Rising Storm

Graystripe shook his wide gray head. “I can’t leave my kits,” he meowed.

Fireheart couldn’t help the look of disbelief that flashed in his eyes—after all, kits were raised by queens, not their fathers—and Graystripe went on quickly: “Oh, they are very well cared for in the nursery. They would be safe and happy with RiverClan. But I don’t think I could bear to be away from them. They remind me too much of Silverstream.”

“You miss her that much?”

“I loved her,” Graystripe answered simply.

Fireheart felt a pang of jealousy until he remembered the sorrow he still felt whenever he awoke from a dream of Spottedleaf. He reached forward and touched Graystripe’s cheek with his nose. Only StarClan knew if he might have done the same thing for Spottedleaf. Or Sandstorm? whispered a voice deep in Fireheart’s mind.

Graystripe nudged him back, disturbing Fireheart’s wandering thoughts and almost unbalancing him. “Enough soppy stuff!” he meowed, as if he could read his friend’s mind. “You didn’t really come here to see me, did you?”

Fireheart was caught off guard. “Well, not entirely…” he confessed.

“You were looking for those ShadowClan cats, right?”

“How did you know about them?” Fireheart demanded, stunned.

“How could I not know?” exclaimed Graystripe. “The stench they were giving off. ShadowClan cats smell bad enough on their own, but sick ones…yuck!”

“Does the rest of RiverClan know about them?” Fireheart was alarmed to think that the other Clans could have found out ThunderClan was sheltering ShadowClan cats again—and ones tainted by sickness at that.

“Not as far as I know,” Graystripe assured him. “I offered to do all the patrolling at this end of the river. The other cats just thought I was homesick and indulged me. I think they were secretly hoping I’d go back to ThunderClan if I got enough of the forest scents!”

“But why would you protect the ShadowClan cats like that?” Fireheart asked, puzzled.

“I came over and spoke to them soon after they arrived,” Graystripe explained. “They told me that Cinderpelt had hidden them here. I reckoned that if Cinderpelt had something to do with it, then you must know. Sheltering a couple of sickly fleabags is just the sort of softhearted thing you’d do.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when I found out,” Fireheart admitted.

“But I bet you let her off.”

Fireheart shrugged. “Well, yes.”

“She always could wrap you around her paw,” meowed Graystripe affectionately. “Anyway, they’ve gone now.”

“When did they leave?” Fireheart felt a wave of relief that Cinderpelt had kept her promise.

“I saw one hunting this side of the river a couple of days ago, but not a whisker since.”

“A couple of days ago?” Fireheart was alarmed to hear that the ShadowClan cats were still there so recently. Had Cinderpelt decided to nurse them until they were well enough to travel, after all? His fur prickled with irritation at the thought, but he trusted that she had not made the decision lightly. He was just grateful to StarClan that they hadn’t bumped into a water-gathering patrol from ThunderClan. They were gone now, and with any luck so was the threat of sickness.

“Look,” meowed Graystripe, “I have to go. I’m on hunting duty, and I promised I’d watch a couple of apprentices this afternoon.”

“Have you got an apprentice of your own?” Fireheart asked.

Graystripe met his gaze steadily. “I don’t think RiverClan is willing to trust me to train their warriors yet,” he murmured. Fireheart couldn’t tell if it was amusement or regret that made his old friend’s whiskers twitch.

“I’ll see you again sometime,” Graystripe meowed, giving Fireheart a shove with his muzzle.

“Definitely.” Fireheart felt a black hole of sadness yawn in his belly as the gray warrior turned to leave. Spottedleaf, Graystripe, Cloudpaw…Was Fireheart destined to lose every cat he grew close to? “Take care!” he called. He watched Graystripe pad through the ferns to the edge of the river and wade in confidently. The warrior’s broad shoulders glided through the water, leaving a gentle wake as he swam with strongly churning paws. Fireheart shook his head, wishing he could scatter his troubled thoughts as easily as Graystripe’s pelt had shed water after his swim. Then he turned away and headed into the trees.

Chapter 15

Fireheart carried the ball of wet moss gently between his teeth. Some of the moisture had dripped out on the journey home, soaking his chest and cooling his forepaws, but there would be enough to quench Goldenflower’s and Willowpelt’s thirst until a patrol could collect more after sunset.

The Clan lay in small groups around the clearing while the sun slowly slid toward the treetops. Most of them had eaten and were quietly sharing tongues in the customary grooming session, pausing briefly between licks to greet Fireheart as he emerged from the gorse tunnel. He nodded to Runningwind, Mousefur, and Thornpaw, who were about to go out on the evening patrol.