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“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fireheart protested. His fur suddenly felt hot, and prickled as if ants were crawling through it. “Sandstorm is just a friend.”
Graystripe let out a purr of amusement. “Oh, sure, if you say so.” He strolled up the slope and lowered his head to butt Fireheart affectionately on the shoulder. “You’re lucky, Fireheart. She’s a very impressive cat.”
Fireheart opened his mouth and then closed it again. Graystripe wouldn’t be convinced not matter what he said—and besides, maybe he was right. Maybe Sandstorm was becoming more than a friend. “Never mind that,” he meowed, changing the subject. “Tell me how you’re getting on. What’s the news in RiverClan?”
The laughter died from Graystripe’s yellow eyes. “Not much. Every cat is talking about Tigerstar.” When Graystripe had been a ThunderClan warrior, he and Fireheart had been the only cats to know the truth about Tigerstar’s murderous ambition, and that he had killed the former ThunderClan deputy, Redtail.
“I don’t know what to make of it,” Fireheart admitted. “Tigerstar might be different, now he’s got what he wants. No cat can deny that he could make a good leader—he’s strong, he can fight and hunt, and he knows the warrior code by heart.”
“But no cat can trust him,” Graystripe growled. “What’s the point of knowing the warrior code if all you do is ignore what it says?”
“It’s not up to us to trust him now,” Fireheart pointed out. “He’s got a new Clan, and Runningnose reported an omen that seemed to say StarClan would be sending them a great new leader. StarClan must know that ShadowClan needs a strong warrior to build them up again after the sickness.”
Graystripe didn’t look convinced. “StarClan sent him?” He snorted. “I’ll believe that when hedgehogs fly.”
Fireheart couldn’t help agreeing with Graystripe that it would be hard to trust Tigerstar. Making his new Clan healthy again might occupy him for a season or two, but after that…The thought of the fierce warrior at the head of a strong Clan sent a shudder through Fireheart from ears to tail-tip. He couldn’t believe that Tigerstar would settle down to a peaceful life in the forest, respecting the rights of the other three Clans. Sooner or later he would want to extend his territory, and his first target would be ThunderClan.
“If I were you,” meowed Graystripe, echoing his thoughts, “I’d keep a very careful watch on my borders.”
“Yes, I—” Fireheart began. He broke off as he saw Sandstorm coming toward them, a young rabbit dangling from her jaws. She padded across the pebbles, and dropped her prey at Fireheart’s feet. Looking more relaxed, as if she had gotten over her brief annoyance, she nodded to the RiverClan warrior.
“Hi, Graystripe,” she mewed. “How are the kits?”
“They’re fine, thanks,” Graystripe replied. His eyes glowed with pride. “They’ll be apprenticed soon.”
“Will you mentor one of them?” Fireheart asked.
To his surprise, Graystripe looked uncertain. “I don’t know,” he meowed. “If it were Crookedstar’s decision, maybe…but he doesn’t do much these days, except sleep. Leopardfur organizes most things now, and she’ll never forgive me for the way Whiteclaw died. I think she’ll probably give the kits to some other warriors to mentor.”
He bowed his head. Fireheart realized he still felt guilty about the death of the RiverClan warrior who had fallen into the gorge when his patrol attacked a small group of ThunderClan warriors.
“That’s tough,” meowed Fireheart, pressing himself comfortingly against Graystripe’s side.
“But you can see her point,” Sandstorm pointed out mildly. “Leopardfur will want to make sure that the kits are brought up to be completely loyal to RiverClan.”
Graystripe swung his head around to face her, his fur bristling. “That’s just what I would do! I don’t want my kits to grow up feeling torn between two Clans.” His eyes clouded. “I know what that’s like.”
Pain for his friend flooded over Fireheart. After the fire, Graystripe had shown how unhappy he was in his new Clan, and clearly things were no better now. Fireheart wanted to say, “Come home,” but he knew he had no right to offer Graystripe a place in the Clan when Bluestar had already refused.
“Speak to Crookedstar,” he suggested. “Ask him yourself about the kits.”
“And try to stay on the good side of Leopardfur,” added Sandstorm. “Don’t let her catch you crossing the ThunderClan border.”
Graystripe flinched. “Maybe you’re right. I’d better be getting back. Good-bye, Sandstorm, Fireheart.”
“Try to come to the next Gathering,” Fireheart urged.
Graystripe flicked his tail in acknowledgment and padded off down the slope. Halfway to the river he turned, meowed, “Wait there a moment!” and raced down to the edge of the water. For several heartbeats he sat motionless on a flat stone, gazing down into the shallows.
“Now what’s he up to?” Sandstorm muttered.
Before Fireheart could reply, Graystripe’s paw darted out. A silver fish shot out of the stream and fell to the bank, where it lay flopping and wriggling. Graystripe finished it off with a single blow of his paw and dragged it back up the slope to where Fireheart and Sandstorm stood watching.
“Here,” he meowed as he dropped it. “I know prey must be scarce since the fire. That should help a bit.”
“Thanks,” meowed Fireheart, and added admiringly, “That was a neat trick back there.”
Graystripe let out a purr of satisfaction. “Mistyfoot showed me how.”
“It’s very welcome,” Sandstorm told him. “But if Leopardfur finds out you’ve been feeding another Clan, she won’t be pleased.”
“Leopardfur can go chase her own tail,” Graystripe growled. “If she says anything, I’ll remind her how Fireheart and I helped feed RiverClan during the floods last newleaf.”
He turned away and bounded back to the river. Fireheart’s heart ached as he watched his friend launch himself into the water and begin swimming strongly for the opposite bank. He would have given anything to have Graystripe back in ThunderClan, but he had to admit it seemed unlikely that the gray warrior could ever be accepted there again.
Fireheart struggled to carry the slippery fish as the hunting patrol returned to camp, his mouth watering as the unfamiliar scent filled his nostrils. When he entered the camp he saw that the pile of fresh-kill already looked bigger. Cloudpaw and Brightpaw had returned, and were about to go out again with Mousefur and Thornpaw.
“We’ve fed the elders, Fireheart!” Cloudpaw called over his shoulder as he scampered up the ravine.
“And Cinderpelt?” Fireheart called back.
“Not yet!”
Fireheart watched his young kin dash out of sight and then turned back to the pile of fresh-kill. Perhaps Graystripe’s fish would tempt Cinderpelt, he thought. He suspected that the young medicine cat wasn’t eating enough, out of grief for Yellowfang, and because she was so busy caring for the smoke-sick cats and Bluestar.
“Are you hungry, Fireheart?” asked Sandstorm, dropping the last of her catch onto the pile. In the end she had waited to eat until they brought the prey back to camp, and she was eyeing the fresh-kill avidly. “We could eat together, if you like.”
“Okay.” The magpie Fireheart had eaten that morning seemed a long time ago now. “I’ll just take this to Cinderpelt.”
“Don’t be long,” meowed Sandstorm.
Fireheart gripped the fish in his jaws and walked toward Cinderpelt’s den. Before the fire, a lush tunnel of ferns had separated it from the rest of the camp. Now just a few blackened stalks showed above the ground, and Fireheart could clearly see the cleft in the rock that was the entrance to the den.
He stopped outside, dropped the fresh-kill, and called, “Cinderpelt!”
After a moment the young medicine cat poked her head out of the opening. “What? Oh, it’s you, Fireheart.”
She padded out of the den to join him. Her fur was ruffled, and her
eyes didn’t have their usual lively sparkle. Instead she seemed distracted and troubled. Fireheart guessed that her mind was on Yellowfang.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she mewed. “There’s something I want to tell you.”
“Have something to eat first,” Fireheart urged her. “Look, Graystripe caught a fish for us.”
“Thanks, Fireheart,” Cinderpelt meowed, “but this is urgent. StarClan sent a dream to me last night.”
Something about the way she spoke made Fireheart uneasy. He was still not used to the way that his former apprentice was growing into a true medicine cat, living without a mate or kits of her own, meeting secretly with other medicine cats and united with them through their bond with the warrior spirits of StarClan.
“What was the dream about?” he asked. He had experienced dreams like this more than once, warning him of things that were going to happen. That helped him to imagine, better than most Clan cats, the mixture of awe and bewilderment that Cinderpelt must be feeling now.
