Erin Hunter - Forest of Secrets

Fireheart hesitated, wondering how much to explain. It would take the rest of the day to tell the full story of Tigerclaw’s treachery, and to describe how Fireheart himself had been named deputy. In a heartbeat’s pause, he decided to tell the visiting patrol nothing. Even RiverClan, though they seemed friendly now, might be tempted to attack a Clan that seemed to be weak. The next Gathering would be soon enough for them to know. He bowed his head once more and went to look for Bluestar.

To his relief, the Clan leader was sitting in her den, finishing a piece of fresh-kill. She looked more like herself than Fireheart had seen her since Tigerclaw’s attack. As he announced himself at the entrance to the den, Bluestar looked up, swallowing the last of her mouse. Her tongue swiped around her jaws and she meowed, “Fireheart? Come in. We have a great deal to discuss.”

“Yes, Bluestar,” Fireheart mewed, “but not now. The RiverClan warriors are here.”

“Ah.” Bluestar rose to her paws and stretched. “I was expecting them, although I had hoped they wouldn’t come back quite so soon.” She led the way out of her den to where the patrol was waiting. By now, Graystripe had appeared and seemed to be exchanging news with Mistyfoot. Fireheart hoped he was not telling her too much as he settled down a respectful distance from the RiverClan patrol.

Other cats too were gathering around, their faces revealing their curiosity about the reason for the RiverClan cats’ visit.

When Bluestar had greeted the newcomers, Leopardfur began. “We’ve talked for a long time about Silverstream’s kits, and we’ve decided that they belong in RiverClan. Two RiverClan kits died yesterday. They had been born too soon. Their mother, Greenflower, has agreed to suckle these newborns. We think it may be a sign from StarClan. The kits will be well cared for.”

“They’re well cared for here!” Fireheart exclaimed.

Leopardfur glanced at him but still spoke directly to Bluestar. “Crookedstar has sent us to fetch them.” Her voice was calm but determined, showing that she genuinely believed in her Clan’s right to take the kits.

“Besides,” Mistyfoot added, “the kits are older now, and the river has gone down enough to allow a safe passage across. They will be able to cope with the journey to our camp.”

“Yes,” meowed Leopardfur, with an approving look at the younger warrior. “We could have taken the kits before this, but we care just as much about their welfare as you do.”

Bluestar drew herself up. Though she moved stiffly and she still looked exhausted, outwardly at least she had recovered the authority of a leader. “The kits are half ThunderClan,” she reminded Leopardfur. “I’ve already told you, I’ll give you my decision at the next Gathering.”

“The decision is not yours to make.” The RiverClan deputy’s tone had an edge like ice.

At her words meows of protest rose from the assembled cats.

“Cheek!” spat Sandstorm, from where she sat close to Fireheart. “Who does she think she is, walking in here and telling us what to do?”

Fireheart padded over to Bluestar and murmured in her ear, “Bluestar, these are Graystripe’s kits. You can’t send them away.”

Bluestar twitched her ears. “You can tell Crookedstar,” she calmly addressed the visitors, “that ThunderClan will fight to keep these kits.”

Leopardfur’s lips drew back in the beginnings of a snarl, while the ThunderClan cats yowled their approval.

Then a louder meow rose above the rest. “No!”

Fireheart’s fur began to prickle. It was Graystripe.

The big gray cat came to stand beside Bluestar. Fireheart winced when he saw the looks of suspicion that ThunderClan gave him, and how they drew back as he passed. But Graystripe seemed to have hardened himself against their hostility. Glancing first at the RiverClan patrol and then at the cats of his own Clan, he meowed, “Leopardfur is right. Kits belong with their mother’s Clan. I think we should let them go.”

Fireheart froze. He wanted to protest, but could find no words. The rest of the Clan was just as silent, except for Yellowfang, who muttered, “He’s mad.”

“Graystripe, think again,” Bluestar urged him. “If I let Leopardfur take these kits, they are lost to you forever. They will grow up in another Clan. They will not know you as their kin. One day you may even have to fight them.” Fireheart heard the sorrow in her voice as she spoke, and saw her eyes straying to Mistyfoot and Stonefur. Her words were full of such bitter knowledge that he wondered how any cat could listen to her and not realize the truth about the kits their leader had lost so long ago.

“I understand, Bluestar,” Graystripe agreed. “But I’ve caused enough trouble for this Clan. I won’t ask them to fight for my kits.” He paused and added to Leopardfur, “If Bluestar agrees, I’ll bring the kits to the stepping-stones at sunset. I give you my word.”

“Graystripe, don’t…” Fireheart burst out.

Graystripe turned his yellow eyes to his friend. Fireheart saw pain there, and measureless unhappiness, but also a determination that made him realize there was something in his friend’s mind that Fireheart himself did not yet understand.

“Don’t…” he repeated softly, but Graystripe did not reply.

Sandstorm pushed her nose into Fireheart’s fur and murmured a few words of comfort, but Fireheart felt too numb to respond. He was vaguely aware of Cinderpaw nudging Sandstorm on the other side and whispering, “Not now, Sandstorm. There’s nothing we can say. Leave him be.”

Bluestar bowed her head for several long moments. Fireheart could see how much of her hastily summoned strength was ebbing away in the confrontation, and how desperately she needed rest. At last she spoke. “Graystripe, are you sure?”

The gray warrior lifted his chin. “Quite sure.”

“In that case,” Bluestar went on, “I agree to your demands, Leopardfur. Graystripe will bring the kits to the stepping-stones at sunset.”

Leopardfur looked startled to win an agreement so quickly. She exchanged a glance with Blackclaw, almost as if she were asking if there could be trickery here. “Then we will hold you to your word,” she meowed, turning back to the ThunderClan leader. “In the name of StarClan, see that you keep it.” She dipped her head to Bluestar and led her cats away. Fireheart watched them go and turned to plead once more with Graystripe, but his friend was already vanishing into the nursery.

As the sun slid down behind the trees, Fireheart waited by the gorse tunnel. Leaves rustled above his head, and the air was filled with the warm scents of late newleaf, but Fireheart was barely conscious of his surroundings. His mind was full of thoughts of Graystripe. There was no way he was going to let his friend give up his kits without making one last attempt to stop him.

At last Graystripe emerged from the nursery, herding the two kits on stumpy, unsteady legs in front of him. The small dark-gray tom already looked as if he would grow into a sturdy warrior, while the she-cat with her silvery coat was a copy of her mother, promising the same beauty and swiftness.

Goldenflower followed them out of the nursery and dipped her head to touch noses with both kits. “Farewell, my beloveds,” she mewed sadly.

The two kits let out bewildered meows as Graystripe nudged them away, and Goldenflower’s own kits nuzzled their mother’s flank, as if they meant to comfort her.

“Graystripe—” Fireheart began, stepping forward as his friend approached with the kits.

“Don’t say anything,” Graystripe interrupted him. “You’ll understand soon. Will you come with me to the stepping-stones? I…I need your help to carry the kits.”