Erin Hunter - The Darkest Hour

Pain stabbed Fireheart’s heart to see his cats so wary of their own home, and his eyes sought out one warrior in particular—Sandstorm, the pale ginger she-cat he loved. He needed to know that she was unhurt after the crucial part she had played in luring the dog pack away from the camp.

Fireheart spotted his nephew, Cloudtail; the white warrior was carefully escorting Lostface, a young cat who had suffered terrible injuries from the dog pack before they attacked the camp. Next Cinderpelt came limping through the entrance with a bundle of herbs in her mouth; and pushing eagerly behind her were Bramblepaw and Tawnypaw, the two newest apprentices, who were also Tigerstar’s kits.

At last Fireheart saw Sandstorm padding along beside Willowpelt, while Willowpelt’s three kits bounced around them, happily unaware of the crisis their Clan had endured.

A purr swelled in Fireheart’s throat as he ran toward Sandstorm and pressed his muzzle into her flank. The pale orange warrior covered his ears with licks, and when he looked up at her he saw a warm glow in her green eyes.

“I was so worried for you, Fireheart,” she murmured. “I couldn’t believe the size of those dogs! I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“Nor have I,” Fireheart confessed. “All the time I was waiting, I kept thinking they might have caught you.”

“Caught me?” Sandstorm pushed away from him; the end of her tail was twitching, and for a heartbeat Fireheart thought he had offended her, until he saw the sparkle in her eyes. “I was running for you and the Clan, Fireheart. It felt as if I had the speed of StarClan!”

She paced into the center of the clearing and looked around, her expression clouding. “Where is Bluestar? Graystripe told us she was dead.”

“Yes,” Fireheart replied. “I tried to save her, but the struggle in the river was too much for her. She’s in her d en.” He hesitated before adding, “Mistyfoot and St o n e f u r are with her.”

Sandstorm turned to him, her fur bristling with alarm. “There are RiverClan cats in our camp? Why?”

“They helped me pull Bluestar out of the river,” Fireheart explained. “And…and she’s their mother.”

Sandstorm froze and her eyes grew huge. “Bluestar? But how-”

Fireheart interrupted her by pressing his muzzle against hers. “I’ll tell you all about it later,” he promised. “Right now I have to make sure the Clan is okay.”

While they were speaking, the rest of the Clan had appeared through the gorse tunnel and begun to gather in a ragged circle around Fireheart and Sandstorm. Fireheart spotted Fernpaw and Ashpaw, the two apprentices who had begun the race to lure the dogs away from the camp. “Well done, both of you,” he meowed.

The young cats let out a purr. “We hid in the hazel thicket where you told us, and jumped out as soon as we saw the dogs,” mewed Ashpaw.

“Yes, we knew we had to keep them away from the camp,” Fernpaw put in.

“You were very brave,” Fireheart praised them. Once again he remembered the limp body of Brindleface, the apprentices’ mother, murdered by Tigerstar. “I’m proud of you—and your mother would be proud, too.”

Ashpaw shrank, suddenly looking like a fragile kit. “I was terrified ,” he admitted. “If we’d known what the dogs were like, I don’t think we’d have dared to do it.”

“We were all terrified,” Dustpelt meowed as he came up and gave Fernpaw a gentle lick. “I’ve never run so fast in my life. You two did brilliantly.”

Though he praised his own apprentice equally, the warmth in Dustpelt’s gaze was all for Fernpaw. Fireheart managed to hide his amusement. The brown tabby warrior’s affection for her was no secret.

“You did well, too, Dustpelt,” Fireheart meowed. “The Clan owes thanks to all of you.”

Dustpelt held Fireheart’s gaze for a moment before he gave him a little nod of acknowledgment. As he turned away, Fireheart spotted Cloudtail gently guiding Lostface past and stopped them to ask, “Are you okay, Lostface?”

“I’m fine,” the young she-cat replied, though she glanced around nervously with her good eye. “Are you sure none of the dogs got this far?”

“I checked the whole camp myself,” Fireheart told her. “There’s no sign of any dogs.”

“She was very brave at Sunningrocks,” meowed Cloudtail, touching his muzzle to Lostface’s shoulder. “She helped me keep watch from a tree.”

Lostface brightened. “I can’t see as well as I used to, but I can listen, and scent.”

“Well done,” Fireheart meowed. “You too, Cloudtail. I was right to rely on you.”

“They’ve all done well.” That was Cinderpelt’s voice; Fireheart turned to see her limping toward him with Mousefur just behind her. “There was no panic at all, not even when we heard the pack howling.”

“And every cat’s okay?” Fireheart asked anxiously.

“They’re all fine.” The medicine cat’s blue eyes glowed with relief. “Mousefur tore a claw when she was running from the dogs, but that’s all. Come on, Mousefur, I’ll give you something for it.”

As Fireheart watched them go, he realized that Whitestorm had appeared beside him. “Can I have a word with you?”

“Of course.”

“I’m sorry.” Whitestorm’s eyes were full of an guish. “I know you asked me to take care of Bluestar when we were fleeing from the dogs. But she slipped away from Sunningrocks before I realized she’d gone. It’s my fault she’s dead.”

Fireheart narrowed his eyes at the older warrior. For the first time he noticed how exhausted he looked. Although Whitestorm was the senior warrior of ThunderClan, he had always seemed strong and vigorous, his white coat sleek and well-groomed. Now he looked a hundred seasons older than the cat who had left camp that morning.

“That’s ridiculous!” Fireheart insisted. “Even if you had noticed that Bluestar had gone, what could you have done? She was your leader—you couldn’t have made her stay.”

Whitestorm blinked. “I didn’t dare send another cat after her—not with the pack loose. All we could do was sit up in the trees around Sunningrocks and listen to the howling…” A shudder ran through his body. “But I should have done something .”

“You did every thing,” Fireheart told him. “You stayed with the Clan and kept them safe. Bluestar made her own decision in the end. It was the will of StarClan that she died to save us.”

Whitestorm nodded slowly, though his eyes were still troubled as he murmured, “Even though she had lost all faith in StarClan.”

Fireheart was aware of the secret they shared, that in her last moons Bluestar’s mind had begun to give way. Shocked to the core by the discovery of Tigerstar’s treachery, Bluestar had begun to believe that she was at war with her warrior ancestors. Fireheart and Whitestorm, with Cinderpelt’s help, had managed for the most part to keep the knowledge of their leader’s weakness from the rest of the Clan. But Fireheart also knew that Bluestar’s feelings had changed during the last moments of her life.

“No, Whitestorm,” Fireheart replied, thankful that there was some comfort he could offer the gallant old warrior. “She made her peace with StarClan before she died. She knew exactly what she was doing, and why. Her mind was clear again, and her faith was strong.”

Joy tempered the pain in Whitestorm’s eyes, and he bowed his head. Fireheart realized how devastating Bluestar’s death must be for him; they had been friends throughout a long life.

By now the rest of the Clan had crept into the circle around Fireheart. He could see the traces of their terrible experience still in their eyes, along with fear for the future. Swallowing uncomfortably, he realized that it was his duty now to calm those fears.