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Firepaw jumped up, dashed over to the nursery, and thrust his head through the nursery entrance. Blackfoot was nowhere to be seen. Inside the nest, crouching over the terrified kits, was Yellowfang. Her gray fur was spattered with blood, and one of her eyes was painfully swollen. She looked up at Firepaw with a ferocious hiss, then, realizing it was him, she yowled, “They’re okay. I’ll protect them.”
Firepaw looked at her as she calmed the helpless kits, and Brokenstar’s dire warning about the ShadowClan rogue flashed through his mind. He didn’t have time to think about that now. He would have to trust Yellowfang. He nodded quickly and ducked back out of the brambles.
There were now only a few ShadowClan cats left in the camp. Ravenpaw and Graypaw were fighting side by side, lashing out at a black tom until he fled howling into the bushes. Whitestorm and Darkstripe chased the last two intruders out of the camp, sending them off with a few extra scratches and bites.
Firepaw sat down, exhausted, and stared around the camp. It was devastated. Blood spattered the clearing, and tufts of fur drifted in the dust. The surrounding wall of undergrowth was ripped open where the invaders had crashed through.
One by one, the ThunderClan cats gathered beneath the Highrock. Graypaw came to sit by him, his sides heaving and blood trickling from a torn ear. Ravenpaw flopped down and began to lick a wound on his tail. The queens ran to the nursery to check on their kits. Firepaw found himself waiting tensely for their return, his view blocked by the other cats. He relaxed when he heard squeals and purrs of joy coming from the bramble nest.
Frostfur wove her way back through the crowd, followed by Yellowfang. The white queen stepped forward and addressed them. “Our kits are all safe, thanks to Yellowfang. A ShadowClan warrior killed brave Rosetail and was trying to steal them from their nest, but Yellowfang fought him off.”
“It was no ordinary ShadowClan warrior either,” Firepaw put in. He was determined to let the Clan know how much they owed Yellowfang. “I saw him. It was Blackfoot.”
“The ShadowClan deputy!” meowed Brindleface, who had fought so bitterly to protect the unborn kits in her swollen belly.
There was a stir at the edge of the group, as Bluestar limped forward and made her way over to the apprentices. The grave expression on her face was enough to tell Firepaw that something was wrong.
“Spottedleaf is with Lionheart,” she murmured. “He was injured in the battle. It looks bad.” She turned her head toward the shadow on the far side of the Highrock where the warrior lay, a motionless bundle of dusty golden fur.
A high-pitched wail rose from Graypaw’s throat and he raced over to Lionheart. Spottedleaf, who had been leaning over the ThunderClan deputy, stepped back to let the young apprentice share tongues for the last time with his mentor. As Graypaw’s howl of grief echoed around the clearing, Firepaw’s fur tingled and his blood ran cold. It was the cry he had heard in his dream! For a moment his head swam; then he gave himself a shake. He had to keep calm, for Graypaw’s sake.
Firepaw looked at Bluestar, who nodded, and he padded over to join his friend by the Highrock. He stopped for a moment beside Spottedleaf.
She looked exhausted and dull-eyed with grief. “I can’t help Lionheart now,” she mewed quietly to him. “He is on his way to join StarClan.” She pressed her body against Firepaw’s side, and he felt comforted by the touch of her warm fur.
The other cats looked on in silence as the sun slowly set behind the trees. Finally Graypaw sat up and cried out, “He’s gone!” He lay down again beside Lionheart’s body and rested his head on his front paws. The rest of the Clan walked silently forward to carry out their own grieving rituals for their beloved deputy.
Firepaw joined them. He licked Lionheart’s neck and murmured, “Thank you for your wisdom. You taught me so much.” Then he sat down beside Graypaw and began gently to groom his friend’s ears.
Bluestar waited until the other cats had left before padding quietly up. Graypaw didn’t even seem to notice his leader’s presence. Firepaw looked away as Bluestar spoke her last words to her old friend.
“Oh, what am I going to do without you, Lionheart?” she whispered. Then she limped back to her den and crouched down outside, staring grief-stricken into the distance. She didn’t even try to lick clean her bloody, matted fur. It was the first time Firepaw had seen her look utterly defeated, and he felt a chill run through him.
He sat with Graypaw and Lionheart until the moon rose high. Ravenpaw joined him and together they kept company with their grieving friend. Tigerclaw strode over and briefly shared tongues with Lionheart. Firepaw waited to hear what words he would share with his warrior friend, but Tigerclaw remained silent as he licked the matted fur. To Firepaw’s confusion, the dark tabby’s eyes seemed to be fixed on Ravenpaw rather than the fallen deputy.
Spottedleaf padded lightly around the camp, tending to wounds and battered nerves. Firepaw watched her approach Bluestar twice, but each time the leader sent her away to see to the others. Only when Spottedleaf had attended to the wounds of all the other cats did Bluestar allow her to treat her bites and scratches.
When she had finished, Spottedleaf turned and walked back to her den. Bluestar stood and slowly hauled herself up onto the Highrock. The Clan cats seemed to have been waiting for her. As soon as she had settled herself in her usual spot, they began to gather in the clearing below, unusually silent and somber-faced.
Firepaw and Ravenpaw got stiffly to their paws and joined them, leaving Graypaw behind with Lionheart’s body. The gray apprentice was still lying with his nose resting against Lionheart’s cooling golden pelt. Firepaw guessed Bluestar would excuse Graypaw from the Clan meeting this time.
“It is nearly moonhigh,” meowed Bluestar as Firepaw slipped into place next to Ravenpaw. “And it is once more my duty—much, much too soon—to name ThunderClan’s new deputy.” Her voice was tired and cracked with sadness.
Firepaw looked from warrior to warrior. They were all looking expectantly at Tigerclaw. Even Whitestorm had turned to watch the dark tabby. From the bold expression on his face, and the way his whiskers twitched in anticipation, Tigerclaw seemed to agree with them.
Bluestar took a deep breath and continued. “I say these words before the body of Lionheart, so that his spirit may hear and approve my choice.” She hesitated. “I have not forgotten how one cat avenged the death of Redtail and brought his body back to us. ThunderClan needs this fearless loyalty even more now.” Bluestar paused again and then meowed the name loud and clear. “Tigerclaw will be the new deputy of ThunderClan.”
There was a yowl of approval, with the loudest voices belonging to Darkstripe and Longtail. Whitestorm sat calmly, his eyes closed, his tail wrapped neatly around him. He was nodding slowly and approvingly.
Tigerclaw lifted his chin proudly, his eyes half-closed as he listened to the Clan. Then he stalked through the crowd, accepting tributes with the smallest of nods, and leaped up onto the Highrock beside Bluestar. “ThunderClan,” he yowled, “I am honored to accept the position of Clan deputy. I never expected to gain such high rank, but by the spirit of Lionheart, I vow to serve you as best I can.” He gravely dipped his head, fixing the crowd with his wide yellow eyes, and jumped down from the Highrock.
Firepaw heard Ravenpaw murmur, “Oh, no!” under his breath beside him. He turned to look curiously at his friend.
Ravenpaw’s head was hanging low. “She should never have chosen him!” he muttered.
“Are you talking about Tigerclaw?” Firepaw whispered.
“He’s wanted to be deputy ever since he took care of Redtail—” Ravenpaw mewed. He stopped abruptly.
“Took care of Redtail?” Firepaw echoed. His mind suddenly raced with questions. What did Ravenpaw know? At the Gathering, had his account of the battle with RiverClan been true? Was Tigerclaw responsible for Redtail’s death?
CHAPTER 18
“Are you telling Firepaw how I protected Redtail?”
Firepaw felt a cold shiver
ruffle the fur on the back of his neck.
Ravenpaw whipped around, eyes wide with fear. Tigerclaw loomed over them, his lips drawn back in a menacing snarl.
Firepaw jumped up and faced the new deputy. “He was just saying he wished you had been here to take care of Lionheart as well, that’s all!” he mewed, thinking quickly.
Tigerclaw looked from one to the other, then stalked away in silence. Ravenpaw’s green eyes clouded with terror, and he started to tremble uncontrollably.
“Ravenpaw?” Firepaw meowed in alarm.
But Ravenpaw didn’t even look up at him. With his head held low, he slunk back to Graypaw and crouched next to him, pressing his skinny black body next to Graypaw’s thick fur as if he was suddenly cold.
Firepaw looked helplessly at his two friends as they huddled beside Lionheart’s body. Not knowing what else to do, he padded over and settled himself beside them, ready to sit out the night.
As the moon passed overhead, other cats came to join their vigil. Bluestar arrived last, once the camp was calm and quiet. She said nothing, but sat a little way off, gazing at her dead deputy with an expression of such unbearable grief that Firepaw had to look away.
At dawn, a group of elders came to take Lionheart’s body away to the burial place. Graypaw followed to help dig the hole where the great warrior would rest.
Firepaw yawned and stretched. He felt chilled to the bone. Leaf-fall was nearly here now, and the woods were clouded with mist, but above the leaves Firepaw saw a rosy morning sky. He watched Graypaw disappear into the dew-soaked undergrowth with the elders.
Ravenpaw jumped to his paws and hurried back to the apprentices’ den. Firepaw followed him slowly. By the time he arrived, the black cat was curled up with his nose tucked under his tail, as if asleep.
Firepaw was too exhausted to speak. He circled around on his mossy bed and then settled down for a long sleep.
“Wake up!”
Firepaw heard Dustpaw’s voice calling through the den entrance. He opened his eyes. Ravenpaw was already awake, sitting bolt upright with his ears pricked. Graypaw was stirring beside him. Firepaw was surprised to see the familiar gray shape. He hadn’t heard him come back after burying Lionheart.
“Bluestar’s called another meeting,” Dustpaw hissed at them, and ducked out of the ferns.
The three apprentices crawled out of the warm den. The sun was already past its height, and the air felt cooler than before. Firepaw shivered, and his belly growled. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, and he wondered briefly if he would have a chance to hunt today.
Firepaw, Graypaw, and Ravenpaw hurried to join the crowd gathered below the Highrock.
