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“It’s all the fault of the Twolegs,” Graypool explained to them. “Last newleaf, the river was clean and full of fish. Now it’s filthy with Twoleg rubbish from their camp.”
“And the fish are poisoned,” Mudfur added. “Cats who eat them fall ill. I’ve treated more cats for bellyache this leaf-bare than in all the time since I’ve been the medicine cat.”
Fireheart stared at Graystripe, and then back at the hungry RiverClan cats. Most of them couldn’t meet his eyes, as if they were ashamed that a cat of another Clan should know about their troubles. “Then let us help,” he urged them all. “We’ll catch prey for you in our territory and bring it to you, until the floods have gone and the river is clean.”
Even as he made the offer, he knew that he was breaking the warrior code that demanded loyalty to his own Clan alone. Bluestar would be furious with him if she found out he was prepared to share ThunderClan’s precious prey like this. But Fireheart couldn’t bring himself to abandon another Clan in their need. Bluestar herself said our welfare depends on having four Clans in the forest, he reminded himself. Surely it’s the will of StarClan.
“Would you really do this for us?” asked Crookedstar slowly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“Yes,” Fireheart meowed.
“And I’ll help too,” promised Graystripe, with a glance at Silverstream.
“Then the Clan thanks you,” grunted Crookedstar. “None of my cats will challenge you in our territory until the floods go down and we can return to our camp. But after that, we will fend for ourselves again.” He turned and led the way back to the bushes. His subdued cats followed him, casting glances back at Fireheart and Graystripe as they went. Not all of them, Fireheart could see, trusted them or believed in their offer of help.
Last to go was Mistyfoot, nudging her kits to their paws and guiding them up the slope. “Thank you both,” she murmured. “I won’t forget this.”
Fireheart and Graystripe were left alone as the RiverClan cats disappeared into the bushes. As they picked their way down the slope again toward the river, Graystripe shook his head in disbelief. “Hunting for another Clan? We must be mad.”
“What else could we do?” Fireheart retorted. “Let them starve?”
“No! But we’ll have to be careful. We’ll be crowfood if Bluestar finds out.”
Or Tigerclaw, Fireheart added silently. He already suspects Graystripe and I have friends in RiverClan. And we could be about to prove him right.
CHAPTER 13
It was a cold, gray morning. Fireheart dragged himself reluctantly out of his warm nest, and padded over to nudge Graystripe.
“Wha…?” Graystripe twitched and settled down again with his tail wrapped over his nose. “Go away, Fireheart.”
Fireheart lowered his head and butted the broad gray shoulder. “Come on, Graystripe,” he whispered into his friend’s ear. “We’ve got to hunt for RiverClan.”
At that, Graystripe levered himself upright and parted his jaws in an enormous yawn. Fireheart felt just as tired as his friend; supplying RiverClan with fresh-kill as well as keeping up with their duties in ThunderClan was taking up all their time and energy. They had crossed the river with prey several times, and so far their luck had held. No ThunderClan cat had found out what they were doing.
Stretching, Fireheart glanced cautiously around the den. Most of the warriors were curled among the moss, too sound asleep to ask awkward questions. Tigerclaw was just a mound of dark tabby fur in his nest.
Fireheart slipped out between the branches of the den. At first he thought that all the other cats were asleep; then he saw Brindleface appear at the entrance to the nursery and lift her face to sniff the air. As if she didn’t like the raw, damp wind that greeted her, she retreated almost at once.
Fireheart looked back at Graystripe, who was shaking scraps of moss off his coat. “Okay,” he meowed. “We can go now.”
The two cats bounded across the clearing toward the gorse tunnel. Just as they reached it, a familiar voice behind them called out, “Fireheart! Fireheart!”
Fireheart froze and turned around. Cloudkit was scampering toward him, yowling, “Fireheart! Wait for me!”
“Fireheart,” growled Graystripe, “why does your kin always turn up at the most awkward moment?”
“StarClan knows.” Fireheart sighed.
“Where are you going?” Cloudkit panted excitedly as he skidded to a stop in front of the warriors. “Can I come with you?”
“No,” Graystripe told him. “Only apprentices can go out with warriors.”
Cloudkit shot Graystripe a look of dislike. “But I’ll be an apprentice soon. Won’t I, Fireheart?”
“‘Soon’ isn’t ‘now,’” Fireheart reminded him, struggling to keep calm. If they hung around much longer, the whole Clan would be awake and wanting to know where they were going. “You can’t come this time, Cloudkit. We’re going out on a special warrior mission.”
Cloudkit’s blue eyes grew round with wonder. “Is it a secret?”
“Yes,” hissed Graystripe. “Especially from nosey kits.”
“I wouldn’t tell any cat,” Cloudkit promised eagerly. “Fireheart, please let me come.”
“No.” Fireheart exchanged an exasperated glance with Graystripe. “Look, Cloudkit, go back to the nursery now, and maybe I’ll take you out later for some hunting practice. Okay?”
“Okay…I suppose.” Cloudkit looked sulky, but he turned around and trailed off in the direction of the nursery.
Fireheart watched him until he reached the en
trance, and then slipped into the mouth of the tunnel. Moments later he was racing up the ravine with Graystripe at his side.
“I just hope Cloudkit doesn’t tell the whole Clan we went out early on a special mission,” puffed Graystripe.
“We’ll worry about that later,” Fireheart panted.
The two warriors headed for the stepping-stones. The fallen tree was still there to help them cross the river, and hunting close by meant they had less distance to carry the fresh-kill, and were less likely to be spotted.
By the time they reached the edge of the forest, the daylight had grown stronger, but the sunrise was hidden behind a mass of gray cloud. There was a spatter of rain in the wind. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling that all sensible prey would be curled up in their holes. He raised his head and sniffed. The breeze carried the scent of squirrel, fresh and not far away. Cautiously he began to stalk through the trees. Soon he caught sight of his prey searching among the debris at the foot of an oak tree. As he watched, it sat up and began to nibble on an acorn held between its front paws.
“If it knows we’re here,” Graystripe breathed in his ear, “it’ll be up that tree in a flash.”
Fireheart nodded. “Circle around,” he murmured. “Come at it from that side.”
Graystripe slid away from him, a silent gray shape in the shadows of the trees. Fireheart flattened himself into the hunter’s crouch with the ease of long practice, and began to creep up on the squirrel. He saw its ears prick, and its head swiveled around as if something had alarmed it; perhaps it had seen a flicker of movement from Graystripe, or caught his scent.
While it was distracted, Fireheart hurled himself across the open ground. His claws pinned the squirrel to the forest floor, and Graystripe ran forward to finish the struggle.
“Well done,” Fireheart grunted.
Graystripe spat out a mouthful of fur. “It’s a bit old and stringy, but it’ll do.”
The two warriors continued their hunt until they had killed a rabbit and a couple of mice. By then, although he could not see the sun, Fireheart knew it must be near sunhigh. “We’d better take this to RiverClan,” he meowed. “They’re bound to miss us back at the camp soon.”
