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“Thank you, Yellowfang,” Brackenpaw meowed, and limped off.
Fireheart followed, but before he entered the gorse tunnel he looked back. Yellowfang had climbed back onto the rock and was sitting with her flank pressed close against Brokentail, gently licking his fur. Fireheart could just hear her rasping the soft noises that a queen would make to her kits.
But Brokentail was as unresponsive as ever. He would not even turn to the she-cat and share tongues with her.
Sadly, Fireheart padded into the tunnel. There were few bonds stronger than the one between a mother and her kits. Yellowfang clearly still felt that bond, even after all the grief that Brokentail had caused—killing his father, destroying his own Clan with his bloodthirsty leadership, attacking ThunderClan with a band of rogue cats. But in one part of Yellowfang’s mind, he was still her kit.
So how, Fireheart wondered, had Mistyfoot and Stonefur been separated from their mother? Why had Oakheart brought them to RiverClan? And most of all, why had no ThunderClan cats tried to find them?
CHAPTER 9
In Yellowfang’s den, Fireheart explained what had happened while Cinderpaw inspected the gash on Brackenpaw’s leg and brought him a poultice to put on it.
“You’d better rest here tonight,” the gray she-cat told the apprentice. “But I’m pretty sure your leg will be good as new in a day or two.” She spoke cheerfully, without any bitterness that her own leg would never recover so well. Turning to Fireheart, she added, “I just had Cloudkit in here. He told me he had to go over the elders’ coats for ticks, so I gave him some mouse bile.”
“What’s that for?” asked Brackenpaw.
“If you put some on the ticks, they soon drop off,” Cinderpaw told him. Her blue eyes glimmered with amusement. “But don’t lick your paws afterward. It’s foul stuff.”
“I’m sure Cloudkit will enjoy doing that.” Fireheart grimaced. “It’s a pity that Tigerclaw had to punish him, though, because I don’t think it was his fault that the badger attacked him.”
Cinderpaw shrugged. “There’s no arguing with Tigerclaw.”
“That’s true,” Fireheart agreed. “Anyway, I think I’ll go and make sure that Cloudkit’s okay.”
As soon as he set paw in the elders’ den, his nose wrinkled against the reek of the mouse bile. Smallear was lying on one side while Cloudkit searched his gray fur for ticks. The elder twitched as Cloudkit dabbed some of the bile inside his hind leg. “Watch it, young kit! Keep your claws sheathed.”
“They are sheathed,” muttered Cloudkit, his face screwed up with disgust. “There, that’s got it. You’re done, Smallear.”
Dappletail, who had been watching intently, glanced around at Fireheart. “Your kin is very efficient, Fireheart,” she rasped. “No, Cloudkit,” she added as the kit started toward her, carrying the bile-soaked moss. “I’m sure I’ve no ticks. And I wouldn’t wake One-eye if I were you.” She nodded to where the old cat was sleeping, curled up beside the trunk of the fallen tree. “She won’t thank you for disturbing her.”
Cloudkit looked around hopefully. None of the other elders was there. “Can I go then?” he asked.
“You can see to One-eye later,” Fireheart meowed. “Meanwhile, you’d better get the dirty bedding out of here. Come on; I’ll help you.”
“And make sure the new lot’s dry!” growled Smallear.
Together Fireheart and Cloudkit raked out the old moss and heather and made several trips to carry it out of the camp. Fireheart showed Cloudkit how to clean the mouse bile from his paws by rubbing them in the snow. “Now we’ll go and fetch some fresh moss,” he meowed. “Come on. I know a good place.”
“I’m tired,” Cloudkit complained as he trailed after Fireheart. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Well, too bad, you have to,” Fireheart retorted. “Cheer up; it could be worse. Did I tell you that when I was an apprentice I had to look after Yellowfang all on my own?”
“Yellowfang!” Cloudkit’s eyes widened. “Phew, I bet she was a grump! Did she claw you?”
“Only with her tongue,” Fireheart replied. “And that’s sharp enough!”
Cloudkit let out a short purr of laughter. To Fireheart’s relief, he stopped complaining, and when they came to the patch of deep moss he did his share of digging it out of the snow, and copied Fireheart as he showed him how to shake the worst of the moisture off.
They were returning to the camp, their jaws laden with moss, when Fireheart saw a cat slip out of the gorse tunnel and bound up the side of the ravine. The massive body and striped pelt were unmistakable. It was Tigerclaw.
Fireheart narrowed his eyes. The deputy had looked almost furtive, peering around before he left the tunnel and disappearing over the lip of the ravine as fast as possible. Fireheart felt uneasy. Something wasn’t quite right.
“Cloudkit,” he meowed, dropping his wad of moss on the ground, “take your load of bedding in to the elders, and then come back for mine. There’s something I’ve got to do.”
Cloudkit mewed in agreement through his mouthful of moss and carried on toward the tunnel. Fireheart turned and raced back up the slope to the place where Tigerclaw had disappeared.
The Clan deputy was out of sight, but between his scent trail and the massive pawprints in the snow, Fireheart had no difficulty following him. He took care not to catch up, in case Tigerclaw saw or smelled him.
The trail led unwaveringly through Tallpines, past Treecutplace. Fireheart realized with a jolt that Tigerclaw had to be heading for Twolegplace. His heart lurched with fear. Was the deputy on his way to find Princess, Fireheart’s sister? Maybe he was so angry with Cloudkit that he wanted to hurt the kit’s mother. Fireheart had never told the Clan exactly where Princess lived, but it wouldn’t be impossible for Tigerclaw to pick up her scent from his knowledge of Cloudkit’s. He kept low, careful to move silently. As the trail wound through a clump of gorse, movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was a mouse, scuffling under one of the bushes.
Fireheart did not want to stop and hunt, but this mouse was practically begging to be caught. Instinctively his body dropped into a hunting crouch as he crept up on the prey. His pounce landed him squarely on top of it, and he took a moment longer to bury it in the snow before he began to follow Tigerclaw again. Fireheart moved more quickly now, afraid of what the deputy might have done in the time he had delayed.
As he rounded the stump of a fallen tree, he practically collided with Tigerclaw himself, loping along in the opposite direction.
The deputy reared back in surprise. “Mouse-brain!” he hissed. “What are you doing here?”
Fireheart’s first reaction was one of relief. Tigerclaw hadn’t possibly had time to reach Twolegplace and harm Princess already. Then he realized that the deputy was glaring at him with a look of deep suspicion in his amber eyes. He mustn’t know I was following him, Fireheart thought desperately.
“I…I came out to show Cloudkit a good place to find bedding,” he stammered. “And then I thought I might as well hunt for a bit.”
“I don’t see any prey,” growled Tigerclaw.
“It’s buried just back there.” Fireheart jerked his head in the direction he had come.
The warrior narrowed his eyes. “Show me.”
Furious that Tigerclaw didn’t believe him, but also deeply relieved at the luck that had led him to catch prey, Fireheart led the way back along the trail and scraped the snow away from the mouse he had just buried. “Satisfied?”
The Clan deputy frowned at him. Fireheart could almost read his thoughts; he was dying to blame Fireheart for something, but couldn’t manage it this time.
At last he grunted, “Get on with it, then.” He dipped his head to pick up Fireheart’s mouse and marched off in the direction of the camp.
Fireheart watched him go, and then started running along the trail again, toward Twolegplace. He could at least find out where Tigerclaw had been. He swiveled his ears backward from time to time; he wo
uldn’t put it past Tigerclaw to turn back and follow him, but he heard nothing, and gradually he began to relax.
Tigerclaw’s scent trail came to an end near the fences that enclosed the Twoleg territory. Fireheart walked back and forth under the trees, studying the ground. The snow was churned up by the marks of many paws—too many for him to read. There were many strange scents, too. Several cats had been here, and recently.
Fireheart wrinkled his nose in disgust. The cat scents were muddled up with those of long-dead prey and the stink of Twoleg rubbish. Except for Tigerclaw’s own scent, it was impossible to identify any of them. Thinking deeply, Fireheart sat washing his paws. There was no way of telling whether Tigerclaw had met these unknown cats, or whether he had just crossed their trail. He was about to set off for camp again when he heard a meow from behind him.
“Fireheart! Fireheart!”
