Firestar’s Quest

“Over the next few days, every cat can do the patrol,” Firestar meowed. “I see you’ve been hunting,” he added, flicking his tail toward the mouse.

“Yes, there’s plenty of prey about,” Sandstorm replied.

“Patchfoot is a good hunter already, and Shortwhisker is coming on really well.”

Firestar was glad to hear that. A few successes would give the former kittypet some much-needed confidence.

“There’s just one thing that’s worrying me,” Sandstorm went on in a lower voice meant for Firestar alone. “There’s been no sign of Skywatcher this morning.”

Apprehension clawed deep in Firestar’s belly. Mention of Skywatcher reminded him of the old cat’s strange mood the night before, and the ominous words of his prophecy.

“I think you should check on him,” Sandstorm prompted.

“He should be here in the camp, not stuck out there in that excuse for a den.”

“I’ll go right away,” Firestar meowed.

He picked his way down the stony trail and headed up the gorge. Remembering what Sandstorm had said about the fox, he kept all his senses alert. Skywatcher was a noble old cat, but he would be no match for a strong and determined predator. However, there was no trace of fox scent.

By the time he reached the path behind the boulder a thin drizzle had begun to fall, penetrating his fur with chill claws.

As he approached the den, he couldn’t see anything of the old warrior. Maybe he’s out hunting.…

Drawing closer, he spotted gray fur half concealed behind the roots of the thorn tree. “Skywatcher!” he called. There was no reply.

When he stood at the mouth of the den, he could see the old cat curled up at the very back, pressed against the earth wall with a tangle of roots over his head.

“Skywatcher?” Firestar repeated.

The gray warrior did not move. Firestar drew in his breath with sudden understanding as he ducked his head to enter the den and took the couple of pawsteps that brought him to Skywatcher’s side. The old cat was still, and when Firestar gently laid a paw on his shoulder, he felt cold. Somehow he looked smaller than he had when he was alive.

Grief clawed at Firestar’s heart. Perhaps the old cat had clung to life only until he could see SkyClan restored. Firestar hoped he had died happy, knowing that his dreams had been fulfilled.

“Good-bye, my friend.” His voice choked in his throat as he stroked his tail over the old warrior’s head. “May StarClan light your path.”

Firestar jumped to the top of the Rockpile and gazed down at the cats of SkyClan. Clovertail was stretched out by the stream with her kits frisking around her, while

Cherrypaw and Sparrowpaw were eating beside the fresh-kill pile. Sharpclaw and Patchfoot were wrestling together at the foot of the cliff in a practice fight. Sandstorm sat watching them nearby, offering some comments on their technique.

Firestar’s heart was heavy with the news he had to tell them.

“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Rockpile for a Clan meeting!” he yowled.

Sharpclaw and Patchfoot broke apart and sat up with ears pricked. The two apprentices swallowed their fresh-kill and looked up, their eyes bright with curiosity. Leafdapple began to pick her way down from the cliff top, joining Shortwhisker as he emerged from the warriors’ den.

“I have some bad news to tell you,” Firestar meowed when all the Clan had gathered. “Skywatcher is dead.”

For a moment there was silence, except for the happy squealing of Clovertail’s kits as they played beside their mother. Clovertail swept them closer to her with her tail.

“Hush,” she mewed. “Firestar’s telling us something very sad.”

“It is bad news,” Sharpclaw agreed, flexing his claws against the rock. “The Clan will be weaker without his experience to guide us.”

Firestar’s tail twitched; grief for the old cat swept over him again as he saw that most of the Clan cats were giving one another blank looks. He could see that few of them felt any real sense of loss.

Sandstorm came to meet him as he bounded down the Rockpile again, and pushed her nose into his shoulder fur.

“You can’t blame them,” she murmured. “They hardly knew Skywatcher, and had only just realized he wasn’t a mad old nuisance.”

“I know.” Firestar sighed. “But they need to understand how much he did for this Clan.”

He asked Patchfoot to help him and Sandstorm bring the old cat’s body back to camp for his burial. The rest of the Clan gathered around as they laid him gently at the foot of the Rockpile.

“Now remember, you have to stay up all night tonight,” Clovertail told her kits, keeping the inquisitive little creatures back with her tail. “You mustn’t go to sleep, whatever happens.”

“No, that’s all right,” Firestar meowed, surprised that the former loner had heard about the custom of keeping vigil.

“Kits don’t need to stay awake.”

Clovertail stared at him, her eyes wide with alarm and her neck fur bristling. “Do you want my kits to die?” she screeched.

“What?” Firestar was baffled. “Your kits aren’t in any danger.”