The Darkest Hour

But this time there was no hostility. Even Mousefur and Longtail stayed silent. The story of what had happened beside the Bonehill had swung the sympathy of the Clan over to the RiverClan cats. The warriors relaxed, their shock subsiding, and there were a few murmurs of agreement with what Whitestorm had said.

Firestar looked down at the RiverClan cats where they sat at the base of the rock with Graystripe and Cinderpelt.

“Welcome to ThunderClan,” he meowed.

Mistyfoot bowed her head in gratitude. “Thank you, Firestar. We won’t forget this.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Firestar meowed. “I just hope you’ll feel completely better soon.”

“They’ll be fine, Firestar,” meowed Cinderpelt. “All they need is good food and a warm place to sleep.”

“Yes, there was no bedding in that horrible hole,” Featherpaw fretted, her eyes wide and troubled.

“You don’t need to think about that anymore,” Mistyfoot promised with a comforting lick. “Just concentrate on getting strong again. As soon as you’re fit, we’ll have to get on with your training.”

Firestar remembered that Mistyfoot was Featherpaw’s mentor. He was wondering about the difficulties of training an apprentice in unfamiliar territory, when Graystripe broke in on his thoughts.

“Stonefur was Stormpaw’s mentor, so he’ll need another one now. Is it okay if I mentor him myself?”

“Good idea,” Firestar meowed, and was rewarded by the glow of pride and pleasure in Graystripe’s eyes as he looked at his son. “We’ll hold the ceremony right away.” He wasn’t sure that it was necessary, given that Stormpaw wasn’t truly a member of ThunderClan, but there was something inside him that longed to make contact with StarClan through the old, familiar rituals.

Leaping down from the Highrock he beckoned to Stormpaw with his tail. Stormpaw came to stand in front of him, still shaky on his paws but holding his head high.

“Stormpaw, you have already begun your apprenticeship,” Firestar began. “Stonefur was a noble mentor, and ThunderClan grieves for him. Now you must continue to learn the skills of a warrior under a new mentor.” Turning to Graystripe, he went on: “Graystripe, you will continue Stormpaw’s training. You have borne suffering with a warrior’s spirit, and I expect you to pass on what you have learned to this apprentice.”

Graystripe nodded solemnly, then padded over to his son and touched noses with him. Firestar caught Brackenfur’s eye; the young tom was obviously pleased that his old mentor had a new apprentice.

Firestar brought the meeting to an end and descended from the High Rock. Glancing around, he spotted Sandstorm not far away. “Sandstorm, I want to ask you a favor.”

The ginger she-cat looked up at him. “What is it?”

“It’s about Mistyfoot. She’ll have trouble mentoring Featherpaw properly here. She doesn’t know where the training places are, or the dangers, or the best places for prey.”

Firestar hesitated, not sure if what he was about to suggest was a good idea. Not long ago he had chosen Brackenfur to mentor Tawnypaw, and Sandstorm had been deeply offended that he had passed her over. She might well take offense again at his new idea.

“Go on,” mewed Sandstorm.

“I…I wanted to ask you if you’d help Mistyfoot with Featherpaw’s training. I can’t think of any cat who would be better.”

Sandstorm gave him a long, measured look. “You think you can get around me with a bit of flattery, do you?”

“I don’t—”

Sandstrom let out a purr of laughter. “Well, maybe you can. Of course I’ll help her, you stupid furball. I’ll have a word with her now.”

Relief washed over Firestar. “Thank you, Sandstorm.”

A loud wailing interrupted him. The cats still in the clearing were staring at the entrance from the gorse tunnel. Firestar could not see what had alarmed them, but he caught the tang of blood on the air, and unfamiliar cat scent.

Thrusting his way through his warriors, Firestar reached the entrance. Limping out of the tunnel was a cat that was almost wounded beyond recognition. Blood dripped from a long gash in his flank. His fur was matted with sand and dust, and one eye was closed.

Then Firestar made out the mottled dark pelt under the dirt and managed to distinguish the scent of WindClan. The newcomer was Mudclaw, barely able to stand from pain and exhaustion.

“Mudclaw!” Firestar exclaimed. “What happened?”

Mudclaw staggered toward him. “You’ve got to help us, Firestar!” he rasped. “TigerClan is attacking our camp!”

Chapter 19

Firestar leaped up the slope leading into WindClan territory from Fourtrees. Behind him streamed a patrol of his warriors: Graystripe, Brackenfur, Sandstorm, Cloudtail, and Dustpelt with his apprentice, Ashpaw. Firestar had not dared bring more cats to WindClan’s aid; he had left Whitestorm in charge of the ThunderClan camp with every other warrior on watch, in case Tigerstar planned to attack them as well.