Erin Hunter - A Dangerous Path

“What?” Whitestorm stared at Fireheart in disbelief. “You went behind Bluestar’s back?” His voice failed, and he shook his head in confusion.

Fireheart immediately felt defensive. “What else could I do?”

“You could have consulted me.” The fur on Whitestorm’s shoulders bristled angrily. “Or some of the other senior warriors. We would have helped you find a solution.”

“I’m sorry.” Fireheart’s heart was pounding. “I didn’t want anyone else to get in trouble. I did what I thought was best.” It was because of the warrior code that he had acted alone, knowing that he could not ask any other cat to challenge Bluestar’s orders like this.

Whitestorm’s gaze was intensely thoughtful. “I think we need to tell the other warriors about this,” he meowed at last. “They’ll need to be ready for Bluestar’s attack in case Ravenpaw doesn’t get here—and even if Bluestar agrees to meet Tallstar, she might want a patrol behind her. I’d bet a moon’s worth of dawn patrols that Tallstar guesses something’s up. We can’t be sure he won’t ambush us.”

Fireheart nodded respectfully. “You’re right, Whitestorm. I trust them, but we should be prepared.”

“I’ll find some apprentices to guard the camp,” Whitestorm meowed. “You gather the warriors.”

Fireheart ran across the clearing to the warrior’s den. Most of them were already there, curled up in their nests, asleep. Fireheart prodded Sandstorm with a paw to rouse her. She blinked up at him. “What is it?”

“Wake the others, please, Sandstorm,” Fireheart meowed. “Whitestorm and I have something important to tell everyone.”

Sandstorm scrambled to her paws. “What do you mean, something important? It’s the middle of the night!”

Fireheart went out again without answering, to look for the remaining warriors. He found Brindleface visiting the queens in the nursery and Mousefur coming into camp with her jaws full of fresh-kill after a late-night patrol. He wondered whether he ought to call Cinderpelt, but decided it would be better to explain the situation to her individually.

By the time he returned to the warriors’ den the other cats were fully awake. A moment later Whitestorm padded under the shelter of the branches and sat down at Fireheart’s side.

“What’s all this about?” Darkstripe asked bad-temperedly, flicking moss off one ear. “It had better be good.”

Fireheart felt his stomach churn with nervousness as he wondered how his Clan mates would react when they heard what he he done. Whitestorm nodded at him, nudging him to speak.

Taking a deep breath, Fireheart began. He explained Bluestar’s plan to attack, and how he had tried to work out a peaceful solution instead. His Clan mates listened in stunned silence. Fireheart was acutely conscious of their eyes fixed on him, glowing in the moonlight that filtered through the gaps in the den’s roof. In particular he was aware of Sandstorm’s pale green gaze, where she sat crouched near the outer branches, but he could not bring himself to look directly at her. He just hoped that the warriors would understand he had done this for the best of reasons, to avoid battle and save lives.

“So Tallstar agreed to meet Bluestar at Fourtrees,” he finished. “Ravenpaw should be here anytime now to tell her about the meeting.”

He braced himself for an outburst from the other warriors, but no cat seemed to know what to say; they merely looked at each other in bewilderment.

Eventually Mousefur asked, “Whitestorm, do you agree with what Fireheart has done?”

Fireheart waited, his eyes fixed on his paws. He desperately needed Whitestorm’s support because of the respect he commanded from the other warriors, but he knew that Whitestorm did not completely approve of his actions, however well-intentioned.

“I wouldn’t have done it.” Whitestorm spoke with his usual quiet authority. “But I think he’s right about not attacking WindClan. I don’t believe they have taken any of our prey. There is a dog loose—I’ve scented it myself.”

“So have I, around Snakerocks,” confirmed Mousefur.

“At Fourtrees too,” meowed Brackenfur. “We can’t blame WindClan for that.”

“But you’re asking us to keep secrets from Bluestar!” Sandstorm rose to her paws, and at last Fireheart had to meet her challenging green stare.

A jolt of dismay ran through Fireheart. He had not expected Sandstorm to be the first cat to object to what he had done. “I’m sorry,” he mewed. “I didn’t think I had a choice.”

“Just what I would expect from a kittypet,” growled Darkstripe. “Do you have any idea of what the warrior code means?”

“I know very well what it means,” Fireheart defended himself. “It is because of my loyalty to the Clan that I don’t want to fight an unnecessary battle. And I respect StarClan as much as any cat. I don’t believe it’s their will that we attack tonight.”

Darkstripe twitched his ears scornfully, but he said no more. Fireheart glanced around, wondering whether he was winning the support of his warriors. When Bluestar gave up her last life and went to join StarClan, he realized uncomfortably, he might have to lead this Clan, and if he could not command their loyalty and respect, the task would be impossible.

“This is what’s important,” he went on desperately. “WindClan haven’t done anything wrong. And we have enough to do, rebuilding the camp and keeping up the patrols, without fighting an unnecessary, dangerous battle. How will we keep ourselves fed and prepare for leaf-bare if we have warriors injured or even killed?”

“He’s right.” Brindleface spoke up, and the others turned to look at her. “Our children would be in the battle,” she went on quietly. “We don’t want them hurt for nothing.”

Frostfur added her agreement, but the rest of the warriors were still murmuring among themselves. Again he was aware of Sandstorm, and the distress in her pale green eyes. He could understand how torn she must feel now, between her loyalty to Bluestar and her commitment to him. Right now Fireheart wanted nothing more than to press himself against her flank and forget all this in the sweet scent of her fur, but he had to go on standing in front of his warriors, waiting for their verdict on whether they would support him or not.

“So what do you want us to do?” Longtail meowed at last.

“I’ll need a party of warriors ready to go with Bluestar to Fourtrees,” Fireheart replied. “If Ravenpaw doesn’t come, or if Bluestar doesn’t agree to talk, then she’ll lead us into battle. And if that happens…” His voice failed; he swallowed.

“Yes, what then?” Sandstorm demanded. “Do you want us to disobey Bluestar’s direct orders? Turn around and run away? Dustpelt, tell Fireheart what a mouse-brained idea that is!”

Dustpelt’s ears pricked in surprise. Fireheart knew very well that part of the brown warrior’s antagonism toward him was because Sandstorm so clearly preferred Fireheart now. He braced himself for more criticism, but Dustpelt meowed hesitantly, “I don’t know, Sandstorm. Fireheart’s right that it’s a bad time for a battle, and besides, no cat can seriously believe that WindClan is stealing our prey. If Bluestar thinks so, then…well…” He broke off, scuffling his paws in confusion.

“It’s understandable that Bluestar can’t trust WindClan,” Fireheart mewed, instinctively defending his leader. “Not since they stopped her going to Highstones. And we’ve never known dogs loose in the forest before. But there is no evidence at all that WindClan took those rabbits, and plenty of evidence that a dog did.”

“So what do you suggest if it comes to battle, Fireheart?” asked Mousefur. “Come back to the camp when Bluestar gives the order to attack?”