Erin Hunter - Forest of Secrets

“Of course, if you want me to.” Fireheart was ready to agree to anything that seemed to offer the smallest chance of persuading Graystripe to change his mind and keep the kits.

The two warriors padded together through the forest, as they had done so many times before. They each carried one of the kits; the tiny scraps mewed and wriggled as if they wanted to walk on their own paws. Fireheart did not know how his friend could bear to give them up. Had Bluestar felt like this, he wondered, when she looked on her own kits for the last time before letting Oakheart have them?

By the time they reached the stepping-stones, the red light of sunset was fading. The moon was beginning to rise, and the river was a silvery ribbon that reflected the pale sky. Its liquid murmur filled the air, and the long grass on the edge of the shore felt fresh and cool beneath Fireheart’s paws.

Fireheart set down the kit he was carrying in a soft clump of grass, and Graystripe placed the other gently beside it. Then he moved away a pace or two, jerking his head for Fireheart to follow him. “You were right,” he meowed. “I can’t give up my kits.”

Sudden joy flooded through Fireheart. Graystripe had changed his mind! They could take the kits home, and face up to the threat from RiverClan, whatever it might be. Then his heart froze as Graystripe went on.

“I’m going with them. They’re all I have left of Silverstream, and she told me to take care of them. I’d die if I were parted from them.”

Fireheart stared at him, his mouth dropping open. “What? You can’t!” he gasped. “You belong to ThunderClan.”

Graystripe shook his head. “Not anymore. They don’t want me, not since they found out about me and Silverstream. They’ll never trust me again. I don’t even know if I want them to trust me anymore. I don’t think I’ve got any Clan loyalty left.”

His words clutched at Fireheart’s belly like the claws of an enemy, trying to tear it into shreds. “Oh, Graystripe,” he whispered. “What about me? I want you there. I’d trust you with my life, and I’d never betray you.”

Graystripe’s yellow eyes were brimming with sorrow. “I know,” he murmured. “No cat ever had such a friend as you. I’d give my life for you; you know that.”

“Then stay in ThunderClan!”

“I can’t. That’s the only thing I can’t do for you. I belong with my kits, and they belong in RiverClan. Oh, Fireheart, Fireheart…” His voice trailed off into an anguished wail. “I’m being torn in two!”

Fireheart pressed close to him, licking his ear and feeling the trembling that racked his friend’s powerful body. They had been through so much together. Graystripe had been the first Clan cat he had ever spoken to, as a kittypet lost in the woods. He had been his first friend in ThunderClan. They had trained together and been made warriors together. They had hunted in the hot days of greenleaf when the air was filled with scent and the murmuring of bees, and through a bitter leaf-bare when the whole world was frozen. Together they had discovered the truth about Tigerclaw, and risked Bluestar’s anger to do it.

And now it was coming to an end.

But worst of all, Fireheart could not find the words to argue with his friend. It was true that ThunderClan still mistrusted the gray warrior for his love of Silverstream, and they showed no sign that they would ever fully accept his kits. If they had fought to keep them, it would have been only for the honor of the Clan. Fireheart could see no future for his friend or the kits in ThunderClan.

At last Graystripe moved away and went back to call the kits. They stumbled up to him, mewling in tiny, high-pitched voices. “It’s time,” he meowed softly to Fireheart. “I’ll see you at the next Gathering.”

“It won’t be the same.”

Graystripe held his gaze for a long moment. “No, it won’t be the same.” Then he turned and carried one of the kits down the shore to the stepping-stones, leaping over the gaps with the kit gripped safely by the scruff. On the opposite bank, a gray shape slipped out of the reeds and stood waiting while Graystripe returned for the second kit.

Fireheart recognized Mistyfoot, Silverstream’s best friend. He knew she would love these kits as much as her own. But no cat could feel more strongly for Graystripe than Fireheart had done, for four long seasons.

Never again, his heart was crying. No more patrols, no more play-fights, or sharing tongues in the den after a day of hunting. No more laughter shared or dangers faced together. It’s over.

There was nothing he could do or say. He watched helplessly as Graystripe and the second kit reached the far riverbank. Mistyfoot touched noses with the gray warrior, then bent to sniff the kits. With unspoken agreement, she and Graystripe each picked up a kit, and all four cats disappeared into the reeds.

Fireheart stayed there for a long time, watching the silver water as it slid past the shore. When the moon had risen above the trees, he forced himself to his paws, and padded back into the forest.

He felt a sadness and a loneliness greater than anything he had ever felt before, but at the same time he could sense a surge of energy rising from deep inside himself. He had revealed the truth about Tigerclaw and stopped the deputy from causing any more destruction within the Clan. Bluestar had honored him beyond measure by choosing him to be her second in command. He could go on from this moment, guided by his leader, and with Spottedleaf and StarClan watching over him.

Unconsciously, his pace quickened, and by the time Fireheart reached the ravine he was running, his flame-colored pelt a blur in the lilac dusk, eager to return to ThunderClan and his new life as their deputy.