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“I’ll go tonight,” Fireheart mewed softly. “After the Gathering, I’m going to slip away. If I bring back fresh-kill, I can say I’ve been hunting.”
“You’re taking a big risk,” mewed Graystripe, giving Fireheart’s ear a quick and affectionate lick. “But Tigerclaw is my problem too. If you’re determined to go, then I’m coming with you.”
The snow had stopped and the clouds had cleared away by the time the ThunderClan cats, Fireheart and Graystripe among them, left the camp and headed through the forest toward Fourtrees. The snow-covered ground seemed to glow in the white light of the full moon, and frost glittered on every twig and stone.
A breeze blew toward them, ruffling the surface of the snow and bearing the scent of many cats. Fireheart shivered with excitement. The territories of all four Clans met in the sacred hollow, and at every full moon a truce was declared for the Clans to gather beneath the four great oaks that stood in the center of the steep-sided clearing.
Fireheart fell in behind Bluestar, who had already dropped into a crouch to creep the last few tail-lengths to the top of the slope and peer down into the glade. A rock reared up in the center of the clearing between the oaks, its jagged outline black against the snow. As Fireheart waited for Bluestar’s signal to move, he watched the other Clan cats greeting one another below. He could not help noticing the glares and raised hackles as WindClan faced the cats of RiverClan and ShadowClan. Clearly none of them had forgotten the recent battle; if it weren’t for the truce, they would be clawing one another’s fur.
Fireheart recognized Tallstar, the leader of WindClan, sitting near the Great Rock, with his deputy, Deadfoot, beside him. Not far away, Runningnose and Mudfur, the medicine cats of ShadowClan and RiverClan, sat side by side, gazing at the other cats with eyes that reflected the moon.
Beside Fireheart, Graystripe’s muscles were tense, and his yellow eyes glowed with excitement as he stared down into the glade. Following his gaze, Fireheart saw Silverstream emerge from the shadow, her beautiful black-and-silver coat rippling in the moonlight.
Fireheart suppressed a sigh. “If you’re going to talk to her, be careful who sees you,” he warned his friend.
“Don’t worry,” Graystripe meowed. His front paws kneaded the hard ground as he waited for the moment when he could be with the RiverClan cat again.
Fireheart glanced at Bluestar, expecting her to give the signal to descend into the clearing, but instead he saw Whitestorm pad up and crouch beside her in the snow. “Bluestar,” Fireheart heard the noble white warrior murmur, “what are you going to say about Brokentail? Will you tell the other Clans that we’re sheltering him?”
Fireheart waited tensely for Bluestar’s answer. Brokentail had once been Brokenstar, leader of ShadowClan. He had murdered his own father, Raggedstar, and stolen kits from ThunderClan. In retaliation, ThunderClan had helped Brokenstar’s own Clan to drive him out into the forest. Not long after, Brokenstar had led a band of rogue cats to attack the ThunderClan camp. In the battle, Yellowfang, the ThunderClan medicine cat, had scratched his eyes, and now Brokentail was a prisoner, blind and defeated. Even though the former leader had been stripped of his StarClan-given name, and was kept under close guard, Fireheart knew that the other Clans would expect ThunderClan to have killed him, or driven him out to die in the forest. They wouldn’t welcome the news that Brokentail was still alive.
Bluestar kept her gaze fixed on the cats in the clearing below. “I will say nothing,” she replied to Whitestorm. “It doesn’t concern the other Clans. Brokentail is ThunderClan’s responsibility now.”
“Brave words,” growled Tigerclaw from where he sat on the other side of Bluestar. “Or are we ashamed to admit what we’ve done?”
“ThunderClan has no need to be ashamed for showing mercy,” Bluestar retorted coolly. “But I see no reason to go looking for trouble.” Before Tigerclaw could protest, she sprang to her paws and faced the rest of the ThunderClan cats. “Listen,” she meowed. “No cat is to talk about the attack by the rogue cats, or mention Brokentail. These are matters for our Clan alone.”
She waited until meows of agreement came from the assembled cats. Then she flicked her tail to signal that the ThunderClan cats could join the other Clans below. She raced down through the bushes, with Tigerclaw just behind her, his huge paws scattering snow.
Fireheart bounded after them. As he slid out of the bushes into the clearing he saw that Tigerclaw had stopped close by, and was giving him a suspicious stare. “Graystripe,” Fireheart hissed quietly over his shoulder, “I don’t think you should go off with Silverstream tonight. Tigerclaw’s already—”
Fireheart suddenly realized that Graystripe was no longer beside him. Looking around, he saw his friend disappearing behind the Great Rock. A heartbeat or two later, Silverstream skirted around a group of ShadowClan cats and followed him.
Fireheart sighed. He glanced at Tigerclaw, wondering if the deputy had seen them go. But Tigerclaw had padded away to join Onewhisker from WindClan, and Fireheart let the fur lie flat on his shoulders again.
Pacing restlessly across the clearing, Fireheart found himself near a group of elders—Patchpelt from ThunderClan, and others he did not know, crouching beneath a glossy-leaved holly bush, where the snow did not lie so thickly. Keeping one eye out for Graystripe, Fireheart settled down to listen to their conversation.
“I remember a leaf-bare even worse than this.” It was an old black tom who spoke, his muzzle turned to silver and his flank scarred from many a fight. He had the scent of WindClan on his short, patchy fur. “The river was frozen for more than three moons.”
“You’re right, Crowfur,” a tabby queen agreed. “And prey was scarcer, too, even for RiverClan.”
For a heartbeat Fireheart felt surprised that two elders from recently hostile Clans could talk calmly without spitting hatred at each other. But then, they were elders, he reflected. They must have seen many battles in their long lives.
“Young warriors today,” the old black cat added with a glance at Fireheart. “They don’t know what hardship is.”
Fireheart scuffled among the dead leaves under the bush and tried to look respectful. Patchpelt, crouched close to him, gave him a friendly flick with his tail.
“That must have been the season when Bluestar lost her kits,” recalled the ThunderClan elder. Fireheart pricked up his ears. He remembered Dappletail saying something once before about Bluestar’s kits, which were born just before she became Clan deputy. But he had never learned how many kits she had had, or how old they were when they died.
“And do you remember the thaw that leaf-bare?” Crowfur interrupted Fireheart’s thoughts, his eyes unfocused as he lost himself to his memories. “The river in the gorge rose nearly as far as the badger sets.”
Patchpelt
shivered. “I remember it well. ThunderClan couldn’t cross the stream to come here for the Gathering.”
“Cats were drowned,” the RiverClan queen remembered sadly.
“Prey too,” Crowfur added. “The cats who survived nearly starved.”
“May StarClan grant it’s not so bad this season!” Patchpelt mewed fervently.
Crowfur spat, “These young cats would never cope. We were tougher in those days.”
Fireheart could not help protesting. “We have strong warriors now—”
“Who asked your opinion?” growled the cranky old tom. “You’re hardly more than a kit!”
“But we—” Fireheart broke off as the air was filled with a shrill yowl and all the cats fell silent. He turned his head to see four cats on top of the Great Rock, silhouettes in the silver moonlight.
“Shh!” hissed Patchpelt. “The meeting’s about to start.” He twitched his ears at Fireheart and purred softly, “Take no notice of Crowfur. He’d find fault with StarClan.”
Fireheart gave Patchpelt a grateful look, tucked his paws under him, and settled down to listen.
Tallstar, the WindClan leader, began by announcing how his cats were recovering after the recent battle against RiverClan and ShadowClan. “One of our elders has died,” he meowed, “but all our warriors will live—to fight another day,” he added meaningfully.
Nightstar flattened his ears and narrowed his eyes, while Crookedstar let out a threatening growl from deep in his throat.
Fireheart’s fur prickled. If the leaders started to fight, their cats would fight too. Had it ever happened at a Gathering? he wondered. Surely not even Nightstar, ShadowClan’s bold new leader, would risk the anger of StarClan by breaking the sacred truce!
As Fireheart apprehensively watched the bristling cats, Bluestar stepped forward. “This is good news, Tallstar,” she meowed smoothly. “All of us should rejoice to hear that WindClan grows strong again.”
