Forest Of Secrets

Graypool shrugged. “Because Oakheart asked me to. He may not have been deputy back then, but he was a fine young warrior. I’d recently given birth to kits of my own, but all except one died in the bitter cold. I had plenty of milk to spare, and the poor little scraps would never have lived to see the sunrise if some cat hadn’t cared for them. Their ThunderClan scent soon faded,” she went on. “And even if Oakheart hadn’t told the truth about where they came from, I respected him enough not to ask any more questions. Thanks to Oakheart, and to me, they grew into strong kits, and now they’re good warriors—a credit to their Clan.”

“Do Mistyfoot and Stonefur know all this?” Fireheart asked.

“Now listen to me,” rasped Graypool. “Mistyfoot and Stonefur know nothing, and if you tell them what I’ve just told you, I’ll rip your liver out and feed it to the crows.” She thrust her head forward and drew her lips back as she spoke, baring her teeth. In spite of her age, Fireheart flinched.

“They never doubted that I’m their real mother,” Graypool growled. “I like to think they even look a bit like me.”

As she spoke, Fireheart felt something stir in his mind, like the twitch of a fallen leaf that betrayed the mouse sheltering beneath it. He thought that what Graypool had just said should mean something to him, but when he tried to capture the thought it scuttled away.

“They have always been loyal to RiverClan,” Graypool insisted. “I don’t want that loyalty to be divided now. I’ve heard the gossip about you, Fireheart—I know you were once a kittypet—so you should understand more than any cat what it means to have a paw in two places.”

Fireheart knew he would never make any cat go through the uncertainties that he suffered himself about not fully belonging to his Clan. “I promise I’ll never tell them,” he meowed solemnly. “I swear it by StarClan.”

The old cat relaxed and stretched, her front paws extended and her rump in the air. “I accept your word, Fireheart,” she replied. “I don’t know if this has helped you at all. But it might explain why Oakheart would never let a ThunderClan cat harm Mistyfoot or Stonefur. Even if he claimed to know nothing about where they came from, he would have smelled the ThunderClan scent on them as clearly as I did. As far as they’re concerned, they are loyal only to RiverClan, but it would seem that Oakheart’s loyalties were divided on their behalf.”

“I’m very grateful to you,” Fireheart purred, trying to sound as respectful as he could. “I don’t know what this means in relation to what I have to find out, but I really think it’s important, for both our Clans.”

“That’s as may be,” mewed Graypool. She frowned. “But now that I’ve told you everything, you must leave our territory.”

“Of course,” Fireheart meowed. “You won’t even know I’ve been here. And Graypool…” He paused before thrusting his way out of the bush and held her pale yellow gaze for a moment. “Thank you.”

Fireheart’s mind was spinning as he returned to the camp. Mistyfoot and Stonefur had ThunderClan blood! But they belonged entirely to RiverClan now, with no idea of their divided heritage. Blood loyalty and Clan loyalty were not always the same, Fireheart reflected. His own kittypet roots did not make his commitment to ThunderClan any less strong.

And perhaps now that Mistyfoot had confirmed how Oakheart had died, Bluestar would be willing to accept that Tigerclaw had killed Redtail. Fireheart decided to ask her about Graypool’s latest revelation too; Bluestar might be able to tell him if a pair of kits had ever been stolen from the ThunderClan camp.

When he reached the clearing, Fireheart made straight for the Highrock. As he approached Bluestar’s den, he heard two cats meowing together, and picked up Tigerclaw’s scent along with Bluestar’s. Quickly he pressed himself against the rock, hoping to stay out of sight, as the deputy shouldered his way out past the curtain of lichen that screened the mouth of the den.

“I’ll try a hunting patrol toward the Snakerocks,” the dark tabby called over his shoulder. “No cat has hunted there for a few days.”

“Good idea,” agreed Bluestar, following him out. “Prey is still scarce. May StarClan grant the thaw comes soon.”

Tigerclaw grunted agreement and loped off toward the warriors’ den, not noticing Fireheart where he crouched by the rock.

When he had gone, Fireheart padded up to the mouth of the den. “Bluestar,” he called, as the Clan leader turned to go back inside. “I’d like to talk to you.”

“Very well,” Bluestar meowed calmly. “Come in.”

Fireheart followed her into the den. The curtain of lichen swung back into place, cutting off the bright snow-light. In the dim interior, Bluestar sat facing him. “What is it?” she asked.

Fireheart took a deep breath. “You remember the story that Ravenpaw told, that Redtail killed Oakheart at the battle of the Sunningrocks?”

Bluestar stiffened. “Fireheart, that is over,” she growled. “I told you before, I have reasons enough to be satisfied that this isn’t true.”