads lowered. Fireheart could sense no triumph in their victory.

“You brought this on us!” It was Darkstripe who spoke, angrily confronting Bluestar. “You made us keep Brokentail here, and now we’ve been torn to pieces defending him. How long before one of us is killed for his sake?”

Bluestar looked troubled. “I never thought it would be easy, Darkstripe. But we must do what we believe is right.”

Darkstripe spat at her with contempt. “For Brokentail? For a couple of mousetails I’d kill him myself!”

Several of the other warriors mewed their agreement.

“Darkstripe.” Tigerclaw shouldered his way through the assembled cats to stand beside Bluestar, who looked suddenly old and fragile beside the huge dark tabby. “This is your leader you’re talking to. Show some respect.”

For a heartbeat Darkstripe glared at them both, then bowed his head. Tigerclaw swung his massive head, sweeping his amber gaze over all the cats.

“Fireheart, go and fetch Yellowfang and Jayfeather,” meowed Bluestar.

Fireheart turned toward the medicine cat’s den, to see that Yellowfang and Jayfeather were already running stiffly across the clearing, followed closely by Cinderpaw. Quickly the three cats began to check the warriors’ wounds, searching out the ones who needed the most urgent treatment. As Fireheart waited for his turn, he saw another cat appear from the camp entrance. It was Graystripe. His fur was sleek and unmarked; a couple of pieces of fresh-kill dangled from his jaws.

Before Fireheart could move, Tigerclaw broke away from Cinderpaw and strode across to meet Graystripe in the middle of the clearing. “Where have you been?” he demanded.

Graystripe looked bewildered. He dropped the fresh-kill and meowed, “Hunting. What on earth happened here?”

“What does it look like?” snarled the deputy. “WindClan and ShadowClan invaded, trying to get at Brokentail. We needed every warrior, but it seems that you weren’t here. Where were you?”

With Silverstream, Fireheart answered silently. He thanked StarClan that at least Graystripe had brought back some prey, so he had a genuine reason for being away from camp.

“Well, how was I to know what was happening?” Graystripe protested to the deputy, beginning to look annoyed. “Or do I have to ask your permission before I set paw out of camp?”

Fireheart winced — Graystripe should have known better than to provoke Tigerclaw like that, but perhaps guilt was making him reckless.

Tigerclaw growled low in his throat. “You’re away too often for my liking — you and Fireheart.”

“Hang on!” Fireheart was stung into replying. “I was here today when the cats attacked. And it’s not Graystripe’s fault that he wasn’t.”

Tigerclaw let his cold gaze rest on Graystripe, and then Fireheart. “Just be careful,” he spat. “I’ve got my eye on you — both of you.” He swung around and stalked back to Cinderpaw.

“Like I care,” Graystripe muttered, but he didn’t meet Fireheart’s eyes.

“Leave them alone, Tigerclaw!” Lionblaze growled. His pelt was also completely unmarked, despite having been in the thick of the fighting. 

While Graystripe went to take his prey to the pile of fresh-kill, Fireheart limped back to the medicine cats to have his wounds seen to.

“Hmph!” growled Yellowfang as she ran an expert eye over him. “If they’d pulled out much more of your fur, you’d look like an eel. But none of the wounds is deep. You’ll live.”

Cinderpaw came up with a wad of cobweb, which she pressed to the scratch over Fireheart’s eye.

Gently she touched her nose to his. “You were brave, Fireheart,” she whispered.

“Not really.” Fireheart felt embarrassed. “We all did what we had to do.”

“But it’s not easy,” Yellowfang rasped unexpectedly. “I’ve fought battles in my tune, and I know. Bluestar,” she went on, turning to the leader and facing her squarely, “thank you. It means a lot to me that you’d risk your Clan to protect Brokentail.”

Bluestar shook her head. “There’s no need for thanks, Yellowfang. It’s a matter of honor. Despite what Brokentail has done, he deserves our compassion now.”

The old medicine cat bowed her head. Softly, so that only Bluestar and Fireheart could hear, she mewed, “He has brought great danger to my adopted Clan, and for that I am sorry.”

Bluestar moved closer to her and gave her gray coat a comforting lick. For a moment the expression in her eyes was that of a mother soothing a fretful kit. A picture came into Fireheart’s mind of the Clan leader padding through the forest on the night of the Gathering, and the moonlight that shone on three silver coats — on Bluestar, Mistyfoot, and Stonefur.

Fireheart gasped. Was that really what he had seen? Three cats so identical that they could be nothing else but kin? He couldn’t help but agree with Mosslight in wondering how no one had figured the secret out yet. While he knew that kits didn’t always have similar appearances to their parents, such as Thornpaw and Brackenpaw’s golden-brown fur compared to Frostfur’s white pelt, Stonefur and Mistyfoot were too identical to Bluestar for so many cats to ignore it.

He was interrupted from his musings by Bluestar’s voice once again. “Those of you who fought in the battle did so bravely. But there is one cat I want to mention.” She swung her head towards where Clawface was licking his wounds and sitting beside Brokentail. “Clawface, despite being our prisoner, you fought as hard any cat to protect us and stop the invaders. I know it must have been hard to see your own kin in a battle you were on the opposite side of, but you still risked yourself to fight.”

“I didn’t fight any ShadowClan cats,” Clawface rasped, sounding surprised at being singled out.

“You did help fight WindClan,” Bluestar pointed out. “And I won’t begrudge you for not fighting your Clanmates. Because of your selflessness, it is time that we gave you more freedom.”

Shock rippled through the ThunderClan cats. Fireheart could see Tigerclaw bristling, and the younger apprentices were staring at their leader. “Bluestar, no! You can’t do this!” Darkstripe protested.

“Clawface killed my sister!” Willowpelt growled.

“And mine,” Sweetmint added.

“And you’re just going to invite him to sleep in the warriors’ den?” Longtail’s voice was incredulous.

Bluestar waved her tail for silence. “No, I am not suggesting he join the warriors, nor am I inviting him to become a part of ThunderClan. However, he has shown both humility in his refusal to flee when the chances provide themselves, and loyalty in fighting beside us. It would be a waste to force him to stay here and sort herbs to keep himself occupied–I don’t think he’s destined to be a medicine cat.”

At her dry comment, Jayfeather snorted. “He’s definitely not destined for that.”

“Therefore,” Bluestar went on, ignoring the interruption, “starting tomorrow, Clawface will be allowed to participate in hunting and gathering patrols outside of the camp. There must be at least three ThunderClan warriors in these patrols, and no apprentices will be a part of them. Any prey he catches will go straight to the elders or the medicine cats. Does that seem fair?”

The whole Clan was silent for a few heartbeats. Then Nighthunter nodded in acceptance. “That seems reasonable,” she agreed. “As long as he doesn’t stray near the nursery or our borders, your proposal sounds wise.”

“I agree. Having one more cat to hunt for the Clan will benefit us anyways,” Whitestorm meowed.

Several other cats murmured in agreement. “Then it is settled,” Bluestar announced. “Clawface will join the first hunting patrol tomorrow.”

*  *  *  *  *

When Cinderpaw had finished tending to Fireheart’s wounds, he went to find Graystripe. His friend was hunched up inside the warriors’ den, his golden eyes troubled.

He looked up as Fireheart slipped between the branches. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I know I should have been here. But I had to see Silverstream. I couldn’t get near her on the night of the Gathering.”

Fireheart sighed. For a moment, he had considered sharing what he knew about Mistyfoot, Mosslight, and Stonefur with his friend, but now he realized that Graystripe had more than enough worries of his own. “It’s okay, Graystripe. Any of us could have been away, patrolling or hunting. But if I were you, I’d stick around camp for the next few days, and make sure Tigerclaw sees you.”

Graystripe scraped absently at a piece of moss. Fireheart guessed he had already arranged to meet Silverstream again. “There’s something else I wanted to tell you,” he meowed, deciding not to try to argue about this now. “About Brackenpaw.” Quickly he described how he and the apprentice had gone out early, and how Brackenpaw had scented the invading band of cats. “He fought well, too,” Fireheart remarked. “I think it’s time he became a warrior.”

Graystripe let out a purr of agreement. “Does Bluestar know this?”

“Not yet. You’re publically Brackenpaw’s mentor. You ought to recommend him.”

“But I wasn’t there.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Fireheart gave his friend a nudge. “Come on, let’s go and talk to Bluestar now.”

The ThunderClan leader and most of the warriors were still in the clearing, while Yellowfang and Cinderpaw distributed cobwebs to stop bleeding and poppy seeds for pain. Brindleface had brought out her kits to see what was going on, and to give Cinderheart some peace, and Cloudkit was frisking around, pestering one warrior after another with questions about the battle. Brackenpaw was there, too, giving himself a thorough wash; Fireheart was relieved that he didn’t seem too badly hurt.

The two warriors went up to Bluestar, and Fireheart once more told the story of Brackenpaw’s skill at scenting their enemies, and his bravery in the battle. “It’s tha nk s to Brackenpaw that we had any warning at all,” he meowed.

“We think he should be made a warrior,” Graystripe added.

Bluestar nodded thoughtfully. “I agree. Brackenpaw showed himself worthy today.” She got up, paced into the middle of her cats, and raised her voice. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

Goldenflower appeared at once from the nursery, followed by Speckletail, and Smallear limped slowly from the elders’ den. Ivypool whispered something to her sister and then entered the nursery. A heartbeat later, Cinderheart came. She looked exhausted, but pleased. When they had gathered around Bluestar, she meowed, “Brackenpaw, come here.”

Brackenpaw looked up, surprised, and padded nervously over to Bluestar. Fireheart could see he had not the least idea what was coming.

“Brackenpaw, it was you who warned the Clan today, and you fought bravely in the battle,” Bluestar meowed. “It is time for you to become a warrior.”

The apprentice’s mouth fell open. His eyes blazed with excitement as Bluestar pronounced the ritual words.

“I, Bluestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in his turn.” She fixed her blue gaze on Brackenpaw. “Brackenpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Brackenpaw trembled slightly, but his voice was steady as he meowed, “I do.”

“Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Brackenpaw, from this moment you will be known as Brackenfur. StarClan honors your forethought and your determination, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”

When she finished speaking Bluestar stepped up to Brackenfur and rested her muzzle on his bowed head. Brackenfur licked her shoulder respectfully, then walked over to stand between Fireheart and Graystripe.

The watching cats raised their voices to chant the new warrior’s name, Cinderheart louder than any of them. “Brackenfur! Brackenfur!” They began to press around him, congratulating him and wishing him well. His mother, Frostfur, pressed her muzzle against his flank, while her dark blue eyes glowed with delight, with Thornpaw and Brightpaw close behind.

“Tonight you have to keep vigil alone,” mewed Sandstorm, giving Brackenfur a friendly nudge. “Thank StarClan! The rest of us can have a night off!”

“Huh, that’s usually Cloudtail’s line,” Lionblaze muttered from where he was sitting next to his mate. His gaze was fixed on the white kit who was watching everything with excitement. “Guess he took it from her.”

Cloudtail? Is that what Cloudkit’s warrior name will be? The time travelers had been very careful to keep from revealing the names of future cats, or at least the warrior names of the cats already born. Perhaps Lionblaze’s excitement over his kits and the intensity of the battle had lowered his guard.

Brackenfur was too overwhelmed to answer properly, but he broke into a deep, contented purr. “Th-Thank you, Graystripe,” he stammered. “And you, Fireheart.”

Fireheart felt a rush of pride to see the cat made a warrior at last, happy to see his own apprentice. It made up, a little, for knowing that he would never go through this with Cinderpaw. She had chosen a different fate for herself. Now that the ceremony was done, weariness swept over Fireheart. He was about to go back to the warriors’ den when he caught sight of Cinderpaw limping rapidly over to her brother.

“Congratulations, Brackenfur!” she mewed, her blue eyes sparkling as she covered his ears with licks.

Brackenfur’s purring faltered and his eyes looked troubled. “You should have been with me,” he murmured, gently nosing her injured leg.

“No, I’m fine as I am,” Cinderpaw insisted. “You’ll have to be a warrior for both of us. And I’ll have to settle for being the greatest medicine cat this forest has ever seen!”

“We’ll be fine warriors with you!” Brightpaw promised.

“None of the other Clans will dare attack us when we’re out there!” Thornpaw added.

Fireheart gazed at the dark gray she-cat with admiration. He knew that Cinderpaw really was happy to be Yellowfang’s apprentice. She would be a fine medicine cat. But she would have been a fine warrior too. It took a special spirit, he thought, not to begrudge her brother’s triumph. As always, the sight of Cinderpaw’s injury reminded Fireheart of Tigerclaw. Fireheart was so sure the deputy had caused her accident, and had also tried to drown him just recently. Yet today Tigerclaw had fought with the strength of StarClan. Without him, they could have lost the battle. If you prove his treachery, Fireheart asked himself, who will defend ThunderClan then?

“Tomorrow we’ll go hunting to celebrate.” Fireheart looked over to see that Graystripe was speaking to Brackenfur. “I missed out on a lot of your training and it wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Brackenfur protested. “You were a great mentor.”

“No, Fireheart was a great mentor. You deserved so much better than me, but I’m going to make it up to you.”

Fireheart was distracted from their conversation by Lionblaze’s flicking tail. His grandkit was inviting him over. Cinderheart had vanished, probably returned to the nursery. “Hello, Lionblaze,” he meowed as he approached.

“You have to meet my kits now!” Lionblaze pleaded. “This is the perfect time!”

Stifling a yawn, Fireheart nodded. He followed the golden warrior, confused at his seemingly endless energy.

Inside, it was cozy, with the scent of milk in the air. Brindleface and her kits hadn’t yet returned, but Goldenflower and Speckletail were sharing tongues. Cinderheart was lying in her nest, curled around her two kits. When he got a good look at them, Fireheart was reminded of his thoughts about kits and their similarities to their parents. The tom-kit was the bigger of the two, with golden fur like his father and thin gray patches along his pelt. And the she-kit was small, with fluffy black fur. She looked very familiar.

“Come to meet our kits?” Cinderheart purred warmly.

“Of course!” Fireheart replied, though his jaws split in a massive yawn. “I can’t stay too long. It’s probably best if I come back when I have energy to properly meet them.”

Lionblaze’s ears twitched. “Well, you have to at least let us introduce them.”

Cinderheart nodded, amused. “We named them after our sisters. The golden tom is Honeykit. In our time, my sister Honeyfern gave her life to protect a kit. I know that she’s in StarClan now, or at least she will be, but I still wanted to name my son after her.”

“And your daughter?”