Forest Of Secrets

Fireheart could not help protesting. “We have strong warriors now—”

“Who asked your opinion?” growled the cranky old tom. “You’re hardly more than a kit!”

“But we—” Fireheart broke off as the air was filled with a shrill yowl and all the cats fell silent. He turned his head to see four cats on top of the Great Rock, silhouettes in the silver moonlight.

“Shh!” hissed Patchpelt. “The meeting’s about to start.” He twitched his ears at Fireheart and purred softly, “Take no notice of Crowfur. He’d find fault with StarClan.”

Fireheart gave Patchpelt a grateful look, tucked his paws under him, and settled down to listen.

Tallstar, the WindClan leader, began by announcing how his cats were recovering after the recent battle against RiverClan and ShadowClan. “One of our elders has died,” he meowed, “but all our warriors will live—to fight another day,” he added meaningfully.

Nightstar flattened his ears and narrowed his eyes, while Crookedstar let out a threatening growl from deep in his throat.

Fireheart’s fur prickled. If the leaders started to fight, their cats would fight too. Had it ever happened at a Gathering? he wondered. Surely not even Nightstar, ShadowClan’s bold new leader, would risk the anger of StarClan by breaking the sacred truce!

As Fireheart apprehensively watched the bristling cats, Bluestar stepped forward. “This is good news, Tallstar,” she meowed smoothly. “All of us should rejoice to hear that WindClan grows strong again.”

Her blue eyes glowed in the moonlight as she glanced at the leaders of ShadowClan and RiverClan. Nightstar turned away from her gaze, and Crookedstar dipped his head, his expression unreadable.

It had been ShadowClan, under Brokenstar’s cruel command, who had first driven WindClan away, so that they could extend their own hunting grounds. RiverClan had taken advantage of their exile to hunt in the deserted territory. But after Brokenstar’s exile, Bluestar had convinced the other leaders that the life of the forest depended on all four Clans, and that WindClan should return. Fireheart shivered as he remembered the long and difficult journey he had made with Graystripe to find WindClan and bring them home to their bleak upland territory.

That reminded him of how he meant to cross the uplands again to find Ravenpaw, and he shifted uneasily. He was not looking forward to the journey. At least WindClan are friendly toward ThunderClan, he thought. So we shouldn’t get attacked on the way.

“ThunderClan’s cats are also recovering,” Bluestar went on. “And since the last Gathering two of our apprentices have become warriors. They will now be known as Dustpelt and Sandstorm.”

Yowls of approval came up from the mass of cats below the Great Rock—mostly, Fireheart noticed, from ThunderClan and WindClan. He caught a glimpse of Sandstorm, sitting with her pale ginger head raised proudly.

The Gathering proceeded more peacefully now. Fireheart remembered the previous Gathering, when the leaders had accused one another of hunting outside their own territory, but no cat mentioned this now. A group of rogue cats, led by Brokentail, had been responsible, but the news that these rogues had attacked the ThunderClan camp, and had been soundly defeated, did not seem to have spread. Bluestar’s secret about blind Brokentail was safe.

When the meeting was over, Fireheart looked around for Graystripe. If they were going to see Ravenpaw, they needed to leave soon, while the other ThunderClan cats were still in the hollow, and would not notice which way they went.

Fireheart caught the eye of Swiftpaw, Longtail’s apprentice, sitting in the middle of a group of young cats from ShadowClan. Swiftpaw looked away guiltily. At any other time Fireheart might have called him over and told him to find his mentor for the journey home, but right now all he cared about was finding Graystripe immediately. He forgot Swiftpaw as soon as he saw his friend weaving his way toward him. There was no sign of Silverstream.

“There you are!” Graystripe called, his yellow eyes shining.

Fireheart could see that he had enjoyed the Gathering, though he doubted that his friend had listened to much of the talk. “Are you ready?” he meowed.

“To go and see Ravenpaw, you mean?”

“Not so loud!” Fireheart hissed, anxiously looking around.

“Yes, I’m ready,” Graystripe mewed, more softly. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. Still, anything to get Tigerclaw out of my fur—unless you’ve had a better idea?”

Fireheart shook his head. “This is the only way.”

The hollow was still full of cats, preparing to leave in four directions. No cat seemed to pay any attention to Fireheart and Graystripe until they had almost reached the slope that led to WindClan’s upland territory. Then a meow sounded behind them.

“Hey, Fireheart! Where are you going?”

It was Sandstorm.