The Darkest Hour

Graystripe’s yellow eyes had begun to glow as Firestar spoke. “That’s great!” he meowed. “Thanks, Firestar. Can we go now?”

“If you like. Let me finish this vole first. You find Whitestorm and tell him he’s in charge of the camp. But don’t tell him where we’re going,” he added quickly.

Graystripe bounded off to the warriors’ den while Firestar swallowed the last few gulps of vole and swiped his tongue over his mouth. By the time he had finished, Graystripe had reappeared and the two friends headed for the mouth of the gorse tunnel.

Reaching it, however, they stopped short as a familiar black shape slipped into the clearing.

“Ravenpaw!” Firestar exclaimed happily. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you,” Ravenpaw responded, touching noses in greeting with Firestar and then with Graystripe. “Graystripe, I haven’t seen you in moons! How are you?”

“I’m fine. It’s easy to see you’re doing well,” he added, eyeing Ravenpaw’s glossy black pelt.

“I came to pay my respects to Bluestar,” Ravenpaw explained. “You remember, Firestar, you said I could.”

“Yes, of course.” Firestar glanced at Graystripe, whose paws were working urgently in his haste to be off. “Ravenpaw, can you go and find Cinderpelt? She’ll show you the place where Bluestar is buried. Graystripe and I are just off on a mission.”

“That sounds like the old days!” meowed Ravenpaw, half enviously. “What is it this time?”

“We’re going over to RiverClan to check on my kits,” Graystripe told him in a rush. “I’m worried about them, now that Tigerstar is taking over.”

Ravenpaw’s shocked look reminded Firestar that he knew nothing of the recent developments in the forest. Rapidly he told the black cat what Tigerstar had announced at the last Gathering.

“But that’s a disaster!” Ravenpaw hissed when he had finished. “Is there anything I can do to help? I could come with you.”

His eyes were gleaming. Firestar guessed Ravenpaw was excited by the prospect of adventure. How different he was now from the nervous apprentice he had once been, bullied by his fierce mentor, Tigerclaw!

“All right,” he meowed, trusting his instincts that it would be good to have Ravenpaw with them. “We’ll be glad to have you.”

As he bounded through the forest, his two oldest friends by his side, Firestar felt his mind flood with memories of how they had trained and hunted together as apprentices. For a short time he could almost imagine that those days had returned, that he had shed his responsibilities like falling leaves and was young and carefree again.

But he knew that this was impossible. He was Clan leader now, and he could never escape from his duty to the cats who depended on him.

The sun had gone down by the time that Firestar and his friends reached the edge of the forest. Warning Graystripe and Ravenpaw to stay back, Firestar crept through the undergrowth until he could look out over the river.

In front of him lay the stepping-stones, the easiest route into RiverClan territory. As Firestar peered at the cold, gray water, he caught a strong scent of cats—RiverClan and S h a d o w C l an mixed. A patrol was making its way along the opposite bank. They were too far away for Firestar to be sure which cats they were, but he could not see the blue-gray pelts of Mistyfoot and Stonefur.

He felt a pang of disappointment. If either of their friends had been near the border, Graystripe could have asked them for news and the matter could have ended there. Now they would have to go right into RiverClan territory.

Firestar knew he was risking everything on slipping in and slipping out again quietly, unobserved. If it was ever found out that a Clan leader had trespassed on another Clan’s territory, he would be in trouble. But he knew that he had to do it for Graystripe.

The gray warrior had crept up beside him. “What’s the matter?” he whispered. “Why are we waiting here?”

Firestar angled his ears toward the patrol. A moment later they disappeared into a reed bed and their scent slowly faded.

“Okay, let’s go,” Firestar meowed.

Leading the way, he leaped from one stepping-stone to another across the black, swiftly flowing water. He thought back to the floods of last leaf-bare, when he and Graystripe had almost drowned saving the lives of two of Mistyfoot’s kits. Leopardstar had conveniently forgotten that now, Firestar realized, as well as how the two ThunderClan warriors had helped the starving cats of RiverClan by taking them fresh-kill from their own hunting grounds.

But there was no point in thinking about that now. Reaching the far bank, Firestar slid into the shelter of a clump of reeds and checked once again that no enemy cats were near. All he could scent was the traces of the patrol, steadily growing fainter.

Treading softly, he made his way upriver toward the RiverClan camp. Graystripe and Ravenpaw followed, silent as shadows.