Firestar’s Quest

“You’re not selfish or a coward,” Firestar told him. “The warrior code isn’t right for every cat.” He remembered his friend Ravenpaw, forced to leave ThunderClan for fear of Tigerstar, and now living happily with Barley on the Twoleg farm near Highstones. “You must choose the path that suits you best.”

“Then that’s the path of a kittypet.” Shortwhisker glanced around the circle of his friends, and though his eyes were regretful, his voice was certain.

“We’re still your friends, Shortwhisker—” Sparrowpaw began.

“That’s not my name anymore,” Shortwhisker interrupted him. “I guess you’d better call me Hutch again.”

For the last time he climbed the trail to the top of the cliff; Firestar, Leafdapple, and Sharpclaw followed him. Hutch pushed his way through the belt of undergrowth and paused at the edge of the scrubland.

“Good-bye,” he meowed. “I’m proud to have been a SkyClan cat; I really am.”

“Good-bye.” Cherrypaw nudged him with her shoulder.

“Make sure you keep that Oscar in his place.”

“And tell the other kittypets about SkyClan,” Sparrowpaw added.

Leafdapple dipped her head. “Farewell, Hutch. Don’t forget to come and visit us. You helped save SkyClan, and you’ll always be welcome here.”

Hutch brightened a little. “I won’t forget any of you—especially you, Firestar,” he added, glancing at the flame-colored tom. “You’ve taught me so much.”

“I’ve learned from you, too,” Firestar replied, meaning it.

“May StarClan light your path.”

The two toms touched noses; then Hutch turned and began to make his way toward the distant walls of the Twolegplace. His head and tail were held high, and he didn’t look back.

“So that’s the end,” Sharpclaw murmured, looking after him. “The last echo of our battle against the rats.”

“No,” Leafdapple meowed. “There’s one more thing to do.”

Firestar and Sharpclaw exchanged a mystified glance, and followed her down the trail to the warriors’ cave. Leafdapple stood facing the stone trunk with its ancient claw marks: the marks of many cats and the tiny claw marks of the rats scored across them as a sign of their long-ago victory.

“This,” Leafdapple meowed. Extending her claws, she raked them down the stone, then again and a third time, until the rat scratches were obliterated under deep vertical scars.

The record of the first defeat was gone.

“Now the gorge belongs to SkyClan again,” the tabby she-cat announced.

The days that followed the battle were gray with clouds.

Stiff breezes blew with a tang of rain, and one morning Firestar emerged from the warriors’ den to find the rocks rimed with frost. He stood sniffing the cold air until Sandstorm appeared, fluffing up her pelt against the claws of the wind.

“We should leave soon,” she murmured, with a glance behind to make sure she wasn’t rousing the sleeping warriors.

“We can’t travel in leaf-bare. It’ll be too cold to sleep out, and there’ll be precious little prey.”

“There’s a while yet before leaf-bare,” Firestar argued.

Sandstorm fixed him with a glinting green gaze. “Don’t you trust SkyClan to survive without you?”

“It’s not that,” Firestar protested.

“The rats aren’t a threat anymore,” Sandstorm reminded him.

“I know, but the rats aren’t the only problem. Will the SkyClan warriors be able to get along with one another without us to help them with patrols and duties? What about the kittypets in the Twolegplace… there could be trouble with them. And it’ll be harder for them to find prey as the weather gets colder.”

Sandstorm scraped her claws along the rock. “Firestar, will you listen to yourself? Every Clan has problems like those.

Every cat has to work together to follow the warrior code, and if they do that they’ll be safe and well fed. The SkyClan cats know that now. You’ve done your part; you’ve found them a medicine cat—now it’s up to them.”

Firestar knew that she was right. If he waited until he could be sure of unbroken peace and an easy life for SkyClan, he would never leave. Yet he knew too that he still had one more task to do.

“We can’t leave yet,” he meowed. “Not until we can be sure that SkyClan can reach their warrior ancestors. And part of that is finding out which cat StarClan has chosen to be leader.”

Sandstorm blew out a long sigh, riffling her whiskers. “I suppose you’re right. But I hope it’s soon; that’s all.”

Sandstorm roused Leafdapple; the two cats collected Sparrowpaw and left for the dawn patrol. Firestar padded back into the warriors’ den and found Patchfoot stirring.

“Hunting patrol?” he suggested.

Patchfoot sat up eagerly. “Sure. I’ll be right with you.”

“I’ll join you.” Sharpclaw raised his head from his mossy nest across the cave. “If that’s okay.”

“I’d rather you led a separate patrol,” Firestar told him. “I want to take Cherrypaw and watch her hunting action, without her mentor breathing down her neck. It’s time she and Sparrowpaw were made warriors.”

“Fine.” Sharpclaw’s eyes gleamed with approval. “I reckon they’re ready, too. I’ll take Clovertail and Rain…” His voice trailed off. “Just Clovertail, I guess.”