Rising Storm

Fireheart couldn’t answer that, but he couldn’t risk their sickness finding its way into the ThunderClan camp. What if a ShadowClan patrol came into ThunderClan territory looking for their missing warriors? “I’ll feed you; then you must go,” he repeated.

Littlecloud’s voice was hoarse and high-pitched as he pushed himself to a sitting position, his paws scrabbling on the hard earth. “Please don’t send us back! Nightstar is so weak. It’s as if the sickness takes a new life from him each day. Most of the Clan thinks he’s going to die.”

Fireheart frowned. “Surely he has plenty of lives left.”

“You haven’t seen how ill he is!” cried Whitethroat. “The Clan is scared. There’s no cat ready to take his place.”

“What about Cinderfur, your deputy?” asked Fireheart. The two ShadowClan cats looked away and didn’t answer. Did that mean that Cinderfur had died already, or that he was just too old to become a leader? Like Nightstar, Cinderfur had been an elder when Brokentail had been driven out. Fireheart felt his sympathy winning in spite of his better judgment. “Okay.” He sighed reluctantly. “You can stay here until you’re strong enough to travel.”

“Thank you, Fireheart,” Littlecloud meowed wheezily. His eyes glittered with gratitude. Fireheart dipped his head, realizing how hard it must be for these proud ShadowClan warriors to admit they were dependent on another Clan.

He turned away and padded past Cinderpelt. She whispered as he passed, “Thanks, Fireheart. I knew you would understand why I took them in.” Her eyes brimmed with compassion. “I couldn’t let them die. Even…even if they were from another Clan.” And Fireheart knew she was thinking of Silverstream, the RiverClan queen she had not been able to save.

He licked her ear affectionately. “You are a true medicine cat,” he purred. “That’s why Yellowfang chose you as her apprentice.”

It didn’t take Fireheart long to catch a thrush and a rabbit for the ShadowClan cats. This part of the forest was rich in prey. He was careful not to stray across the RiverClan border, although it was tempting—the scent of prey was strong from there, and it had been a long time since Fireheart had tasted water vole. But he was pleased with the juicy rabbit he found beside Sunningrocks, and the thrush was an easy catch, too busy cracking open a snail to hear his stealthy approach.

Cinderpelt was crouched beside the ancient oak when he returned, chewing berries and spitting the pulp into her herb mixture. Fireheart nudged the fresh-kill into the root cave, but he didn’t enter. The stench of sickness made him wary of going inside.

He looked at Cinderpelt as she worked, feeling a sudden tingle of fear for the small cat. She must have entered the cave many times. “Are you okay?” he meowed quietly.

Cinderpelt looked up from her herbs. “Yes, I’m fine,” she replied. “And I’m glad you found out about these cats. I didn’t like keeping secrets from the Clan.”

Fireheart flicked his tail uneasily. “I think we should keep this to ourselves,” he told her.

Cinderpelt narrowed her eyes. “Aren’t you going to tell Bluestar?”

“Normally I would—” Fireheart began hesitantly.

“But she’s still not over the Tigerclaw thing,” Cinderpelt finished.

Fireheart sighed. “Sometimes I think she’s getting better, but then she’ll say something or…” He trailed away.

“Yellowfang says it will take time for her to recover,” mewed Cinderpelt.

“Then she’s noticed too?”

“To be honest,” Cinderpelt murmured regretfully, “I think most of the Clan has.”

“What are they saying?” Fireheart wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“She has been a great leader for a long time. They are simply waiting for her to become like that again.” Cinderpelt’s reply soothed Fireheart. The Clan’s faith was moving, and should be trusted. Of course Bluestar would recover.

“Are you coming back with me?” he meowed.

“I have to finish up here.” Cinderpelt picked up another berry with her teeth and started to chew.

Fireheart felt strange as he walked away, leaving Cinderpelt alone with the two ShadowClan cats and a stench that made his fur creep. He wondered if he’d done the right thing by letting them stay.

Outside the ThunderClan camp, he sheltered beneath a leafy bush and gave himself a good wash. He screwed up his eyes at the stink of the sick ShadowClan cats. He wished he could wash away the taste with a drink from the stream behind the training hollow, but it had dried up days ago. He’d have to follow its course back toward the river if he were to find water, and it was time he returned, before his Clanmates started to wonder where he was. He would return to find Graystripe another day.

Sandstorm met him as he emerged from the gorse tunnel into the clearing. “Been hunting?” she asked.

“Looking for Graystripe, honestly.” Fireheart decided to admit to the easiest part of the truth.

“I don’t suppose you found any signs of Cloudpaw then,” Sandstorm meowed, apparently unconcerned by Fireheart’s admission.

“He’s not in camp?”

“He went out hunting first thing this morning.”