Forest Of Secrets

Chapter 15

“Well, if it isn’t our newest apprentice, Firepaw!”

Fireheart looked up from his vole to see Longtail swaggering toward him, his tail waving in the air. “Ready for a training session?” the warrior sneered. “Tigerclaw sent me to be your mentor.”

Taking his time, Fireheart swallowed the last of the vole and rose to his paws. He could guess what had happened. Bluestar had told Tigerclaw about the punishment, and Tigerclaw had wasted no time in organizing the first patrol. Naturally he would choose the cat who disliked Fireheart the most to supervise his hunting.

Beside him, Graystripe jumped up and took a pace toward Longtail. “Watch what you say,” he snarled. “We’re not apprentices!”

“That’s not the way I heard it,” replied Longtail, swiping his tongue appreciatively over his jaws as if he had just swallowed a tasty morsel.

“Then we’d better put you right,” Fireheart hissed, beginning to lash his tail. “Do you want me to tear your other ear?”

Longtail took a step back. He was clearly remembering Fireheart’s arrival in the camp. He had fought Longtail fiercely, showing no fear in spite of the warrior’s “kittypet” taunts. Fireheart knew that even if the other cats let Longtail forget his defeat, his torn ear would remind him forever.

“You’d better watch it,” the warrior blustered. “Tigerclaw’ll have your tails off if you touch me.”

“It would be worth it,” Fireheart retorted. “Call me Firepaw once more, and you’ll find out.”

Longtail said nothing, only turning his head aside to lick his pale fur. Fireheart relaxed his threatening stance. “Come on, then,” he grunted. “If we’re going to hunt, let’s get on with it.”

He and Graystripe led the way out of the gorse tunnel and up the side of the ravine. Longtail followed, loudly suggesting where to hunt as if he were in charge, but once they were in the forest Fireheart and Graystripe did their best to ignore him.

The day was cold and gray, and a thin rain had begun to fall. Prey was hard to find. Graystripe caught sight of movement in some bracken fronds and went to investigate, but Fireheart was almost ready to give up by the time he saw a chaffinch pecking around the roots of a hazel bush. He dropped into a crouch, creeping forward paw by paw while the bird pecked on unawares.

He was preparing to pounce, his haunches rocking from side to side, when Longtail jeered, “Call that a crouch? I’ve seen better on a three-legged rabbit!” As soon as he spoke the chaffinch fluttered away in a panic, letting out a loud alarm call.

Fireheart whirled around furiously. “That was your fault!” he snarled. “As soon as it heard you—”

“Rubbish,” meowed Longtail. “Don’t make excuses. You couldn’t catch a mouse if it sat between your paws.”

Fireheart flattened his ears and bared his teeth, but as he braced himself for a fight, he suddenly wondered if Longtail was deliberately provoking him. Longtail would have a fine story to tell Tigerclaw if Fireheart attacked him.

“Fine,” Fireheart growled through his teeth. “If you’re so good, show us how it’s done.”

“As if there’ll be any prey left, after the racket that bird made when you scared it,” Longtail sneered.

“Now who’s making excuses?” Fireheart spat back.

Before Longtail could reply, Graystripe emerged from the bracken with a vole in his jaws. He dropped it beside Fireheart and began to kick earth over it to bury it until they were ready to return to camp.

Longtail used the interruption to turn away and stalk toward the tunnel Graystripe had made in the bracken.

Graystripe watched him go. “What’s the matter with him? He looks as if he’s swallowed mouse bile.”

Fireheart shrugged. “Nothing. Come on, let’s keep going.”

After that, Longtail left them alone, and by sunset the two young warriors had collected a respectable pile of fresh-kill to carry back to the camp.

“You take some to the elders,” Fireheart suggested to Graystripe as they dragged the last pieces in. “I’ll see to Yellowfang and Cinderpaw.” He chose a squirrel and headed toward the medicine cat’s den. Yellowfang was standing outside the cleft in the rock, with Cinderpaw sitting in front of her. Fireheart’s former apprentice looked happy and alert. She was sitting very straight, with her tail wrapped around her paws, and her blue eyes were fixed on Yellowfang as she listened to the old cat.

“We can chew up ragwort leaves and mix them with crushed juniper berries,” rasped Yellowfang. “It makes a good poultice for aching joints. Do you want to try doing it?”

“Okay!” Cinderpaw mewed enthusiastically. She sprang up and sniffed the heap of herbs Yellowfang had laid on the ground. “Does it taste bad?”

“No,” answered Yellowfang, “but try not to swallow it. A bit won’t hurt you, but too much will give you a bellyache. Yes, Fireheart, what do you want?”

Fireheart crossed the clearing, dragging the squirrel between his front paws. Cinderpaw was already crouching in front of the ragwort, chewing vigorously, but she flicked her tail at Fireheart in greeting.

“This is for you,” Fireheart mewed as he dropped the squirrel beside Yellowfang.

“Oh, yes, Runningwind told me you were back on apprentice duties,” Yellowfang growled. “Mouse-brain! You might have known some cat would find out you were helping RiverClan.”

“Well, it’s done now.” Fireheart didn’t want to talk about his punishment.

To his relief, Yellowfang seemed happy to change the subject. “I’m glad you’ve come,” she meowed, “because I want a word with you. You see that poultice?” She lifted her muzzle toward the green mash of chewed leaves Cinderpaw was making.

“Yes.”

“It’s for Smallear. He’s in my den now, with the worst case of stiff joints I’ve seen in moons. He can hardly move. And if you ask me, it’s all because his nest was recently lined with damp moss.” Her tone was mild, but her yellow eyes burned into Fireheart’s.

Fireheart felt his heart sink. “This is about Cloudkit, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” mewed Yellowfang. “He’s been careless about the bedding he’s brought in. If you ask me, he hasn’t bothered to shake the water off.”

“But I showed him how—” Fireheart broke off. He had troubles enough of his own, he thought; it wasn’t fair that he had to keep sorting out Cloudkit as well. He took a deep breath. “I’ll have a word with him,” he promised.

“Do that,” grunted Yellowfang.

Cinderpaw sat up, spitting out scraps of ragwort. “Is that chewed enough?”

Yellowfang inspected her work. “Excellent,” she meowed.

Cinderpaw’s blue eyes glowed with the praise, while Fireheart glanced appreciatively at the old medicine cat. It gave him a warm glow to see how Yellowfang made Cinderpaw feel useful and needed.

“Now you can fetch the juniper berries,” Yellowfang went on. “Let’s see…three should be enough. You know where I keep them?”

“Yes, Yellowfang.” Cinderpaw headed for the split in the rock, bouncing in spite of her limp, her tail lifted high. At the mouth of the den she looked back. “Thanks for the squirrel, Fireheart,” she meowed, before she disappeared.

Yellowfang looked after her approvingly and let out a rusty purr. “Now there’s a cat who knows what she’s doing,” she murmured.

Fireheart agreed. He wished he could say the same about his own kin. “I’ll go and find Cloudkit right now.” He sighed, touching his nose to Yellowfang’s flank before padding out of her den.

The white kit was not in the nursery, so Fireheart tried the elders’ den. As he entered, he heard Halftail’s voice. “So the leader of TigerClan stalked the fox for a night and a day, and on the second night—Hello, there, Fireheart. Come to listen to the story?”

Fireheart glanced around. Halftail was curled up in the moss with Patchpelt and Dappletail nearby. Cloudkit was crouched in the shelter of the big tabby’s body, his blue eyes wide with wonder as he pictured the mighty black-striped cats of TigerClan. A few scraps of fresh-kill lay on the floor of the den, and from the smell of mouse that clung to Cloudkit’s fur, Fireheart guessed that the elders had let him share.

“No, thanks, Halftail,” he meowed. “I can’t stay. I just wanted to talk to Cloudkit. Yellowfang says he’s been bringing in damp bedding.”

Dappletail let out a snort. “What nonsense!”

“She’s been listening to Smallear,” meowed Patchpelt. “He’d complain if StarClan descended from Silverpelt themselves to bring his bedding.”

Fireheart’s fur prickled with embarrassment. He hadn’t expected to find the elders making excuses for Cloudkit. “Well, have you or haven’t you?” he demanded, glaring at the kit.

Cloudkit blinked up at him. “I tried to get it right, Fireheart.”

“He’s only a kit,” Dappletail pointed out fondly.

“Yes, well…” Fireheart scraped his paws on the floor of the den. “Smallear has got aching joints.”

“Smallear has had aching joints for seasons,” meowed Halftail. “Since well before this kit was littered. You mind your own business, Fireheart, and let us mind ours.”

“Sorry,” Fireheart muttered. “I’ll go, then. Cloudkit, just make sure you’re extra careful about damp moss in the future, okay?”

He started backing out of the den. As he left, he heard Cloudkit meow, “Go on, Halftail. What did TigerClan’s leader do then?”

Fireheart was glad to escape into the clearing. He couldn’t help thinking that Cloudkit probably had been careless over the moss, but it looked like the rest of the elders wouldn’t have a word said against him. Free to take fresh-kill for himself now that he had hunted for the elders, Fireheart was trotting over to the heap when he noticed Brokentail lying outside his den. Tigerclaw was beside him, and the two cats were sharing tongues like old friends.

Unexpectedly moved by the sight, Fireheart paused. Was this Tigerclaw’s merciful side making a rare appearance? He could just hear the rumble of Tigerclaw’s voice, though he was too far away to make out the words. Brokentail replied briefly, looking much more relaxed, as if he was responding to the deputy’s friendliness.

Suddenly all of Fireheart’s old doubts about bringing Tigerclaw to justice welled up inside him. Every cat knew that Tigerclaw was a fierce and courageous fighter, and that he handled the responsibilities of a deputy with effortless confidence. Fireheart had never seen anything to show that he had the compassion of a true leader, until now, with Brokentail…

Fireheart’s mind whirled. Perhaps Bluestar had been right, that Tigerclaw was innocent of Redtail’s death. Perhaps Cinderpaw’s accident had been just that, instead of a trap. What if you’ve been wrong all along? Fireheart thought. Suppose Tigerclaw is just what he seems to be: a loyal and efficient deputy?

But he couldn’t make himself believe it. And as Fireheart padded more slowly over to the pile of fresh-kill, he wished to the tips of his claws that he could be freed from the burden of what he knew.