Rising Storm

Chapter 26

Fireheart felt as if he had slept for only a moment when he woke. A cool breeze was ruffling his fur. The rain had stopped. Above, the sky was filled with billowing white clouds. For a moment he felt confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. Then he became aware of the sound of voices meowing nearby and recognized Smallear’s trembling mew.

“I told you StarClan would show its anger!” rasped the old tom. “Our home has gone; the forest is no more.”

“Bluestar should have appointed the deputy before moonhigh,” fretted Speckletail. “It’s the custom!”

Fireheart leaped to his paws, his ears burning, but before he could say anything, Cinderpelt’s mew rose into the air.

“How can you be so ungrateful? Fireheart carried you across the river, Smallear!”

“He nearly drowned me,” complained Smallear.

“You’d be dead if he’d left you behind,” spat Cinderpelt. “If Fireheart hadn’t smelled the smoke in the first place, we might all be dead!”

“I’m sure Patchpelt, Halftail, and Yellowfang are deeply grateful to him.”

Fireheart’s fur rippled with anger as he heard Darkstripe’s sarcastic yowl.

“Yellowfang will thank him herself when we find her!” hissed Cinderpelt.

“Find her?” echoed Darkstripe. “There’s no way she’ll have escaped that fire. Fireheart should never have allowed her to go back to the camp.”

Cinderpelt growled deep in her throat. Darkstripe had gone too far. Fireheart padded quickly from the shadows and saw Fernpaw sitting beside Darkstripe, staring up at her mentor with horror in her eyes.

Fireheart opened his mouth, but it was Dustpelt who spoke first. “Darkstripe! You should show more respect for your lost Clanmates, and”—he glanced sympathetically at the frightened Fernpaw—“be more careful with what you say. Our Clanmates have suffered enough already!”

Fireheart was taken aback to hear the young warrior challenge his former mentor.

Darkstripe eyed Dustpelt with equal surprise, than narrowed his eyes dangerously.

“Dustpelt’s right,” Fireheart meowed quietly, stepping forward. “We shouldn’t be arguing.”

Darkstripe, Smallear, and the others whipped around to stare at Fireheart, their ears and tails flicking awkwardly as they realized he had heard their conversation.

“Fireheart!” Graystripe’s mew interrupted them, and Fireheart saw his friend crossing the clearing, his fur damp from the river.

“Have you been on patrol?” Fireheart asked, turning away from the ThunderClan cats and padding over to meet Graystripe.

“Yes. And hunting,” meowed Graystripe. “We can’t all sleep the morning away, you know.” He nudged Fireheart on the shoulder and went on: “You must be hungry. Come with me.” He led Fireheart toward a pile of fresh-kill at the edge of the clearing. “Leopardfur says this is for your Clan,” Graystripe told him.

Fireheart’s belly growled with hunger. “Thanks,” he meowed. “I’d better let the Clan know.” He went over to where the ThunderClan cats were gathered. “Graystripe says that pile of food is for us,” he announced.

“Thank StarClan,” Goldenflower meowed gratefully.

“We don’t need other Clans to feed us,” sneered Darkstripe.

“I suppose you can go hunting if you want,” Fireheart meowed, narrowing his eyes at the tabby warrior. “But you’ll need to ask Crookedstar’s permission first. After all, this is his territory.”

Darkstripe snorted impatiently and padded toward the fresh-kill pile. Fireheart looked at Bluestar. She hadn’t reacted to the news of food at all.

Whitestorm twitched his ears. “I’ll make sure everyone gets a share,” he promised, glancing at Bluestar.

“Thanks,” Fireheart answered.

Graystripe padded up and dropped a mouse on the ground at his paws. “Here, you can eat this at the nursery,” he meowed. “There are some kits I want you to see.”

Fireheart picked up the mouse and followed his friend toward a tangle of reeds. As they approached, two silver bundles hurtled through a tiny gap in the thickly woven stems and rushed toward Graystripe. They flung themselves at him, and Graystripe rolled over happily, batting with gentle sheathed paws as the kits climbed over him. Fireheart knew at once whose kits they were.

Graystripe purred loudly. “How did you know I was coming?” he rumbled.

“We smelled you!” answered the larger kit.

“Very good!” Graystripe praised him.

As Fireheart finished the last mouthful of mouse, the gray warrior sat up and the kits tumbled off him. “Now it’s time you met an old friend of mine,” he told them. “We trained together.”

The kits turned their amber eyes on Fireheart, staring up at him in awe.

“Is this Fireheart?” mewed the smallest one. Graystripe nodded, and Fireheart felt a glow of pleasure that his friend had spoken about him already to his kits.

“Come back here, you two!” A tortoiseshell face appeared in the entrance of the nursery. “It’s going to rain again.” Fireheart saw the eyes of the kits narrow crossly, but they turned and padded obediently toward the den.

“They’re great,” he purred.

“Yeah,” Graystripe agreed, his eyes soft. “More thanks to Mosspelt than me, I have to say. She’s the one who looks after them.” Fireheart heard a note of wistfulness in his friend’s voice, and wondered just how much Graystripe missed his old home.

Neither cat spoke as the gray warrior got to his paws and led Fireheart out of the camp. They sat down on a small patch of bare earth among the reeds. A willow tree arched above their heads, its branches quivering in the fresh breeze. Fireheart felt the wind tug at his fur as he stared through the willow curtain toward the distant woods. It looked as if StarClan was going to send more rain to the forest.

“Where’s Yellowfang?” asked Graystripe.

Fresh grief welled up in Fireheart’s chest. “Yellowfang came back to the ThunderClan camp with me to look for Patchpelt and Halftail. I lost her in the smoke. A…a tree fell into the ravine as she was coming out.” Was there any way she could have survived the flames? He couldn’t help a flare of hope bursting in his chest, like a trapped pigeon frantically stretching its wings. “I don’t suppose you found any scent of her on your patrol?”

Graystripe shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you think the fire’s still burning after that storm?” meowed Fireheart.

“I’m not sure. We saw a few plumes of smoke while we were out.”

Fireheart sighed. “Do you think any of the camp will be left?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” answered Graystripe. He lifted his head and stared through the leaves at the darkening skies. “Mosspelt was right—more rain’s coming.” As he spoke, a large drop landed on the ground beside them. “That should put out the last of the flames.”

Fireheart felt his head spin with grief as more drops spattered through the trees and splashed on the brittle reeds. Before long, the rain was pouring down for the second time, and it seemed that StarClan was weeping for all that had been lost.