Firestar’s Quest

“A cat made those marks,” Sandstorm mewed, her green eyes gleaming.

Firestar nodded. “One with long, sharp claws, by the look of it. Come on,” he meowed, eagerly drawing air over his scent glands again. “Let’s see what else we can find.”

A few pawsteps farther on, a cloud of flies buzzed into the air when he almost stumbled onto the half-eaten body of a rabbit.

“Ugh!” Backing away, he swiped his tongue over his jaws.

“Crow-food.”

Sandstorm examined the dead rabbit from a distance.

“Some cat killed that. It didn’t die naturally, and there’s cat scent on it. So there are cats around here who hunt for prey.”

Firestar made himself pad forward again and give the car-cass a more careful scrutiny. “I’d guess the cat was hunting alone,” he meowed. “That would explain why it didn’t finish its meal.”

“And they must be fast, like WindClan, to catch rabbits.”

Firestar retreated, and they set out again along the edge of the gorge. “The scent on that rabbit was different from the scent by the tree. These are rogues, not Clan cats.”

“But isn’t that what the SkyClan cat said?” Sandstorm asked. “That his Clan had been scattered?”

Firestar didn’t reply. Although the signs of cats were encouraging, he had never really considered, until now, what it would be like to put a Clan together from rogues and kittypets. He would have to treat every cat as if he were training an apprentice—no, a kit, because these cats would have no knowledge of the warrior code, or what it meant to live in a Clan. The task was so daunting that for a heartbeat he thought of turning around to go home. Then he gritted his teeth with determination. He wouldn’t give up his quest until he had discovered exactly what cats lived here, and whether there was any hope of restoring SkyClan. But right now he felt as if his quest would never end, and he would never see the forest again.

Sunhigh was past when they came to a sandy bank with several rabbit holes leading down into the earth. The scent of rabbits grew stronger. Suddenly one burst out from behind a gorse bush and fled along the edge of the gorge. Firestar raced after it but Sandstorm flashed past him, and he slowed to watch while she chased the prey and brought it down.

“Well done!” he meowed, padding up to meet Sandstorm as she dragged the rabbit back. “Now you’re a WindClan cat!”

When he and Sandstorm had shared the fresh-kill, Firestar felt full-fed for the first time in days. If his mate could catch prey here, so could the SkyClan cats.

Sandstorm blinked at him. “You’re excited, aren’t you?”

Firestar nodded. “Every pawstep we take is bringing us closer.”

“I’m glad I’m here with you.”

Firestar touched his nose to her ear. “I’m glad you’re here, too. I don’t think I could do this without you.”

They spent that night curled among the roots of a spreading oak tree, one of the few full-sized trees growing on this windswept cliff. With the scents of sap and bark wreathing around him, the rustle of leaves in his ears, Firestar could almost imagine that he was at home in the forest.

Sunlight shining into his face woke him. His eyes flew open in alarm; how had he managed to sleep for so long?

Then he realized that the roots where he had settled to sleep had vanished, replaced by the sandy walls and roof of a cave.

Sunlight was angling in through the opening, a few tail-lengths away. The air around him was warm. He could hear the murmurs of many sleeping cats, and SkyClan scent surrounded him. Raising his head, he saw the furry shapes of warriors curled up among moss and bracken.

A shadow fell across the cave, and Firestar saw a muscular tomcat outlined against the light. He recognized the ginger tom he had seen in his vision by the river. Fear clawed at him; what would these cats do to him when they found him in their den? But the ginger tom stared straight at him without seeing him, and Firestar realized that once again he was invisible to the SkyClan cats.

“Come on,” the ginger warrior meowed. “It’s time you were moving.”

All around Firestar the warriors began to stir and raise their heads. One of them—the brown tabby she-cat who had caught the squirrel—got up and arched her back in a long stretch. “Keep your fur on, Buzzardtail. We’re coming.”

“Okay, Fernpelt, you can lead the dawn patrol,” the ginger tom went on. “Pick a couple of others to go with you, and keep your eyes open for that fox we spotted on the other side of the gorge.”

Fernpelt flicked her tail. “Don’t worry. If we come across it, it’ll be crow-food.”

The ginger tom stalked across the cave and prodded a sandy colored she-cat with one paw. “Up you get, Mousefang.

You’re coming hunting with me, and we’ll pick up Oakpaw on the way. Nightfur,” he added to a black tom on the other side of the cave, “you can lead another hunting patrol.”

By now all the cats had risen to their paws and were shaking moss and bracken from their pelts. “This is our home now,” meowed Buzzardtail, glancing around approvingly.

“You know where to go…”