Forest Of Secrets

Fireheart glanced at Bluestar, expecting her to give the signal to descend into the clearing, but instead he saw Whitestorm pad up and crouch beside her in the snow. “Bluestar,” Fireheart heard the noble white warrior murmur, “what are you going to say about Brokentail? Will you tell the other Clans that we’re sheltering him?”

Fireheart waited tensely for Bluestar’s answer. Brokentail had once been Brokenstar, leader of ShadowClan. He had murdered his own father, Raggedstar, and stolen kits from ThunderClan. In retaliation, ThunderClan had helped Brokenstar’s own Clan to drive him out into the forest. Not long after, Brokenstar had led a band of rogue cats to attack the ThunderClan camp. In the battle, Yellowfang, the ThunderClan medicine cat, had scratched his eyes, and now Brokentail was a prisoner, blind and defeated. Even though the former leader had been stripped of his StarClan-given name, and was kept under close guard, Fireheart knew that the other Clans would expect ThunderClan to have killed him, or driven him out to die in the forest. They wouldn’t welcome the news that Brokentail was still alive.

Bluestar kept her gaze fixed on the cats in the clearing below. “I will say nothing,” she replied to Whitestorm. “It doesn’t concern the other Clans. Brokentail is ThunderClan’s responsibility now.”

“Brave words,” growled Tigerclaw from where he sat on the other side of Bluestar. “Or are we ashamed to admit what we’ve done?”

“ThunderClan has no need to be ashamed for showing mercy,” Bluestar retorted coolly. “But I see no reason to go looking for trouble.” Before Tigerclaw could protest, she sprang to her paws and faced the rest of the ThunderClan cats. “Listen,” she meowed. “No cat is to talk about the attack by the rogue cats, or mention Brokentail. These are matters for our Clan alone.”

She waited until meows of agreement came from the assembled cats. Then she flicked her tail to signal that the ThunderClan cats could join the other Clans below. She raced down through the bushes, with Tigerclaw just behind her, his huge paws scattering snow.

Fireheart bounded after them. As he slid out of the bushes into the clearing he saw that Tigerclaw had stopped close by, and was giving him a suspicious stare. “Graystripe,” Fireheart hissed quietly over his shoulder, “I don’t think you should go off with Silverstream tonight. Tigerclaw’s already—”

Fireheart suddenly realized that Graystripe was no longer beside him. Looking around, he saw his friend disappearing behind the Great Rock. A heartbeat or two later, Silverstream skirted around a group of ShadowClan cats and followed him.

Fireheart sighed. He glanced at Tigerclaw, wondering if the deputy had seen them go. But Tigerclaw had padded away to join Onewhisker from WindClan, and Fireheart let the fur lie flat on his shoulders again.

Pacing restlessly across the clearing, Fireheart found himself near a group of elders—Patchpelt from ThunderClan, and others he did not know, crouching beneath a glossy-leaved holly bush, where the snow did not lie so thickly. Keeping one eye out for Graystripe, Fireheart settled down to listen to their conversation.

“I remember a leaf-bare even worse than this.” It was an old black tom who spoke, his muzzle turned to silver and his flank scarred from many a fight. He had the scent of WindClan on his short, patchy fur. “The river was frozen for more than three moons.”

“You’re right, Crowfur,” a tabby queen agreed. “And prey was scarcer, too, even for RiverClan.”

For a heartbeat Fireheart felt surprised that two elders from recently hostile Clans could talk calmly without spitting hatred at each other. But then, they were elders, he reflected. They must have seen many battles in their long lives.

“Young warriors today,” the old black cat added with a glance at Fireheart. “They don’t know what hardship is.”

Fireheart scuffled among the dead leaves under the bush and tried to look respectful. Patchpelt, crouched close to him, gave him a friendly flick with his tail.

“That must have been the season when Bluestar lost her kits,” recalled the ThunderClan elder. Fireheart pricked up his ears. He remembered Dappletail saying something once before about Bluestar’s kits, which were born just before she became Clan deputy. But he had never learned how many kits she had had, or how old they were when they died.

“And do you remember the thaw that leaf-bare?” Crowfur interrupted Fireheart’s thoughts, his eyes unfocused as he lost himself to his memories. “The river in the gorge rose nearly as far as the badger sets.”

Patchpelt shivered. “I remember it well. ThunderClan couldn’t cross the stream to come here for the Gathering.”

“Cats were drowned,” the RiverClan queen remembered sadly.

“Prey too,” Crowfur added. “The cats who survived nearly starved.”

“May StarClan grant it’s not so bad this season!” Patchpelt mewed fervently.

Crowfur spat, “These young cats would never cope. We were tougher in those days.”