Erin Hunter - A Dangerous Path

“Speak to Crookedstar,” he suggested. “Ask him yourself about the kits.”

“And try to stay on the good side of Leopardfur,” added Sandstorm. “Don’t let her catch you crossing the ThunderClan border.”

Graystripe flinched. “Maybe you’re right. I’d better be getting back. Good-bye, Sandstorm, Fireheart.”

“Try to come to the next Gathering,” Fireheart urged.

Graystripe flicked his tail in acknowledgment and padded off down the slope. Halfway to the river he turned, meowed, “Wait there a moment!” and raced down to the edge of the water. For several heartbeats he sat motionless on a flat stone, gazing down into the shallows.

“Now what’s he up to?” Sandstorm muttered.

Before Fireheart could reply, Graystripe’s paw darted out. A silver fish shot out of the stream and fell to the bank, where it lay flopping and wriggling. Graystripe finished it off with a single blow of his paw and dragged it back up the slope to where Fireheart and Sandstorm stood watching.

“Here,” he meowed as he dropped it. “I know prey must be scarce since the fire. That should help a bit.”

“Thanks,” meowed Fireheart, and added admiringly, “That was a neat trick back there.”

Graystripe let out a purr of satisfaction. “Mistyfoot showed me how.”

“It’s very welcome,” Sandstorm told him. “But if Leopardfur finds out you’ve been feeding another Clan, she won’t be pleased.”

“Leopardfur can go chase her own tail,” Graystripe growled. “If she says anything, I’ll remind her how Fireheart and I helped feed RiverClan during the floods last newleaf.”

He turned away and bounded back to the river. Fireheart’s heart ached as he watched his friend launch himself into the water and begin swimming strongly for the opposite bank. He would have given anything to have Graystripe back in ThunderClan, but he had to admit it seemed unlikely that the gray warrior could ever be accepted there again.

Fireheart struggled to carry the slippery fish as the hunting patrol returned to camp, his mouth watering as the unfamiliar scent filled his nostrils. When he entered the camp he saw that the pile of fresh-kill already looked bigger. Cloudpaw and Brightpaw had returned, and were about to go out again with Mousefur and Thornpaw.

“We’ve fed the elders, Fireheart!” Cloudpaw called over his shoulder as he scampered up the ravine.

“And Cinderpelt?” Fireheart called back.

“Not yet!”

Fireheart watched his young kin dash out of sight and then turned back to the pile of fresh-kill. Perhaps Graystripe’s fish would tempt Cinderpelt, he thought. He suspected that the young medicine cat wasn’t eating enough, out of grief for Yellowfang, and because she was so busy caring for the smoke-sick cats and Bluestar.

“Are you hungry, Fireheart?” asked Sandstorm, dropping the last of her catch onto the pile. In the end she had waited to eat until they brought the prey back to camp, and she was eyeing the fresh-kill avidly. “We could eat together, if you like.”

“Okay.” The magpie Fireheart had eaten that morning seemed a long time ago now. “I’ll just take this to Cinderpelt.”

“Don’t be long,” meowed Sandstorm.

Fireheart gripped the fish in his jaws and walked toward Cinderpelt’s den. Before the fire, a lush tunnel of ferns had separated it from the rest of the camp. Now just a few blackened stalks showed above the ground, and Fireheart could clearly see the cleft in the rock that was the entrance to the den.

He stopped outside, dropped the fresh-kill, and called, “Cinderpelt!”

After a moment the young medicine cat poked her head out of the opening. “What? Oh, it’s you, Fireheart.”

She padded out of the den to join him. Her fur was ruffled, and her eyes didn’t have their usual lively sparkle. Instead she seemed distracted and troubled. Fireheart guessed that her mind was on Yellowfang.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she mewed. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Have something to eat first,” Fireheart urged her. “Look, Graystripe caught a fish for us.”

“Thanks, Fireheart,” Cinderpelt meowed, “but this is urgent. StarClan sent a dream to me last night.”

Something about the way she spoke made Fireheart uneasy. He was still not used to the way that his former apprentice was growing into a true medicine cat, living without a mate or kits of her own, meeting secretly with other medicine cats and united with them through their bond with the warrior spirits of StarClan.

“What was the dream about?” he asked. He had experienced dreams like this more than once, warning him of things that were going to happen. That helped him to imagine, better than most Clan cats, the mixture of awe and bewilderment that Cinderpelt must be feeling now.

“I’m not sure.” Cinderpelt blinked in confusion. “I thought I was standing in the forest, and I could hear something large crashing through the trees, but I couldn’t see what it was. And I heard voices calling—harsh voices, in a language that wasn’t cat. But I could understand what they said…”

Her voice trailed off. She stood gazing into the distance, her eyes clouded, while her front paws kneaded the ground in front of her.

“What did they say?” Fireheart prompted.

Cinderpelt shivered. “It was really strange. They were calling, ‘Pack, pack,’ and ‘Kill, kill.’”

Fireheart couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He had hoped that a message from StarClan might have given them some hint about how to deal with all his problems—Tigerstar’s reappearance, Bluestar’s illness, and the aftermath of the fire. “Do you know what it means?” he asked.

Cinderpelt shook her head, a lingering look of horror in her eyes, as though she faced a huge threat Fireheart could not see. “Not yet. Maybe StarClan will show me more when I’ve been to Highstones. But it’s something bad, Fireheart, I’m sure of it.”

“As if we haven’t enough to worry about,” Fireheart muttered. To Cinderpelt, he mewed, “I don’t know what I can do, unless we find out more. I need facts. Are you sure that’s all the dream told you?”

Her blue eyes still wide with distress, Cinderpelt nodded. Fireheart gave her ear a comforting lick. “Don’t worry, Cinderpelt. If it’s a warning about ShadowClan, we’re already watching out for them. Just tell me the moment you get any more details.”

He jumped as an irritated yowling sounded from behind him. “Fireheart, are you going to be all day?”

Glancing around, he saw that Sandstorm was waiting for him at the entrance to the burned fern tunnel. “I’ve got to go,” he said to Cinderpelt.

“But—”

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Fireheart interrupted her, his rumbling belly urging him to go and join Sandstorm. “Let me know if you have any other dreams.”

Cinderpelt’s ears twitched in annoyance. “This is a message from StarClan, Fireheart, not just a root digging into my fur or a tough bit of fresh-kill caught in my throat. It could affect the whole Clan. We need to work out what it means.”

“Well, you’ll be better at that than I am,” Fireheart told her, backing away from Cinderpelt’s den and tossing the last words over his shoulder.

Bounding across the clearing toward Sandstorm, he wondered briefly what the dream could have meant. It didn’t sound like an attack from another Clan, and he couldn’t think of anything else that might be a threat. As he tucked into the vole that Sandstorm had saved for him, he managed to put Cinderpelt’s dream out of his mind.

Fireheart’s flanks heaved as he fought for breath, and his cheek stung where claws had raked across it. As he staggered to his feet, Brightpaw took a couple of steps back.