Firestar’s Quest

“They’ll be fine,” Firestar meowed, hoping that was true.

“Why don’t you go and see?”

“I will, if no cat minds.” Rainfur gave his chest fur a couple of embarrassed licks.

Firestar guessed he felt awkward about entering the SkyClan dens. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want,” he mewed.

Rainfur met his gaze steadily. “Thanks, Firestar. I—”

“We would have done the same for any cat.”

“I wanted to say I’m sorry about what I said at the meeting,” Rainfur meowed. “And I’d like to stay with you, for a while at least. Petal’s not strong enough to go anywhere yet, and the kits need Clovertail to feed them. But only if that’s okay,” he added.

“Of course. We’ll be glad to have you.”

Even while he welcomed Rainfur to the gorge, Firestar felt uneasy. The gray rogue were treating him as if he was SkyClan’s leader. He wasn’t, and he didn’t want to be. The sooner he could find a real leader, the better. Sharpclaw seemed the obvious choice: he was strong and brave, and his fighting skills were better than any other cat’s. But he had looked too interested at the meeting when Firestar explained that a Clan leader received nine lives. That was the wrong reason to look for Clan leadership, because it could make a cat foolhardy about leaping into danger—those lives were easily lost if not treated with respect.

This isn’t your choice, he reminded himself. A true Clan leader should be approved by StarClan. He looked up to where the sky was flooded with scarlet from the setting sun. It was still too early for the stars to show.

Do you walk these skies? he silently asked SkyClan’s warrior ancestors. If you’re there, please show me which is the right cat to lead this Clan.

Chapter 28

Cherrypaw crouched at the edge of the training area, her tail lashing from side to side and her eyes gleaming. Her tortoiseshell fur bristled as she sprang forward, her claws lashing at her mentor’s shoulders. Sharpclaw dodged to one side, trying to hook the young she-cat’s paws from under her; she barreled into him, and both cats wrestled together in the sand.

“Well done!” Firestar meowed. “Cherrypaw, you’ve learned that move really well.”

Both cats sat up, panting and shaking sand out of their pelts. Cherrypaw cast a triumphant glance at her mentor. “I’ll beat you one day,” she told him.

“I hope you will,” Sharpclaw replied calmly. “My job will be done then.”

“I think that’s enough battle training for today.” Firestar rose to his paws. “Sharpclaw, when Sparrowpaw gets back from hunting patrol, I thought you and Leafdapple could give the two apprentices an assessment.”

“What’s that?” Cherrypaw asked curiously.

“Your mentor gives you a task,” Firestar explained.

“Usually to go and hunt in a particular place. Then they fol-3 8 4

low you and see how you get on, but you won’t see them. In ThunderClan every apprentice—”

He broke off at the sound of pawsteps dashing along the gorge, and a cat yowling his name. Spinning around, he caught sight of Sparrowpaw, his tabby fur bristling and his amber eyes wide with fear.

“We’ve been attacked!” He gasped. “Patchfoot’s hurt.”

“Show me,” Firestar snapped.

Sparrowpaw turned and raced back down the gorge; Firestar followed, with Sharpclaw and Cherrypaw hard on his paws.

When he rounded the curve and passed the Rockpile, Firestar saw Shortwhisker and Sandstorm dragging Patchfoot down the lowest part of the trail to lay him in the shade of the cliff. His head hung limply and his tail dragged in the sand; blood dripped from a wound in his shoulder. Firestar’s belly lurched.

When he padded up to Patchfoot’s side he saw that his chest was heaving with rapid, shallow breaths. His eyes were open, filled with pain and fear.

“What happened?” Firestar asked, turning to Sandstorm.

Sandstorm rested her tail reassuringly on Patchfoot’s uninjured shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she mewed. “We’ll fix you up as good as new.” Giving her attention to Firestar, she went on, “We were attacked by rats outside the abandoned Twoleg barn.”

“More rats than you’ve ever seen in your life!” Shortwhisker gasped. His fur was still fluffed out with shock.

Icy claws pricked Firestar’s spine. “I knew there was something wrong with that place,” he meowed.

“We fought them off,” Sandstorm continued, “but two of them jumped on Patchfoot.”

“You’re wounded yourself,” Firestar pointed out, noticing a patch of fur matted with blood on her side.

Sandstorm twitched her ears. “That’s nothing. I’ll see to it when I’ve done what I can for Patchfoot.”

By this time, more of the cats had appeared: Leafdapple came down from the warriors’ den, while Petal and Rainfur, who had been playing with their kits a little way downriver, padded up and gazed anxiously at the wounded warrior.

“Will he die?” Petal’s voice quavered.