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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.
CHAPTER 14
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.”
“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.
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 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 death of one of Silverstream’s Clan mates?” Fireheart snorted impatiently—Whiteclaw was an enemy warrior, not a Clan mate! 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 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.
“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.”
Fireheart didn’t reply. He was just wondering if he should confide his worries about Graystripe when she 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.”
