Rising Storm

Brindleface was getting ready to lead another group of elders to fetch water. She was gathering them together at the fallen oak, and Fireheart heard Smallear’s determined mew as he passed. “We’ll need to keep our ears pricked and our eyes sharp while we’re traveling.” The old gray tom went on: “You see that nick in my ear? I got that when I was an apprentice. An owl swooped out of nowhere. But I’ll bet my claws left a bigger scar than his!”

Fireheart felt his fur relax on his shoulders, soothed by the familiar murmurings of Clan life. The ShadowClan cats were gone, just as Cinderpelt had promised, and he had seen Graystripe. He slipped into the nursery and placed the moss gently beside Willowpelt and Goldenflower.

“Thanks, Fireheart,” meowed Willowpelt.

“There’ll be more after supper,” Fireheart promised as the two queens began to lick the precious drops of water from the clump of moss. He tried to ignore the eyes of Tigerclaw’s kit gleaming hungrily from the shadows as Goldenflower pressed the moss with her muzzle to squeeze out another mouthful.

“Brindleface is going to lead the other elders to the river once the sun has set and the woods are clear of Twolegs,” Fireheart explained.

Goldenflower licked her lips. “It’s been a while since some of them have been out in the forest after dark,” she commented.

“I think Smallear is looking forward to it,” purred Fireheart. “He was telling stories about the owl that used to hunt near Sunningrocks. Poor Halftail looked a bit nervous.”

“A little excitement will do him good,” Willowpelt remarked. “I wish I could go with them. A scrap with an owl would be just the thing to stretch my legs!”

“Do you miss being a warrior?” Fireheart asked, surprised. Willowpelt looked so comfortable lying in the nursery while her fast-growing kits scrambled over her. It hadn’t occurred to him she might hanker after her old life.

“Wouldn’t you?” Willowpelt challenged him.

“Well, yes,” stammered Fireheart. “But you have your kits.”

Willowpelt twisted her head to pick up a tiny tortoiseshell-and-white she-kit that had tumbled off her flank. She dropped it between her forepaws and gave it a lick. “Oh, yes, I have my kits,” she agreed. “But I miss running through the forest, hunting for my own prey, and patrolling our borders.” She licked the kit again and added, “I’m looking forward to taking these three out into the forest for the first time.”

“They look like they’ll make fine warriors,” Fireheart meowed. The bittersweet memory of Cloudpaw’s first expedition, when he went into the snowbound forest and came back with a vole, rose in Fireheart’s mind, and he blinked. He dipped his head to the queens and turned to leave, glancing furtively at Tigerclaw’s kit. He couldn’t help wondering what sort of warrior it would be. “Bye,” he mumbled as he squeezed out of the nursery.

He could smell the tempting scents of the fresh-kill pile wafting from nearby, but there was one more thing he had to do before he could settle down for his evening meal. He padded across the clearing to Yellowfang’s den.

The elderly medicine cat was resting in the evening sun, her fur dull and unkempt as usual. She lifted her muzzle to greet him. “Hello, Fireheart,” she rasped. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Cinderpelt,” answered Fireheart.

“Why? What do you want now?” Cinderpelt’s mew sounded from inside her fern nest, and her gray head popped out.

“Is that any way to greet your deputy?” Yellowfang scolded, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“It is when he disturbs my sleep,” retorted Cinderpelt, clambering out. “He seems determined I shouldn’t get any rest these days!”

Yellowfang narrowed her eyes at Fireheart. “Have you two been up to something I should know about?”

“Are you questioning your deputy?” Cinderpelt teased.

Yellowfang purred. “I know you’ve been up to something,” she meowed. “But I won’t pry. All I know is that my apprentice seems back to her old self again. Which is good, because she was no use to any cat while she was moping around like a damp mushroom!”

Fireheart was very relieved to see the two cats sparring with each other as they had done when Cinderpelt was first apprenticed to the medicine cat, before Silverstream had died. He shifted his paws awkwardly on the sun-baked ground. He had come to tell Cinderpelt that the ShadowClan cats had gone, but with Yellowfang here it was not easy.

“It’s strange,” Yellowfang growled, looking pointedly at Fireheart. “I suddenly feel like fetching another mouse from the fresh-kill pile.” Fireheart blinked gratefully at the old medicine cat. “Anything you want, Cinderpelt?” she called over her shoulder as she padded toward the tunnel. Cinderpelt shook her head. “Okay, I’ll be back in a moment,” Yellowfang rasped. “Or maybe two.”

When she had disappeared, Fireheart meowed quietly, “I checked on the ShadowClan cats. They’ve gone.”

“I told you they would,” replied Cinderpelt.

“But they didn’t go until a couple of days ago,” Fireheart added.