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Cinderpelt broke into his reverie. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it yet, you know.”
Firestar pushed his muzzle into her fur, grateful for her warmth. “I’ll think about it first,” he mewed slowly. “Right now…it’s too close.” He shivered again at the memory. “Cinderpelt,” he went on, “I’ve never told any cat this before, but…sometimes I have dreams that tell me about the future.”
Cinderpelt’s ears twitched in surprise. “That’s unusual. Clan leaders and medicine cats commune with StarClan, but I never heard of ordinary warriors having prophetic dreams. How long has this been going on?”
“Since I was a kittypet,” Firestar admitted, remembering the dream of hunting a mouse that had first driven him into the forest. “But I…I don’t know if the dreams come from StarClan.” After all, before he came to the forest, he hadn’t even known about StarClan. Could they have been watching over him even then?
The medicine cat’s eyes were thoughtful. “In the end, all dreams come from StarClan,” she murmured. “Do they always come true?”
“Yes,” Firestar replied. “But not always in the way I expect. Some are easier to understand than others.”
“Then you should bear that in mind when you’re trying to understand this latest dream.” Cinderpelt gave him a comforting lick. “Remember, Firestar, you’re not alone. Now that you’re Clan leader, StarClan will share many things with you. But I’m here to help you interpret the signs. Tell me as much or as little as you want.”
Though Firestar was grateful for her understanding, Cinderpelt’s words chilled him. His new relationship with StarClan was driving him along new paths where he might not want to go. For a few heartbeats he longed to be no more than a warrior again, hunting with Graystripe or sharing tongues with Sandstorm in the den.
“Thank you, Cinderpelt,” he meowed, forcing himself to his paws. “I promise I’ll talk to you when ever I feel the need.” But even though he meant what he said, deep down he wondered how helpful she would be. Firestar couldn’t help feeling that this was something he had to face alone. He let out a long sigh. “Let’s keep going.”
However much Firestar longed to get home, his strength was failing. Since the discovery of the dog pack and the heart-stopping dash through the forest to lead them to the gorge, he had eaten little, and scarcely slept except to dream. The long journey to Highstones and the agony of receiving his nine lives, followed by the terrible vision, had taken all he had to give.
His steps became slower and more uncertain. They were passing Barley’s farm when the medicine cat gave his shoulder a sharp nudge. “That’s enough, Firestar,” she meowed firmly. “As your medicine cat I’m telling you that you need to rest. Let’s see if Barley and Ravenpaw are at home.”
“Good idea.” Firestar felt too relieved at the prospect of resting to argue.
Cautiously the two cats approached the Twoleg barn. Firestar was worried that the dogs might be unchained, but their scent was faint and distant. Much stronger was the scent of cats, and as they drew closer Firestar spotted a muscular black-and-white tom squeezing himself through a gap in the door.
“Barley!” he meowed in greeting. “It’s good to see you. You know Cinderpelt, our medicine cat?”
Barley gave both cats a brisk nod. “It’s good to see you, too, Fireheart.”
“Firestar,” Cinderpelt corrected him. “He’s Clan leader now.”
Barley’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Congratulations! But that means that Bluestar must be dead. I’m sorry.”
“She died as she lived, protecting her Clan,” Firestar told him.
“I can see there’s a story to tell,” meowed Barley, turning back to the barn, “and Ravenpaw will want to hear it. Come on in.”
Inside the barn was warm and dark, full of the scent of hay and mice. Firestar listened to the telltale scuttering noises and his head spun with hunger.
“A soft place to sleep, and all the prey you can eat,” he remarked, trying not to let his desperate hunger show. “Better not tell ThunderClan or they’ll all be out here, wanting to be loners.”
Barley chuckled softly. “Ravenpaw,” he called, “come and see who’s here.”
A dark shape sprang down from a nearby stack of hay with a welcoming purr. As an apprentice, Ravenpaw had b e en the only cat in ThunderClan who knew the truth about the death of Redtail—that he had been murdered by Ravenpaw’s mentor, Tigerstar. When Tigerstar tried to kill his apprentice to prevent him from reporting what he had seen, Firestar had found this new home for him. The life of a loner suited Ravenpaw much better than that of a warrior, yet he had never forgotten his birth Clan, and remained a loyal friend to his former Clan mates.
“So Bluestar is dead,” he murmured when Barley had passed on the news. His eyes clouded with grief. “I’ll never forget her.”
Barley gave a comforting rumble in his throat, and Firestar sensed how welcoming he must have been to the scared young apprentice who had come to him so many moons ago.
Straightening up, Ravenpaw flashed the black-and-white cat a grateful glance. “So you’re Clan leader now,” he continued to Firestar. “StarClan made a good choice.” He led the way to the other side of the barn. “Would you like to hunt?”
“That would be great,” replied Cinderpelt. She gave Firestar a questioning look, and murmured, “Shall I catch something for you?”
In spite of his exhaustion, Firestar shook his head. A fine Clan leader he would make if he couldn’t catch his own prey! He stood alert, listening, and dropped into the hunter’s crouch when he heard a soft scuffling deep within the hay. Pinpointing the mouse by hearing rather than sight, he sprang, and dispatched the creature with a swift bite.
Ravenpaw was lucky, Firestar reflected as he picked up the prey in his jaws and padded back to the others to ea t. This was twice the size of the leaf-bare-thin mice in the forest, and easier to catch in the shadows of the barn. He gulped it down in a few famished mouthfuls and felt his strength beginning to return.
“Have some more,” Ravenpaw urged. “There are plenty here.”
When Firestar and Cinderpelt had eaten as much as they could manage they lay in the soft hay, sharing tongues with their friends and bringing them up-to-date with Clan news. Ravenpaw and Barley listened, their eyes huge with shock, as Firestar told them about the dog pack.
“I always knew Tigerstar was bloodthirsty,” Ravenpaw meowed, “but I didn’t think even he would try to destroy a whole Clan like that.”
“Thank StarClan he didn’t succeed,” Firestar replied. “But he came pretty close. I don’t want to go through anything like that again.”
“You’ll have to do something to stop Tigerstar now, before he tries something else,” Barley pointed out.
Firestar nodded. He hesitated, then confessed, “But I don’t know how I’m going to do anything without Bluestar. Everything seems dark and…and overwhelming.” He said nothing about the interruption of his leadership ritual, or the horror of his dream, but he saw from the sympathetic look in Cinderpelt’s eyes that she knew what he was thinking.
“Remember the whole Clan is behind you,” she mewed. “No cat will ever forget that you and Bluestar saved us from the pack.”
“Maybe they expect too much of me.”
“Nonsense!” Cinderpelt’s tone was bracing. “They know you’re going to be a great leader, and they’ll all stand by you to the last breath.”
“So will I,” Ravenpaw offered, startling Firestar. The sleek black tom looked slightly embarrassed as Firestar turned to look at him, but he went on: “I know I’m not a warrior, but if you want my help you have only to ask.”
Firestar blinked his gratitude. “Thank you, Ravenpaw.”
“May I come to the camp soon?” Ravenpaw asked. “I’d like to pay my last respects to Bluestar at her burial place.”
“Yes, of course,” Firestar replied. “Bluestar gave you the right to go where you like on ThunderClan territory. There’s no r
eason to change that now.”
Ravenpaw dipped his head. “Thank you.” As he looked up again, Firestar saw a glow of respect in his eyes. “You saved my life once, Firestar. I’ll never be able to repay you for that. But if trouble with Tigerstar comes, I’ll be proud to stand with the warriors of ThunderClan and fight him to the death.”
