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Princess retreated another pace or two, then turned and dashed for her fence, swarming up it and pausing briefly on the top to meow, “Good-bye!” before vanishing into the safety of her garden.
Cloudtail let out a long breath. “That went well,” he meowed bitterly.
“You can’t blame Princess,” Fireheart told him. “She doesn’t really understand what Clan life is all about. She’s just seen some of the worst of it, and she doesn’t like it.”
Graystripe grunted. “What can you expect from a kittypet? Let’s get home.”
Cloudtail gently nosed Lostface. As she got to her paws, the young cat mewed timidly, “Cloudtail, Princess looked as if she were scared of me. I want—” She broke off, swallowed, and began again. “I want to see myself. Is there a puddle nearby I can look into?”
Fireheart felt a pang of sorrow for the young she-cat, and admiration at her courage in facing what she had become . He turned his eyes to Cloudtail, willing to be guided by the younger cat on what they should do next.
Cloudtail looked around for a moment, then pressed his muzzle against Lostface’s shoulder. “Come with me,” he meowed. He led her to where some of the previous night’s rain still lay in a puddle among the roots of a tree, and nudged the ginger-and-white she-cat to the edge of the shining water. Together they stood looking down. Cloudtail did not flinch away from what he saw reflected there, and Fireheart felt another rush of warmth toward his former apprentice.
Lostface stood rigid for several heartbeats, gazing into the water. Her body stiffened and her single eye opened wide. “Now I see,” she mewed quietly. “I’m sorry if the other cats feel upset when they look at me.”
Fireheart watched as Cloudtail turned her away from the terrible sight and covered the injured side of her face with slow, gentle licks. “You’re still beautiful to me,” he told her. “You always will be.”
Fireheart felt almost overwhelmed by his pity for the young she-cat, and his pride in Cloudtail for being so faithful to her. Padding over to them, he meowed, “Lostface, it doesn’t matter what you look like. We’re still your friends.”
Lostface dipped her head to him gratefully.
“Lostface!” Cloudtail spat suddenly. The venom in his voice startled Fireheart. “I hate that name,” he hissed. “What right does Bluestar have to remind her of what happened every time a cat speaks to her? Well, I’m not going to use it again. And if Bluestar objects, she can…she can go and eat snails!”
Fireheart knew he ought to rebuke the young warrior for his disrespectful words, but he said nothing. He had a good deal of sympathy for Cloudtail’s point of view. Lostface was a cruel name, a symbol of Bluestar’s continuing war with StarClan, given without any thought for the cat who bore it. But the name had been given to the ginger-and-white she-cat in a formal ceremony watched by StarClan, and there was nothing Fireheart could do about it now.
“Are we standing about here all day?” Graystripe asked.
Fireheart heaved a deep sigh. “No, let’s go.” The time was coming when he and his warriors would have to confront whatever had turned them into prey in their own territory.
Fireheart dreamed he was padding through a forest clearing in newleaf. Sunlight streamed through the trees, making dappled patterns of light and shade that shifted as the leaves stirred in the breeze. He paused and opened his mouth so that he could taste the air. Very faintly he made out a familiar sweet scent, and a quiver of happiness ran through him.
“Spottedleaf?” he whispered. “Spottedleaf, are you there?”
For a moment he thought he could see bright eyes shining at him from the depths of a clump of ferns. Warm breath caressed his ear, and a voice murmured, “Fireheart, remember the enemy that never sleeps.”
Then the vision faded, and he woke to find himself in the warrior’s den with the cold light of a day in leaf-bare striking him through the branches.
Still clutching at the last sheds of his dream, Fireheart stretched and shook scraps of moss from his fur. It was several moons since Spottedleaf had first warned him to beware of the enemy that never slept. That had been shortly before Tigerstar attacked the ThunderClan camp with his band of rogues—just when Fireheart had hoped that the treacherous deputy’s exile had sent him away for good.
The thought of Tigerstar reminded Fireheart of the most recent Gathering. There was no doubt now that the former deputy wanted Bramblepaw and Tawnypaw, and in spite of what he said to Bluestar, Fireheart was sure that he would not be prepared to wait. Even though Fireheart was not surprised at Tigerstar’s demand, there could be no question of handing them over. Part of Fireheart would have been relieved to see them go, to put an end to his own feelings of mistrust and guilt, but these were ThunderClan kits, and the warrior code demanded that the Clan should do everything to keep them.
A rustle in the bedding behind him told Fireheart that Sandstorm was waking up. He cast an uneasy glance at her. “Sandstorm…” he began.
The ginger she-cat glared at him as she shook herself and stood up. “I’m going hunting,” she spat. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Without waiting for a reply, she padded across the den and prodded Dustpelt. “Come on, you lazy furball,” she meowed. “All the prey will die of old age before you get out there.”
“I’ll find Cloudtail for you,” Fireheart offered hastily, and slipped out of the den. Sandstorm clearly wasn’t going to welcome any attempt to be friendly.
The day was gray and cold, and as he paused to taste the air a drop of rain stung him in the face. On the far side of the clearing Bramblepaw and Tawnypaw were sitting with the other apprentices outside their den. “Bramblepaw, I’ll take you hunting later!” Fireheart called.
His apprentice got to his paws, dipped his head in acknowledgment, and sat down again with his back to Fireheart. Fireheart sighed. Sometimes it felt as if every cat in the Clan had a reason to dislike him.
He headed for the elders’ den, guessing that Cloudtail would be with Lostface. Even though the injured cat had been in the elders’ den for a few days now, Cloudtail still spent all his spare time with her. When Fireheart reached the burned-out shell of the fallen tree where the elders lived, he saw the white tom seated near the entrance to the den. His tail was curled around his paws while he watched Lostface gently examining Dappletail’s pelt for ticks.
“Is she okay?” Fireheart murmured, his voice low so that Lostface would not hear him.
“Of course she’s okay,” another voice snapped.
Fireheart turned to see Speckletail. The desolate look that she had worn since Snowkit’s death had vanished. Her temper clearly hadn’t softened, but her eyes glowed with affection as she looked at Lostface. “She’s a fine young cat. Have you found out what hurt her?”
Fireheart shook his head. “It’s a real help that you can look after her, Speckletail,” he meowed.
Speckletail sniffed. “Hmmm. I sometimes get the feeling that she thinks she has to look after me.” She looked sharply at F
ireheart, and he was saved from having to answer by One-eye.
“Did you want something, Fireheart?” asked the elderly pale gray she-cat, looking up from her washing.
“I was looking for Cloudtail. Sandstorm’s ready to go out hunting.”
“What?” Cloudtail sprang to his paws. “Why didn’t you say so? She’ll claw my ears off if I keep her waiting!” He dashed off.
“Mouse-brain,” muttered Speckletail, but Fireheart suspected that she was as fond of the young warrior as all the elders.
Saying good-bye to Lostface and One-eye, he padded into the clearing in time to see Sandstorm leaving at the head of her hunting patrol. Brindleface was saying good-bye to them, gazing proudly at her foster kit.
“You will be careful, won’t you?” she mewed anxiously. “None of us know what’s out there.”
“Don’t worry.” Cloudtail flicked her affectionately with his tail. “If we meet the dog, I’ll bring it back for fresh-kill.”
At the entrance to the camp the patrol passed Longtail on his way in. The pale warrior was shaking as if with cold, and his eyes were staring. Instantly alarmed, Fireheart crossed the clearing to meet him.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
Longtail shuddered. “Fireheart, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“What’s the problem?”
As he drew closer, Fireheart caught an unexpected scent on Longtail’s fur—the stench of the Thunderpath. The acrid scent was unmistakable, and Fireheart’s alarm turned to suspicion.
“Where have you been?” he growled. “To ShadowClan, maybe, to see Tigerstar? Don’t try to deny it; your fur stinks of the Thunderpath!”
“Fireheart, it’s not what you think.” Longtail sounded worried. “Okay, I did go that way, but I didn’t go anywhere near ShadowClan. I went to Snakerocks.”
“Snakerocks? What for?” Fireheart wasn’t sure that he could believe anything the pale warrior told him.
