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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.
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.”
“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 and 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, StarClan, 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.
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 22
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.
When he wasn’t hunting or patrolling, Fireheart divided his time between Cloudkit, Cinderpaw, and Brackenpaw. Even though Graystripe had resumed his role as Brackenpaw’s mentor, Fireheart soon began to notice the young apprentice at loose ends from time to time, his 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’d given up trying to make Graystripe see sense—they’d hardly spoken since Fireheart had brought Cloudkit into the camp—but he made an effort to take Brackenpaw out whenever Graystripe went missing, just to keep the apprentice out of sight. Fireheart knew that Tigerclaw 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 Speckletail’s kit had recovered. He dropped his catch on the pile and headed toward Yellowfang’s den to visit Cinderpaw. Even the threat of greencough had left the camp, for now. Only Cinderpaw remained with the medicine cat.
As Fireheart padded through the tunnel he could see the small gray she-cat in the clearing ahead. She was helping Yellowfang prepare some herbs. Fireheart winced as he watched Cinderpaw limp heavily toward the split rock with a mouthful of dried leaves.
“Fireheart!” Cinderpaw spat out the herbs and turned to greet him as he emerged from the tunnel. “I could only just scent you through these disgusting things!”
“Those disgusting things helped cure your leg!” growled Yellowfang.
“Well, you should have used more,” retorted Cinderpaw, but Fireheart was relieved to see she had a mischievous glint in her eye. “Look at this!?
?? She twitched her twisted hind leg. “I can hardly reach my claws to wash them.”
“Perhaps I should give you a few more exercises to loosen it up,” meowed Yellowfang.
“No, thanks!” mewed Cinderpaw quickly. “They hurt!”
“They’re meant to hurt! It shows they’re working.” The old medicine cat turned to Fireheart. “Perhaps you’ll have more luck persuading her to do them. I’m going into the forest to dig up some comfrey roots.”
“I’ll try,” Fireheart promised as Yellowfang padded past him.
“You’ll know if she’s doing them right,” the medicine cat called over her shoulder, “because she’ll complain!”
Cinderpaw limped over to Fireheart and touched her nose to his. “Thanks for coming to see me.” She sat down and grimaced as she tucked her bad leg under her.
“I like coming to see you,” Fireheart purred. “I miss our training sessions.” He regretted his words as soon as he’d uttered them.
A wistful look clouded Cinderpaw’s eyes. “Me too,” she meowed. “When do you think I’ll be able to start again?”
Fireheart stared at her, his heart sinking. Clearly Yellowfang hadn’t told her yet that she would never be a warrior. “Perhaps if we try some of your exercises, it’ll help,” he meowed evasively.
“Okay,” mewed Cinderpaw. “But just a few.”
She lay on her side and stretched out her leg till her face was twisted with pain. Slowly, her teeth clenched, she began to move it backward and forward.
“You’re doing really well,” Fireheart meowed, hiding the sorrow that lay like a rock in his stomach.
Cinderpaw let her leg drop and lay still for a moment; then she pushed herself up. Fireheart watched her quietly as she shook her head. “I’m never going to be a warrior, am I?”
Fireheart couldn’t lie to her. “No,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” He stretched his muzzle toward her and licked her head. After a few moments, she gave a long sigh and lay down again.
