Rising Storm

“It would haven’t done them any good to travel any sooner,” mewed Cinderpelt. “And I had to make sure they’d learned how to make the herb mixture before they went.”

Fireheart twitched his tail at Cinderpelt’s stubbornness, but he couldn’t bring himself to argue with her. He knew she believed with all her heart that she had done the right thing in caring for them, and part of him agreed it had been worth the risk.

“I did tell them to leave, you know,” she meowed, her tone losing some of its certainty.

“I believe you,” Fireheart agreed gently. “It was my responsibility to make sure they left, not yours.”

Cinderpelt looked up at him curiously. “How do you know when they left?”

“Graystripe told me.”

“You spoke to Graystripe? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Fireheart purred. “He swims like a fish now.”

“You’re kidding!” mewed Cinderpelt. “I’d never have expected that.”

“Me neither,” Fireheart agreed, then stopped, embarrassed, when his belly growled with hunger.

“Go and eat,” Cinderpelt ordered. “You’d better hurry up before Yellowfang demolishes the entire pile.”

Fireheart leaned down and licked Cinderpelt’s ears. “See you later,” he mewed.

Yellowfang had left him the choice of squirrel or a pigeon. Fireheart took the pigeon and looked around the clearing, wondering where to eat it. He sensed Sandstorm watching him, her slender body stretched out and her tail neatly curled over her hind legs.

Fireheart felt his heart begin to beat faster. Suddenly it didn’t matter that she wasn’t tortoiseshell, and that her eyes were pale green, not amber. Fireheart looked at the pale ginger warrior, the pigeon hanging limply from his jaws, and remembered what Cinderpelt had told him: live in the present, let go of the past. He knew Spottedleaf would always remain in his heart, but he couldn’t deny the way the fur tingled along his spine at the sight of Sandstorm. He padded across the clearing to join her. As he laid his pigeon beside her and started to eat, he heard her begin to purr.

Suddenly a terrible caterwauling made Fireheart jerk up his head. Sandstorm scrambled to her paws as Mousefur and Thornpaw thundered into the clearing. Their fur was matted with blood, and Thornpaw was limping badly.

Fireheart swallowed his mouthful quickly and heaved himself up. “What happened? Where’s Runningwind?”

The other cats gathered behind him, hissing with fear, their fur bristling as they prepared for trouble.

“I don’t know. We were attacked,” panted Mousefur.

“By who?” Fireheart demanded.

Mousefur shook her head. “We couldn’t see. We were in the shadows.”

“But what about their scent?”

“Too near the Thunderpath. Couldn’t tell,” answered Thornpaw, his breath coming in short gasps.

Fireheart looked at the apprentice, who was swaying unsteadily on his paws. “Go and see Yellowfang,” he ordered. “Whitestorm!” he called to the white warrior who was already hurrying from Bluestar’s den. “I want you to come with us.” He turned to Mousefur. “Lead us to where this happened.”

Sandstorm and Dustpelt looked expectantly at Fireheart, waiting to receive orders. “You two stay here and guard the camp,” he meowed. “This might be a trap to lure our warriors away. It’s happened before.” With Bluestar on her last life, Fireheart knew he had to leave the camp well protected.

He charged out of the camp with Whitestorm at his side and Mousefur panting behind them. Together they scrambled up the ravine and raced into the forest.

Fireheart slowed his pace when he saw that Mousefur was struggling to keep up. “Quick as you can,” he urged. He knew she must be in pain after the fight, but they had to find Runningwind. He had a horrible feeling that this attack must have something to do with ShadowClan. Littlecloud and Whitethroat had been in ThunderClan territory so recently. Had they tricked him into leading his Clan into danger after all? He headed instinctively toward the Thunderpath.

“No,” called Mousefur. “It’s this way.” She brushed past him, quickening her pace, and veered toward Fourtrees. Fireheart and Whitestorm sped after her.

As they raced through the trees, Fireheart realized he had been this way before. This was the trail Littlecloud and Whitethroat had followed after Bluestar had sent them away the first time. Had a ShadowClan raiding party come through the stone tunnel under the Thunderpath?

Mousefur skidded to a halt between two towering ash trees. The Thunderpath droned in the distance, its foul stench drifting through the undergrowth. Ahead, Fireheart saw Runningwind’s lean brown body lying on the ground, ominously still. A black-and-white tom was bending over the unmoving warrior. With a jolt, Fireheart realized that it was Whitethroat.

The ShadowClan warrior’s eyes stretched wide as he saw the approaching cats. He began to back away from Runningwind, his legs stumbling with shock. “He’s dead!” he wailed.