Firestar’s Quest

Firestar padded to the cave entrance and took in gulps of clean air. He hadn’t expected this sort of welcome. The cats who lived here were rude and interfering, and if they lived by any kind of code he couldn’t imagine what it was.

“Rogues aren’t like this in the forest,” he mewed to Sandstorm. “Mostly they keep to themselves, and stay away from the Clans’ territories.”

“But there aren’t any Clans here,” Sandstorm pointed out.

“Back in the forest, most cats know about the warrior code.

And if they don’t want to live by it, they know how to stay away from us.”

Firestar watched the mist at the bottom of the gorge. The warrior code was the basis of life in all the Clans. Kits drank it in with their mother’s milk. Out here no cat knew of it—but they had once, as well as any cat in the forest. He wondered if he would ever be able to awaken the memory of the warrior code in this scorched place.

“I’ll have to make a start somewhere,” he muttered, speaking half to himself. “And I think I know where.” Straightening up, he added, “Sandstorm, tomorrow we’re going to talk to those kittypets.”

Chapter 17

“Ow!” Sandstorm halted at the foot of a thornbush, letting out a yowl of pain and shaking one forepaw.

“Shh!” Firestar hissed. “You’ll bring every cat in Twolegplace down on us.”

Sandstorm blinked at him. “I thought that was the point?

I’m sorry,” she added, giving her paw a quick swipe with her tongue. “I trod on a thorn; that’s all.”

Firestar glanced around. “I don’t think any cat heard.

Okay, carry on. As soon as the kittypets arrive, get down to the cave. Remember, it’s best if they don’t get a good look at you.”

“I know.” Annoyance sparked in Sandstorm’s eyes. “We went through all this last night.”

“Right, then.” Firestar took another quick look around, then pushed through the undergrowth until he reached the nearest tree. Clawing his way up the trunk, he settled himself on the lowest branch, hidden from below by thick bunches of leaves.

Beneath the tree, Sandstorm went on hunting. Water flooded Firestar’s jaws when he saw her bring down a mouse.

Neither of them had eaten since the night before. His claws worked impatiently on the branch. He couldn’t be sure if the kittypets would come, but the plan he had worked out with Sandstorm seemed to be the only chance of talking to some of the cats who lived near the abandoned camp.

He heard a rustling in the bushes a short way off. Peering through the leaves, he caught a glimpse of a tortoiseshell pelt.

His gaze flicked to Sandstorm; she was peering into the depths of a bush. Firestar didn’t dare call out to her in case he alerted the kittypets.

Then Sandstorm sat up, jaws parted as if she had detected a scent. A heartbeat later she grabbed up the mouse she had caught and vanished through the bushes toward the edge of the gorge.

“Hey, he’s here!” It was the tabby kittypet speaking, pushing through the undergrowth until he stood almost directly under Firestar’s tree. “I saw the bushes shaking where he went down to the cave.”

His tortoiseshell companion slipped past him, following the route Sandstorm had taken.

Don’t they ever pick up a scent? Firestar wondered. Can’t they tell it’s a different cat?

Both kittypets vanished again, but he could still hear their voices, raised as if they were calling down to the cave.

“Hey, dog-breath, did you like the present we left for you?”

“I bet it was the best mouse you’ve eaten this moon. We saved it just for you.”

“Did you, now?” Firestar muttered. Okay, time to go.

He leaped down from the tree and followed the kittypets through the bushes to the cliff edge. When their backs came into view he halted, taking up a position beside a thick growth of bramble. The kittypets wouldn’t want to push through that to get away from him.

“Crazy old furball!” the tortoiseshell called out. “Mangy old—”

“Who are you talking to?” Firestar interrupted loudly.

Both kittypets spun around, jaws gaping in identical amazed expressions. Firestar looked them over, raised one paw and licked it reflectively, then allowed his claws to slide out. The kittypets’ eyes widened.

“Er… we weren’t talking to any cat,” the tabby tom replied, his forepaws scuffling on the ground.

“You mean you sit on the edge of the cliff calling out to no cat?” Firestar asked. “You must be really weird to do that.”

“We’re not weird!” the tortoiseshell flashed back.

“Then tell me who you think is down there.”

“We don’t know. We haven’t done anything.” The tabby tom took a pace forward. “Let us go!”

The tortoiseshell stepped forward to stand beside her companion, their pelts brushing. Neither of them seemed to have the confidence to push past Firestar, and he was blocking the only route through the thorns. Both young cats jumped and huddled closer as a rustling came from the cliff edge and Sandstorm hauled herself into view.

The kittypets stared at her.

“You’re not—” the tortoiseshell blurted out.