Rising Storm

The leader’s gaze was fixed on a point beyond the cats at the edge of the clearing. Mistyfoot and Stonefur stood there, watching the ThunderClan cats. Fireheart saw sorrow pass through Bluestar’s eyes as she stared at her grown kits. Bluestar knew better than any cat what it was like to be torn between Clan and kin. She had once chosen to be loyal to her Clan rather than her kits, and it had caused her more pain than she would have wished on an enemy.

With a flash of insight, Fireheart thought he understood her reaction to Graystripe’s request. It was not the gray warrior she was angry at, but herself. She still regretted leaving her kits all those years ago. Part of her was trying to make sure that Graystripe didn’t make the same mistake.

The ThunderClan cats circled impatiently in the growing darkness, and Bluestar padded toward Crookedstar.

Fireheart turned and licked Graystripe’s shoulder. “Bluestar has her reasons for saying those things,” he murmured. “She’s suffering at the moment, but she’ll recover. And maybe then you can come home.”

Graystripe lifted his eyes and stared hopefully at Fireheart. “You think so?”

“Yes,” answered Fireheart, praying to StarClan that it was true.

He hurried after Bluestar and caught up in time to hear the ThunderClan leader thank Crookedstar formally for RiverClan’s generosity. Leopardfur stood beside them, gazing coolly at the ThunderClan cats.

“ThunderClan is in your debt,” Bluestar meowed, dipping her head.

Fireheart saw Leopardfur narrow her eyes at Bluestar’s words, her emerald eyes glittering. His paws prickled warily. What payment would RiverClan demand for this kindness? he wondered. He knew Leopardfur well enough to suspect that she would ask for something in return.

He followed Bluestar as she stalked to the head of her Clan and led them out of the RiverClan camp. Fireheart glanced backward and saw Graystripe standing alone in the shadows, his eyes filled with pain as he watched his former Clanmates walk away.

Fireheart sighed inwardly as Smallear hesitated again at the edge of the river. It was swollen from the rain, but Darkstripe and Whitestorm had already crossed and were waiting in the shallows at the other side. Dustpelt swam beside Fernpaw as the apprentice struggled to keep her little gray head above water. Sandstorm had crossed with Cinderpelt. The pale orange warrior had not left the medicine cat’s side since Fireheart had returned with the news about Yellowfang.

“Hurry up!” ordered Bluestar, snapping impatiently at Smallear.

The gray tom glanced over his shoulder in surprise at her harsh tone, and then hurled himself into the dark water. Fireheart tensed his muscles, ready to spring to the rescue, but there was no need. Longtail and Mousefur appeared on either side of the frantically splashing elder, buoying him up with their strong shoulders.

Bluestar leaped into the river and swam easily to the other side, all frailty gone from her body as if fire had purged the weakness from her and burned her strong again. Fireheart slipped into the water after her. The clouds above the trees were beginning to thin, and he felt a chill through his wet fur from the fresher wind as he waded from the river. He padded over to Cinderpelt, leaning down to lick her head. Sandstorm glanced at him, her eyes reflecting his sorrow, while the rest of the Clan paused on the shore and stared in silent horror at the forest. Even in the faint moonlight, the devastation was obvious, the trees stripped bare, the musty fragrances of the leaves and ferns replaced by the bitter stench of burned wood and scorched earth.

Bluestar seemed blind to it all. She strode past the other cats without pausing and headed up the slope toward Sunningrocks and the trail home. Her Clan could do nothing but follow.

“It’s like being somewhere else,” whispered Sandstorm. Fireheart nodded in agreement.

“Cloudpaw.” Fireheart slipped through the cats ahead of him and fell in step beside his apprentice. “Thank you for staying in the RiverClan camp as I asked.”

“No problem.” Cloudpaw shrugged.

“How are the elders?”

“They’re going to take a while to get over Halftail’s and Patchpelt’s deaths.” Cloudpaw’s voice was subdued. “But I managed to get them to eat some fresh-kill while you were away. They need to keep their strength up, however much they are grieving.”

“Well done. That was the right thing to do,” Fireheart told him, proud of his apprentice’s unexpectedly wise compassion.

The ravine lay like an open wound in the landscape. Sandstorm stopped and peered over the edge, and Fireheart could see her trembling. He was shivering too, even though his fur had already dried from the river crossing. The Clan filed slowly down the steep slope and followed Bluestar into the camp. Inside the clearing the cats gazed silently around the stripped, blackened space that had once been their home.

“Take me to Yellowfang’s body!” Bluestar meowed sharply at Fireheart, cracking the silence.