Rising Storm

Graystripe padded up and dropped a mouse on the ground at his paws. “Here, you can eat this at the nursery,” he meowed. “There are some kits I want you to see.”

Fireheart picked up the mouse and followed his friend toward a tangle of reeds. As they approached, two silver bundles hurtled through a tiny gap in the thickly woven stems and rushed toward Graystripe. They flung themselves at him, and Graystripe rolled over happily, batting with gentle sheathed paws as the kits climbed over him. Fireheart knew at once whose kits they were.

Graystripe purred loudly. “How did you know I was coming?” he rumbled.

“We smelled you!” answered the larger kit.

“Very good!” Graystripe praised him.

As Fireheart finished the last mouthful of mouse, the gray warrior sat up and the kits tumbled off him. “Now it’s time you met an old friend of mine,” he told them. “We trained together.”

The kits turned their amber eyes on Fireheart, staring up at him in awe.

“Is this Fireheart?” mewed the smallest one. Graystripe nodded, and Fireheart felt a glow of pleasure that his friend had spoken about him already to his kits.

“Come back here, you two!” A tortoiseshell face appeared in the entrance of the nursery. “It’s going to rain again.” Fireheart saw the eyes of the kits narrow crossly, but they turned and padded obediently toward the den.

“They’re great,” he purred.

“Yeah,” Graystripe agreed, his eyes soft. “More thanks to Mosspelt than me, I have to say. She’s the one who looks after them.” Fireheart heard a note of wistfulness in his friend’s voice, and wondered just how much Graystripe missed his old home.

Neither cat spoke as the gray warrior got to his paws and led Fireheart out of the camp. They sat down on a small patch of bare earth among the reeds. A willow tree arched above their heads, its branches quivering in the fresh breeze. Fireheart felt the wind tug at his fur as he stared through the willow curtain toward the distant woods. It looked as if StarClan was going to send more rain to the forest.

“Where’s Yellowfang?” asked Graystripe.

Fresh grief welled up in Fireheart’s chest. “Yellowfang came back to the ThunderClan camp with me to look for Patchpelt and Halftail. I lost her in the smoke. A…a tree fell into the ravine as she was coming out.” Was there any way she could have survived the flames? He couldn’t help a flare of hope bursting in his chest, like a trapped pigeon frantically stretching its wings. “I don’t suppose you found any scent of her on your patrol?”

Graystripe shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you think the fire’s still burning after that storm?” meowed Fireheart.

“I’m not sure. We saw a few plumes of smoke while we were out.”

Fireheart sighed. “Do you think any of the camp will be left?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” answered Graystripe. He lifted his head and stared through the leaves at the darkening skies. “Mosspelt was right—more rain’s coming.” As he spoke, a large drop landed on the ground beside them. “That should put out the last of the flames.”

Fireheart felt his head spin with grief as more drops spattered through the trees and splashed on the brittle reeds. Before long, the rain was pouring down for the second time, and it seemed that StarClan was weeping for all that had been lost.

Chapter 27

By late afternoon the lingering smell of smoke had been replaced by the stench of wet ash, but Fireheart relished its bitter odor.

“The fire must be out by now,” he meowed to Graystripe, who was sheltering beside him beneath a clump of reeds. “We could go back and see if it’s safe for the Clan to return.”

“And look for Yellowfang and Halftail,” Graystripe murmured.

Fireheart had known that his old friend would guess why he really wanted to go back to the camp. He blinked at the gray warrior, grateful for his understanding.

“I’ll have to ask Crookedstar if I can come,” Graystripe added. The words came as a shock to Fireheart. He had almost forgotten that Graystripe belonged to another Clan now.

“I’ll be back soon,” called the gray warrior, already bounding away.

Fireheart gazed across the clearing to where Bluestar was huddled next to Whitestorm, as if the white warrior were the only barrier between her troubled mind and the horrific fate that had befallen her Clan. Fireheart wondered if he should tell her where he was going. He decided not to. For the moment he would act alone and rely on his Clan to shield their leader’s weakened state from the curious RiverClan cats.

“Fireheart.” Cloudpaw was heading toward him. “Do you think the fire is out?”

“Graystripe and I are going to check,” Fireheart told him.

“Can I come?”

Fireheart shook his head. He didn’t know what they would find at the ThunderClan camp. Uncomfortably he also realized that he was afraid Cloudpaw would take one look at his ruined forest home and be tempted back into the cozy life of a kittypet.

“I’d do everything you told me,” Cloudpaw promised earnestly.