Эрин Хантер - Rising Storm

Fireheart shook his head.

“So is there a more experienced ThunderClan warrior who doesn’t have an apprentice?” Yellowfang pressed him.

Darkstripe , Fireheart thought reluctantly. Every cat knew that Darkstripe had been one of Tigerclaw’s closest friends, even if he had chosen to stay with the Clan when the traitor had been sent into exile. Fireheart realized that if he didn’t choose Darkstripe to be a mentor, it might look as if he were taking revenge for the hostility that the warrior had shown him since he first came to ThunderClan. After all, Darkstripe was an obvious choice to take one of the apprentices.

Yellowfang must have seen the look of determination on Fireheart’s face, for she meowed, “Right, that’s sorted. Would you mind leaving me and my apprentice in peace now? We have work to do.”

Fireheart pushed himself to his paws, his relief that he had found two mentors tempered by the uneasy feeling that, while the chosen cats’ loyalty to the Clan was not in question, he was far less sure of their loyalty to him.

“Have you seen Cloudpaw?” Fireheart emerged from the fern tunnel and called to Thornpaw, Mousefur’s apprentice. The ginger tom was trotting toward the pile of fresh-kill with two mice dangling from his jaws. He shook his head, and Fireheart felt a flash of annoyance. Cloudpaw should have been back ages ago.

“All right. Take those mice straight to the elders,” he ordered Thornpaw. The apprentice gave a muffled mew and padded quickly away.

Fireheart felt his tail bristle with anger at Cloudpaw, but he knew it was fear that made him so furious. What if Tigerclaw has found him ? Feeling his alarm grow, Fireheart hurried to Bluestar’s den. He would tell her his decision about the mentors and then he could go and look for Cloudpaw.

At the Highrock, Fireheart didn’t pause to smooth his ruffled fur; he just called out and pushed his way through the lichen as soon as he heard Bluestar’s reply. The ThunderClan leader was crouching in her nest where he had left her, staring at the wall.

“Bluestar,” Fireheart began, dipping his head. “I thought Dustpelt and Darkstripe would be good mentors.”

The elderly she-cat turned her head and looked at Fireheart, then heaved herself up onto her haunches. “Very well,” she answered flatly.

A wave of disappointment broke over Fireheart. Bluestar looked as if she didn’t care whom he chose. “Shall I send them to you so you can tell them the good news?” he asked. “They’re out of the camp just now,” he added. “But when they return, I can—”

“They’re out of camp?” Bluestar’s whiskers twitched. “Both of them?”

“They’re on patrol,” Fireheart explained uncomfortably.

“Where’s Whitestorm?”

“Out training Brightpaw.”

“And Mousefur?”

“Hunting with Brackenfur and Sandstorm.”

“Are all the warriors out of camp?” Bluestar demanded.

Fireheart saw the muscles in her shoulders tense and his heart lurched. What was Bluestar afraid of? His thoughts darted back to Cloudpaw and the fear he had felt this morning in the silent forest. “The patrol’s due back soon.” Fireheart fought to stay calm as he tried to reassure his leader. “And I’m still here.”

“Don’t patronize me! I’m not some frightened kit!” spat Bluestar. Fireheart shrank back and she went on: “Make sure you stay in camp until the patrol returns. We’ve been attacked twice in the past moon. I don’t want the camp to be left unguarded. In the future I want at least three warriors to remain in camp all the time.”

Fireheart felt a chill shudder through his pelt. For once he did not dare meet his leader’s eyes, afraid that he wouldn’t recognize the cat he saw there. “Yes, Bluestar,” he murmured quietly.

“When Darkstripe and Dustpelt return, send them to my den. I wish to speak to them before the ceremony.”

“Of course.”

“Now go!” Bluestar flicked her tail at him, as if she thought he was putting the Clan in danger by wasting time.

Fireheart backed out of the den. He sat down in the shade of the Highrock and twisted his head to lick the fur on his tail. What should he do? His pounding heart told him to race into the forest, find Cloudpaw, and bring him home to the safety of the camp. But Bluestar had ordered him to stay here until one of the patrols returned.

Just then he heard the crashing of cats through the undergrowth outside the camp and he smelled the familiar scents of Darkstripe, Runningwind, and Dustpelt on the warm air. Their pawsteps slowed as they trotted through the gorse entrance, Runningwind leading the way.

Fireheart sprang to his paws with relief. Now he could leave the camp and find Cloudpaw. He hurried across the clearing to meet them. “How did the patrol go?” he called.

“No signs of the other Clans,” reported Runningwind.

“But we did smell your apprentice,” added Darkstripe. “Near Twolegplace.”

“Did you see him?” Fireheart meowed as casually as he could.

Darkstripe shook his head.

“I expect he was looking for birds in one of the Twoleg gardens.” Dustpelt smirked. “They’re probably more to his taste.”

Fireheart ignored Dustpelt’s kittypet jibe. “Was the scent fresh?” he asked Runningwind.

“Fairly. We lost his trail when we started to head back to camp.”

Fireheart nodded. At least he had an idea where to begin looking for Cloudpaw. “Darkstripe and Dustpelt,” he meowed, “Bluestar wants to see you in her den.” As the warriors padded away, Fireheart wondered whether to go with them, just in case Bluestar was still acting strangely. Then he noticed that Runningwind was leading Thornpaw toward the camp entrance. “Where are you going?” he called anxiously. Bluestar wanted three warriors to remain in camp; he couldn’t go and look for Cloudpaw if Runningwind was going out again.

“I promised Mousefur I’d teach Thornpaw how to catch squirrels this afternoon,” Runningwind meowed over his shoulder.

“But I…” Fireheart’s voice trailed away as the lean warrior eyed him curiously. He couldn’t bring himself to admit how worried he was about Cloudpaw. He shook his head. “Nothing,” he meowed, and Runningwind and Thornpaw disappeared into the gorse tunnel. A twinge of guilt shot through Fireheart as he watched Mousefur’s apprentice padding obediently after the warrior. Why couldn’t he inspire that sort of behavior in his own apprentice?

The rest of the afternoon dragged. Fireheart settled himself beside the nettle clump outside the warriors’ den and strained his ears, scanning the sounds of the forest for any sign of Cloudpaw’s return. But the fear that Bluestar had stirred in him had eased slightly since Darkstripe reported scenting only the young apprentice on the patrol, and no intruders in ThunderClan territory.

As the sun began to sink below the treetops, the hunting party returned. It was followed by Whitestorm and Brightpaw, drawn away from the training hollow, no doubt, by the scent of fresh-kill. Longtail and Swiftpaw returned soon afterward, but there was still no sign of Cloudpaw.

There was plenty of prey to go around, but no cat approached the pile. News of the naming ceremony had spread through the camp. Fireheart could hear Thornpaw, Brightpaw, and Swiftpaw whispering in excited mews outside their den until Bluestar padded out from her cave, when they hushed one another and looked up with huge, expectant eyes.

The ThunderClan leader leaped onto the Highrock in a single, easy bound. She had clearly recovered from her physical injuries after the battle with the rogue cats, but Fireheart didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried by this. Why hadn’t her mind recovered as quickly as her body? His heart quickened as she raised her chin, preparing to call the Clan together. Her voice sounded dry and cracked, as if it had grown brittle from lack of use, but as she yowled the familiar words, Fireheart felt his confidence return.