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“Then we will have all the more reason to remember what StarClan have brought us to,” Bluestar replied, her voice barely more than a whisper. “They will have this warrior as Lostface, or not at all.”
Cloudtail held her gaze for a moment longer, the light of challenge in his blue eyes, and then dipped his head as if he knew there was no point in arguing.
“Let StarClan receive her by the name of Lostface,” Bluestar finished. She bent her head and lightly touched her nose to Lostface’s head. “There, it is done,” she murmured.
As if the touch had roused her, Lostface’s eyes opened and a look of terrible fear flooded into them. For a moment she struggled back to wakefulness. “Pack, pack!” She gasped. “Kill, kill!”
Bluestar recoiled, her fur bristling. “What? What does she mean?” she demanded.
But Lostface had sunk into unconsciousness again. Bluestar looked wildly from Cinderpelt to Fireheart and back again. “What did she mean?” she repeated.
“I don’t know,” Cinderpelt mewed uneasily. “That’s all she will say.”
“But, Fireheart, I told you…” Bluestar was struggling to speak. “StarClan showed me an evil in the forest, and they called it ‘pack.’ Is it the pack that has done this?”
Cinderpelt avoided her eyes, going instead to check on Lostface. Fireheart sought for an answer that would satisfy his leader. He did not want Bluestar to know that her cats were being hunted down as if they were prey for some nameless, faceless enemy. But he knew that she would not be satisfied by empty reassurances.
“No cat knows,” he replied at last. “I’ll warn the patrols to be on their guard, but—”
“But if StarClan has abandoned us, patrols will not help us,” Bluestar finished scornfully. “Perhaps they have even sent this pack to punish me.”
“No!” Cinderpelt faced her leader. “StarClan did not send the pack. Our ancestors care for us, and they would never disrupt the life of the forest or destroy a whole Clan for a single grudge. Bluestar, you must believe this.”
Bluestar ignored her. She padded over to Lostface and stood looking down at her. “Forgive me,” she meowed. “I have brought down the wrath of StarClan on you.” Then she turned away toward her den.
Almost as soon as she had gone, an agonizing wail broke out in the main clearing. Fireheart raced through the ferns to see that Longtail and Graystripe were bringing Swiftpaw’s body back for burial. When the limp black-and-white shape had been laid in the center of the clearing, his mentor crouched beside him, touching his nose to his fur in the ritual position of mourning. Swiftpaw’s mother, Goldenflower, sat next to him, while Bramblekit and Tawnykit, Swiftpaw’s half brother and half sister, looked on with wide, scared eyes.
A fresh wave of grief flooded through Fireheart. Longtail had been a good mentor to Swiftpaw. He did not deserve the pain he was going through now.
Returning to Cinderpelt’s clearing, he saw that Sandstorm had padded over to stand beside the medicine cat, who was pressing fresh cobwebs onto the blood-soaked dressings. “Maybe she’ll pull through,” she mewed. “If any cat can help her, you can, Cinderpelt.”
Cinderpelt looked up and blinked gratefully. “Thanks, Sandstorm. But healing herbs can only do so much. And if Lostface lives, she might not thank me.” She caught Fireheart’s eye, and he saw in her face a fear that the injured cat would be unable to cope with her horrifically changed appearance. What future lay ahead for a cat whose scars would remind her forever of this living nightmare?
“I’ll still look after her,” vowed Cloudtail, glancing up from his gentle licking.
Fireheart felt a burst of pride. If only his former apprentice could show the same unquestioning loyalty to the warrior code, he would be one of the finest warriors in ThunderClan.
Sandstorm gently nosed Lostface and then drew away. “I’ll fetch some fresh-kill for you and Cloudtail,” she meowed to Cinderpelt. “And a piece for Lostface too. She might want something if she wakes up.” Determinedly optimistic, she padded out into the clearing.
“I don’t want anything to eat,” mewed Cloudtail. His voice was dull and exhausted. “I feel sick.”
“You need to sleep,” Cinderpelt told him. “I’ll give you some poppy seeds.”
“I don’t want poppy seeds either. I want to stay with Lostface.”
“I’m not asking you what you want; I’m telling you what you need,” Cinderpelt retorted. “You kept vigil last night, remember?” More gently, she added, “I promise I’ll wake you if there’s any change.”
While she went to fetch the seeds, Fireheart gave his kin a sympathetic glance. “She’s the medicine cat,” he pointed out. “She knows what’s best.”
Cloudtail didn’t reply, but when Cinderpelt came back carrying a dried poppy head and shook a few seeds out in front of him, he licked them up without complaining. Exhausted, he curled himself close to Lostface and was asleep within a few heartbeats.
“I never thought he would care for another cat as much as that,” Fireheart murmured.
“You didn’t notice?” For all her anxiety, there was a glint of amusement in Cinderpelt’s blue eyes. “He’s been padding after Brightpaw—Lostface—for a season now. He really loves her, you know.”
Seeing the two young cats curled up together, Fireheart could believe it.
Fireheart headed toward the pile of fresh-kill. It was almost sunhigh, but though the rays poured down brightly into the clearing there was little warmth in them. Leaf-bare had come to the forest.
Days had passed since Swiftpaw had been killed and Lostface injured. Fireheart had just been to check on her, and she still clung to life. Cinderpelt began to be cautiously optimistic that she would survive. Cloudtail spent nearly every moment with her; Fireheart had excused him temporarily from warrior duties so that he could care for the injured cat.
As Fireheart crossed the clearing, he saw Graystripe emerge from the warriors’ den and approach the fresh-kill pile. Darkstripe overtook him before he reached it and shouldered him aside to snatch up a rabbit. Dustpelt, already choosing his own meal, gave Graystripe a hostile glare and the gray warrior hesitated, unwilling to go any closer until the other two warriors had withdrawn to the nettle patch to eat.
Quickening his pace, Fireheart came up beside his friend. “Ignore them,” he muttered. “They keep their brains in their tails.”
Graystripe flashed him a grateful glance before picking a magpie out of the pile.
“Let’s eat together,” Fireheart suggested, choosing a vole and leading the way to a sunny patch of ground near the warriors’ den. “And don’t let those two worry you,” he added. “They can’t stay hostile forever.”
Graystripe did not look convinced, but he said nothing more, and the two warriors settled down to eat. Across the clearing, Tawnykit and Bramblekit were playing with Willowpelt’s three kits. Fireheart felt a pang of grief as he remembered how Lostface had sometimes played with them, as if she were looking forward to having kits herself. Would she ever mother her own litter now?
“I can’t get over how much that kit looks like his father,” meowed Graystripe after watching them for a moment.
“Just so long as he doesn’t behave like his father,” Fireheart replie
d. He stiffened when he saw Bramblekit bowl over one of Willowpelt’s much smaller kits, but relaxed again as the tiny tortoiseshell sprang up and hurled herself joyfully on Bramblekit.
“It must be time he was apprenticed,” remarked Graystripe. “He and Tawnykit are older than—” He broke off, and a distant, sorrowful expression clouded his amber eyes.
Fireheart knew that he was thinking of his own kits, left behind in RiverClan. “Yes, it’s time I was thinking about mentors,” he agreed, hoping to distract his friend from his bittersweet memories. “I’ll ask Bluestar if I can mentor Bramblekit myself. Who do you think would—”
“You’ll mentor Bramblekit?” Graystripe stared at him. “Is that a good idea?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Fireheart asked, feeling his fur start to prickle. “I haven’t an apprentice, now that Cloudtail has been made a warrior.”
“Because you don’t like Bramblekit,” retorted Graystripe. “I don’t blame you, but wouldn’t he be better off with a mentor who trusts him?”
Fireheart hesitated. There was some truth in what Graystripe said, but Fireheart knew that he couldn’t give the task to any other cat. He had to have Bramblekit under his own guidance to make sure he stayed loyal to ThunderClan.
“My mind’s made up,” he mewed curtly. “I wanted to ask you who you think would be good for Tawnykit.”
Graystripe paused, as if he wanted to go on arguing, then shrugged. “I’m surprised you have to ask. There’s an obvious choice.” When Fireheart didn’t speak, he added, “Sandstorm, you mouse-brain!”
Fireheart took a mouthful of vole to give himself time to think of an answer. Sandstorm was an experienced warrior. She had been an apprentice along with Fireheart himself, Graystripe, and Dustpelt, and she was the only one of the four never to have had an apprentice of her own. Yet something made him reluctant to give Tawnykit to her.
Swallowing the vole, he meowed, “I more or less promised Snowkit to Brackenfur. It’s only fair I should ask Bluestar if he can mentor Tawnykit, seeing as he was disappointed so recently. Besides, he’s a fine warrior, and he’ll do a good job.”
