Rising Storm

Fireheart ignored Sandstorm’s cry as he dashed out of the passageway and pelted after the monster. The rough stone path tore at his pads, but as fast as he ran, the monster went faster, until it rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

Fireheart skidded to a halt, his paws stinging and his heart pounding. Sandstorm called to him again. “Fireheart! Come back!”

Fireheart glanced in despair at the empty Thunderpath where the monster had stood just moments before and then hurried back to Sandstorm. Numb with shock, he blindly followed Sandstorm as she led him along the passageway, past the nest, through the garden, and over the fence into the safety of the woods.

“Fireheart!” Sandstorm gasped when they landed on the leafy forest floor. “Are you okay?”

Fireheart couldn’t answer. He stared at the blank fence, trying to take in what he had just seen. The Twolegs had stolen Cloudpaw! Fireheart couldn’t block out the look of fear on the young cat’s face. Where were they taking him? Wherever it was, Cloudpaw hadn’t wanted to go.

“Your pads are bleeding,” murmured Sandstorm.

Fireheart lifted a foreleg and turned over his paw to look. He gazed blankly at the oozing blood until Sandstorm leaned forward and began to lick the grit from his wounds. It stung, but Fireheart didn’t protest. The rhythmic licks comforted him, stirring long-distant memories of kithood. Gradually the panic that had frozen his mind began to melt away. “He’s gone,” he meowed dismally. His heart felt like a hollow log, ringing with sorrow at every beat.

“He’ll find his way home,” Sandstorm told him. Fireheart looked at her calm green eyes and felt a flicker of hope.

“If he wants to,” she added. Her words pierced him like thorns, but her eyes were full of sympathy, and Fireheart knew she was only speaking the truth. “Cloudpaw might be happier where he’s going,” she meowed. “You want him to be happy, don’t you?”

Fireheart nodded slowly.

“Come on then; let’s get back to camp.” Sandstorm’s mew became brisk, and Fireheart felt a surge of frustration.

“It’s easy for you!” he argued. “You share Clan blood with the rest of them. Cloudpaw was my only kin. Now there’s no one in the Clan that’s close to me.”

Sandstorm flinched as if he had struck her. “How can you say that? You have me!” she spat. “I’ve done nothing but try to help you. Doesn’t that mean anything? I thought that our friendship was important to you, but clearly I was wrong!” She spun around, flicking Fireheart’s legs with her tail before racing away into the trees.

He watched her disappear, bewildered by her response. His paws stung, and he felt more wretched than he could ever remember. He began to wander slowly through the woods, steering clear of Princess’s fence. He couldn’t even imagine how he would tell her what had happened to her kit.

With every step, the thorn-sharp worry about what Fireheart was going to say to the rest of the Clan added to his misery. He imagined how Darkstripe would gloat when he discovered Fireheart’s kin had gone back to the soft life of a kittypet. Once a kittypet, always a kittypet! Perhaps the jibe that had haunted Fireheart for so long had an element of truth in it after all.

The scuttling of a mouse under the pine trees distracted him. The Clan still had to be fed. Fireheart crouched instinctively, but there was no joy in the hunt this time. He chased and caught the mouse with cold swiftness and carried it toward the camp.

The sun was touching the tips of the trees when he reached the gorse tunnel. He paused and took a steadying breath before he walked into the clearing, the mouse swinging between his jaws.

The Clan was sharing tongues around the clearing after their evening meal. Mousefur met him at the entrance and Fireheart wondered if she had been waiting for his return. “You’ve been gone a long time,” she observed mildly. “Is everything okay?”

Fireheart glanced awkwardly away. He felt he should share his news about Cloudpaw with Bluestar first.

“Whitestorm organized the evening patrol in your absence,” Mousefur went on.

“Er…good…thanks,” Fireheart stammered. Mousefur dipped her head politely and padded away.

As Fireheart watched her go, he tried to tell himself that Cloudpaw’s loss didn’t mean he was alone in the Clan. Most of the cats seemed to accept him as deputy, despite the broken naming ritual. Fireheart just wished he could be sure that StarClan felt the same way, and his earlier fears clouded his mind like noisy fluttering crows. Was Cloudpaw’s loss a sign that StarClan wanted to punish ThunderClan by depriving it of a potential warrior? Even worse, were the Clan’s warrior ancestors signaling that kittypets didn’t belong in the Clan?