Эрин Хантер - Firestar’s Quest

Rainfur’s body lay stretched out on the floor. Dead rats lay all around him, and his claws were still fastened in the throat of one of them. His gray fur was torn with wounds.

“He died like a warrior,” Leafdapple murmured.

“We’ll carry him back to the gorge and sit vigil for him,” Firestar meowed.

In silence they took up his body and maneuvered it through the gap in the barn wall. The rest of the Clan clustered around them to help bear Rainfur through the fence and back across the scrubland to the gorge, under the light of the chill moon. His body drooped, his paws and tail dragging in the dust, and his fur was matted with blood.

As Sharpclaw and Leafdapple carried their dead Clanmate down the stony trail, Echosong appeared at the entrance to the nursery. “You’re back!” she exclaimed. She broke off at the sight of Rainfur’s broken body, and sorrow welled in her eyes.

“I’ll tell Petalnose,” she whispered.

She slipped around the boulder, and a moment later

Firestar heard a wail of anguish.

“Go on,” he murmured to Sharpclaw and Leafdapple. “Lay his body beside the Rockpile. I’ll join you in a few moments.”

Taking a deep breath, he padded into the nursery. Petalnose was crouched over her kits, her eyes wide and staring at nothing. Echosong pressed comfortingly against her side, but Firestar didn’t think the gray she-cat was aware of her.

“I’m sorry,” he meowed. “He died like a warrior.”

Petalnose shivered and focused her eyes on him. “He died protecting what he loved most,” she whispered. “Me, and his kits, and his new Clan.”

Firestar tried to find words that would comfort her. “He hunts with his ancestors now.”

Petalnose’s eyes were bleak, and she did not respond. Firestar dared not say any more. This young Clan had no experience of their ancestors yet, so how could Petalnose have faith that Rainfur had found anything after his death?

“He was a brave cat,” he mewed instead. “I’m honored to have known him.”

As the night went on, the Clan gathered around the body of Rainfur to keep vigil for him. Echosong guided Petalnose and her two kits down from the nursery, and the she-cat crouched beside her mate, pushing her nose into his cold gray fur. Sagekit and Mintkit huddled on each side of her, while Echosong sat at Rainfur’s head, her gaze fixed on the distant stars.

Remembering the fidgety, superstitious vigil for Skywatcher, Firestar realized how far the Clan had moved on. Now there was a genuine sense of loss and respect for the fallen warrior.

But his heart ached when he reminded himself that rebuilding the Clan had led directly to Rainfur’s death. If he had decided to remain a rogue, he would still be alive.

Restlessness pricked at Firestar’s paws, and as the sky turned gray with the first light of dawn, he climbed up the trail to the Skyrock and sat alone, looking down into the gorge. Have I done the right thing? Since being here he had learned so much about himself and what it meant to be a Clan leader, but that wasn’t why he had come. Was it fair to ask these cats to give up their lives for the warrior code, when they had lived happily and peacefully before?

A sweet scent drifted around him, the only scent that could comfort him now. A pelt brushed against his, and a voice murmured in his ear.

“Don’t grieve,” Sandstorm whispered. “You have saved SkyClan.”

“But Rainfur’s dead.”

“I know. But the SkyClan cats made their own decision to fight for the gorge, and the warrior code—and their Clan . The battle has brought them together as nothing else could have.”

Firestar shifted uneasily, wanting to believe what his mate said, wanting to believe that what had been won was worth Rainfur’s death.

“Life can’t go on without death,” Sandstorm went on.

“Rainfur died like the greatest warrior, fighting for his Clan.

Wherever his warrior ancestors are, they will have been watching, and will be waiting for him now.”

“I know.” Sandstorm’s words eased some of the pain in his heart, but Firestar knew that many moons would pass before he could forget the sight of Rainfur’s body surrounded by his dead enemies, knowing that he had led the gray cat there to die.

The sun was edging above the cliffs when Firestar and Sandstorm padded down into the gorge again. Rainfur’s body still lay at the foot of the Rockpile, but the Clan were relaxing from their vigil; only Petalnose remained close to him, her two kits sleeping beside her. Echosong sat at the entrance to her cave, piles of herbs around her as she examined Patchfoot’s fresh wounds.

Firestar knew he should get his own wounds treated, but before he could head for the medicine cat’s den, Leafdapple bounded over to him. Firestar saw that her eyes were troubled, and a pang of alarm shot through him. Surely there couldn’t be more danger?

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“It’s Shortwhisker.” Leafdapple glanced back to where the tabby tom was standing beside Sharpclaw, Cherrypaw, and Sparrowpaw. “He says he wants to leave the Clan. He wants to go back to his housefolk.”

“What?” Firestar brushed past her and headed for the little knot of cats.

“Are you completely mouse-brained?” Sharpclaw was arguing as he came up. “You stuck with us through all the danger from the rats, and now that we’ve shown them this is our home, you want to leave? You’ve got bees in your brain!”

Shortwhisker flinched and turned to Firestar with a look of relief. “I’m sorry,” he began. “But the rat attack just showed me that I’m not cut out for life in a Clan.”

“You did your duty like a warrior,” Firestar meowed.

“But I was scared, ” Shortwhisker protested. “Scared to the roots of my pelt.”

“And you think the rest of us weren’t?” Sharpclaw growled.

Leafdapple padded up and touched Sharpclaw’s shoulder with her tail tip. “Don’t be angry,” she mewed. “We can’t force him to understand.” Turning to Shortwhisker, she added, “We’ll respect your decision. But all the same, we wish you would stay.”

“We’ll miss you,” Cherrypaw told him.

Shortwhisker still faced Firestar, and addressed his words to him. “I was scared,” he repeated. “And I knew that I didn’t want to give up my life for the sake of my Clan.” He hung his head. “I’m a coward, and selfish,” he murmured. “But I can’t change the way I feel.”

“You’re not selfish or a coward,” Firestar told him. “The warrior code isn’t right for every cat.” He remembered his friend Ravenpaw, forced to leave ThunderClan for fear of Tigerstar, and now living happily with Barley on the Twoleg farm near Highstones. “You must choose the path that suits you best.”

“Then that’s the path of a kittypet.” Shortwhisker glanced around the circle of his friends, and though his eyes were regretful, his voice was certain.

“We’re still your friends, Shortwhisker—” Sparrowpaw began.

“That’s not my name anymore,” Shortwhisker interrupted him. “I guess you’d better call me Hutch again.”

For the last time he climbed the trail to the top of the cliff; Firestar, Leafdapple, and Sharpclaw followed him. Hutch pushed his way through the belt of undergrowth and paused at the edge of the scrubland.

“Good-bye,” he meowed. “I’m proud to have been a SkyClan cat; I really am.”

“Good-bye.” Cherrypaw nudged him with her shoulder.

“Make sure you keep that Oscar in his place.”