Erin Hunter - Fire And Ice

“They didn’t deny it,” Tigerclaw pointed out.

Bluestar nodded. “Whatever the truth, we must be on full alert. From tonight, each patrol will have four cats, at least three of them warriors. The patrols will be more frequent, two each night, and one during the day, as well as the dawn and dusk patrols. We must put a stop to RiverClan’s and ShadowClan’s raids on our territory, and since they have chosen to ignore our words, we must be prepared to fight.”

The Clan yowled their agreement. Fireheart joined in even though he was worried about what this open hostility might mean for Graystripe. He looked around at the other cats. He could see all their eyes shining-except Graystripe’s. The gray warrior sat with his head bowed in the shadows at the edge of the clearing.

When the noise died away, Bluestar spoke again. “The first patrol will leave before dawn.” She jumped down from the Highrock. Tigerclaw followed, and the rest of the Clan broke up into small groups. Fireheart could hear them murmuring nervously as he padded to the warriors’ den.

Fireheart settled into his nest, kneading the moss with his paws to make it comfortable. An owl hooted at the top of the ravine. He knew he would not sleep yet. His mind was racing with the accusations that had flown around the Gathering. He understood RiverClan’s anger. They had picked up the scent of ThunderClan cats in their territory, and they were hungry now that their prey had been depleted by the Twoleg invasion.

But what about ShadowClan? It was smaller since ThunderClan had helped them to chase out their tyrannical former leader and his band of followers. Brokenstar had even admitted to killing Raggedstar, his own father, to become Clan leader. But the Clan had been left in peace to recover from Brokenstar’s bloody rule. And Fireheart couldn’t help thinking that, with fewer mouths to feed, ShadowClan had no need to raid ThunderClan’s hunting grounds, or anyone else’s.

As he puzzled over these thoughts, Whitestorm and Darkstripe pushed their way into the den. Before Whitestorm went to his nest, he stopped beside Fireheart. “You’re to join me with Sandpaw and Mousefur on patrol at sunhigh,” he meowed.

“Yes, Whitestorm,” Fireheart answered before resting his chin on his paws. He had to get some sleep-his Clan needed him to be fit and ready to fight.

The clouds that had covered the moon had rolled away by the next morning. Fireheart enjoyed the faint warmth of the sun on his back as he washed himself in the clearing. Cloudkit jumped out of the nursery entrance opposite him, looking bright and happy.

Fireheart thanked StarClan that he had recovered so quickly. Sandpaw had been right about the kit’s resilience. He looked around to see if Longtail and Dustpaw were there to see it too, but the clearing was empty.

Fireheart crossed over to the nursery. “Hi, Cloudkit,” he meowed. “Feeling better?”

“Yep,” squeaked Cloudkit. He spun around in a circle, grasping for his tail with his tiny jaws. A small ball of moss that had been sticking to his fur fell off and rolled along the ground. Cloudkit leaped on it and pawed it into the air. It bounced onto the ground beside Fireheart.

Fireheart knocked it back toward the kit, and Cloudkit sprang up to catch it in his teeth.

“Well done!” Fireheart was impressed. With one paw he scooped the moss ball high into the air, sending it flying across the clearing.

Cloudkit raced after the moss and grabbed it. He rolled onto his back, threw the ball up with his forepaws, and kicked it away with his hind legs. It landed next to the nursery. Cloudkit scrambled up and scooted after it. He crouched a rabbit leap away, his hindquarters bunched in the air.

Fireheart watched as the kit prepared to pounce. Suddenly his fur prickled. A long, dark foreleg was reaching toward the moss ball from behind the nursery.

“Cloudkit,” Fireheart called, “wait!” Shadowy images of rogue cats were still fresh in his mind.

Cloudkit sat up and looked around at him, puzzled.

Tigerclaw emerged from behind the kitten, holding the moss ball between his teeth. He carried the ball over to the kit and dropped it by Cloudkit’s fluffy white paws. “Be careful,” he growled. “You wouldn’t want to lose such a precious plaything.” As he spoke, the dark warrior stared at Fireheart over Cloudkit’s head.

Fireheart shivered. What did Tigerclaw mean by that? He seemed to be talking about the moss ball-but did he really mean that Cloudkit was a plaything? An image of Cinderpaw flashed into Fireheart’s mind, a wounded huddle beside the Thunderpath. Was that another plaything he had lost? A cold feeling of dread seeped into his heart as once more he wondered if the ThunderClan deputy was somehow responsible for his apprentice’s accident.

“Cloudkit!”

Fireheart heard Brindleface calling from inside the nursery. Tigerclaw turned and padded away. Cloudkit gave the moss ball a final shove and ran over to the nursery entrance. “’Bye, Fireheart,” he mewed before he disappeared inside.

Fireheart looked up at the sky. It was almost sunhigh, time to join his patrol. He was hungry, but no fresh-kill had been gathered yet. Perhaps he might find something while they were out. He hurried across the clearing and out through the gorse tunnel, frozen leaves crunching beneath his paws.

Sandpaw and Mousefur were already waiting at the foot of the slope. Fireheart raised his tail in greeting, unexpectedly happy to see Sandpaw.

“Hi,” meowed Sandpaw. Mousefur nodded to him.

Whitestorm emerged from the gorse tunnel. “Is the dawn patrol back yet?”

“No sign of them,” answered Mousefur. But as she spoke, Fireheart heard the rustle of undergrowth above them. Out of the bushes came Willowpelt, Runningwind, Darkstripe, and Dustpaw.

“We’ve patrolled the entire RiverClan border,” Willowpelt reported. “No sign of any hunting parties so far. Bluestar’s patrol will check the area again this afternoon.”

“Good,” replied Whitestorm. “We’ll take the ShadowClan border.”

“Hopefully they’ll have the same good sense as RiverClan and stay away,” meowed Darkstripe. “After last night, they must know we’ll be looking out for them.”

“I hope so,” growled Whitestorm. He turned to his patrol. “Are you ready?” Fireheart nodded. Whitestorm flicked the tip of his tail and leaped away into the bracken.

Fireheart followed Mousefur and Whitestorm. They kept up a fast pace as they climbed out of the ravine. Sandpaw was right behind Fireheart; he could feel her warm breath as she scrambled up the boulders.

They had not even reached Snakerocks when Fireheart picked up a sinister, familiar scent. He opened his mouth to warn the others but Mousefur spoke first. “ShadowClan!”

The four cats stopped to smell the rank stench.

“I can’t believe they’ve come back already!” Sandpaw murmured. Fireheart noticed the fur quiver along her spine.

“The scent is recent.” Whitestorm’s eyes glittered with fury. “I had hoped Nightstar might bring some honor to his Clan. But I suppose the cold winds beyond the Thunderpath blow over every ShadowClan cat’s heart.”

Fireheart turned away and began pushing his way into a thick patch of bracken. He rubbed his teeth along the fronds to pick up the scent that hung there. It was ShadowClan all right. The smell was familiar. Very familiar. Fireheart paused. The scent belonged to a ShadowClan warrior he had encountered before, but which one?

Fireheart pushed onward, hoping more scent-markings might jog his memory. Now he could smell something else. Fireheart looked down. On the ground, among the bracken stems, lay a pile of rabbit bones. Clan cats normally buried the bones of their prey as a sign of respect for the life they had taken. Suddenly aware of what this might mean, Fireheart picked up a mouthful and wove back through the bracken. He dropped them at Whitestorm’s paws.