Erin Hunter - A Dangerous Path

“I’ll still look after her,” vowed Cloudtail, glancing up from his gentle licking.

Fireheart felt a burst of pride. If only his former apprentice could show the same unquestioning loyalty to the warrior code, he would be one of the finest warriors in ThunderClan.

Sandstorm gently nosed Lostface and then drew away. “I’ll fetch some fresh-kill for you and Cloudtail,” she meowed to Cinderpelt. “And a piece for Lostface too. She might want something if she wakes up.” Determinedly optimistic, she padded out into the clearing.

“I don’t want anything to eat,” mewed Cloudtail. His voice was dull and exhausted. “I feel sick.”

“You need to sleep,” Cinderpelt told him. “I’ll give you some poppy seeds.”

“I don’t want poppy seeds either. I want to stay with Lostface.”

“I’m not asking you what you want; I’m telling you what you need,” Cinderpelt retorted. “You kept vigil last night, remember?” More gently, she added, “I promise I’ll wake you if there’s any change.”

While she went to fetch the seeds, Fireheart gave his kin a sympathetic glance. “She’s the medicine cat,” he pointed out. “She knows what’s best.”

Cloudtail didn’t reply, but when Cinderpelt came back carrying a dried poppy head and shook a few seeds out in front of him, he licked them up without complaining. Exhausted, he curled himself close to Lostface and was asleep within a few heartbeats.

“I never thought he would care for another cat as much as that,” Fireheart murmured.

“You didn’t notice?” For all her anxiety, there was a glint of amusement in Cinderpelt’s blue eyes. “He’s been padding after Brightpaw—Lostface—for a season now. He really loves her, you know.”

Seeing the two young cats curled up together, Fireheart could believe it.

Fireheart headed toward the pile of fresh-kill. It was almost sunhigh, but though the rays poured down brightly into the clearing there was little warmth in them. Leaf-bare had come to the forest.

Days had passed since Swiftpaw had been killed and Lostface injured. Fireheart had just been to check on her, and she still clung to life. Cinderpelt began to be cautiously optimistic that she would survive. Cloudtail spent nearly every moment with her; Fireheart had excused him temporarily from warrior duties so that he could care for the injured cat.

As Fireheart crossed the clearing, he saw Graystripe emerge from the warriors’ den and approach the fresh-kill pile. Darkstripe overtook him before he reached it and shouldered him aside to snatch up a rabbit. Dustpelt, already choosing his own meal, gave Graystripe a hostile glare and the gray warrior hesitated, unwilling to go any closer until the other two warriors had withdrawn to the nettle patch to eat.

Quickening his pace, Fireheart came up beside his friend. “Ignore them,” he muttered. “They keep their brains in their tails.”

Graystripe flashed him a grateful glance before picking a magpie out of the pile.

“Let’s eat together,” Fireheart suggested, choosing a vole and leading the way to a sunny patch of ground near the warriors’ den. “And don’t let those two worry you,” he added. “They can’t stay hostile forever.”

Graystripe did not look convinced, but he said nothing more, and the two warriors settled down to eat. Across the clearing, Tawnykit and Bramblekit were playing with Willowpelt’s three kits. Fireheart felt a pang of grief as he remembered how Lostface had sometimes played with them, as if she were looking forward to having kits herself. Would she ever mother her own litter now?

“I can’t get over how much that kit looks like his father,” meowed Graystripe after watching them for a moment.

“Just so long as he doesn’t behave like his father,” Fireheart replied. He stiffened when he saw Bramblekit bowl over one of Willowpelt’s much smaller kits, but relaxed again as the tiny tortoiseshell sprang up and hurled herself joyfully on Bramblekit.

“It must be time he was apprenticed,” remarked Graystripe. “He and Tawnykit are older than—” He broke off, and a distant, sorrowful expression clouded his amber eyes.

Fireheart knew that he was thinking of his own kits, left behind in RiverClan. “Yes, it’s time I was thinking about mentors,” he agreed, hoping to distract his friend from his bittersweet memories. “I’ll ask Bluestar if I can mentor Bramblekit myself. Who do you think would—”

“You’ll mentor Bramblekit?” Graystripe stared at him. “Is that a good idea?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Fireheart asked, feeling his fur start to prickle. “I haven’t an apprentice, now that Cloudtail has been made a warrior.”

“Because you don’t like Bramblekit,” retorted Graystripe. “I don’t blame you, but wouldn’t he be better off with a mentor who trusts him?”

Fireheart hesitated. There was some truth in what Graystripe said, but Fireheart knew that he couldn’t give the task to any other cat. He had to have Bramblekit under his own guidance to make sure he stayed loyal to ThunderClan.

“My mind’s made up,” he mewed curtly. “I wanted to ask you who you think would be good for Tawnykit.”

Graystripe paused, as if he wanted to go on arguing, then shrugged. “I’m surprised you have to ask. There’s an obvious choice.” When Fireheart didn’t speak, he added, “Sandstorm, you mouse-brain!”

Fireheart took a mouthful of vole to give himself time to think of an answer. Sandstorm was an experienced warrior. She had been an apprentice along with Fireheart himself, Graystripe, and Dustpelt, and she was the only one of the four never to have had an apprentice of her own. Yet something made him reluctant to give Tawnykit to her.

Swallowing the vole, he meowed, “I more or less promised Snowkit to Brackenfur. It’s only fair I should ask Bluestar if he can mentor Tawnykit, seeing as he was disappointed so recently. Besides, he’s a fine warrior, and he’ll do a good job.”

Graystripe’s eyes glowed briefly with pride; Brackenfur had been his apprentice, and he was clearly delighted to hear how well the young warrior was doing. Then he twitched his ears disbelievingly. “Come on, Fireheart. That’s not the real reason, and you know it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t want to give Tawnykit to Sandstorm because you’re afraid of what Tigerstar might do.”

Staring at his friend, Fireheart knew that the gray warrior was right. The reason had been there in his mind, but he had refused to admit it, even to himself.

“You want to protect her,” Graystripe went on, when Fireheart didn’t speak.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Fireheart demanded. “Tigerstar already encouraged Darkstripe to take the kits out of camp to visit him. Do you think that will be the end of it? Do you think he’ll be content just to see them at Gatherings?”

“No, I don’t.” Graystripe gave an exasperated snort. “But what will Sandstorm think? She’s not some pretty little kittypet, hiding behind big, strong warriors. She can take care of herself.”

Fireheart shrugged uncomfortably. “Sandstorm will just have to accept the decision. I’m sure Bluestar will agree to let Brackenfur have Tawnykit.”

Graystripe’s amber eyes gleamed in anticipation of trouble ahead. “You’re the deputy. But Sandstorm isn’t going to like it,” he predicted.

“You want to mentor Bramblekit?” asked Bluestar.

Fireheart stood in her den. He had just raised the question of the new apprentices, suggesting that they should hold the naming ceremony at sunset.

“Yes,” he mewed. “And Brackenfur to mentor Tawnykit.”

Bluestar gazed at him with narrowed eyes. “A traitor to mentor the son of a traitor,” she rasped. Clearly she had no interest in who should mentor Tawnykit. “How suitable.”