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The once-beautiful queen, Dappletail, spoke up in a voice cracked with age. “At the Gathering, some of the RiverClan elders spoke of Twolegs taking over part of their river.”
“That’s right,” added Frostfur. “They say Twolegs have been living in shelters beside the river, disturbing the fish. The RiverClan cats have had to hide in the bushes and watch them with empty stomachs!”
Bluestar looked thoughtful. “For now, we must be careful to do nothing that may bring ShadowClan and RiverClan closer together. Go and rest now. Runningwind and Dustpaw, you will take the dawn patrol.”
A cold breeze rattled the dying leaves in the trees overhead. The cats, still murmuring amongst themselves, went to their dens.
For the second night in a row, Fireheart dreamed. He was standing in the dark. The roar and the stench of a Thunderpath was very close by. Fireheart felt himself buffeted and blinded by the monsters that roared up and down with glaring eyes. Suddenly, through the din, Fireheart heard the pitiful cry of a young cat. The desperate wail sliced through the thundering of the monsters.
Fireheart awoke with a start. For a moment he thought that the cry had woken him. But the only noise was the muffled snores of warriors sleeping beside him. A growl came from somewhere near the middle of the den. It sounded like Tigerclaw. Fireheart felt too unsettled to go back to sleep, so he crept silently out of the den.
It was dark outside, and the stars dotting the black sky told him dawn was still far off. With the wail of the young cat echoing in his mind, Fireheart padded over to the nursery, his ears pricked. He could hear pawsteps beyond the camp wall. He sniffed the air. It was just Darkstripe and Longtail. Fireheart picked up their scents as they guarded ThunderClan’s territory.
The calm of the sleeping camp soothed Fireheart. Every cat must have nightmares about the Thunderpath, he told himself. He crept back into the den and circled comfortably back into his nest. Graystripe purred briefly in his sleep as Fireheart settled beside him and closed his eyes.
Graystripe’s nose woke him, prodding his side. “Leave me alone,” Fireheart grumbled.
“Wake up!” Graystripe hissed.
“Why? We’re not on patrol!” Fireheart complained.
“Bluestar wants to see us in her den, now.”
Fuzzy-headed, Fireheart scrambled to his paws and followed Graystripe out of the den. The sun was beginning to turn the sky pink, and there was frost on the trees around the camp.
The two cats bounded across the clearing to Bluestar’s den and announced their arrival with hushed mews.
“Enter!” It was Tigerclaw’s voice that answered from behind the draped lichen. Alarm swept through Fireheart as he remembered his conversation with Bluestar on the way to the Gathering. Had she told Tigerclaw about his accusations? Graystripe pushed his way into Bluestar’s den. Fireheart followed him uneasily.
Bluestar was sitting in her nest, her head up and her eyes bright. Tigerclaw stood in the middle of the smooth sandstone floor. Fireheart tried to read his expression, but the great tabby’s eyes were as cold and steady as always.
Bluestar began at once. “Fireheart, Graystripe, I have an important mission for you.”
“A mission?” Fireheart echoed. Relief and excitement swept away his anxiety.
“I want you to find WindClan and bring them back to their territory,” announced Bluestar.
“Before you get too excited, bear in mind this could be very dangerous,” Tigerclaw growled. “We don’t know where WindClan has gone, so you will have to follow what is left of their scent–probably into hostile territory.”
“But you’ve been through WindClan territory, when you traveled with me to the Moonstone,” Bluestar pointed out. “Their scent will be familiar, as will the Twoleg territory beyond the uplands.”
“Will it just be us?” asked Fireheart.
“Our other warriors are needed here,” meowed Tigerclaw. “Leaf-bare is coming, and we need to gather as much fresh-kill as possible. Many prey-poor moons lie ahead.”
Bluestar nodded. “Tigerclaw will help you prepare for the journey.” Fireheart’s paws prickled with unease. Bluestar had as much faith in her deputy as ever. Why was Fireheart the only cat in ThunderClan who didn’t trust Tigerclaw?
“You must leave as soon as possible,” Bluestar continued. “Good luck.”
“We’ll find them,” Graystripe promised.
Dragging his thoughts back to the journey ahead, Fireheart nodded.
Tigerclaw followed them out of Bluestar’s den. “Do you remember how to get to WindClan territory?”
“Oh, yes, Tigerclaw, we were there only—”
Fireheart interrupted Graystripe’s eager reply, “Only a few moons ago,” he meowed quickly. He flashed a warning glare at his friend. Graystripe had almost given away their journey several nights earlier with Ravenpaw.
Tigerclaw hesitated. Fireheart held his breath. Had he noticed Graystripe’s mistake?
“And can you recall WindClan’s scent?” the deputy meowed.
Fireheart sent silent thanks to StarClan.
The young warriors nodded, and Fireheart began to picture himself charging through the prickly gorse of the uplands in search of the lost Clan.
“You will need herbs for strength and to keep your hunger away. Fetch them from Yellowfang before you leave.” Tigerclaw paused. “And don’t forget that Nightpelt is planning to travel to the Moonstone tonight. Keep well out of his way.”
“Yes, Tigerclaw,” replied Fireheart.
“He’ll never know we’re out there,” Graystripe assured him.
“As I would expect,” meowed Tigerclaw. “Now, go!” Without another word, he turned and bounded away.
“He might have wished us good luck,” Graystripe complained.
“He probably thinks we don’t need it,” joked Fireheart as they crossed the clearing toward Yellowfang’s den. But at the same time, he reflected, Tigerclaw seemed to be treating them with as much respect as he would any warrior—was it possible that he wasn’t the traitor that Ravenpaw thought? It was still cold, despite the rising sun, but neither cat shivered—Fireheart could feel his fur beginning to thicken as the days grew shorter.
Yellowfang’s den lay at the end of a tunnel under ferns. A large split rock stood in a corner of a small shaded glade. Spottedleaf had lived here before Yellowfang. The memory of the gentle tortoiseshell medicine cat tugged at Fireheart’s heart. Spottedleaf had been killed by a ShadowClan warrior. He missed her desperately.
“Yellowfang!” Graystripe called. “We’ve come for traveling herbs!”
The two cats heard a hoarse mew from the shadow in the center of the rock, and Yellowfang squeezed out of the crack. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“We’ve got to find WindClan and bring them home,” Fireheart told her, unable to hide the pride in his voice.
“Your first warrior mission!” rasped Yellowfang. “Congratulations! I’ll fetch the herbs you will need.” She returned a few moments later carrying a small bundle of dried leaves in her mouth. “Enjoy!” she purred, laying them on the ground.
Fireheart and Graystripe chewed obediently on the unappetizing leaves. “Yuck!” spat Graystripe. “Just as bad as last time.” Fireheart nodded, screwing up his face. Spottedleaf had given them the same herbs when they’d journeyed with Bluestar to the Moonstone.
Graystripe swallowed the last mouthful and nudged Fireheart’s shoulder with his nose. “Come on, slow slug! Let’s get going! ’Bye,” he called to Yellowfang over his shoulder, as he sprinted out of the glade.
“Wait for me,” meowed Fireheart, chasing after his friend.
“Good-bye! Good luck, youngsters!” Yellowfang meowed after them.
As he raced through the tunnel, Fireheart heard the ferns rustling in the morning breeze. They seemed to be whispering, “Good luck! Travel safely!”
CHAPTER 4
As they headed out of the camp, the two young warriors nearly crashed into Whitestorm, who was
leading Sandpaw and Runningwind into the forest for the dawn patrol.
“Sorry!” panted Fireheart. He stopped, and Graystripe skidded to a halt beside him.
Whitestorm dipped his head. “I hear you two are going on a mission,” he meowed.
“Yes,” Fireheart replied.
“Then may you have StarClan’s protection,” meowed Whitestorm gravely.
“What for?” Sandpaw sneered. “You off to catch voles?”
Runningwind, a lean tabby, turned and whispered something into Sandpaw’s ear. Her expression changed and the contempt in her green eyes switched to guarded curiosity.
