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Bramblekit’s eyes lit up. “Good idea!” he yowled. He snatched up the mouse and tore down the ravine to the camp entrance. His sister, Tawnykit, scampered after him.
Goldenflower was looking fiercely at Fireheart, and he knew that she saw very clearly how forced his praise had been. Frostily she mewed, “I told you before, Fireheart, I won’t tell the kits anything bad about their father. We’re loyal to the Clan—all of us.”
She spun around, switching her tail across Fireheart’s face as she did so, and stalked back to the camp.
Fireheart retrieved his rabbit and followed, deciding that he would take his prey to Cinderpelt and talk to her about Bramblekit at the same time. She might have some ideas about how best to handle the kit. The gray she-cat had limped back into the camp very late the night after the medicine-cat gathering at Highstones; Fireheart knew that she had been exhausted, but it had seemed that the light of the Moonstone still glimmered in her eyes.
As Fireheart pushed his way into the clearing through the newly growing gorse tunnel, he saw that Cinderpelt was sitting with Speckletail outside the nursery. The medicine cat was watching Snowkit, who patted at something on the ground a few tail-lengths from his mother.
Good, Fireheart thought. Now we should be able to find out if there’s something wrong with Snowkit. He padded over to the two she-cats and dropped the rabbit beside Cinderpelt. “That’s for you,” he meowed. “How do you feel after your journey?”
Cinderpelt turned to look at him. Her blue eyes were tranquil. “I’m fine,” she purred. “Thanks for the rabbit. Speckletail and I were just having a chat about Snowkit.”
“There’s nothing to chat about,” Speckletail muttered, hunching her shoulders. She sounded cranky, but there was a new sense of authority about Cinderpelt, and Fireheart guessed that the older she-cat hadn’t dared to refuse outright to talk to her.
Cinderpelt dipped her head. “Just call him to you, would you?” she asked.
Speckletail snorted and called out, “Snowkit! Snowkit, come here!”
She beckoned with her tail as she spoke. Snowkit got up, abandoning the ball of moss he had been playing with, and padded over to his mother. Speckletail bent down and gave his ear a lick.
“Good,” meowed Cinderpelt. “Now, Fireheart, go over there and call him to you, will you?” She nodded toward a spot a few fox-lengths away. In a lower voice she added, “Don’t move. Just use your voice.”
Puzzled, Fireheart did as she asked. This time, although Snowkit was looking straight at him, he didn’t move. There was no response from him at all, even when Fireheart called three or four times.
A few other cats paused on their way to the pile of fresh-kill and came to see what was going on. Bluestar—roused by the sound of voices, Fireheart guessed—emerged from her den and sat watching near the base of the Highrock. Dappletail, who was strolling back to the elders’ den, stopped beside Speckletail and said something to her. Speckletail spat an irritated reply, but Fireheart was too far away to hear what the two cats had said to each other. Dappletail ignored Speckletail’s snappishness and sat down next to Cinderpelt to watch closely.
Fireheart kept on calling Snowkit until Speckletail gave the kit a nudge, nodding in his direction, and the kit came bounding across.
“Well done,” Fireheart meowed, and repeated his praise when Snowkit looked at him blankly.
After a pause the kit mewed, “S’all right,” but the words sounded so distorted that Fireheart could hardly understand him.
He led Snowkit back to his mother and Cinderpelt. By now he was beginning to suspect what the trouble was, and he felt no surprise when Cinderpelt turned to Speckletail and meowed, “I’m sorry, Speckletail—Snowkit is deaf.”
Speckletail worked her paws on the ground in front of her. Her expression was a mixture of grief and anger. “I know he’s deaf!” she snapped at last. “I’m his mother. Do you think I wouldn’t know?”
“White cats with blue eyes are often deaf,” Dappletail mewed to Fireheart. “I remember one of my first litter…” She sighed.
“What happened to him?” Fireheart asked, relieved that Cloudpaw, who was also white with blue eyes, had good hearing.
“No cat knows,” Dappletail told him sadly. “He disappeared when he was three moons old. We thought a fox must have gotten him.”
Speckletail gathered Snowkit closer to her, fiercely protective. “Well, a fox won’t get this one!” she vowed. “I can look after him.”
“I’m sure you can,” Bluestar mewed, padding over to them. “But I’m afraid he can never be a warrior.”
This was one of Bluestar’s good days, Fireheart realized. Her voice was sympathetic but determined, and her eyes were clear.
“Why can’t he be a warrior?” Speckletail demanded. “There’s nothing else wrong with him. He’s a good, strong kit. He gets on just fine if you signal what he’s got to do.”
“That’s not enough,” Bluestar told her. “A mentor couldn’t teach him to fight or hunt by signals. He couldn’t hear commands in a battle, and how could he catch prey if he can’t listen, or hear the sound of his own pawsteps?”
Speckletail leaped to her paws with her fur bristling, and for a few moments Fireheart thought she might spring at Bluestar. Then she whipped around, nudged Snowkit to his paws, and vanished with him inside the nursery.
“She’s taking it badly,” Dappletail remarked.
“How do you expect her to take it?” asked Cinderpelt. “She’s getting old. This could well be her last kit, and now she learns he can’t ever be a warrior.”
“Cinderpelt, you must talk to her,” Bluestar ordered. “Make her see that the needs of the Clan must come first.”
“Yes, of course, Bluestar,” Cinderpelt mewed, with a respectful nod to her leader. “But I think it’s best for her to have a little time alone with Snowkit first, to let her get used to the idea that the rest of the Clan knows about his deafness.”
Bluestar grunted agreement and padded back toward her den. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Not long ago Bluestar would have talked to Speckletail herself, and perhaps considered some options about Snowkit’s future in the Clan. Where had that compassion and understanding gone? Fireheart wondered. His fur prickled as he realized that his leader hardly seemed to care about the deaf kit or his mother.
CHAPTER 8
The sun was rising over the trees a
s Fireheart and his patrol approached Snakerocks, on the opposite side of the territory to the river. The fire had not reached this far; the undergrowth was still lush and green, though leaves had begun to fall.
“Hold on,” Fireheart meowed to Thornpaw as the apprentice dashed toward the rocks. “Don’t forget there are adders around here.”
Thornpaw skidded to a halt. “Sorry, Fireheart.”
Since Bluestar had refused to make them warriors, Fireheart had made a point of spending time with all the apprentices in turn, including at least one of them in every patrol, in an attempt to show them that the Clan still valued them. Swiftpaw’s scowl suggested that he was resentful of the delay, but Thornpaw did not seem to mind waiting for full warrior status.
Mousefur, Thornpaw’s mentor, padded up to him. “Tell me what you can smell.”
Thornpaw stood with his head raised and jaws parted, drinking in the air. “Mouse!” he mewed almost at once, swiping his tongue around his mouth.
“Yes, but we’re not hunting now,” Mousefur reminded him. “What else?”
“The Thunderpath—over there.” Thornpaw gestured with his tail. “And dog.”
Fireheart, who had been lapping water from a hollow in the ground, pricked up his ears. Tasting the air, he realized that Thornpaw was right. There was a strong scent of dog, and it was fresh.
“That’s odd,” he commented. “Unless the Twolegs were up very early, that scent should be stale. Last night at the latest.”
He remembered Whitestorm’s report of finding trampled undergrowth and scattered pigeon feathers near Snakerocks. The place had smelled of dog then, but that scent would not have survived for this long.
“We’d better take a good look around,” he meowed.
Ordering Thornpaw not to leave his mentor, Fireheart sent the other cats into the trees while he crept closer to the rocks. Before he reached them, he was called back by Mousefur.
