Firestar’s Quest

Sandstorm glanced back at Firestar, looking puzzled. “It’s a dead end. Why did they come this way when there’s nothing here?”

Firestar studied the ledge, the rock, and the sheer walls of the rift. A cat who lost its footing here would go plummeting right down to the floor of the gorge.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “Maybe…”

He crouched down, then pushed off with powerful hind legs and leaped, to land with all four paws on the flat rock.

“Firestar!” Sandstorm yowled. “Have you lost your mind?”

He didn’t reply, but stood upright on the rock, facing into the breeze that ruffled his fur and brought to him the mingled scents of stone and water, undergrowth and prey. If he looked up the gorge he could see the dry valley growing narrower still as it wound upward; just below was the place where water flowed out from the heap of red rocks, and he followed the river with his gaze until it became lost in the misty distance. The rock beneath his paws was smooth and warm; he wanted to sprawl there and bask in the sunlight, as his Clan did at Sunningrocks.

“Come over!” he called to Sandstorm. “It’s wonderful!”

Sandstorm paused, her tail flicking. Then she seemed to make her mind up, gathered herself for the leap, and landed neatly beside Firestar. “Do you want us to get our necks broken?” she asked crossly.

“Just look!” Firestar swept his tail around. “A cat on watch here could see danger coming from anywhere.”

As Sandstorm scanned the gorge, her annoyed look vanished and the fur on her shoulders lay flat again. “You’re right,” she admitted. With a sudden change of mood she lay on her side and dabbed one paw playfully toward Firestar.

“It’s great up here. Why don’t we rest for a bit?”

Firestar settled down beside her on the sun-warmed stone, feeling the heat soak into his fur. Drowsily sharing tongues with his mate, he found his mind drifting back to Sunningrocks and the forest. There would be a Gathering soon, and the other Clans would discover that he had left.

What would they do then? Firestar felt his paws itching to carry him home, and had to remind himself that SkyClan still needed him. If he ever found them…

As the sun sank they hunted again and ate their prey before they returned to the warriors’ cave.

“Where are all the cats we scented?” Firestar wondered.

“We haven’t seen a single one, not since those rude kittypets first thing this morning.”

Sandstorm limped inside the cave and rasped her tongue over one paw. “I’m not surprised they don’t come here. This isn’t a good place for cats. Okay, there’s water and shelter, but prey is hard to come by. My paws are rubbed sore from scrambling up and down rocks all day. I can’t even find any dock to rub on them. And my claws are nearly wrenched out from hauling myself into caves.”

Firestar’s paws were sore too, with dust and grit stuck between the pads. He longed for the cool touch of lush grass and fern. For a couple of heartbeats he was tempted to climb down and soothe his paws by wading in the shallows at the edge of the river, but he would only have the long climb back afterward.

“SkyClan must have had paws made of stone if they lived here,” Sandstorm added as she finished cleaning one paw and started on another.

Firestar was about to agree with her when he remembered his dream of SkyClan beside the river, and how one cat had jumped up powerfully into a tree. That skill would come in useful here, too, to leap from boulders and into caves without scraping their pads and claws on the rough stone.

Suddenly curious, he padded to the cave entrance and examined the rocks outside. There were fresh scratch marks that he and Sandstorm had made, but hardly any old markings that might have been made by SkyClan. They would have jumped up and down the cliff face instead of having to scramble; even the leap to the flat rock would have been easy for them.

“It wouldn’t suit us here,” he meowed slowly to Sandstorm. “But it suited SkyClan. They knew how to jump. They already had the skills they needed. This was their home—but where are they now?”

Mist lay thick in the gorge and pressed against the cliff face when Firestar woke the next morning. He looked out cautiously, half expecting another stone to be hurled at him by the kittypets. But everything was silent, even the sound of the river deadened by the fog.

He roused Sandstorm, and they climbed to the cliff top to hunt. Prey scent was harder to pick up in the cool, damp air; Firestar prowled through the thickets without success. “Not even a mouse tail!” he muttered.

Frustrated, he emerged from the bushes and stared across the open ground toward Twolegplace, wondering what the chances would be of tracking down a rabbit. Then he heard a fluttering of wings; glancing to one side, he spotted a sparrow pecking at the ground underneath a bush.