Rising Storm

Fireheart stared into Darkstripe’s amber eyes, trying not to betray his sense of triumph, and nodded toward Bluestar’s den, signaling with a flick of his tail that the ThunderClan leader wanted to see him. As the striped warrior strode past him, Fireheart padded to the pile of fresh-kill, which was already well stocked even though the sun was still climbing in the sky. The patrols were hunting well, he thought with satisfaction. Tired and hungry, he picked up a squirrel in his jaws. If there was a storm coming, Fireheart thought, he hoped it would break soon.

On the way to the nettle clump, Fireheart made a detour to the apprentices’ den where Cloudpaw sat alone, hungrily gulping down a sparrow.

The white cat looked up and swallowed hastily as Fireheart approached. “What did she say?” For once there was an anxious edge to his mew.

Fireheart dropped his squirrel. “You can stay.”

Cloudpaw broke into a loud purr. “Great,” he mewed. “When are we going out training?”

Fireheart’s weary paws ached at the thought, and he answered, “Not today. I have to rest.”

Cloudpaw looked disappointed.

“Tomorrow,” Fireheart promised with a glimmer of amusement. He couldn’t help feeling cheered by his apprentice’s enthusiasm to get back into the old routines. “By the way,” he went on, “you tell a fine story. You made your little escapade sound like quite an adventure.” Cloudpaw looked awkwardly down at his paws as Fireheart continued, “But as long as you start living by the warrior code, I’ll let the Clan go on believing you were ‘stolen’ by the Twolegs…”

“But I was,” muttered Cloudpaw.

Fireheart stared sternly back at him. “We both know that’s not entirely true. And if I catch you even looking over a Twoleg fence again, I’ll chase you out of the Clan myself!”

“Yes, Fireheart,” mewed Cloudpaw. “I understand.”

Fireheart curled up in his nest the following evening feeling pleased. His training session with Cloudpaw had gone well. For once his apprentice had listened carefully to every instruction, and there was no denying that his fighting techniques were getting better and better. I just hope it lasts, he thought as he drifted into slumber.

The forest weaved its way into his dreams. Tree trunks loomed toward him through the mist, disappearing into clouds as they soared upward. Fireheart called out, but his voice was sucked into the eerie silence. Panic rose in his chest as he searched for familiar landmarks, but the mist was too thick. The trees seemed to crowd in on him, growing closer together than he remembered, their blackened trunks scraping against his fur. He sniffed the air, his fur bristling in alarm at an acrid scent that he recognized but could not name.

Suddenly he felt the softness of another pelt pressing against his own. An achingly familiar scent enveloped him, soothing his fretful mind like a drink of cool water. It was Spottedleaf.

“What’s happening?” Fireheart meowed, but Spottedleaf didn’t reply. Fireheart spun around to face her, but he could barely see her through the mist. He could just make out her amber eyes filled with fear before the sound of Twoleg howling exploded into the silence.

A pair of young Twolegs came running out of the mist, their faces twisted in fear. Fireheart felt Spottedleaf dive away and turned to see her disappear into the fog. Terrified, Fireheart was left alone with the Twolegs rushing toward him, their feet thundering on the forest floor.

He woke with a start. His eyes flashed open and he stared fearfully around the den. Something was wrong. The world of his dreams had invaded his waking world; the acrid scent still filled the air, and a strange, choking mist seeped through the branches. Fireheart leaped to his paws and scrambled out of the den. An orange light shone dimly through the trees. Could it be dawn already?

The smell grew stronger, and with a sense of horror Fireheart knew what it was.

Fire!

Chapter 23

“Fire! Wake up!” Fireheart yowled.

Frostfur stumbled out of the warriors’ den, her eyes wide with fear.

“We must leave the camp at once!” Fireheart ordered. “Tell Bluestar the forest is on fire!”

He ran to the elders’ den and called through the branches of the fallen oak, “Fire! Get out!” Then he raced to where the apprentices were clambering drowsily from their nests. “Leave the camp! Head for the river,” he called. Cloudpaw’s bewildered face stared at him, still dazed by sleep. “Head for the river!” Fireheart repeated urgently.

Frostfur was already helping Bluestar across the shadowy clearing. The leader’s face was a grotesque mask of fear as Frostfur nudged her forward with her nose.

“This way!” Fireheart yowled, beckoning with his tail before rushing to help the white she-cat guide Bluestar toward the entrance. Cats were streaming past on either side of them, their fur bristling.