The Forgotten Warrior

Cinderheart padded up, her eyes glimmering with amusement as her gaze traveled over Lionblaze’s ruffled pelt. “You look like you’ve been pulled through the thorn barrier backward,” she mewed.

“I feel like it, too,” Lionblaze replied. “Blossomfall and Foxleap didn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. They’re turning into great fighters.”

He was heading toward the fresh-kill pile when a yowl broke out behind him. “Firestar! Firestar!”

Whirling around, Lionblaze saw Sorreltail burst into the clearing with Bumblestripe, Berrynose, and Hazeltail hard on her paws. Birchfall and Ivypool followed more slowly.

“Great StarClan!” Lionblaze exclaimed, his neck fur rising. “Are we under attack?”

While Sorreltail was struggling to get her breath back, Firestar appeared from his den on the Highledge, then ran lightly down the tumbled rocks to the floor of the hollow. Sandstorm leaped down behind him, while Dustpelt and Brackenfur bounded over from the fresh-kill pile.

“What’s going on?” Firestar demanded as he halted in front of Sorreltail’s patrol.

“Trouble on the WindClan border,” Sorreltail explained. “Birchfall and Ivypool got into an argument with some WindClan cats. I think if we hadn’t turned up, there would have been a fight.”

“Is this true?” Firestar asked, fixing his green gaze on Birchfall and Ivypool.

For the first time Lionblaze noticed that Birchfall was looking sulky, while the tip of Ivypool’s tail flicked irritably to and fro.

“They started it,” Birchfall mewed defensively. “They didn’t want to let us wash our paws in the stream.”

“We weren’t on their territory,” Ivypool added. “We weren’t doing anything wrong.”

“For StarClan’s sake!” Dustpelt snapped, before Firestar could respond. “Aren’t the tensions high enough between the Clans, without going out to look for more trouble?”

“We weren’t looking for it!” Ivypool flashed back at him.

As Firestar raised his tail for silence, Brackenfur padded to Sorreltail’s side and touched her ear lightly with his nose. “I hope you haven’t been getting into any skirmishes,” he murmured.

His mate blinked at him affectionately. “No. But it’s no thanks to these mouse-brains.”

“Mouse-brain yourself!” Birchfall retorted.

“Let’s all keep calm,” Firestar meowed, padding into the middle of the hostile group. “No cat is saying you broke the warrior code,” he went on to Birchfall and Ivypool, “but washing your paws on the WindClan border wasn’t the most sensible thing you’ve ever done.”

“Yes, what’s wrong with the lake?” Sandstorm put in.

Ivypool opened her jaws to reply, but just then excited squealing came from the direction of the nursery. Lionblaze glanced over his shoulder to see Molekit and Cherrykit scampering up.

“What’s happening?” Cherrykit demanded, her tail straight up in the air with excitement. “Can we help?”

“Tell us what to do!” Molekit puffed his chest out importantly. “Who are we going to fight?”

Lionblaze felt warmed by the kits’ enthusiasm. They were almost six moons old, ready to be apprentices, and their mother, Poppyfrost, was ready to return to warrior duties. He bent his head and touched noses with each kit in turn. “Settle down,” he purred. “WindClan isn’t about to attack. You can put your claws away.”

Straightening up again, he caught Cinderheart’s blue gaze, and saw a flash of pain in her eyes. He understood exactly how she was feeling. We could have kits of our own, as soon as you like, if you could only get past the prophecy. He suppressed a growl of frustration that the gray she-cat found his destiny such a big obstacle. I didn’t ask to be picked out by StarClan before I was even born!

“Having fun with the kits?” Brightheart asked, padding up with her mate, Cloudtail. “You’ll be a great father one day, Lionblaze.”

And that doesn’t help, either, Lionblaze thought, his fur itching with embarrassment.

More cats emerged from the thorn tunnel. Mousewhisker was in the lead, ahead of Dovewing, Icecloud, and Toadstep. Dovewing held a squirrel clamped in her jaws, while Icecloud was carrying a blackbird. They padded into the center of the clearing, casting curious glances at the group of cats around Firestar, then headed for the fresh-kill pile to deposit their prey. Most of the other cats drifted after them, the argument about the encounter with WindClan breaking up.

As soon as Dovewing had dropped her squirrel, Purdy padded up to her from the elders’ den. “Hey, young ‘un,” he began, “it was you collectin’ moss this morning, wasn’t it?”

Dovewing tipped her head on one side. “Yes, Whitewing and I fetched it. Is there a problem?”

“It’s really dry an’ prickly,” Purdy meowed, blinking apologetically. “I don’t want to fuss, but Mousefur can’t get comfortable.”