It was not difficult to pick up Tawnypaw’s scent in the ravine, even though it was fading by now, but toward the top he lost it, as Brackenfur had done. Firestar began to suspect that the young cat had leaped from rock to rock, where her scent would not linger, so as to confuse any cats who might try to follow her. Firestar’s worst fears flooded back; had Tawnypaw really been so unhappy in ThunderClan that she felt she had to leave?
His thoughts were interrupted by a yowl from Cloudtail among the bushes at the top of the ravine. “Over here! She went this way!”
W h en Firestar bounded up to join him, he too could distinguish the faintest trace of Tawnypaw’s scent. He and Cloudtail followed it into the trees, noses to the ground as they focused on the traces of cat among all the stronger, distracting scents of prey. No other cat’s scent joined Tawnypaw’s. This far, at least, she had been alone.
T h en, at the edge of a clearing, they lost the scent trail again, and not even Cloudtail’s sharp nose could pick it up.
A cold wind had sprung up, driving clouds across the moon and ruffling the cats’ fur, and as Firestar cast back and forth across the clearing in a last effort to find the scent again, a thin, icy rain began to fall.
“Mouse dung!” Cloudtail spat. “That just about finishes us.”
Reluctantly Firestar agreed. Calling Sandstorm and Thornclaw back from their own searches, he meowed, “Let’s get back. We can’t do any more.”
Sandstorm stood still for a moment, gazing in the direction that the scent trail had seemed to lead. “It looks as if she was heading for Fourtrees.”
That made sense, Firestar reflected. Fourtrees was the obvious place to go if Tawnypaw wanted to meet with a cat from another Clan, or to cross into another Clan’s territory. Every hair on his pelt prickled with dread. He couldn’t persuade himself any longer that Tawnypaw had just wandered off to hunt, and he could see from the troubled looks of his warriors that they shared his growing conviction: Tawnypaw had gone to ShadowClan.
When the patrol returned to the camp, Brackenfur and Bramblepaw were still anxiously waiting in the clearing. They had been joined by Tawnypaw’s mother, Goldenflower, and Mousefur. All four cats looked bedraggled and despairing in the rain that was falling more heavily now.
“Well?” Goldenflower asked as Firestar came up to her. “What did you find?”
“No thing,” Firestar meowed quietly. “We don’t know where she is.”
“Then why aren’t you still out there looking?” Goldenflower’s voice was sharp.
Firestar shook his head. “There’s nothing more we can do in the dark and the rain. She could be anywhere.”
“You don’t care, do you?” Goldenflower’s meow rose, high-pitched with anger. “You think she left deliberately! You never trusted her!”
Firestar struggled to answer, knowing that her accusation was half-true. But Goldenflower did not wait. Instead, she spun around and disappeared beneath the branches of the warriors’ den.
“Wait!” Firestar called, but she ignored him.
“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Sandstorm meowed sympathetically. “I’ll go and calm her down.” She slipped into the den behind Goldenflower.
Tired and discouraged, Firestar turned to Bramblepaw, expecting a similar accusation from him. But his apprentice was standing quietly, and the look in his amber eyes was unreadable.
“It’s okay, Firestar,” he meowed. “I know you did all you could. Thank you.” Head down and tail drooping, he made his way back to the apprentices’ den.
Firestar watched him go. Exhaustion flooded over him; it seemed like several moons since Graystripe had first suggested going to RiverClan to see his kits. A chilly gray dawn was beginning to seep into the sky, and Firestar desperately needed to rest, but there was one more duty to perform first. He had to visit Cinderpelt, and make sure the RiverClan cats would recover from their ordeal.
As he padded across the clearing to the medicine cat’s den, Firestar felt all his doubts about his leadership welling up again. One warrior banished, and gone to join his enemy—and willing to kill to prove his new loyalties. One apprentice vanished. And the whole forest caught up in terror and hatred that Firestar saw no way to combat. The vision of himself wearing the mane of LionClan that he had seen in the stream seemed a long way away. If StarClan really had destined him for greatness, Firestar couldn’t help wondering if they had chosen the wrong cat.
Standing on the Highrock, Firestar watched as his Clan emerged from their dens. It was the morning after his expedition to RiverClan territory, and he had called a meeting to tell his warriors exactly what had happened, and to explain the presence of the three RiverClan cats.
Mistyfoot and the two apprentices were sitting at the base of the Highrock with Graystripe and Cinderpelt. Firestar was pleased to see that they already looked stronger, as if their energy was coming back after a good meal and with Cinderpelt’s care.