Rising Storm

He let out a startled gasp as a weight dropped onto his back and claws grasped his sides. Fear and rage pulsed through him and he yowled, twisting violently in an attempt to throw off his attacker. But the cat who had ambushed him kept a firm hold. Fireheart braced himself for the pain of thorn-sharp claws in his flanks, but the paws that clutched him were wide and soft, their claws unsheathed. Then a familiar scent filled his nostrils—a scent overlaid now with the odors of RiverClan, but recognizable all the same.

“Graystripe!” he meowed joyfully.

“I thought you would never come to see me,” purred Graystripe.

Fireheart felt his old friend slip from his back and realized that Graystripe was dripping wet with river water. His own orange pelt was soaked from their tussle. He shook himself and stared in amazement at the gray warrior. “You swam across the river?” he meowed in disbelief. Every cat in ThunderClan knew how much Graystripe hated getting his thick fur wet.

Graystripe gave himself a quick shake, and the water spattered easily from his pelt. His long fur, which used to soak up water like moss, looked sleek and glossy. “It’s quicker than going down to the stepping-stones,” he pointed out. “Besides, my fur doesn’t seem to hold the water as much anymore. One of the advantages of eating fish, I suppose.”

“About the only one, I should think,” answered Fireheart, screwing up his face. He couldn’t imagine how the strong flavor of fish could compare to the subtle, musky flavors of ThunderClan’s forest prey.

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it,” meowed Graystripe. He blinked warmly at Fireheart. “You look well.”

“You too,” Fireheart purred back.

“How is everyone? Is Dustpelt still being a pain? How’s Bluestar?”

“Dustpelt’s fine,” Fireheart began, and then hesitated. “Bluestar is…” He searched for words, unsure how much to tell his old friend about the ThunderClan leader.

“What’s up?” asked Graystripe, his eyes narrowing.

Fireheart realized that the gray warrior knew him too well to miss his reaction. His ears flicked self-consciously.

“Bluestar’s all right, isn’t she?” Graystripe’s voice was thick with concern.

“She’s fine,” Fireheart assured him quickly, relieved—it was his anxiety about the ThunderClan leader that Graystripe had detected, not his wariness of his old friend. “But she hasn’t really been her old self lately. Not since Tigerclaw…” He trailed off uncertainly.

Graystripe frowned. “Have you seen that old poisonpaws since he left?”

Fireheart shook his head. “Not a sign of him. I don’t know how Bluestar would react if she saw him again.”

“She’d scratch his eyes out, if I know her,” purred Graystripe. “I can’t imagine anything keeping Bluestar down for long.”

I wish that were true, Fireheart thought sadly. He looked into Graystripe’s curious eyes, knowing with a pang of sadness that his desire to confide in his old friend had been an impossible dream. Graystripe was a member of RiverClan now, and Fireheart had to accept with a heavy heart that he couldn’t share the details of his leader’s weakness with a cat from another Clan. And he also realized that he wasn’t prepared to tell Graystripe about Cloudpaw’s disappearance—at least, not yet. Fireheart tried to tell himself this was because he didn’t want to worry Graystripe when his friend was unable to help, anyway. But he suspected his silence might have more to do with pride. He didn’t want Graystripe to know that he had failed as a mentor for a second time, so soon after Cinderpelt’s accident.

“What’s it like in RiverClan?” he meowed, deliberately changing the subject.

Graystripe shrugged. “Not much different from ThunderClan. Some of them are friendly, some of them are grumpy, some of them are funny, some of them are…Well, they’re just like normal Clan cats, I suppose.”

Fireheart couldn’t help envying the gray warrior for sounding so relaxed. Clearly Graystripe’s new life didn’t carry the burden of responsibility that Fireheart had to deal with now that he was deputy. And part of him still felt a small thorn of resentment that had mingled with his grief since Graystripe had left ThunderClan. Fireheart knew his friend could not have abandoned his kits; he just wished he’d fought harder to keep them in ThunderClan.

Fireheart pushed away these unfriendly thoughts. “How are your kits?” he asked.

Graystripe purred proudly. “They’re wonderful!” he declared. “The she-kit is just like her mother, every bit as beautiful, and with the same temper! She gives her den mother quite a bit of trouble, but every cat loves her. Especially Crookedstar. The tom is more easygoing, happy whatever he’s doing.”

“Like his father,” remarked Fireheart.

“And almost as handsome,” boasted Graystripe, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

Fireheart felt a familiar rush of joy at being with his old friend. “I miss you,” he meowed, suddenly overwhelmed with longing to have Graystripe back at the camp, to hunt and fight beside him again. “Why don’t you come home?”