Erin Hunter - Forest of Secrets

It was the day after their hunting punishment. Fireheart had decided there was no time to lose before visiting RiverClan territory, to discover how Oakheart had really died. He crouched at the edge of the forest and looked out toward the frozen river. The wind made a rustling sound in the dry reeds that poked up through the ice and snow.

Beside him, Graystripe sniffed the breeze, alert for the scent of other cats. “I can smell RiverClan cats,” he whispered. “But the scent’s old. I think we can cross safely.”

Fireheart realized he was more worried about cats from his own Clan seeing them than meeting an enemy patrol. Already Tigerclaw suspected him of treachery. If the deputy found out what they were doing now, they’d be crowfood. “All right,” he whispered back. “Let’s go.”

Graystripe led the way confidently across the ice, keeping his weight low over his paws so that he didn’t slip. At first Fireheart was impressed; then he realized that Graystripe had been crossing the river secretly for moons now, to go and meet Silverstream. He followed more cautiously, half expecting the ice to crack under his weight and plunge him into the freezing dark water below. Here, downstream of the Sunningrocks, the river itself was the boundary between the two Clans. Fireheart’s fur prickled as he crossed, and he kept glancing back to make sure that no cat from his Clan was watching.

Once they reached the far bank, they crept into the shelter of a reed bed and sniffed the air again for signs of RiverClan cats. Fireheart was conscious of Graystripe’s unspoken fear; every muscle of the gray warrior’s body was tense as he peered through the reed stems. “We must both be mad,” he hissed to Fireheart. “You made me promise to meet Silverstream at Fourtrees whenever I wanted to see her, and now here we are, in RiverClan territory again.”

“I know,” Fireheart answered. “But there’s no other way. We need to talk to a RiverClan cat, and Silverstream’s more likely to help us than any of the others.”

He was just as apprehensive as his friend. They were surrounded by scents of RiverClan, though none of them were fresh. To Fireheart, it felt as if he were a kittypet in the forest for the first time again, lost in a frightening and unfamiliar place.

Using the reeds for cover, the two cats began to work their way upstream. Fireheart tried to step lightly, as if he were stalking prey, his belly skimming the snow. He was uncomfortably aware of how his flame-colored coat stood out against the white surface. The scent of RiverClan cats was growing more powerful, and he guessed the camp must be nearby. “How much farther?” he mewed softly to Graystripe.

“Not far. See that island up ahead?”

They had come to a place where the river curved away from ThunderClan territory and grew wider. Not far ahead a small island surrounded by reed beds showed above the frozen surface. Willow trees stooped low from the banks of the island, the tips of their overhanging branches trapped in the ice.

“An island?” Fireheart echoed in amazement. “But what happens when the river isn’t frozen? Do they swim across?”

“Silverstream says the water’s very shallow there,” Graystripe explained. “But I’ve never been right into the camp myself.”

Beside them, the ground sloped gently upward, away from the reedy shore. At the top, gorse and hawthorn grew thickly, with the occasional holly showing green and shiny under its coating of snow. But there was a bare expanse of shore between the reeds and the sheltering bushes, with no cover for prey or cats.

Graystripe had been moving forward in a low crouch; now he lifted his head, scenting the air and looking warily around. Then, without warning, he sprang away from the reeds and dashed up the slope.

Fireheart raced after him, his paws skidding in the snow. Reaching the bushes, they plunged between the branches and stopped, gasping for breath. Fireheart listened for the yowling of an alerted patrol, but no sound came up from the camp. He flopped down on the dead leaves and puffed out a sigh of relief.

“We can see the entrance of the camp from here,” Graystripe told him. “I used to wait here for Silverstream.”

Fireheart hoped she would come soon. Every moment they spent here increased their chances of discovery. Shifting his position so he had a good view of the slope and the island camp, he could just make out the silhouettes of cats moving around. He was so intent on trying to peer into the thick bushes that screened the island that he didn’t see the tabby who was padding past their hiding place until she was barely a tail-length away. She carried a small squirrel in her jaws, and her gaze was fixed on the frozen ground.

Fireheart froze into a crouch, ready to spring out if the cat spotted them, and tracked her with his gaze as she passed. Luckily, he thought, the scent of the prey she was carrying must have masked the scent of ThunderClan intruders. Suddenly he realized that a group of four cats, led by Leopardfur, the RiverClan deputy, had emerged from the camp. Leopardfur was fiercely hostile toward ThunderClan, ever since her patrol had come upon Fireheart and Graystripe trespassing on RiverClan territory as they returned from bringing WindClan home. A RiverClan cat had died in the ensuing fight, and Leopardfur did not forgive easily. If she discovered Fireheart and Graystripe now, she wouldn’t even give them a chance to explain what they were doing on this side of the river.

To Fireheart’s relief, the patrol didn’t come their way. Instead they set off across the frozen river toward the Sunningrocks—off to patrol the border, Fireheart guessed.

At last a familiar silver-gray shape appeared.

“Silverstream!” purred Graystripe.

Fireheart watched the RiverClan she-cat stepping delicately across the ice toward the bank. She was certainly beautiful, he realized, with a finely shaped head and thick, sleek fur. No wonder Graystripe was captivated by her.

Graystripe rose to his paws, ready to call out to her, when two other cats emerged from the camp and ran to catch up with Silverstream. One of them was the smoky black warrior Blackclaw, recognizable from Gatherings by his long legs and lean body, and a smaller cat Fireheart guessed must have been Blackclaw’s apprentice.

“Hunting patrol,” Graystripe murmured.

All three cats began to climb the slope. Fireheart let out a hiss, half impatience, half fear. He had hoped they would be able to speak to Silverstream alone. How could they separate her from her companions? What if Blackclaw scented the intruders? After all, he wasn’t carrying a helpful mouthful of prey to block his scent glands.

Blackclaw took the lead with his apprentice, and Silverstream followed a tail-length or two behind. As the patrol reached the bushes, Silverstream paused, her ears pricked warily as if she had detected a familiar but unexpected scent. Graystripe let out a short, sharp hiss, and Silverstream’s ears swiveled toward the sound.

“Silverstream!” Graystripe mewed softly.

The she-cat flicked her ears, and Fireheart let out the breath he had been holding. She had heard.

“Blackclaw!” she called to the warrior ahead of her. “I’ll try for a mouse in the bushes here. Don’t wait for me.”

Fireheart heard an answering mew from Blackclaw. Moments later Silverstream slipped through the branches until she reached the space where the young ThunderClan warriors were crouching. She pressed herself against Graystripe, purring loudly, and the two cats rubbed their faces together with obvious delight.

“I thought you only wanted us to meet at Fourtrees,” Silverstream meowed when the two cats had finished greeting each other. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought Fireheart to see you,” Graystripe explained. “He needs to ask you something.”