A Dangerous Path

Chapter 3

Fireheart opened his eyes and blinked in the uncomfortably bright sunlight. He still couldn’t get used to the way the sun shone straight into the warriors’ den now that the thick covering of leaves had gone. Yawning, he uncurled himself and shook the clinging scraps of moss from his coat.

Close beside him, Sandstorm was still asleep; Dustpelt and Darkstripe were curled up a little farther away. Fireheart padded out into the clearing. It was three days since the Gathering and the discovery of Tigerstar’s new leadership, and there was still no sign of the attack Bluestar had feared. ThunderClan had used the time to rebuild the camp, and although there was still a long way to go, Fireheart couldn’t help feeling pleased when he saw shady walls of fern beginning to grow back around the edge of the camp, and the bramble thicket firmly interlaced with twigs to shelter the nursing queens and their kits.

As Fireheart made his way toward the pile of fresh-kill, he saw the dawn patrol returning with Whitestorm in the lead. Fireheart paused and waited for the white warrior to join him.

“Any sign of ShadowClan?”

Whitestorm shook his head. “Nothing,” he meowed. “Just the usual scent markings along their border. There was one thing, though…”

Fireheart’s ears pricked. “What?”

“Not far from Snakerocks we found a whole stretch of undergrowth trampled down, and pigeon feathers scattered all over it.”

“Pigeon feathers?” Fireheart echoed. “I haven’t seen a pigeon for days. Is some other Clan hunting in our territory?”

“I don’t think so. The whole place reeked of dog.” Whitestorm wrinkled his nose with distaste. “There was dog dirt there too.”

“Oh, a dog.” Fireheart flicked his tail dismissively. “Well, we all know that Twolegs are always bringing their dogs into the forest. They run around, chase a few squirrels, and then the Twolegs take them home again.” He let out a purr of amusement. “The only unusual thing is that it looks as if this one caught something.”

To his surprise, Whitestorm continued to look serious. “All the same, I think you should tell the patrols to keep their eyes open,” he meowed.

“Okay.” Fireheart respected the older warrior too much to ignore his advice, but privately he thought the dog would be a long way away by now, shut up somewhere in Twolegplace. Dogs were noisy nuisances, but he had more important things to worry about.

He was reminded of his anxiety about food supplies as he followed Whitestorm to the pile of fresh-kill. Brightpaw, Whitestorm’s apprentice, and Cloudpaw, who had made up the rest of the patrol, were already there.

“Look at this!” Cloudpaw complained as Fireheart came up. He turned a vole over with one paw. “There’s hardly a decent mouthful on it!”

“Prey is scarce,” Fireheart reminded him, noticing there were only a few pieces of fresh-kill on the pile. “Any creatures that survived the fire can’t find much to eat.”

“We need to hunt again,” Cloudpaw meowed. He bit into the vole and swallowed. “I’ll go as soon as I’ve finished this.”

“You can come with me,” mewed Fireheart, selecting a magpie for himself. “I’m going to lead out a patrol later on.”

“No, I can’t wait,” Cloudpaw mumbled through another mouthful. “I’m so hungry I could eat you. Brightpaw, do you want to come with me?”

Brightpaw, who was neatly tucking into a mouse, glanced at her mentor for permission. When Whitestorm nodded she sprang up. “Ready when you are,” she meowed.

“All right then,” mewed Fireheart. He was slightly annoyed that Cloudpaw hadn’t asked for his mentor’s permission like Brightpaw, but the Clan did need fresh-kill, and both the apprentices were good hunters. “Don’t go too far from camp,” he warned.

“But all the best prey is farther away, where the fire didn’t reach,” Cloudpaw objected. “We’ll be fine, Fireheart,” he promised. “We’ll hunt for the elders first.”

Swallowing the last of his vole in one enormous gulp, he dashed off toward the camp entrance with Brightpaw racing after him.

“Stay away from Twolegplace!” Fireheart called after them, remembering how Cloudpaw had once been all too fond of visiting the Twolegs. The apprentice had paid a harsh price when they had taken him away to their nest on the far side of WindClan’s territory. As greenleaf drew to an end, with the prospect of a hungry leaf-bare to come, Fireheart hoped that his apprentice wouldn’t be tempted back into his old ways.

“Apprentices!” Whitestorm purred as he watched the two young cats bounding away. “Dawn patrol, and now they’re off hunting. I wish I had their energy.” He dragged a blackbird a little way from the pile of fresh-kill and crouched down to eat.

As Fireheart finished his magpie, he saw Sandstorm padding across from the warriors’ den. The sun shone on her pale ginger coat, and Fireheart admired the ripple of her fur as she moved. “Do you want to come and hunt with me?” he asked as she approached.

“Looks as if we need it,” Sandstorm replied, surveying the pitifully few pieces of fresh-kill that remained. “Let’s go now—I can wait to eat until we catch something.”

Fireheart looked around for another cat to join them and noticed Longtail heading for the apprentices’ den, calling for Swiftpaw. “Hey, Longtail!” he meowed as the two cats padded across the clearing. “Come and join our hunting patrol.”

Longtail hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure whether that was an order from his deputy or not. “We were going to the training hollow,” he explained. “Swiftpaw needs to practice his defense moves.”

“You can do that later.” This time Fireheart made it clear that he was giving an order. “The Clan needs fresh-kill first.”

Longtail flicked his tail irritably but said nothing. Swiftpaw was looking more enthusiastic, his eyes bright. The young black-and-white tom had grown almost as big as his mentor, Fireheart noticed; he was the oldest of the apprentices, and he could expect to be made a warrior soon.

I must talk to Bluestar about his naming ceremony, Fireheart thought. Cloudpaw too, and Brightpaw and Thornpaw. The Clan needs more warriors.

Leaving Whitestorm to take a well-earned rest, Fireheart led his hunting party out of the camp and up the ravine. At the top, he turned toward Sunningrocks. Doing his best to carry out Bluestar’s order about doubling the patrols, he had instructed all the hunting parties to do border duty as well, staying alert for other Clans’ scents or any other signs of an enemy presence. In particular, he had warned them to keep a careful watch on the ShadowClan border, but privately he resolved not to neglect RiverClan.

He had an uneasy feeling about their relationship with ThunderClan. With Crookedstar growing old, his deputy, Leopardfur, would have more authority, and Fireheart still expected her to ask for something in return for RiverClan’s help on the night of the fire.

As Fireheart led the way toward the river, he noticed plants pushing their way up through the blackened soil. New ferns were beginning to uncoil and green tendrils spread out to cover the earth. The forest was beginning to recover, but as leaf-fall approached, growth would slow down. Fireheart was still worried that his Clan was heading for a cold and comfortless leaf-bare.

When they reached Sunningrocks, Longtail led Swiftpaw into one of the gullies between the rocks. “You can practice listening for mice and voles,” he told his apprentice. “See if you can catch something before the rest of us.”

Fireheart watched them go approvingly. The pale tabby warrior was a conscientious mentor, and a strong bond had grown between him and Swiftpaw.

Fireheart skirted the rocks on the side that faced the river, where more of the grass and foliage had survived. It was not long before he spotted a mouse scuffling among some brittle grass stems. As it sat up, nibbling a seed clasped in its forepaws, Fireheart sprang and finished it off swiftly.

“Good work,” Sandstorm murmured, padding up to him.

“Do you want it?” Fireheart asked, pushing the fresh-kill toward her with one paw. “You haven’t eaten yet.”

“No, thanks,” meowed Sandstorm tartly. “I can catch my own.”

She slipped off into the shadow of a hazel tree. Fireheart looked after her, wondering if he’d offended her, and then started to scrape earth over his prey so it could be collected later.

“You want to watch out with that one,” a voice meowed behind him. “She’ll claw your ears off if you’re not careful.”

Fireheart spun around. His old friend Graystripe was standing on the border with RiverClan, farther down the slope toward the river. Water gleamed on his thick gray pelt.

“Graystripe!” Fireheart exclaimed. “You startled me!”

Graystripe gave himself a shake and sent droplets sparkling into the air. “I saw you from the other side of the river,” he mewed. “I never thought I’d find you catching prey for Sandstorm. Special to you, is she?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fireheart protested. His fur suddenly felt hot, and prickled as if ants were crawling through it. “Sandstorm is just a friend.”

Graystripe let out a purr of amusement. “Oh, sure, if you say so.” He strolled up the slope and lowered his head to butt Fireheart affectionately on the shoulder. “You’re lucky, Fireheart. She’s a very impressive cat.”

Fireheart opened his mouth and then closed it again. Graystripe wouldn’t be convinced not matter what he said—and besides, maybe he was right. Maybe Sandstorm was becoming more than a friend. “Never mind that,” he meowed, changing the subject. “Tell me how you’re getting on. What’s the news in RiverClan?”

The laughter died from Graystripe’s yellow eyes. “Not much. Every cat is talking about Tigerstar.” When Graystripe had been a ThunderClan warrior, he and Fireheart had been the only cats to know the truth about Tigerstar’s murderous ambition, and that he had killed the former ThunderClan deputy, Redtail.

“I don’t know what to make of it,” Fireheart admitted. “Tigerstar might be different, now he’s got what he wants. No cat can deny that he could make a good leader—he’s strong, he can fight and hunt, and he knows the warrior code by heart.”

“But no cat can trust him,” Graystripe growled. “What’s the point of knowing the warrior code if all you do is ignore what it says?”

“It’s not up to us to trust him now,” Fireheart pointed out. “He’s got a new Clan, and Runningnose reported an omen that seemed to say StarClan would be sending them a great new leader. StarClan must know that ShadowClan needs a strong warrior to build them up again after the sickness.”

Graystripe didn’t look convinced. “StarClan sent him?” He snorted. “I’ll believe that when hedgehogs fly.”

Fireheart couldn’t help agreeing with Graystripe that it would be hard to trust Tigerstar. Making his new Clan healthy again might occupy him for a season or two, but after that…The thought of the fierce warrior at the head of a strong Clan sent a shudder through Fireheart from ears to tail-tip. He couldn’t believe that Tigerstar would settle down to a peaceful life in the forest, respecting the rights of the other three Clans. Sooner or later he would want to extend his territory, and his first target would be ThunderClan.

“If I were you,” meowed Graystripe, echoing his thoughts, “I’d keep a very careful watch on my borders.”

“Yes, I—” Fireheart began. He broke off as he saw Sandstorm coming toward them, a young rabbit dangling from her jaws. She padded across the pebbles, and dropped her prey at Fireheart’s feet. Looking more relaxed, as if she had gotten over her brief annoyance, she nodded to the RiverClan warrior.

“Hi, Graystripe,” she mewed. “How are the kits?”

“They’re fine, thanks,” Graystripe replied. His eyes glowed with pride. “They’ll be apprenticed soon.”

“Will you mentor one of them?” Fireheart asked.

To his surprise, Graystripe looked uncertain. “I don’t know,” he meowed. “If it were Crookedstar’s decision, maybe…but he doesn’t do much these days, except sleep. Leopardfur organizes most things now, and she’ll never forgive me for the way Whiteclaw died. I think she’ll probably give the kits to some other warriors to mentor.”

He bowed his head. Fireheart realized he still felt guilty about the death of the RiverClan warrior who had fallen into the gorge when his patrol attacked a small group of ThunderClan warriors.

“That’s tough,” meowed Fireheart, pressing himself comfortingly against Graystripe’s side.

“But you can see her point,” Sandstorm pointed out mildly. “Leopardfur will want to make sure that the kits are brought up to be completely loyal to RiverClan.”

Graystripe swung his head around to face her, his fur bristling. “That’s just what I would do! I don’t want my kits to grow up feeling torn between two Clans.” His eyes clouded. “I know what that’s like.”

Pain for his friend flooded over Fireheart. After the fire, Graystripe had shown how unhappy he was in his new Clan, and clearly things were no better now. Fireheart wanted to say, “Come home,” but he knew he had no right to offer Graystripe a place in the Clan when Bluestar had already refused.

“Speak to Crookedstar,” he suggested. “Ask him yourself about the kits.”

“And try to stay on the good side of Leopardfur,” added Sandstorm. “Don’t let her catch you crossing the ThunderClan border.”

Graystripe flinched. “Maybe you’re right. I’d better be getting back. Good-bye, Sandstorm, Fireheart.”

“Try to come to the next Gathering,” Fireheart urged.

Graystripe flicked his tail in acknowledgment and padded off down the slope. Halfway to the river he turned, meowed, “Wait there a moment!” and raced down to the edge of the water. For several heartbeats he sat motionless on a flat stone, gazing down into the shallows.

“Now what’s he up to?” Sandstorm muttered.

Before Fireheart could reply, Graystripe’s paw darted out. A silver fish shot out of the stream and fell to the bank, where it lay flopping and wriggling. Graystripe finished it off with a single blow of his paw and dragged it back up the slope to where Fireheart and Sandstorm stood watching.

“Here,” he meowed as he dropped it. “I know prey must be scarce since the fire. That should help a bit.”

“Thanks,” meowed Fireheart, and added admiringly, “That was a neat trick back there.”

Graystripe let out a purr of satisfaction. “Mistyfoot showed me how.”

“It’s very welcome,” Sandstorm told him. “But if Leopardfur finds out you’ve been feeding another Clan, she won’t be pleased.”

“Leopardfur can go chase her own tail,” Graystripe growled. “If she says anything, I’ll remind her how Fireheart and I helped feed RiverClan during the floods last newleaf.”

He turned away and bounded back to the river. Fireheart’s heart ached as he watched his friend launch himself into the water and begin swimming strongly for the opposite bank. He would have given anything to have Graystripe back in ThunderClan, but he had to admit it seemed unlikely that the gray warrior could ever be accepted there again.

Fireheart struggled to carry the slippery fish as the hunting patrol returned to camp, his mouth watering as the unfamiliar scent filled his nostrils. When he entered the camp he saw that the pile of fresh-kill already looked bigger. Cloudpaw and Brightpaw had returned, and were about to go out again with Mousefur and Thornpaw.

“We’ve fed the elders, Fireheart!” Cloudpaw called over his shoulder as he scampered up the ravine.

“And Cinderpelt?” Fireheart called back.

“Not yet!”

Fireheart watched his young kin dash out of sight and then turned back to the pile of fresh-kill. Perhaps Graystripe’s fish would tempt Cinderpelt, he thought. He suspected that the young medicine cat wasn’t eating enough, out of grief for Yellowfang, and because she was so busy caring for the smoke-sick cats and Bluestar.

“Are you hungry, Fireheart?” asked Sandstorm, dropping the last of her catch onto the pile. In the end she had waited to eat until they brought the prey back to camp, and she was eyeing the fresh-kill avidly. “We could eat together, if you like.”

“Okay.” The magpie Fireheart had eaten that morning seemed a long time ago now. “I’ll just take this to Cinderpelt.”

“Don’t be long,” meowed Sandstorm.

Fireheart gripped the fish in his jaws and walked toward Cinderpelt’s den. Before the fire, a lush tunnel of ferns had separated it from the rest of the camp. Now just a few blackened stalks showed above the ground, and Fireheart could clearly see the cleft in the rock that was the entrance to the den.

He stopped outside, dropped the fresh-kill, and called, “Cinderpelt!”

After a moment the young medicine cat poked her head out of the opening. “What? Oh, it’s you, Fireheart.”

She padded out of the den to join him. Her fur was ruffled, and her eyes didn’t have their usual lively sparkle. Instead she seemed distracted and troubled. Fireheart guessed that her mind was on Yellowfang.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she mewed. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Have something to eat first,” Fireheart urged her. “Look, Graystripe caught a fish for us.”

“Thanks, Fireheart,” Cinderpelt meowed, “but this is urgent. StarClan sent a dream to me last night.”

Something about the way she spoke made Fireheart uneasy. He was still not used to the way that his former apprentice was growing into a true medicine cat, living without a mate or kits of her own, meeting secretly with other medicine cats and united with them through their bond with the warrior spirits of StarClan.

“What was the dream about?” he asked. He had experienced dreams like this more than once, warning him of things that were going to happen. That helped him to imagine, better than most Clan cats, the mixture of awe and bewilderment that Cinderpelt must be feeling now.

“I’m not sure.” Cinderpelt blinked in confusion. “I thought I was standing in the forest, and I could hear something large crashing through the trees, but I couldn’t see what it was. And I heard voices calling—harsh voices, in a language that wasn’t cat. But I could understand what they said…”

Her voice trailed off. She stood gazing into the distance, her eyes clouded, while her front paws kneaded the ground in front of her.

“What did they say?” Fireheart prompted.

Cinderpelt shivered. “It was really strange. They were calling, ‘Pack, pack,’ and ‘Kill, kill.’”

Fireheart couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He had hoped that a message from StarClan might have given them some hint about how to deal with all his problems—Tigerstar’s reappearance, Bluestar’s illness, and the aftermath of the fire. “Do you know what it means?” he asked.

Cinderpelt shook her head, a lingering look of horror in her eyes, as though she faced a huge threat Fireheart could not see. “Not yet. Maybe StarClan will show me more when I’ve been to Highstones. But it’s something bad, Fireheart, I’m sure of it.”

“As if we haven’t enough to worry about,” Fireheart muttered. To Cinderpelt, he mewed, “I don’t know what I can do, unless we find out more. I need facts. Are you sure that’s all the dream told you?”

Her blue eyes still wide with distress, Cinderpelt nodded. Fireheart gave her ear a comforting lick. “Don’t worry, Cinderpelt. If it’s a warning about ShadowClan, we’re already watching out for them. Just tell me the moment you get any more details.”

He jumped as an irritated yowling sounded from behind him. “Fireheart, are you going to be all day?”

Glancing around, he saw that Sandstorm was waiting for him at the entrance to the burned fern tunnel. “I’ve got to go,” he said to Cinderpelt.

“But—”

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Fireheart interrupted her, his rumbling belly urging him to go and join Sandstorm. “Let me know if you have any other dreams.”

Cinderpelt’s ears twitched in annoyance. “This is a message from StarClan, Fireheart, not just a root digging into my fur or a tough bit of fresh-kill caught in my throat. It could affect the whole Clan. We need to work out what it means.”

“Well, you’ll be better at that than I am,” Fireheart told her, backing away from Cinderpelt’s den and tossing the last words over his shoulder.

Bounding across the clearing toward Sandstorm, he wondered briefly what the dream could have meant. It didn’t sound like an attack from another Clan, and he couldn’t think of anything else that might be a threat. As he tucked into the vole that Sandstorm had saved for him, he managed to put Cinderpelt’s dream out of his mind.