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“Not yet. Prey’s scarce, but that’s nothing new.” Mistyfoot flicked her ears dismissively. “It’s leaf-bare, after all. And those two warriors of Tigerclaw’s don’t help,” she added. “They sit there in camp stuffing their faces, but they never bring back much fresh-kill.”
She broke off at the sound of Graystripe’s voice yowling her name. Firestar turned to see his friend bounding down the bank toward them with Thornclaw just behind him.
“Hi, Mistyfoot,” panted Graystripe as he came up. “How are Featherpaw and Stormpaw?”
“They’re fine, Graystripe,” replied Mistyfoot, with a purr of welcome for her former Clan mate. Though Graystripe’s stay in RiverClan had been short, the two cats had become good friends, and Mistyfoot was always willing to give Graystripe news of his kits. “Featherpaw is turning into a great fighter. ThunderClan will have to watch out when she’s made a warrior.”
Graystripe let out a purr. “Well, she couldn’t have a better mentor.”
Firestar backed away while Graystripe and Mistyfoot discussed the two apprentices. Thornclaw padded up to him and meowed, “We’ve renewed the scent markings, Firestar. There’s no fresh RiverClan scent around the rocks.”
“That’s good,” Firestar responded, though his thoughts were only half on what the young warrior was telling him. Mistyfoot’s news deeply disturbed him. It sounded as if RiverClan and ShadowClan were allied more closely than ever before. And if Tigerstar decided to go to war, ThunderClan would be trapped between them.
Oh, StarClan, Firestar murmured to himself. Show me what I should do now.
After his talk with Mistyfoot, Firestar ordered ex t r a patrols, but no cat reported anything unusual. The days slipped past peacefully until the time of the next Gathering approached.
As the sun went down behind the thorn hedge, Firestar sat with Whitestorm beside the nettle patch, sharing fresh-kill before the journey.
“Who will you take to the Gathering?” the white warrior asked.
Firestar swallowed a mouthful of squirrel. “Not you, I think,” he replied. “I’m certain Tigerstar is going to make a move of some sort, and I want you to guard the camp. I’ll leave you some strong warriors, too.”
“I think you’re right.” Whitestorm swiped his tongue around his mouth as he finished his vole. “Tigerstar may have failed with the dog pack but he’s bound to try something else.”
“I’ll take Fernpaw and Ashpaw,” Firestar decided. “And Thornclaw. He’ll be looking forward to his first Gathering as a warrior. And Sandstorm, Graystripe, and Frostfur. That should leave you with enough fighting strength if Tigerstar sends warriors to attack.”
“You think he’ll break the truce?” inquired Whitestorm.
Firestar flicked his ears. “What do you think? He led the dog pack to us—do you think he’d bother about a little thing like ignoring the will of StarClan?”
“StarClan?” Whitestorm snorted. “Tigerstar behaves as if he’s never heard of StarClan.” He paused, and then asked, “What about the two young apprentices—Tigerstar’s kits? Do you want to take them with you?”
Firestar shook his head. “Not in a hundred moons. You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? Tigerstar wants those kits. At the last Gathering, he gave Bluestar one moon to decide whether to hand them over. That time’s up now. If Bramblepaw and Tawnypaw are there, I wouldn’t put it past Tigerstar to try taking them from the Gathering.”
“Nor would I.” Whitestorm rumbled in agreement. “You think we should keep them, then?”
Firestar was startled. “Don’t you?” He had assumed that ThunderClan would insist on their right to keep the two apprentices, but if his deputy thought that they should give the young cats to their father, Firestar would consider his opinion carefully.
But Whitestorm was nodding. “There’s no question that they’re ThunderClan kits. Their mother is ThunderClan, and so was their father at the time they were born. Tigerstar going to ShadowClan doesn’t alter that. But if we want to keep them, we’ll have to fight for them.”
“T h en we fight,” Firestar meowed determined l y. “Besides,” he added, “if we meekly hand them over, Tigerstar will see that as a sign of weakness. He’d be making more demands before you could say ‘mouse.’”
“True.”
Firestar took another bite of squirrel, his eyes narrowing as his thoughts moved to the approaching Gathering. “You know, Whitestorm,” he began, “Tigerstar won’t have it all his own way. I’ve got news for the Gathering, too. How do you think the other Clans will react when I tell them how Tigerstar tried to use the dog pack to destroy us? Not even Broken tail was as ruthless as that. Even Tigerstar’s own Clan will turn against him. They might even drive him from the forest, and then we’ll be rid of him.”
Whitestorm’s ears twitched; to Firestar’s surprise the white warrior didn’t look as optimistic as he had expected. “Maybe,” he meowed, “but don’t be surprised if it doesn’t work out like that.”
Firestar stared at him. “You think the warrior code allows a cat to have another Clan torn apart by dogs?”
“No, of course not. But Tigerstar could always deny it. What proof do we have?”
Firestar thought seriously about what his deputy was saying. One cat—Longtail—had seen Tigerstar feed a rabbit to the pack. Several of the Clan had detected Tigerstar’s scent on the trail of rabbits. And Tigerstar had attacked Firestar himself close to the gorge, to make sure that the dog pack caught him and pulled him down. Only Bluestar’s sudden appearance had saved him.
True, Mistyfoot and Stonefur had witnessed Tigerstar’s presence by the river that day, but they were already having problems within their own Clan. If they spoke up against Tigerstar their Clan mates might not believe them. It would be wrong, Firestar realized, to add to their troubles.
And all the rest of his evidence rested on the word of ThunderClan cats alone. Both WindClan and RiverClan knew there had been a serious rift between Tigerstar and his birth Clan that had driven the former deputy to lea v e. Tigerstar could try to make it seem as if the ThunderClan cats were lying.
“Then we’ll see who they believe,” Firestar insisted angrily. “Not every cat thinks that Tigerstar is StarClan’s gift to the forest. He won’t have it all his own way.”
“Let’s hope not.” Whitestorm got to his paws and stretched. “You’re going to have a lively time tonight, Firestar. I’ll go and tell the warriors you’ve chosen to be ready.”
As he padded away, Firestar crouched down beside the nettles and finished his squirrel. There was going to be trouble at this Gathering. Tigerstar was certain to claim his kits again, and Firestar suspected that he would take this opportunity to reveal Bluestar’s secret as well and denounce Mistyfoot and Stonefur as half-Clan cats.
But I’ve got plenty to say, too, he thought, pushing aside the doubts Whitestorm had raised. When I’ve finished, no cat in the forest—not even his own Clan—will trust Tigerstar again.
CHAPTER 12
Firestar paused at the top of the hollow before leading his cats down to the Gathering. The night was still. Clouds were building up on the horizon, so that Firestar had begun to wonder if StarClan was going to hide the moon to show that it was not their will for the Gathering to take place.
But for now the moon rose high above the clouds, and the scent of cats drifted up to Firestar from the hollow below.
“Only WindClan so far,” murmured Graystripe, who was crouched at Firestar’s shoulder. “What’s keeping the others?”
Firestar shrugged. “StarClan knows. Personally, I wouldn’t care if Tigerstar never showed up.”
He signaled with his tail and led his warriors as they raced down through the bushes and into the clearing at the center of the hollow. As Graystripe had said, only WindClan cats were there. Firestar spotted their leader, Tallstar, seated with his deputy, Deadfoot, near the base of the Great Rock.
“Greetings, Firestar,” Tallstar mewed, dipping his head courteousl
y as Firestar approached. “Tornear told me he met you on your way to Highstones. We grieve for Bluestar.”
“So do her own Clan,” Firestar responded, bowing his head in turn. “She was a noble leader.”
