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Graystripe gave himself a quick shake, and the water spattered easily from his pelt. His long fur, which used to soak up water like moss, looked sleek and glossy. “It’s quicker than going down to the stepping-stones,” he pointed out. “Besides, my fur doesn’t seem to hold the water as much anymore. One of the advantages of eating fish, I suppose.”
“About the only one, I should think,” answered Fireheart, screwing up his face. He couldn’t imagine how the strong flavor of fish could compare to the subtle, musky flavors of ThunderClan’s forest prey.
“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” meowed Graystripe. He blinked warmly at Fireheart. “You look well.”
“You too,” Fireheart purred back.
“How is everyone? Is Dustpelt still being a pain? How’s Bluestar?”
“Dustpelt’s fine,” Fireheart began, and then hesitated. “Bluestar is…” He searched for words, unsure how much to tell his old friend about the ThunderClan leader.
“What’s up?” asked Graystripe, his eyes narrowing.
Fireheart realized that the gray warrior knew him too well to miss his reaction. His ears flicked self-consciously.
“Bluestar’s all right, isn’t she?” Graystripe’s voice was thick with concern.
“She’s fine,” Fireheart assured him quickly, relieved—it was his anxiety about the ThunderClan leader that Graystripe had detected, not his wariness of his old friend. “But she hasn’t really been her old self lately. Not since Tigerclaw…” He trailed off uncertainly.
Graystripe frowned. “Have you seen that old poisonpaws since he left?”
Fireheart shook his head. “Not a sign of him. I don’t know how Bluestar would react if she saw him again.”
“She’d scratch his eyes out, if I know her,” purred Graystripe. “I can’t imagine anything keeping Bluestar down for long.”
I wish that were true, Fireheart thought sadly. He looked into Graystripe’s curious eyes, knowing with a pang of sadness that his desire to confide in his old friend had been an impossible dream. Graystripe was a member of RiverClan now, and Fireheart had to accept with a heavy heart that he couldn’t share the details of his leader’s weakness with a cat from another Clan. And he also realized that he wasn’t prepared to tell Graystripe about Cloudpaw’s disappearance—at least, not yet. Fireheart tried to tell himself this was because he didn’t want to worry Graystripe when his friend was unable to help, anyway. But he suspected his silence might have more to do with pride. He didn’t want Graystripe to know that he had failed as a mentor for a second time, so soon after Cinderpelt’s accident.
“What’s it like in RiverClan?” he meowed, deliberately changing the subject.
Graystripe shrugged. “Not much different from ThunderClan. Some of them are friendly, some of them are grumpy, some of them are funny, some of them are…Well, they’re just like normal Clan cats, I suppose.”
Fireheart couldn’t help envying the gray warrior for sounding so relaxed. Clearly Graystripe’s new life didn’t carry the burden of responsibility that Fireheart had to deal with now that he was deputy. And part of him still felt a small thorn of resentment that had mingled with his grief since Graystripe had left ThunderClan. Fireheart knew his friend could not have abandoned his kits; he just wished he’d fought harder to keep them in ThunderClan.
Fireheart pushed away these unfriendly thoughts. “How are your kits?” he asked.
Graystripe purred proudly. “They’re wonderful!” he declared. “The she-kit is just like her mother, every bit as beautiful, and with the same temper! She gives her den mother quite a bit of trouble, but every cat loves her. Especially Crookedstar. The tom is more easygoing, happy whatever he’s doing.”
“Like his father,” remarked Fireheart.
“And almost as handsome,” boasted Graystripe, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
Fireheart felt a familiar rush of joy at being with his old friend. “I miss you,” he meowed, suddenly overwhelmed with longing to have Graystripe back at the camp, to hunt and fight beside him again. “Why don’t you come home?”
Graystripe shook his wide gray head. “I can’t leave my kits,” he meowed.
Fireheart couldn’t help the look of disbelief that flashed in his eyes—after all, kits were raised by queens, not their fathers—and Graystripe went on quickly: “Oh, they are very well cared for in the nursery. They would be safe and happy with RiverClan. But I don’t think I could bear to be away from them. They remind me too much of Silverstream.”
“You miss her that much?”
“I loved her,” Graystripe answered simply.
Fireheart felt a pang of jealousy until he remembered the sorrow he still felt whenever he awoke from a dream of Spottedleaf. He reached forward and touched Graystripe’s cheek with his nose. Only StarClan knew if he might have done the same thing for Spottedleaf. Or Sandstorm? whispered a voice deep in Fireheart’s mind.
Graystripe nudged him back, disturbing Fireheart’s wandering thoughts and almost unbalancing him. “Enough soppy stuff!” he meowed, as if he could read his friend’s mind. “You didn’t really come here to see me, did you?”
Fireheart was caught off guard. “Well, not entirely…” he confessed.
“You were looking for those ShadowClan cats, right?”
“How did you know about them?” Fireheart demanded, stunned.
“How could I not know?” exclaimed Graystripe. “The stench they were giving off. ShadowClan cats smell bad enough on their own, but sick ones…yuck!”
“Does the rest of RiverClan know about them?” Fireheart was alarmed to think that the other Clans could have found out ThunderClan was sheltering ShadowClan cats again—and ones tainted by sickness at that.
“Not as far as I know,” Graystripe assured him. “I offered to do all the patrolling at this end of the river. The other cats just thought I was homesick and indulged me. I think they were secretly hoping I’d go back to ThunderClan if I got enough of the forest scents!”
“But why would you protect the ShadowClan cats like that?” Fireheart asked, puzzled.
“I came over and spoke to them soon after they arrived,” Graystripe explained. “They told me that Cinderpelt had hidden them here. I reckoned that if Cinderpelt had something to do with it, then you must know. Sheltering a couple of sickly fleabags is just the sort of softhearted thing you’d do.”
“Well, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when I found out,” Fireheart admitted.
“But I bet you let her off.”
Fireheart shrugged. “Well, yes.”
“She always could wrap you around her paw,” meowed Graystripe affectionately. “Anyway, they’ve gone now.”
“When did they leave?” Fireheart felt a wave of relief that Cinderpelt had kept her promise.
“I saw one hunting this side of the river a couple of days ago, but not a whisker since.”
“A couple of days ago?” Fireheart was alarmed to hear that the ShadowClan cats were still there so recently. Had Cinderpelt decided to nurse them until they were well enough to travel, after all? His fur prickled with irritation at the thought, but he trusted that she had not made the decision lightly. He was just grateful to StarClan that they hadn’t bumped into a water-gathering patrol from ThunderClan. They were gone now, and with any luck so was the threat of sickness.
“Look,” meowed Graystripe, “I have to go. I’m on hunting duty, and I promised I’d watch a couple of apprentices this afternoon.”
“Have you got an apprentice of your own?” Fireheart asked.
Graystripe met his gaze steadily. “I don’t think RiverClan is willing to trust me to train their warriors yet,” he murmured. Fireheart couldn’t tell if it was amusement or regret that made his old friend’s whiskers twitch.
“I’ll see you again sometime,” Graystripe meowed, giving Fireheart a shove with his muzzle.
“Definitely.” Fireheart felt a black hole of sadness yawn in his belly as the gray warrior turned to leav
e. Spottedleaf, Graystripe, Cloudpaw…Was Fireheart destined to lose every cat he grew close to? “Take care!” he called. He watched Graystripe pad through the ferns to the edge of the river and wade in confidently. The warrior’s broad shoulders glided through the water, leaving a gentle wake as he swam with strongly churning paws. Fireheart shook his head, wishing he could scatter his troubled thoughts as easily as Graystripe’s pelt had shed water after his swim. Then he turned away and headed into the trees.
CHAPTER 15
Fireheart carried the ball of wet moss gently between his teeth. Some of the moisture had dripped out on the journey home, soaking his chest and cooling his forepaws, but there would be enough to quench Goldenflower’s and Willowpelt’s thirst until a patrol could collect more after sunset.
The Clan lay in small groups around the clearing while the sun slowly slid toward the treetops. Most of them had eaten and were quietly sharing tongues in the customary grooming session, pausing briefly between licks to greet Fireheart as he emerged from the gorse tunnel. He nodded to Runningwind, Mousefur, and Thornpaw, who were about to go out on the evening patrol.
Brindleface was getting ready to lead another group of elders to fetch water. She was gathering them together at the fallen oak, and Fireheart heard Smallear’s determined mew as he passed. “We’ll need to keep our ears pricked and our eyes sharp while we’re traveling.” The old gray tom went on: “You see that nick in my ear? I got that when I was an apprentice. An owl swooped out of nowhere. But I’ll bet my claws left a bigger scar than his!”
Fireheart felt his fur relax on his shoulders, soothed by the familiar murmurings of Clan life. The ShadowClan cats were gone, just as Cinderpelt had promised, and he had seen Graystripe. He slipped into the nursery and placed the moss gently beside Willowpelt and Goldenflower.
