Эрин Хантер: Firestar’s Quest

His mind wrapped in memories of his old friend, it was a moment before Firestar realized he could hear a faint sound: the footfalls of a cat stepping lightly through the undergrowth. He sprang to his paws, looking around, but he saw nothing.

He hardly had time to sit down before the noise came again. This time Firestar whipped his head around in time to glimpse the pale shape of a cat standing a little farther up the ravine.

Am I dreaming? Has Whitestorm left StarClan to come and visit me?

But this cat was smaller than Whitestorm and its fur was gray, patched with white. It stared straight at him, its eyes dark and earnest, as if it were trying to tell him something.

Firestar had never seen it before. Could it be a rogue? Or worse—could BloodClan have recovered from their defeat and come back to invade the forest?

He sprang to his paws and raced up the ravine toward the strange cat. But as soon as he began to move, it vanished, and when he searched among the rocks he couldn’t find it. There weren’t even any pawmarks, but when he tasted the air there was a faint trace of an unfamiliar scent, almost swamped by the ThunderClan scents that came from the camp.

Slowly Firestar retraced his pawsteps and sat on the rock again. All his senses were alert now as he gazed into the shadows. But he saw nothing more of the strange gray cat.

While he still waited to see if the cat would return, clouds massed above Firestar’s head, blotting out the stars. Huge raindrops pattered on the rocks of the ravine, quickly growing to a steady downpour. Firestar squeezed through the gorse tunnel into the camp and raced across the clearing to his den at the foot of the Highrock.

Beyond the curtain of lichen, the den was dry. An apprentice had changed his bedding, piling fresh moss and bracken into a soft heap. Firestar shook the rain from his pelt and curled up, wrapping his tail over his nose. Rain drumming on the earth outside his den soon lulled him into sleep.

The noise of the rain faded and Firestar opened his eyes, feeling cold to the bone. His cozy nest had vanished, along with the familiar scents of ThunderClan. He was surrounded by dense, clinging mist. It swirled around him, breaking up now and then to show stretches of desolate moorland. He could feel tough, springy grass beneath his paws. At first he thought he must be on WindClan territory; then he realized that he had never seen this place before.

“Spottedleaf?” he called into the mist. “Are you here? Does StarClan have a message for me?”

But there was no sign of the beautiful tortoiseshell who had once been ThunderClan’s medicine cat. She often visited Firestar in dreams, but now he couldn’t pick up even a trace of her sweet scent.

Instead, he heard the faintest sound, so distant that he couldn’t make it out. He strained to listen, and an icy chill froze him from ears to tail as he heard a savage, wordless wailing, the dreadful sound of many terrified cats. He stiffened, ready to flee with them, but though the shrieks grew louder, all he could see were blurred shapes. They seemed to advance toward him through the mist, only to vanish before he could see them properly. The scent of unfamiliar cats drifted in the air.

“Who are you?” he called. “What do you want?”

But there was no reply, and soon the shrill wailing faded into silence.

Firestar jumped as something prodded his side. Blinking awake, he saw warm yellow sunlight angling through the entrance of his den, shining on the pale ginger fur of his mate, Sandstorm.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You were twitching in your sleep.”

Firestar let out a groan as he sat up. His muscles felt as stiff as if he had really been trekking over that barren moorland.

“It was just a dream,” he muttered. “I’ll be fine.”

“Look, I brought you some fresh-kill.” She pushed the limp body of a vole toward him. “I just got back from a hunting patrol.”

“Thanks.” The vole must have been freshly caught; its warm scent made his mouth water, and his belly felt hollow with hunger. Bending his head, he devoured the prey in a few rapid bites.

“Better now?” Sandstorm inquired with a glint of mischief in her green eyes. “That’ll teach you to let young cats jump all over you.”

Firestar flicked her ear with the tip of his tail; word of Bramblepaw’s successful assessment had obviously spread through the camp. “Hey, I’m not an elder yet, you know.” The damp shadows of his dream were melting away in the bright sunlight. He stepped out of his nest and gave himself a quick grooming. “Do you know if all the patrols are back yet?”

“The last ones just came in.” A shadow fell across the entrance of the den, and Firestar looked up to see his deputy, Graystripe, standing just outside. “The hunting patrols caught so much prey, Thornclaw has taken the apprentices out to collect it. Why, did you want them?”

“Not right away, but I need to know what they reported,” Firestar replied. He beckoned the gray warrior inside with his tail. Remembering the unfamiliar cat he had seen in the ravine the night before, he asked warily, “Did any of them see any sign of rogues in our territory?”

Graystripe shook his head. “Not a trace. Everything’s peaceful out there.” His yellow eyes narrowed with concern.

“Firestar, is something bothering you?”

Firestar hesitated. His old friend knew him well enough to tell when something was on his mind. But he didn’t think this was the time to share his dream or the vision of the cat in the ravine. He had so little to go on; his solitary brooding on Tigerstar and Whitestorm could have made him see things in the shadows.

“No, I’m fine,” he replied, pushing the strange gray cat to the back of his mind. “Bramblepaw did an amazing assessment last night. He jumped on me by the ShadowClan border. Come on,” he meowed to Graystripe and Sandstorm. “I want to hold his warrior ceremony as soon as the apprentices get back.”

He led the way out of his den and leaped onto the Highrock. The rain had stopped; above the trees the sky was blue, with scudding white clouds. Sunlight reflected from puddles, dazzling his eyes, and the barrier of thorns around the camp sparkled with raindrops. Thornclaw was emerging from the gorse tunnel with his apprentice, Sootpaw, behind him, both cats laden with fresh-kill. Moments later Cloudtail appeared with Rainpaw and Sorrelpaw.

Firestar let out a yowl. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

Pride surged through him as he watched his Clan collect below the rock. The three youngest apprentices dashed over from the fresh-kill pile to sit near the base of the Highrock.

They chattered excitedly, maybe imagining what it would be like when they became warriors too. Speckletail led the other elders from their den beside the burned-out shell of the fallen tree. Cinderpelt the medicine cat appeared from the fern tunnel that led to her den and limped across to sit beside Brackenfur, Willowpelt, and Mousefur.

Firestar spotted Brightheart emerging from the nursery. As an apprentice, she had been injured by a pack of dogs, leaving one side of her face torn away. Now, with her belly swollen with the kits she would bear soon, Firestar thought she had never looked happier. She padded slowly across the clearing to join her mate, Cloudtail, near the fresh-kill pile; the white warrior touched her ear affectionately with his nose.

Behind her came Ferncloud with her two kits, who dashed off with squeals of excitement toward the nearest puddle.