Forest Of Secrets

Fireheart blinked. Instead of the familiar span of trees and fields ahead of him, a shining expanse of water stretched as far as he could see. The reflected light dazzled him, and he closed his eyes. Where had all this water come from? He couldn’t even tell if this was Clan territory—the silver sheen flattened everything and hid the usual landmarks.

Spottedleaf’s sweet scent filled the air around him. Her voice sounded close to his ear. “Remember, Fireheart,” she murmured, “water can quench fire.”

Startled, Fireheart opened his eyes again. A chill breeze fluttered the surface of the water, penetrating his fur. Spottedleaf was gone. As Fireheart turned in every direction, searching for her, the light began to fade. The warmth went with it, and the feeling of grass under his paws. In less than a heartbeat he was plunged into cold and darkness.

“Fireheart! Fireheart!”

A cat was nudging him. Fireheart tried to duck away, and heard his name called again. It was Graystripe’s voice. Fireheart forced his eyes open to see the big gray cat crouched anxiously over him.

“Fireheart,” he repeated. “Wake up. It’s nearly sunhigh.”

Grunting with the effort, Fireheart hauled himself out of his nest and sat up. Pale, cold light was filtering through the branches of the den. Willowpelt and Darkstripe still slept closer to the center of the bush, but Sandstorm and Dustpelt had left already.

“You were muttering in your sleep,” Graystripe told him. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Fireheart had not yet shaken off the dream. It was always a bitter waking, to realize that Spottedleaf was dead, and he would never speak to her again except in his dreams.

“It’s nearly sunhigh,” repeated Graystripe. “We should be out hunting.”

“I know,” Fireheart mewed, fighting to wake up properly.

“Hurry up, then.” His friend gave him a final nudge before heading out of the den. “Meet you at the gorse tunnel.”

Fireheart licked one paw and rubbed it over his face. As his head cleared, he suddenly remembered Spottedleaf’s warning: “Water can quench fire.” What was she trying to tell him? Fireheart thought back to Spottedleaf’s earlier prophecy, that fire would save the Clan. As he followed Graystripe out of the den, Fireheart found himself shivering, and not from cold. He could feel trouble gathering like rain-heavy storm clouds. If the water that was coming quenched fire, then what would save the Clan? Did Spottedleaf’s words mean that ThunderClan was doomed?

Chapter 4

Fireheart bounded up the ravine, the snow crisp under his paws. The sun shone in a pale blue sky, and though there was little warmth in its rays the sight of it cheered Fireheart and made him hopeful that newleaf was not far away.

Just behind him, Graystripe echoed Fireheart’s thoughts. “With any luck, the sun will bring some prey out.”

“Not if they hear you stomping along!” Sandstorm teased as she scrambled past him.

Brackenpaw, Graystripe’s apprentice, protested loyally, “He doesn’t stomp!” but Graystripe only responded with a good-natured growl. Fireheart felt new energy flow into his limbs. Even though their duties today were meant as punishment, no cat had told them they had to hunt alone, and it was good to be with friends.

Fireheart winced at the memory of Bluestar’s ice-cold gaze when she had rebuked him and Graystripe for apparently hunting for themselves. He would make up for lying to her by bringing back as much fresh-kill as he could. The Clan needed it badly. By the time he and Graystripe left the den that morning, the store of prey in the camp had almost gone, and most of the cats had already left to hunt. Fireheart had spotted Tigerclaw on his way back down the ravine with the morning patrol. A squirrel was clamped in his jaws, its long tail brushing the snow. The deputy’s eyes narrowed menacingly as he passed Fireheart, but he did not put his prey down to speak.

At the top of the slope, Sandstorm ran on ahead, while Graystripe began showing Brackenpaw where to search for mice among the tree roots. Watching them, Fireheart couldn’t suppress a pang of loss as he thought of Cinderpaw, who had been his own apprentice. She would be with them now if it hadn’t been for her accident. Instead, her crippled leg, the result of an accident on the Thunderpath, kept her in the den with Yellowfang, the ThunderClan medicine cat.

Pushing away these heavy thoughts, he crept forward, his jaws parted as he examined the forest smells. A faint breeze stirred the surface of the snow and brought a familiar scent. Rabbit!

Lifting his head, Fireheart could see the brown-furred creature snuffling under a clump of bracken, where a few green spikes of grass poked through the snow. He dropped into a hunting crouch, and delicately, pawstep by pawstep, drew closer. At the last moment the rabbit sensed him and sprang up, but it was too late. Before it could even squeal, Fireheart pounced.