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“Yellowfang!” Bluestar’s agitated meow sounded from the medicine cat’s den.
“Go to her,” meowed Whitestorm quietly. “I’ll lead the patrol.”
“But Bluestar wants you to take charge of the Clan while we’re gone,” Fireheart told him.
“In that case, I’ll stay here and organize today’s hunting parties. Mousefur can lead the patrol.”
“Yes,” agreed Fireheart, trying not to show how flustered he felt. He turned to Mousefur. “Take Thornpaw with you,” he ordered.
Mousefur dipped her head as Fireheart turned and ran across the clearing to the medicine cat’s den.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting some traveling herbs too,” remarked Yellowfang as Fireheart emerged from the tunnel. The old medicine cat was sitting calmly in the clearing while Bluestar paced restlessly around, lost in her own thoughts.
“Yes, please,” answered Fireheart.
Cinderpelt limped out of the den in the split rock and made straight for Yellowfang without stopping to greet Fireheart. “Which one is chamomile?” she whispered into the medicine cat’s ragged ear.
“You must know that by now!” Yellowfang hissed crossly.
Cinderpelt’s ears twitched. “I thought I knew, and then I wasn’t sure. I just thought I’d check.”
Yellowfang snorted, heaved herself to her paws, and went over to the foot of the rock, where several small piles of herbs were lying in a row.
Fireheart glanced at Bluestar. She had stopped pacing and was staring up at the sky, warily sniffing the air. Fireheart padded after Yellowfang. “Chamomile’s not a traveling herb,” he meowed under his breath.
Yellowfang narrowed her eyes. “Bluestar needs something to soothe her heart as well as to give her physical strength.” She glanced scathingly at Cinderpelt and added, “I was hoping to add it to the traveling herbs without telling the whole camp!” She pushed one of the piles with a heavy paw. “That’s chamomile.”
“Yes, I remember now,” Cinderpelt mewed meekly.
“You shouldn’t have forgotten in the first place,” scolded Yellowfang. “A medicine cat has no time for doubt. Put your energy into today and stop worrying about the past. You have a duty to your Clan. Stop dithering and get on with it!”
Fireheart couldn’t help feeling sorry for the young cat. He tried to catch her eye, but Cinderpelt wouldn’t look at him. Instead she busied herself with preparing the traveling concoction, pawing small amounts from each pile of herbs and mixing them together while Yellowfang watched with a concerned frown.
Behind them Bluestar had begun to pace the clearing again. “Aren’t they ready yet?” she meowed irritably.
Fireheart padded over to Bluestar’s side. “Nearly,” he told her. “Don’t worry. We’ll make it to Highstones by sunset.” Bluestar blinked at him as Cinderpelt limped up with a bundle of herbs.
“These are yours,” she mewed, dropping the mixed leaves at Bluestar’s paws. She jerked her head toward the rock. “Yours are over there,” she told Fireheart.
He was still swallowing to wash the bitter taste of the herbs from his mouth when Bluestar headed out of the clearing, nodding to Fireheart to follow her. Around them, the camp was beginning to stir. Willowpelt had just squeezed out of the nursery and was blinking in the bright sunlight, while Patchpelt was stretching his old limbs in front of the fallen oak. Both cats glanced curiously at Bluestar and Fireheart, then carried on with their morning routine.
“Hey!”
Fireheart heard a familiar voice behind him and his heart sank. It was Cloudpaw, scampering out of his den with his fur standing on end, ungroomed after a night’s sleep. “Where are you going? Can I come?”
Fireheart paused at the tunnel entrance. “Don’t you have a pigeon to collect?”
“The pigeon can wait. I bet some owl’s flown off with it by now anyway,” answered Cloudpaw. “Let me come with you, please!”
“Owls eat live prey,” Fireheart corrected him. He caught sight of Runningwind padding sleepily out of the warriors’ den and called across the clearing to the brown tom. “Runningwind, will you take Cloudpaw hunting this morning?” He caught a flash of resentment in the warrior’s eyes as Runningwind nodded unenthusiastically. Fireheart remembered how willingly Runningwind had taken Thornpaw out to catch squirrels the day before; clearly the warrior wasn’t as fond of Cloudpaw, and frankly Fireheart didn’t blame him. His apprentice wasn’t trying hard enough to earn the respect of these Clan cats.
“That’s not fair,” whined Cloudpaw. “I went hunting yesterday. Can’t I come with you?”
“No. Today you will hunt with Runningwind!” Fireheart snapped. Before Cloudpaw could argue any more, he turned and raced after Bluestar.
CHAPTER 5
The ThunderClan leader had reached the top of the ravine by the time Fireheart caught up with her. She paused to sniff the air before padding into the forest. Fireheart noticed with relief how relaxed she seemed now that they were out of the camp, nosing her way through the undergrowth toward the RiverClan border.
Fireheart glanced in surprise at the she-cat. This wasn’t the quickest route to Fourtrees and the uplands beyond, but he didn’t question her. He couldn’t help feeling excited at the thought that he might catch a glimpse of Graystripe across the river.
The two cats met the RiverClan border above Sunningrocks and followed the scent markers upriver. A warm breeze carried the faint heather scent of the moor down to them. Fireheart could hear the river flowing past on the other side of the ferns. He craned his neck and saw the water glimmering in the dappled light under the trees. Above his head the leaves glowed green and flashed at the edges where the sunlight pierced the thick roof of the forest. Even in the shade, Fireheart felt hot. He wished he could plunge into the water like a RiverClan cat, to cool himself down.
Finally the river bent away, deeper into RiverClan territory, and Bluestar carried straight on, following the markers along the border between ThunderClan and RiverClan. Fireheart couldn’t stop glancing across the scentline, searching the woods beyond for any sign of RiverClan cats, wary of being spotted by a patrol but ever hopeful of seeing his old friend. Bluestar was leading them recklessly close to the border, even crossing it occasionally as they weaved through the undergrowth. Fireheart had no idea how RiverClan would react if they found them here. The two Clans had nearly come to conflict over Silverstream’s kits, and battle was averted only when Graystripe took his kits back to their mother’s Clan.
Suddenly Bluestar stopped and lifted her muzzle, opening her mouth to taste the air. She dropped into a crouch, and Fireheart, trusting Bluestar’s warrior instincts, flattened himself too, ducking behind a patch of nettles.
“RiverClan warriors,” Bluestar warned in a whisper.
Fireheart could smell them now. He felt his hackles rising as the scent grew stronger and he heard the swish of fur disturbing the undergrowth ahead of them. He raised his head very slowly and peered through the trees, his heart thumping as he searched for a familiar gray pelt. Beside him, Bluestar’s eyes were wide and her flanks barely moved as she took silent, shallow breaths. Was she hoping to see Graystripe too? Fireheart wondered. It hadn’t occurred to him before now that Bluestar might also want to run into some RiverClan cats. It would certainly explain why she had come this way.
But Fireheart couldn’t believe that it was Graystripe she wanted to see. Yesterday, in her confusion, she’d forgotten that the gray warrior had left the Clan, and Fireheart sensed that Bluestar’s mind was spinning with other thoughts. Then it hit him like a fledgling dropping into his paws: her kits. Many moons ago, the ThunderClan leader had given birth to two kits that had been raised in RiverClan. She’d entrusted them to their RiverClan father when they were barely old enough to leave their nest. Bluestar’s ambition and loyalty to her Clan had made it impossible for her to raise the kits herself. Now they lived as RiverClan warriors, unaware t
hat their real mother came from ThunderClan. But Bluestar had never forgotten them, although only Fireheart knew her secret. It must be Stonefur and Mistyfoot that Bluestar was scanning the undergrowth for.
A glimpse of tawny mottled fur in the distance made Fireheart duck down again. That wasn’t Graystripe, or either of Bluestar’s offspring. A vaguely familiar scent confirmed to Fireheart the identity of the warrior. It was Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy.
Fireheart glanced at Bluestar; she still had her head up, peering through the trees. The rustling of ferns warned Fireheart that Leopardfur was getting nearer. He felt his breath quicken. What would happen if she saw the ThunderClan leader so close to the RiverClan border?
Fireheart froze as the rustling in the bushes grew louder. He heard the RiverClan deputy stop, and her silence told him she had detected something. Staring desperately at Bluestar he was about to signal to her with his tail when she dropped her head and hissed in his ear, “Come on; we’d better head deeper into our own territory.”
Fireheart sighed with relief as the ThunderClan leader crept silently away. Keeping his ears flat and his belly to the ground, Fireheart followed her away from the scent markers and into the safety of ThunderClan’s woods.
“That Leopardfur moves so loudly, I should think even ShadowClan heard her coming,” remarked Bluestar once they were away from the border. Fireheart’s whiskers quivered with surprise. He had begun to wonder if Bluestar had forgotten how fiercely the Clans defended their boundaries, especially in these difficult times.
“She’s a good warrior, but too easily distracted,” Bluestar went on calmly. “She was more interested in that rabbit upwind than looking for enemy warriors.”
Fireheart couldn’t help feeling cheered by his leader’s confidence. Now that he thought about it, there had been the scent of rabbit on the breeze, but he’d been too worried about Leopardfur to take any notice of it.
“This reminds me of the days I used to take you for training,” purred Bluestar as she padded through the sun-dappled woods.
