Forest Of Secrets

Fireheart’s brain was whirling with everything they had discovered. He wanted to ask Ravenpaw more questions, but he could smell the fear-scent on his friend, and saw the old haunted look in his eyes, as if telling his story had brought back all his unhappy memories of ThunderClan. “Is there any more you can tell us, Ravenpaw?” he mewed gently.

Ravenpaw shook his head.

“This means so much to the Clan,” Fireheart told him. “Hopefully now we stand a chance of convincing Bluestar that Tigerclaw is dangerous.”

“If she listens,” Graystripe pointed out. “It’s a pity you told her Ravenpaw’s first story,” he added to Fireheart. “Now he’s changed everything, she won’t know what to believe.”

“But he hasn’t changed everything,” Fireheart protested, as Ravenpaw flinched at Graystripe’s irritable tone. “We misunderstood, that’s all. I’ll convince Bluestar somehow,” he added. “At least we know the truth now.”

The black cat looked a little happier, but Fireheart could see that he didn’t want to think about the past anymore. He settled beside Ravenpaw, purring encouragement, and for a short while the three cats shared tongues.

Then Fireheart pushed himself to his paws. “It’s time we were on our way,” he meowed.

“Take care,” Ravenpaw mewed. “And watch out for Tigerclaw.”

“Don’t worry,” Fireheart assured him. “You’ve given us what we need to deal with him.” With Graystripe behind him, he slid under the door and ventured out into the snow.

“It’s freezing out here!” Graystripe grumbled as they bounded down to the fence at the edge of the Twoleg farm. “We should have taken a couple more of those mice to feed the Clan,” he added.

“Yeah, right,” Fireheart retorted. “And what would you tell Tigerclaw when he asked you where you found such fat mice in this weather?”

The moon was close to setting, and soon the sky would begin to pale toward dawn. The chill of the snow soon penetrated Fireheart’s winter-thick fur, even colder after the warmth of the barn. His legs were aching with weariness; it had been a long night, and they still had to cross WindClan’s territory before they could rest in their own camp. Fireheart could not stop thinking about what Ravenpaw had told them. He was sure that his friend was telling the truth, but it would be hard to convince the rest of the Clan. Bluestar had already refused to believe Ravenpaw’s original story.

Yet that was when Fireheart thought Redtail had killed Oakheart. Bluestar could not accept that Redtail would kill another warrior unnecessarily. Now Fireheart understood the real story, that Oakheart had died by accident… But how could Fireheart accuse Tigerclaw again unless he had something to back up what Ravenpaw had told him?

“The RiverClan cats would know,” he realized aloud, pausing under a rocky outcrop on the moorland slope, where the snow was not so thick.

“What?” meowed Graystripe, padding up to him to share the shelter. “Know what?”

“How Oakheart died,” Fireheart replied. “They must have seen Oakheart’s body. They would be able to tell us whether he died from a rockfall, and not a death blow from a warrior.”

“Yes, the marks on his body would prove it,” agreed Graystripe.

“And they might know what Oakheart meant when he said that no ThunderClan cat should attack Stonefur,” Fireheart added. “We need to speak to a RiverClan warrior who took part in the battle, maybe Stonefur himself.”

“But you can’t just walk into the RiverClan camp and ask,” Graystripe protested. “Think of how tense it was at the Gathering—it’s too soon after the battle.”

“I know one RiverClan warrior who would welcome you,” Fireheart murmured.

“If you mean Silverstream, yes, I could ask her,” Graystripe agreed. “Now, can we please get back to the camp before my paws freeze completely?”

The two cats padded onward, more slowly now as weariness made their limbs heavy. They were within sight of Fourtrees when they spotted three other cats climbing the hillside. The breeze carried the scent of a WindClan patrol to Fireheart. Not wanting to explain their presence in WindClan territory, he looked swiftly around for cover, but the snow stretched smoothly on all sides, with no rocks or bushes nearby. And it was clear that the WindClan cats had already seen them, as they changed direction to meet them.

Fireheart recognized the familiar uneven gait of the Clan deputy, Deadfoot, with the tabby warrior Tornear, and his apprentice, Runningpaw.

“Hello, Fireheart,” called Deadfoot, limping up with a puzzled look in his eyes. “You’re a long way from home.”

“Er…yes,” Fireheart admitted, dipping his head respectfully. “We just…we picked up a ShadowClan scent trail, and it led us up here.”

“ShadowClan on our territory!” Deadfoot’s fur began to bristle.

“I reckon it was an old scent,” Graystripe put in hastily. “Nothing to worry about. We’re sorry we crossed your border.”