Rising Storm

The RiverClan deputy led the blackened, bedraggled group through the reed beds beside the bank, until an island appeared ahead. In any other season it would have been surrounded by water; now the path merely glistened in the fresh rainfall.

Fireheart recognized this place. It had been ringed by ice the first time he had been here. Reeds had poked sharply through the frozen water then; now they swayed in great swathes, and silvery willow trees grew among the rustling stems. The rain cascaded down their delicate, trailing branches onto the sandy ground below.

Leopardfur followed a narrow passage through the rushes and onto the island. There was a lingering smell of smoke here, but the roar of the flames had faded, and Fireheart could hear the merciful sound of raindrops splashing down into the water beyond the reeds.

Crookedstar stood in a clearing in the center of the island, his fur bristling on his shoulders. Fireheart noticed the RiverClan leader glance suspiciously at Graystripe as the ThunderClan cats limped into the camp, but Leopardfur padded over to the light brown tabby and explained, “They were fleeing the fire.”

“Is RiverClan safe?” asked Crookedstar at once.

“The fire won’t cross the river,” replied Leopardfur. “Especially now that the wind has changed.”

Fireheart sniffed the air. Leopardfur was right; the wind had changed. The storm had been carried in on a wind much fresher than any he had smelled for a while. It rippled through his sodden fur, and Fireheart felt his mind begin to clear. Water dripped from his whiskers as he swung his head around to see where Bluestar was. He knew she should greet Crookedstar formally, but she was huddled among her Clan, her head low and her eyes half-closed.

Fireheart felt his belly clench with anxiety. ThunderClan could not afford to let RiverClan know how weak their leader was. He quickly stepped forward in her place. “Leopardfur and her patrol showed great kindness and courage in helping us flee the fire,” he meowed to Crookedstar, dipping his head low. Above him lightning still flickered across the cloudy sky and thunder rumbled in the distance, rolling away from the forest.

“Leopardfur was right to help you. All the Clans fear fire,” replied the RiverClan leader.

“Our camp was burned and our territory is still on fire,” Fireheart went on, blinking away the rain that streamed into his eyes. “We have nowhere to go.” He knew he had no choice but to throw himself on the mercy of the RiverClan leader.

Crookedstar narrowed his eyes and paused. Fireheart felt his paws grow hot with frustration. Surely the RiverClan leader didn’t think this wretched group of cats posed any threat? Then Crookedstar spoke. “You may stay until it is safe for you to return.”

Relief flowed through Fireheart. “Thank you,” he meowed, blinking gratefully.

“Would you like us to bury your elder?” offered Leopardfur.

“You are very generous, but Patchpelt should be buried by his own Clan,” Fireheart answered. It was sad enough that the old warrior would not be laid to rest in his own territory, and Fireheart knew that his denmates would want to send him on his final journey to StarClan.

“Very well,” meowed Leopardfur. “I’ll have his body moved outside the camp so that your elders may sit vigil with him in peace.” Fireheart nodded his thanks as Leopardfur went on: “I’ll ask Mudfur to help your medicine cat.” The mottled she-cat scanned the drenched and shivering cats. Her eyes narrowed as her gaze fell on the huddled shape of the ThunderClan leader. “Is Bluestar injured?”

“The smoke was very bad,” Fireheart replied carefully. “She was among the last to leave the camp. Excuse me, I must see to my Clan.” He stood up and padded over to where Cloudpaw and Smallear sat, side by side. “Are you fit enough to bury Patchpelt?” he asked.

“I am,” meowed Cloudpaw. “But I think Smallear is—”

“I’m well enough to bury an old denmate,” rasped Smallear, his voice scratched by smoke.

“I’ll ask Dustpelt to help you,” Fireheart told them.

A brown tom was following Cinderpelt among the ThunderClan cats. He carried a bundle of herbs in his mouth, which he placed on the damp ground when Cinderpelt paused beside Willowpelt and her kits. The tiny cats were wailing pitifully, but refused to drink when Willowpelt pressed them to her belly.

Fireheart hurried over. “Are they okay?”

Cinderpelt nodded. “Mudfur suggested we give them honey to soothe their throats. They’ll be fine, but it’s done them no good to breathe in the smoke.”

The brown cat at her side meowed to Willowpelt, “Do you think they could manage a little honey?” The gray queen nodded and watched gratefully as the RiverClan medicine cat held out a wad of moss dripping with sticky, golden liquid. She purred as her tiny kits licked at it, first tentatively, then greedily as the soothing sweetness entered their mouths.