Rising Storm

You tried to warn him about Tigerclaw! Fireheart could almost hear the familiar voice of his best friend, Graystripe, echoing in his head, and he winced as bittersweet memories flooded through him. It was exactly the sort of thing the former ThunderClan warrior would say to him right now. They had trained together as apprentices and fought beside each other until love and tragedy had torn them apart. Graystripe had fallen in love with a she-cat from another Clan, but if Silverstream had not died in her kitting, perhaps Graystripe would have stayed with ThunderClan. Once more Fireheart remembered Graystripe carrying his two kits into RiverClan territory, taking them to join their dead mother’s Clan. Fireheart’s shoulders sagged. He missed the companionship of Graystripe and still silently shared words with him almost every day. He knew his old friend so well, it was always easy to imagine what Graystripe would say in reply.

Fireheart shook away the memories with a flick of his ears. It was time he got back to camp. He was the deputy of ThunderClan now, and there were hunting parties and patrols to organize. Cloudpaw would have to manage alone.

The ground was dry underpaw as Fireheart raced through the woods to the top of the ravine where the camp lay. He hesitated for a moment and enjoyed the surge of pride and affection he always felt as he approached his forest home. Even though he had spent his kithood in Twolegplace, he had known since the first time he had ventured into the forest that this was where he truly belonged.

Below him, the ThunderClan camp was well hidden by thick brambles. Bounding down the steep slope, Fireheart followed the well-worn path to the gorse tunnel that led into the camp.

The pale gray queen, Willowpelt, lay at the entrance to the nursery, warming her swollen belly in the morning sun. Until recently she had shared the warriors’ den. Now she lived in the nursery with the other queens while she waited for her first litter to be born.

Beside her, Brindleface affectionately watched her two kits as they tussled on the hard earth, scuffing up small clouds of dust. They had been Cloudpaw’s adopted littermates. When Fireheart had brought his sister’s firstborn into the Clan, Brindleface had agreed to suckle the helpless kit. Cloudpaw had recently been made an apprentice, and it would not be long before Brindleface’s own kits were ready to leave the nursery too.

A murmur of voices drew Fireheart’s gaze toward the Highrock, which stood at the head of the clearing. A group of warriors was gathered in the shadows beneath the rock on which Bluestar, the leader of ThunderClan, normally stood to address her Clan. Fireheart recognized Darkstripe’s tabby pelt, the lithe shape of Runningwind, and Whitestorm’s snowy head among them.

As Fireheart padded silently across the baked earth, Darkstripe’s querulous meow sounded above the other voices. “So who’s going to lead the patrol at sunhigh?”

“Fireheart will decide when he returns from hunting,” Whitestorm answered calmly. The elderly warrior was clearly reluctant to be stirred by Darkstripe’s hostile tone.

“He should be back by now,” complained Dustpelt, a brown tabby who had been an apprentice at the same time as Fireheart.

“I am back,” Fireheart announced. He shouldered his way through the warriors to sit down beside Whitestorm.

“Well, now that you’re here, are you going to tell us who’s going to lead the patrol at sunhigh?” meowed Darkstripe. The silver tabby turned a cold gaze on Fireheart.

Fireheart felt hot under his fur, in spite of the shade cast by the Highrock. Darkstripe had been closer to Tigerclaw than any other cat, and Fireheart couldn’t help wondering about the depth of his loyalty, even though Darkstripe had chosen to stay when his former ally was exiled. “Longtail will lead the patrol,” Fireheart meowed.

Slowly Darkstripe switched his gaze from Fireheart to Whitestorm, his whiskers twitching and his eyes glittering with scorn. Fireheart swallowed nervously, wondering if he had said something stupid.

“Er, Longtail’s out with his apprentice,” explained Runningwind, looking awkward. “He and Swiftpaw won’t be back till evening, remember?” Beside him, Dustpelt snorted scornfully.

Fireheart gritted his teeth. I should have known that! “Runningwind, then. You can take Brackenfur and Dustpelt with you.”

“Brackenfur’ll never keep up with us,” meowed Dustpelt. “He’s still limping from the battle with the rogue cats.”

“Okay, okay.” Fireheart tried to disguise his mounting agitation, but he couldn’t help feeling he was just plucking names at random as he ordered, “Brackenfur can go hunting with Mousefur and…and…”

“I’d like to hunt with them,” Sandstorm offered.

Fireheart blinked gratefully at the orange she-cat and went on. “…and Sandstorm.”

“What about the patrol? It’ll be past sunhigh if we don’t decide soon!” meowed Darkstripe.

“You can join Runningwind on patrol,” snapped Fireheart.