Эрин Хантер - Firestar’s Quest

He crawled onto the flat rock where he had waited earlier and collapsed there, gazing upward. He could not see the kindly eyes of his warrior ancestors in the starlight any longer. The desperate cries of the lost and tortured SkyClan echoed through his mind. How am I meant to help them ?

All those cats must be dead by now. They had fled so long ago that no cat remembered them. But where were their descendants, the living SkyClan?

Firestar lay on the rock until the sky grew milk-pale with dawn. Then he made his way, pawstep by painful pawstep, down the hill and into the fields, leaving the jagged peak of Highstones behind him. A feeling of betrayal still swirled through him like a flooding river. He had always respected StarClan, trusting them to want what was best for all the Clans. Now he had discovered that they could make mistakes, just like any living cat. If he couldn’t trust them, would he ever come here to share tongues with his warrior ancestors again?

His belly felt hollow with hunger. Passing Ravenpaw’s barn, he fought the temptation to go in to see his friends, to feast on their prey and rest in the soft heap of hay. But Ravenpaw was bound to ask him what StarClan had said about the strange cats, and he could not think what he would answer. Ravenpaw still clung to his faith in StarClan, even though he had left the forest; could Firestar shatter that faith by revealing how their warrior ancestors had lied to all the cats in the forest, over and over again?

Once he had left the Twoleg farm behind, Firestar stopped to hunt, swiping an unsuspecting mouse as it nibbled seeds in the shelter of a hedge. It scarcely took the edge off his hunger, but he was too exhausted to go looking for more. He curled up under a hawthornbush and fell headlong into sleep.

When he woke it was almost sunhigh. Feeling better, Firestar set off again, skirting the edge of a field where the corn grew tall, beginning to turn golden in the sun. He spotted another mouse as it slipped between the stiff stems, pounced on it, and killed it with a swift bite to the neck.

Gulping down the last few mouthfuls he headed for the moors.

The sun was going down when he limped at last into the ThunderClan camp. Red light bathed the clearing, barred with the shadows of trees. Firestar let out a long, despairing sigh. It was good to be home, but could he really go on as Clan leader, knowing what he knew now?

As he hesitated at the mouth of the gorse tunnel, Graystripe came charging across from the warriors’ den.

Sandstorm glanced up from where she crouched beside the fresh-kill pile and padded more slowly to join him.

“Firestar, you’re back!” Graystripe exclaimed. “It’s great to see you.” Halting in front of his friend, he added more doubtfully, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Firestar replied, every word an effort.

“I’m tired; that’s all.”

Sandstorm brushed her tail sympathetically along his flank. Her green eyes searched his face, and he knew she realized that it was not only weariness that troubled him. But she didn’t question him, just mewed, “Then it’s time you got some rest.”

“Listen, Firestar,” Graystripe went on, “the afternoon patrol just got back. They think that fox Tallstar was talking about has crossed over into ThunderClan territory. At least, they picked up strong, fresh fox scent on the border, not far from the Twoleg bridge.”

Firestar squeezed his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on what this would mean for his Clan. “Did they follow the scent?”

“They tried, but they lost it in a boggy bit of ground near the stream.” Graystripe was looking expectantly at Firestar, waiting for his leader to tell him what to do. His expression changed to alarm as the silence lengthened.

Firestar felt as if he were trying to struggle through brambles inside his head. He could understand the problem about the fox, but it felt as if it belonged to another cat, a long time ago, and had nothing to do with him.

“Firestar?” Sandstorm murmured, moving closer so that he could feel the warmth of her pelt.

The excited squeals of kits brought Firestar back to the present. In the center of the clearing Shrewkit and Spiderkit were pouncing on a bundle of moss.

“Take that, Scourge!” Spiderkit squealed. “Get out of our forest!”

“And take your Clan with you!” Shrewkit landed in the middle of the moss, paws flying, scattering the scraps in a wide circle around him.

“Hey!” Rainpaw came bounding up from the direction of the elders’ den. “I just collected all that!” he protested. “How am I supposed to fix the elders’ bedding if you keep messing it up?”

The two kits exchanged a glance, then scampered off side by side, back to the nursery, their tails waving in the air.

Rainpaw watched them go, neck fur bristling, then began to collect up the scattered scraps of moss.

Watching the kits at play reminded Firestar that Clan life was not just about StarClan, or even the warrior code. His duty as leader was to provide for his Clanmates now , and make sure they lived long and happy lives in the forest.

Feeling a trickle of energy begin to flow into his tired limbs, he turned back to Graystripe.

“Right—the fox. Double the patrols on that part of the border. And tell the hunting patrols to keep a lookout. We don’t want it to settle here.”

“Sure.” Relief flooded into Graystripe’s eyes as Firestar took control again. “I’ll make sure all tomorrow’s patrols know about it.” He headed toward the warriors’ den.

Sandstorm stayed with Firestar. “You can tell me, you know,” she meowed quietly.

“I know. I promise I will, but not yet.”

His mate nodded. “Why don’t you go to your den and rest?

I’ll bring you some fresh-kill.”

“Thanks, but I’d better visit Cinderpelt first. I want to check on Longtail.”

While Sandstorm went back to the fresh-kill pile, Firestar padded across the darkening camp and brushed through the fern tunnel to Cinderpelt’s den.

The medicine cat was bent over Longtail, examining his eyes. As Firestar called out a greeting, the tabby warrior sat up and turned to him. Firestar stopped dead, his pelt prickling with horror. Though Longtail’s eyes were open now, they were clouded and still weeping stickily.

“Can you see?” Firestar forced himself to ask, choking back an exclamation of pity. That was the last thing Longtail would want.

“A bit,” Longtail replied. “But everything’s blurred.”

“His eyes are still infected,” Cinderpelt explained. She looked exhausted; her gray fur was rumpled and her blue eyes were dull with defeat. “I’ve tried every herb and berry I can think of, and nothing will clear it up.”

Longtail clawed at the bracken where he sat, his head lowered. “I’m just going to be a burden to the Clan,” he growled.

“No!” Firestar exclaimed. “I won’t let you say that. Look at Brightheart—she’s learned to fight with only one eye.”

“At least she has one good eye,” Longtail hissed. “You might as well leave me in the forest for the foxes.”

“That will never happen, not while I’m leader of this Clan,” Firestar hissed back. Fury shook him, not against Longtail, but against himself for not having enough power to protect his warrior from the consequences of his injury.

Trying to sound calmer, he added, “Besides, you haven’t lost your sight yet. Cinderpelt will do her best to find an herb that works.”

“I’ll keep trying,” Cinderpelt vowed. Beckoning Firestar with her tail, she led him over to the fern tunnel. “You’d better leave Longtail alone for now,” she advised quietly. “He’s badly shocked, and he needs a while to get used to the idea that his eyes might not get better.”