Rising Storm

Fireheart padded away. Cinderpelt had everything under control. He found a sheltered corner at the edge of the clearing and sat down to wash. His singed pelt tasted foul as he brushed his tongue along it. His body ached with tiredness but he carried on licking. He wanted to wash away all trace of the smoke before he rested.

When he had finished, he glanced around the camp. The RiverClan cats had fled the rain into their dens, leaving the ThunderClan cats to huddle in groups at the edge of the clearing beneath the whispering wall of reeds, seeking any protection from the pounding rain. Fireheart was aware of the dark shape of Graystripe moving among his former Clanmates, soothing them with his gentle mew. Cinderpelt had finished tending to the cats and was curled up, exhausted, beside Ashpaw. Fireheart could just make out Sandstorm’s pale ginger flank, rising and falling steadily next to Longtail’s silver tabby back. Bluestar was asleep beside Whitestorm.

Fireheart rested his muzzle on his forepaws, listening to the beating of the rain on the muddy clearing. As his eyes closed, the unbearable image of Yellowfang’s terrified face burst into his mind. His heart began to pound, but exhaustion took over and he finally retreated into the refuge of sleep.

Chapter 26

Fireheart felt as if he had slept for only a moment when he woke. A cool breeze was ruffling his fur. The rain had stopped. Above, the sky was filled with billowing white clouds. For a moment he felt confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then he became aware of the sound of voices meowing nearby and recognized Smallear’s trembling mew.

“I told you StarClan would show its anger!” rasped the old tom. “Our home has gone; the forest is no more.”

“Bluestar should have appointed the deputy before moonhigh,” fretted Speckletail. “It’s the custom!”

Fireheart leaped to his paws, his ears burning, but before he could say anything, Cinderpelt’s mew rose into the air.

“How can you be so ungrateful? Fireheart carried you across the river, Smallear!”

“He nearly drowned me,” complained Smallear.

“You’d be dead if he’d left you behind,” spat Cinderpelt. “If Fireheart hadn’t smelled the smoke in the first place, we might all be dead!”

“I’m sure Patchpelt, Halftail, and Yellowfang are deeply grateful to him.”

Fireheart’s fur rippled with anger as he heard Darkstripe’s sarcastic yowl.

“Yellowfang will thank him herself when we find her!” hissed Cinderpelt.

“Find her?” echoed Darkstripe. “There’s no way she’ll have escaped that fire. Fireheart should never have allowed her to go back to the camp.”

Cinderpelt growled deep in her throat. Darkstripe had gone too far. Fireheart padded quickly from the shadows and saw Fernpaw sitting beside Darkstripe, staring up at her mentor with horror in her eyes.

Fireheart opened his mouth, but it was Dustpelt who spoke first. “Darkstripe! You should show more respect for your lost Clanmates, and”—he glanced sympathetically at the frightened Fernpaw—“be more careful with what you say. Our Clanmates have suffered enough already!”

Fireheart was taken aback to hear the young warrior challenge his former mentor.

Darkstripe eyed Dustpelt with equal surprise, than narrowed his eyes dangerously.

“Dustpelt’s right,” Fireheart meowed quietly, stepping forward. “We shouldn’t be arguing.”

Darkstripe, Smallear, and the others whipped around to stare at Fireheart, their ears and tails flicking awkwardly as they realized he had heard their conversation.

“Fireheart!” Graystripe’s mew interrupted them, and Fireheart saw his friend crossing the clearing, his fur damp from the river.

“Have you been on patrol?” Fireheart asked, turning away from the ThunderClan cats and padding over to meet Graystripe.

“Yes. And hunting,” meowed Graystripe. “We can’t all sleep the morning away, you know.” He nudged Fireheart on the shoulder and went on: “You must be hungry. Come with me.” He led Fireheart toward a pile of fresh-kill at the edge of the clearing. “Leopardfur says this is for your Clan,” Graystripe told him.

Fireheart’s belly growled with hunger. “Thanks,” he meowed. “I’d better let the Clan know.” He went over to where the ThunderClan cats were gathered. “Graystripe says that pile of food is for us,” he announced.

“Thank StarClan,” Goldenflower meowed gratefully.

“We don’t need other Clans to feed us,” sneered Darkstripe.

“I suppose you can go hunting if you want,” Fireheart meowed, narrowing his eyes at the tabby warrior. “But you’ll need to ask Crookedstar’s permission first. After all, this is his territory.”

Darkstripe snorted impatiently and padded toward the fresh-kill pile. Fireheart looked at Bluestar. She hadn’t reacted to the news of food at all.

Whitestorm twitched his ears. “I’ll make sure everyone gets a share,” he promised, glancing at Bluestar.

“Thanks,” Fireheart answered.