Rising Storm

Cinderpelt dropped the herbs. “I’m fine, honestly,” she puffed. “My leg is playing up, that’s all, and it took me longer than I thought to find the herbs.”

“You should tell Yellowfang,” Fireheart meowed. “She wouldn’t want you overdoing it.”

“No!” mewed Cinderpelt, shaking her head.

“Okay, okay,” Fireheart agreed, surprised by the strength of her refusal. “At least let me carry these herbs for you.”

Cinderpelt blinked gratefully at him. “May StarClan banish all the fleas from your nest,” she purred, her eyes twinkling. “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just that Yellowfang is very busy. Willowpelt began her kitting this afternoon.”

Fireheart felt a flicker of anxiety. The last kitting he had seen had been Silverstream’s. “Is she okay?”

Cinderpelt glanced away. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I offered to collect herbs instead of helping.” A shadow crossed her face. “I…I didn’t want to be there…”

Fireheart guessed that she too was thinking of Silverstream. “Come on then,” he meowed. “The sooner we find out how she’s doing, the sooner we can stop worrying.” He quickened his pace.

“Hold on!” winced Cinderpelt, limping after him. “You’ll be the first to know if I make a miraculous recovery. But for now you’ll have to slow down!”

As they entered the camp Fireheart knew instantly that Willowpelt’s kitting had been a success. One-Eye and Dappletail were padding away from the nursery, their eyes soft with affection and their purrs audible even from this side of the clearing.

Sandstorm came dashing over to greet them with the good news. “Willowpelt had two she-cats and a tom!” she announced.

“How’s Willowpelt?” asked Cinderpelt anxiously.

“She’s fine,” Sandstorm assured her. “She’s feeding them already.”

Cinderpelt broke into a loud purr. “I must go and see,” she mewed, and hobbled toward the nursery.

Fireheart spat out his mouthful of herbs and looked around. “Where’s Cloudpaw?”

Sandstorm narrowed her eyes mischievously. “When Darkstripe saw what a measly catch he’d brought back, he sent him off to clean out the elders’ bedding.”

“Good,” Fireheart meowed, pleased for once with Darkstripe’s interference.

“Did you speak to Cloudpaw?” asked Sandstorm, her tone turning more serious.

“Yes.” Fireheart’s happiness at Willowpelt’s kitting disappeared like dew under the midday sun as he thought of his apprentice’s indifference.

“Well?” prompted Sandstorm. “What did he say?”

“I don’t think he even realizes he’s done anything wrong,” Fireheart meowed bleakly.

To his surprise, Sandstorm didn’t seem troubled. “He’s young,” she reminded Fireheart. “Don’t be too upset. Keep remembering his first catch, and that you share the same blood.” She gave him a gentle lick on the cheek. “With any luck it’ll show in Cloudpaw one day.”

Dustpelt trotted up and interrupted them, his eyes glinting with barely disguised scorn. “You must be proud of your apprentice,” he jeered. “Darkstripe tells me he made the smallest catch of the day.” Fireheart flinched as the warrior added, “You’re obviously a great mentor.”

“Go away, Dustpelt,” spat Sandstorm. “There’s no need to be spiteful. It doesn’t impress anyone, you know.”

Fireheart was surprised to see Dustpelt recoil as if Sandstorm had taken a swipe at him. The warrior turned and hurried away, flashing a resentful look at Fireheart over his shoulder.

“That’s a neat trick,” Fireheart meowed, impressed by Sandstorm’s ferocity. “You’ll have to teach me how you do it!”

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t work for you.” Sandstorm sighed, staring ruefully after Dustpelt. She had shared her apprenticeship with the tabby tom, but their friendship had faltered since Sandstorm had grown closer to Fireheart. “Never mind. I’ll apologize later. Why don’t we go and see the new kits?”

She led the way to the nursery, where Bluestar was just squeezing out of the entrance. The old leader’s face was relaxed and her eyes were shining. As Sandstorm slipped inside, she declared triumphantly, “More warriors for ThunderClan!”

Fireheart purred. “We’ll have more warriors than any Clan soon!” he meowed.

The leader’s eyes clouded, and Fireheart felt a chill of unease spread across his fur. “Let’s just hope we can trust our new warriors better than our old,” Bluestar growled darkly.

“Are you coming?” Sandstorm called to him from the warm shadows of the nursery. Fireheart shrugged off his fears about Bluestar and pushed his way inside.

Willowpelt lay in a nest made of soft moss. Three kits squirmed in the curl of her body, still damp and blind as they kneaded their mother’s belly.

Fireheart saw a new softness enter Sandstorm’s expression. She leaned forward and breathed in the warm, milky scent of each kit in turn while Willowpelt looked on, her eyes sleepy but content.