Erin Hunter - Forest of Secrets

Before Bluestar could speak, Tigerclaw hissed, “And why should we trust RiverClan?”

Crookedstar ignored him, his amber eyes on Bluestar as he waited for her response. She dipped her head respectfully. “Thank you, Crookedstar. We accept your offer.”

The RiverClan leader nodded briefly and turned to escort her out of the clearing. There was still some muttering among the ThunderClan cats as Bluestar led her warriors through the bushes and up the slope out of the hollow. Cats from ShadowClan and WindClan hissed at them, even though RiverClan warriors flanked them protectively on both sides. Fireheart realized with a jolt that the divisions within the forest had shifted in the space of a single Gathering.

He was relieved when they reached the top of the slope and left the hostile Gathering behind them. He noticed Graystripe trying to edge his way closer to Silverstream, but another of the RiverClan queens was in his way, giving Silverstream a lick from time to time.

“You’re sure you’re not tired?” the queen fussed. “It’s a long journey when you’re expecting kits.”

“No, Greenflower, I’m fine,” Silverstream replied patiently, casting a frustrated glance at Graystripe over her friend’s head.

Tigerclaw brought up the rear of the ThunderClan patrol, swinging his huge head aggressively from side to side as if he expected the RiverClan cats to attack at any moment.

Bluestar, on the other hand, seemed to be quite at ease traveling with the other Clan. Once they were away from Fourtrees she let Crookedstar take the lead, while she dropped back to join Mistyfoot. “I hear you have kits,” she meowed, her voice level. “Are they well?”

Mistyfoot looked slightly surprised to be addressed by the ThunderClan leader. “Two…two of them were swept away in the river,” she stammered. “Fireheart and Graystripe saved them.”

“I’m sorry. You must have been frightened for them,” Bluestar murmured, her blue eyes soft with sympathy. “I’m glad ThunderClan warriors were able to help. Did your kits recover?”

“Yes, they’re fine now, Bluestar.” Mistyfoot still seemed bewildered at being questioned so closely by the ThunderClan leader. “They’re all fine. They’ll be apprentices soon.”

“And I’m sure they’ll make fine warriors,” Bluestar mewed warmly.

Watching his leader and the RiverClan queen walking step for step, Fireheart couldn’t help thinking how their blue-gray fur shone almost identically in the moonlight. They had the same neat, compact bodies, and when they had to leap over a log that lay in their path they both flexed their limbs with the same economical ripple of muscles. Stonefur, coming up behind, was a copy of his sister, with a silver sheen to his coat and an enviable deftness of movement.

If cats from different Clans could look so alike, Fireheart wondered, why couldn’t they think alike too? Why did there have to be so much quarreling between them? Uncomfortably he remembered the antagonism shown toward his Clan by ShadowClan and WindClan, and their bitterness over Bluestar’s defense of Brokentail. As he padded toward the bridge, alert for the scent of Twolegs, Fireheart felt the cold winds of war beginning to sweep over the forest.

On the second dawn after the Gathering, Fireheart woke in the warriors’ den to find that Graystripe had already left. The hollow in the moss where his friend had been sleeping was quite cold.

Gone to meet Silverstream, Fireheart thought with a sigh of resignation. It was hardly surprising, now that Graystripe knew she was going to have his kits, but it meant that Fireheart would have to cover for his absence again.

Yawning widely, Fireheart pushed his way through the outer branches of the bush, and shook moss from his coat while he looked around the clearing. The sun was beginning to edge its way above the bracken wall, casting long shadows over the bare ground. The sky was pure, cloudless, and blue. Birdsong all around held the promise of easy prey.

“Hey, Brackenpaw!” Fireheart called to the apprentice, who sat blinking at the entrance to his den. “Do you want to go hunting?”

Brackenpaw leaped to his paws and raced across the clearing to Fireheart. “Now?” he asked, delight shining in his eyes.

“Yes, now,” meowed Fireheart, suddenly sharing the young cat’s eagerness. “I could do with a nice fresh mouse, couldn’t you?”

Brackenpaw fell in behind him as they headed for the gorse tunnel. He hadn’t even asked where Graystripe was, Fireheart realized. Graystripe had never taken his duties as mentor seriously, he thought with a pang of worry. He had been more interested in Silverstream right from the start. Meanwhile, Fireheart himself had more or less taken over Brackenpaw’s training. He enjoyed it, and he liked the serious-minded ginger tom, but he was troubled that loyalty to the Clan didn’t mean more to Graystripe.

He put these thoughts aside as he led Brackenpaw up the ravine, avoiding the muddy streambed where the floodwater was drying up. It was hard to be sad or anxious on a bright, warm day like this. With the floods receding more and more every day, there was no longer any danger that ThunderClan would be driven out of their camp by rising water.

At the top of the ravine, Fireheart paused. “Okay, Brackenpaw,” he meowed. “Have a good sniff. What can you smell?”

Brackenpaw stood with his head erect, his eyes closed, and his jaws parted to drink in the breeze. “Mouse,” he mewed at last. “Rabbit, and blackbird, and…some other bird I don’t know.”

“That’s woodpecker,” Fireheart told him. “Anything else?”

Brackenpaw concentrated, and his eyes snapped open in alarm. “Fox!”

“Fresh?”

The apprentice sniffed again and then relaxed, looking a bit ashamed of himself. “No, stale. Two or three days old, I think.”

“Good, Brackenpaw. Now, you head that way, as far as the two old oaks, and I’ll go this way.” He watched Brackenpaw for a few moments as the apprentice moved slowly into the shadow of the trees, stopping every few paces to taste the air. A flutter of wings under a bush distracted Fireheart; turning his head he saw a thrush, flapping to keep its balance as it tugged a worm out of the soil.

Fireheart crouched down and crept toward it paw by paw. The thrush pulled the worm free and started to tuck in; Fireheart bunched his muscles for the pounce.

“Fireheart! Fireheart!”

Brackenpaw’s frantic meow split the silence. His paws crunched on dead leaves as he tore through the trees toward Fireheart. Though Fireheart hurled himself at the thrush it had been given too much warning. It flew up to a low branch, squawking in panic, while Fireheart’s paws thudded onto the empty ground.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Fireheart swung around angrily to face the apprentice. “I’d have caught that thrush, and now listen to it! Every bit of prey in the forest will—”

“Fireheart!” Brackenpaw gasped out, skidding to a halt in front of him. “They’re coming! I could smell them; then I saw them!”

“Smell who? Who’s coming?”

Brackenpaw’s eyes were round with fear. “ShadowClan and WindClan!” he meowed. “They’re coming to invade our camp!”

“Where? How many warriors?” Fireheart demanded.

“Over there.” Brackenpaw flicked his tail toward the deeper forest. “I don’t know how many. They’re creeping through the undergrowth.”

“Okay.” Fireheart thought quickly, trying to ignore the sudden thumping of his heart. “Go back to camp. Warn Bluestar and Tigerclaw. We need some warriors out here right now.”

“Yes, Fireheart.” Brackenpaw spun around and raced off down the ravine.