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Fireheart nodded. “Cats of ThunderClan,” he began, raising his voice, “we’ve just seen something terrible. No cat can deny that. But we have to be careful about what meaning we give to this tragedy. Cinderpelt, is Bluestar right? Does this mean that StarClan have abandoned us?”
Cinderpelt spoke up clearly from where she sat at the base of the rock. “No,” she meowed. “StarClan haven’t shown me anything to suggest this. The camp is more exposed since the fire, so it’s not surprising that the hawk could see its prey.”
“So it was just an accident that we lost Snowkit?” Fireheart prompted.
“Just an accident,” Cinderpelt repeated. “Nothing to do with StarClan.”
Fireheart saw the Clan begin to relax and realized that Cinderpelt’s certainty had reassured them. The cats still looked shocked and grief-stricken that Snowkit had been snatched away, but the wild stares of panic were fading.
But along with his relief came the worry that once the Clan had recovered from their shock, they would start asking themselves why Bluestar had gone so far as to declare war on their warrior ancestors in StarClan. “Thank you, Cinderpelt,” Fireheart meowed.
Cinderpelt flicked her tail and limped quickly toward her den.
Fireheart took a step forward on top of the rock and gazed down at the upturned faces. “There’s something else I need to tell you,” he began. He wasn’t at all sure he should be saying this, since Bluestar insisted that WindClan was responsible for the dead rabbits, but with the safety of the Clan at stake he couldn’t keep silent. “We think there’s a loose dog on ThunderClan territory. We haven’t seen it, but we’ve scented it at Snakerocks and near Fourtrees.”
An anxious murmur rose from the cats, and Sandstorm called out, “What about the dogs at the farm beyond WindClan territory? Maybe it’s one of those.”
“Maybe,” Fireheart agreed, remembering how the savage creatures had chased him and Sandstorm while they were searching for Cloudpaw. “Until it goes away again,” he went on, “we all have to be especially careful. Apprentices mustn’t go out without a warrior. And all cats who leave camp have an extra duty. Look for traces of this dog—scent, pawmarks, scattered scraps of prey….”
“And dung,” Mousefur put in. “The filthy creatures never think of burying it.”
“Right,” meowed Fireheart. “If you come across anything like that, report it to me right away. We need to find out where the dog has made its den.”
As he gave his orders he did his best to hide his growing sense of dread. He could not stifle the feeling that the forest was watching him, concealing a deadly enemy somewhere among the trees. At least the threat from Tigerstar was a straightforward fear of attack from a known enemy. This hidden dog was another matter, unseen and unpredictable.
Dismissing the Clan, Fireheart leaped down from the Highrock and made his way toward Cinderpelt’s den. On the way, he spotted Brackenfur limping back into the camp with Swiftpaw just behind him. The ginger warrior’s fur was torn where he had forced his way through briers and undergrowth in his pursuit of the hawk. One look at his lowered head and dejected expression told Fireheart all he needed to know, but he waited for Brackenfur to come up and make his report.
“I’m sorry, Fireheart. We tried to keep up, but we lost it.”
“You did your best,” Fireheart replied, pressing his head against the younger warrior’s shoulder. “There was never much hope.”
“A waste of time and effort right from the start,” Swiftpaw growled, though his eyes betrayed his frustration at their failure to save the kit.
“Where’s Speckletail?” asked Brackenfur.
“With Cinderpelt. I’m just going to check on her. You two help yourself to fresh-kill and then get some rest.”
He waited to see that the two cats obeyed his order before continuing to Cinderpelt’s den. Sandstorm fell into step beside him. When they reached the clearing outside the medicine cat’s den, they found Speckletail lying there with Brindleface crouched beside her, licking her gently.
Cinderpelt emerged from the cleft in the rock carrying a folded leaf in her mouth, which she set down on the ground in front of Speckletail. “Poppy seeds,” she mewed. “Eat them, Speckletail, and they’ll make you sleep.”
At first Fireheart thought Speckletail had not heard her; then she half sat up, turned her head, and slowly licked up the poppy seeds from the leaf.
“I’ll never have any more kits,” she mewed, her voice hoarse. “I’ll be going to join the elders now.”
“And they’ll welcome you,” Sandstorm murmured, crouching beside the older cat as the poppy seeds took effect and her head gradually lowered into sleep. Fireheart glanced admiringly at Sandstorm; she was a skilled warrior, and he had reason to know the sharpness of her tongue, but she had a gentle side too.
He was roused from his thoughts when he heard Cinderpelt clearing her throat, and he saw that the medicine cat had padded over to sit beside him. From the look she was giving him he realized that she must have spoken to him and was waiting for a response.
“Sorry—what?” he mewed.
“If you’re not too busy to listen,” Cinderpelt meowed dryly, “I said that I’ll keep Speckletail with me overnight.”
“Good idea, thanks.” Fireheart remembered that Cinderpelt had been with Speckletail when he had been telling the Clan about the loose dog. “There’s something else you need to know, and I’d like you to have another look at Bluestar.”
“Oh? What’s the matter with her?”
Speaking softly so that Sandstorm did not hear him, Fireheart told Cinderpelt about the evidence that a dog was loose in the forest, and how Bluestar was convinced that it must be WindClan invading ThunderClan territory to steal prey. “She’s so confused,” he finished. “She must be, to declare war on StarClan like that. And there’s a Gathering in a few nights. What’s going to happen if she starts accusing WindClan in front of the other cats?”
“Now wait a minute,” Cinderpelt meowed. “This is your Clan leader you’re talking about. You should respect her opinions even if you don’t agree with them.”
“This isn’t just a disagreement!” Fireheart protested. “There isn’t a scrap of proof for what she suggests.” His raised voice made Sandstorm prick up her ears as she lay beside Speckletail, and he lowered it again as he added, “Bluestar was a great leader. Every cat knows that. But now…I can’t trust her judgment, Cinderpelt. Not when she isn’t making any sense.”
“You should still try to understand her. Show her a bit of sympathy, at least. She deserves that from every cat.”
For a few heartbeats Fireheart felt outrage that Cinderpelt, who had once been his apprentice, should be talking to him like this. It wasn’t Cinderpelt who had to defend Bluestar’s decisions and try to hide her confusion so that her own Clan still trusted her. Not to mention making excuses for her to all the other Clans so that no cat would guess the weakness at ThunderClan’s heart.
“Do you think I haven’t tried?” he snapped. “If I’m any more sympathetic, my fur will fall out!”
“Your fur looks fine to me,” Cinderpelt remarked.
“Look…” Fireheart made one last effort to suppress his annoyance. “Bluestar missed the last Gathering. If she doesn’t go to the next one, every cat in the forest will know something’s wrong. Can’t you give her something to make her a bit more reasonable?”
“I’ll try. But there’s a limit to what my herbs can do. She’s gotten over the effects of the fire, you know. This trouble started long before that, when she first found out about Tigerstar. She’s old and tired, and she thinks she’s losing everything she believed in, even StarClan.”
“Especially StarClan,” Fireheart agreed. “And if she—”
He broke off, realizing that Sandstorm had left Speckletail and was walking toward him. “Finished talking secrets?” she mewed with an edge to her voice. Flicking her tail toward Speckletail, she added, “She’s asleep. I’ll leave her to you, Cinderp
elt.”
“Thanks for your help, Sandstorm.”
Both she-cats were being very polite to each other, but somehow Fireheart felt it wouldn’t take much for them to unsheathe their claws. He wondered why, then decided he didn’t have time to worry about petty squabbles.
“We’ll go and eat, then,” he meowed.
“And afterward you need to rest,” Sandstorm told him. “You’ve been on your paws since dawn.”
