Firestar’s Quest

Firestar was too sick at heart to reply. Brushing his mate’s fur with his tail, he trudged across the camp and scrambled up onto the Highrock to call the Clan for a meeting. Already cats were creeping out of their dens, shocked and bewildered as they learned about Willowpelt’s death.

“Cats of ThunderClan,” Firestar began when they were all assembled. “Willowpelt is dead. She died bravely, and her spirit will be honored in StarClan.”

“How did it happen?” Speckletail called out.

Firestar felt as if an extra weight of sorrow descended on him every time he had to tell the story. “The badger ran off toward the Thunderpath,” he finished. “I sent Cloudtail’s patrol to track it.”

Brightheart, sitting outside the nursery, flinched when he mentioned her mate, while Ferncloud drew her kits closer to her with a sweep of her tail. Spiderkit and Shrewkit pressed themselves into her fur, gazing up at Firestar with huge scared eyes.

“What about my kits?” Ferncloud demanded. “What if the badger comes here?”

“Unlikely,” Firestar replied, flexing his claws on the hard rock. “It was a young one, and I think it’s learned that cats aren’t easy prey. We’ll know more when Cloudtail comes back. I promise you,” he added, “we’ll do everything we can to make sure it doesn’t settle in our territory.”

Ferncloud didn’t look convinced, but there wasn’t any more he could say to reassure her.

“Tonight we will sit vigil for Willowpelt,” he announced, and sprang down from the Highrock to show that the meeting was over.

“They’re badly shaken,” Graystripe commented, padding over with Sandstorm to join Firestar outside the entrance to his den.

“Those three apprentices especially,” Sandstorm added, compassion in her green gaze. “This is a bad time for them to lose their mother.”

Firestar nodded sadly. “It’s the first cat we’ve lost since the battle with BloodClan. I think it’s hard for all of us to understand that even if we’re at peace with the other Clans, the forest isn’t completely safe.”

For some reason, alarm lit in Graystripe’s and Sandstorm’s eyes as he spoke, and they exchanged a swift glance. Firestar didn’t understand, but after the stress of his meeting with the SkyClan warrior, and the horrible shock of meeting the badger, he didn’t have the energy to question his friends.

“We’ll talk later,” he mumbled, and padded slowly across the camp to the fresh-kill pile.

When night had fallen, the elders brought Willowpelt’s body into the center of the camp for her vigil. Firestar joined them there; he looked up to see the stars of Silverpelt blazing, as if they waited to welcome Willowpelt’s spirit.

“She was much loved,” Dappletail rasped, smoothing the gray warrior’s fur with one forepaw. “And far too young to die. She had much more to give her Clan.”

“I know,” Firestar agreed, feeling hollow with grief. He had been with Willowpelt when the badger attacked Sootpaw, but he had been unable to save her. Call yourself a leader? he asked himself savagely.

He watched as Cinderpelt guided the three apprentices to their mother’s side; the medicine cat murmured comforting words as the young cats crouched down and pushed their noses into the still gray fur. More of the Clan gathered around, some staying for a little while before going silently to their dens, while others settled beside Willowpelt’s body to keep watch during the night.

How can I leave now? I can’t abandon my Clan to go off into the unknown, searching for a Clan that doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe I can’t protect them from badgers that kill or rabbits that blind them, but my place is still here, serving my Clan. That’s what it means to be a leader.

Firestar looked up at Silverpelt, wondering if the starry warriors approved of his decision. But the glittering specks of light seemed very far away, and they gave no answer.

He kept watch beside his dead warrior’s body until the first rays of dawn reached through the trees. A faint breeze ruffled Willowpelt’s fur. Speckletail rose to her paws. “It’s time,” she meowed.

She and the other elders lifted Willowpelt’s body and carried it slowly out of the camp for burial. The rest of the Clan emerged from their dens and watched them go in respectful silence. When Willowpelt’s gray fur was lost to sight in the gorse tunnel, Cinderpelt swept her tail around to gather the three apprentices close to her.

“No training for them today,” she told Firestar. “They need to rest.”

Firestar nodded. “You know best, Cinderpelt.”

His limbs stiff from crouching all night, he stumbled to his paws and headed for his den. As soon as he sank into the soft moss of his bedding, darkness swept over him like a crow’s wing.