Erin Hunter - A Dangerous Path

“No! No!” His voice was an earsplitting yowl, and Fireheart’s fur bristled in horror.

“No!” Cloudtail yowled again. “Fireheart!”

Fireheart dashed to the warrior’s side. Cloudtail was standing stiff-legged, every hair in his pelt on end as if he were facing an enemy. His eyes were fixed on the limp heap of tabby fur huddled at his paws.

“Why, Fireheart?” Cloudtail wailed. “Why her?”

Fireheart knew, but rage and grief made it hard to speak. “Because Tigerstar wants the pack to get a taste for cat blood,” he rasped.

The dead cat lying in front of them was Brindleface.

Cloudtail and Sandstorm carried Brindleface’s body back to the camp, but there was no time for the mourning rituals. Apparently she had gone out hunting alone very early, and the other cats had only just noticed that she was taking a long time to return. Her burial was a hurried affair, carried out by Cloudtail and her two kits, Fernpaw and Ashpaw, while Fireheart summoned the Clan together.

They returned as Fireheart stood at the foot of the Highrock waiting for the rest of the cats to gather. Cloudtail paced back and forth, his tail lashing fiercely.

“I’ll flay Tigerstar!” he vowed. “I’ll scatter his entrails from here to Highstones. He’s mine, Fireheart, and don’t you forget it.”

“And don’t you forget that you’re under my orders,” Fireheart told him. “Right now we have to deal with the dog pack. We’ll worry about Tigerstar later.”

Cloudtail bared his teeth with a hiss of frustration, but did not argue.

Meanwhile the rest of the Clan were huddling in a shocked and silent crowd around Fireheart. Cinderpelt appeared from Bluestar’s den and limped rapidly across to him.

“Bluestar’s asleep,” she meowed. “Better to tell her about this when we’ve worked out a plan, don’t you think?”

Fireheart nodded, wondering how his leader would react when she found out that all her fears about Tigerstar were true. Would the dreadful knowledge drive her into madness once and for all? Pushing his fear aside, Fireheart turned to address the Clan. “Cats of ThunderClan,” he began. “This morning we discovered that there’s a pack of dogs on our territory, living in the caves at Snakerocks.”

Murmuring broke out among the assembled cats, along with a few yowls of defiance. Fireheart guessed that they scarcely believed him, but there was worse news to come. He couldn’t help staring at Darkstripe, but the dark warrior’s expression was unreadable, and Fireheart had no idea how much he already knew.

“Tigerstar has been feeding the dogs,” he went on, struggling to keep his voice calm, “and he has laid a trail of dead rabbits to lead them right into our camp. You all know what lay at the end of that trail.” He dipped his head toward the place outside the camp where Brindleface had been buried.

He had to signal with his tail for silence as a chorus of wailing broke out. He couldn’t help noticing Goldenflower crouched with her head down as she listened to what Tigerstar had done, and he looked instinctively for the two newest apprentices. Tawnypaw was staring at him with horror in her face, but Bramblepaw’s face was hidden. Fireheart wondered if he was equally shocked, or if part of him admired his father for carrying out such a bold plan.

When he could make himself heard again, Fireheart went on: “We have tried to break the trail, but the rabbits have lain there all night, and the pack will follow the scent they left behind. We must all leave—elders, kits, everyone. If the dogs come to the camp they must not find us here.”

More sounds of dismay, this time a low, anxious murmuring. Dappletail, an aged, once-pretty tortoiseshell she-cat, called out, “Where shall we go?”

“To Sunningrocks,” Fireheart replied. “Once you’re there, climb the tallest trees you can find. If the dogs follow you, they’ll think they lost the scent on the rocks, and they won’t look for you.”

To his relief, the Clan grew quieter now that he had given them definite orders, though the cats still crouched in grief for Brindleface. Her kits, the apprentices Fernpaw and Ashpaw, were pressed close together with looks of stunned horror on their faces. Fireheart thanked StarClan that the day, although gray and chilly, was dry, and that there were no sick cats or very young kits to make the journey.

“And what about the pack?” Dustpelt asked. “What are we going to do about them?”

Fireheart hesitated. He knew the pack was too strong for his warriors to attack directly. Tigerstar would never have led them to the camp unless he had been certain of that. StarClan help me , he prayed silently. As though his warrior ancestors had heard him, an idea flashed into his mind. “That’s it!” he whispered. “We’ll steal the trail.” As the cats close by stared at him, he repeated more loudly, “We’ll steal the trail!”

“What do you mean?” Sandstorm asked, her green eyes wide.

“Just what I say. Tigerstar wants to lead the dogs right to our camp. Fine. We’ll let him do that. And when they arrive, we’ll be waiting—to take them to the gorge.”

Not far from Fourtrees, on the far side of ThunderClan’s territory, the river foamed between sheer-sided cliffs. The current was fast and strong, and there were sharp rocks concealed just under the surface. If cats had drowned there, why not dogs?

“We’ll need to lure the dogs over the edge,” Fireheart went on, the details of the plan taking shape in his mind as he spoke. “I’ll need warriors who can run fast.” His dark green gaze swept the cats around him. “Graystripe. Sandstorm. Mousefur and Longtail. Dustpelt. And I’m going myself. That should be enough. The rest of you gather by the camp entrance, ready to move out.”

As the cats he had not named began to obey his orders, Fireheart saw Fernpaw and Ashpaw pushing their way to the front of the crowd.

“Fireheart, we want to help,” Fernpaw begged, fixing her shocked, pleading eyes on Fireheart.

“I said warriors,” Fireheart reminded her gently.

“But Brindleface was our mother,” protested Ashpaw. “Please, Fireheart. We want to do it for her.”

“Yes, take them with you,” Whitestorm put in, his voice grave. “Their anger will make them fearless.”

Fireheart hesitated, then saw the intensity in the white warrior’s eyes and nodded. “All right.”

“And what about me?” Cloudtail demanded, his tail beginning to lash again.

“Listen, Cloudtail,” Fireheart meowed. “I can’t take all my best warriors to lure the dogs. Some of you have to look after the rest of the Clan.” Cloudtail opened his mouth to argue, but Fireheart went on quickly: “I’m not giving you an easy job. If we fail, you’re likely to find yourself fighting the dogs—and maybe ShadowClan as well. Think, Cloudtail,” he urged as the warrior still looked unconvinced. “What better revenge could you take on Tigerstar than to make sure that his plans fail and that ThunderClan survives?”

Cloudtail was silent for a moment, his face twisted in grief and anger for Brindleface.

“Don’t forget Lostface,” Fireheart meowed quietly. “She’ll need you now more than ever.”

The young warrior straightened up at the mention of his injured friend and glanced across the clearing to see her limping toward the entrance, guided by Speckletail and the other elders. Her one eye was staring and her sides heaved with terror.

“Right, Fireheart.” Cloudtail sounded utterly determined. “I’m on my way.”

“Thank you,” Fireheart called after him as he raced across the clearing to Lostface’s side. “I trust you, Cloudtail.”