Rising Storm

Fireheart sprang to his paws with relief. Now he could leave the camp and find Cloudpaw. He hurried across the clearing to meet them. “How did the patrol go?” he called.

“No signs of the other Clans,” reported Runningwind.

“But we did smell your apprentice,” added Darkstripe. “Near Twolegplace.”

“Did you see him?” Fireheart meowed as casually as he could.

Darkstripe shook his head.

“I expect he was looking for birds in one of the Twoleg gardens.” Dustpelt smirked. “They’re probably more to his taste.”

Fireheart ignored Dustpelt’s kittypet jibe. “Was the scent fresh?” he asked Runningwind.

“Fairly. We lost his trail when we started to head back to camp.”

Fireheart nodded. At least he had an idea where to begin looking for Cloudpaw. “Darkstripe and Dustpelt,” he meowed, “Bluestar wants to see you in her den.” As the warriors padded away, Fireheart wondered whether to go with them, just in case Bluestar was still acting strangely. Then he noticed that Runningwind was leading Thornpaw toward the camp entrance. “Where are you going?” he called anxiously. Bluestar wanted three warriors to remain in camp; he couldn’t go and look for Cloudpaw if Runningwind was going out again.

“I promised Mousefur I’d teach Thornpaw how to catch squirrels this afternoon,” Runningwind meowed over his shoulder.

“But I…” Fireheart’s voice trailed away as the lean warrior eyed him curiously. He couldn’t bring himself to admit how worried he was about Cloudpaw. He shook his head. “Nothing,” he meowed, and Runningwind and Thornpaw disappeared into the gorse tunnel. A twinge of guilt shot through Fireheart as he watched Mousefur’s apprentice padding obediently after the warrior. Why couldn’t he inspire that sort of behavior in his own apprentice?

The rest of the afternoon dragged. Fireheart settled himself beside the nettle clump outside the warriors’ den and strained his ears, scanning the sounds of the forest for any sign of Cloudpaw’s return. But the fear that Bluestar had stirred in him had eased slightly since Darkstripe reported scenting only the young apprentice on the patrol, and no intruders in ThunderClan territory.

As the sun began to sink below the treetops, the hunting party returned. It was followed by Whitestorm and Brightpaw, drawn away from the training hollow, no doubt, by the scent of fresh-kill. Longtail and Swiftpaw returned soon afterward, but there was still no sign of Cloudpaw.

There was plenty of prey to go around, but no cat approached the pile. News of the naming ceremony had spread through the camp. Fireheart could hear Thornpaw, Brightpaw, and Swiftpaw whispering in excited mews outside their den until Bluestar padded out from her cave, when they hushed one another and looked up with huge, expectant eyes.

The ThunderClan leader leaped onto the Highrock in a single, easy bound. She had clearly recovered from her physical injuries after the battle with the rogue cats, but Fireheart didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried by this. Why hadn’t her mind recovered as quickly as her body? His heart quickened as she raised her chin, preparing to call the Clan together. Her voice sounded dry and cracked, as if it had grown brittle from lack of use, but as she yowled the familiar words, Fireheart felt his confidence return.

The sinking sun glowed on his flame-colored fur, and he thought of his own naming ceremony, when he had first joined the Clan. Proudly squaring his shoulders Fireheart took the deputy’s place at the head of the clearing below the Highrock, while the rest of the Clan gathered in a circle around the edge. Darkstripe sat calmly at the front, staring ahead with unblinking eyes. Dustpelt sat stiffly beside him, unable to suppress the excitement that shone from his eyes.

“We are here today to give two Clan kits their apprentice names,” Bluestar began formally, glancing down to where Brindleface sat with a kit on either side of her. Fireheart hardly recognized the boisterous gray kits he’d seen wrestling in the nursery earlier. They looked much smaller out here, with their fur neatly groomed. One of them leaned toward its mother, its whiskers trembling with nervous excitement. The larger kit kneaded the ground with its paws.

An expectant hush fell over the rest of the Clan.

“Come forward,” Fireheart heard Bluestar’s voice command from above.

The kits padded side by side to the center of the clearing, their mottled gray coats bristling with anticipation.

“Dustpelt,” rasped Bluestar. “You will be mentor to Ashpaw.”

Fireheart watched as Dustpelt walked toward the larger gray kit and stood beside him.

“Dustpelt,” Bluestar went on, “this will be your first apprentice. Share your courage and determination with him. I know you will train him well, but don’t be afraid to turn to the senior warriors for advice.”

Dustpelt’s eyes gleamed with pride, and he leaned down to touch Ashpaw’s nose with his own. Ashpaw purred loudly as he followed his new mentor to the edge of the circle.