Fireheart woke at dawn with the image of his sister still clear in his mind. He pushed his way out of the den, hoping the routine of the day would distract him. It was another cold, frosty morning. Whitestorm and Longtail were waiting near the camp entrance, preparing to leave on patrol. Mousefur padded past on her way to join them and greeted Fireheart with a cheery mew. Whitestorm called for Sandpaw, who came racing out of her den just in time to follow the patrol as it pounded out of the camp. It was a scene Fireheart had watched many times, but for once he didn’t yearn to join them as they thundered away into the morning-fresh forest.
He padded across the clearing, wondering if Cinderpaw was awake yet. Brindleface was just squeezing out of the narrow nursery entrance. A speckled kit followed her, then one more. A third kit, pale gray with darker flecks like the other, tumbled out and fell onto the ground.
Brindleface picked it up by its scruff and placed it gently back on its paws. The tenderness of Brindleface’s action brought Fireheart’s dream flooding back. His mother had probably done the same for him. He knew that Brindleface’s fourth kit had died soon after it was born, and she seemed to love the remaining kits even more fiercely now.
Fireheart was overwhelmed by a pang of envy at the thought that the other cats here all shared something he did not—they were all Clanborn. Fireheart had always been proud of his loyalty to the Clan that had taken him in and given him a life he would never have known as a kittypet. He still felt that loyalty—he would die to protect ThunderClan—but no one in the Clan understood or even respected his kittypet roots. Fireheart felt certain the she-cat he had seen yesterday would. With an ache in his heart, he wondered what memories they might share.
Fireheart heard Graystripe’s heavy pawsteps behind him. He turned to greet his friend, stretching his head to touch Graystripe’s nose, and asked, “Could you take Cinderpaw for the day?”
Graystripe looked curiously at Fireheart. “Why?”
“Oh, it’s nothing important,” replied Fireheart as casually as he could. “I just wanted to check out something I saw yesterday. Watch out for Cinderpaw, though; she doesn’t listen to orders very well. Don’t take your eyes off her or she’ll be charging off in every direction.”
Graystripe’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “She sounds like a pawful! Still, it’ll be good for Brackenpaw. He never charges off anywhere without thinking about it carefully first.”
“Thanks, Graystripe!” Fireheart bounded away toward the camp entrance before his friend could remember to ask him where he was going.
As the Twolegplace came into view through the trees, Fireheart dropped into a crouch. He opened his mouth and breathed in the cold morning air. No sign of a ThunderClan patrol, and no Twoleg scents either. He relaxed a little.
Slowly he approached the Twoleg fence where he had seen the she-cat disappear. He hesitated at the bottom and looked around, sniffing the air once more. Then he leaped, landing on a fence post in one easy jump. No Twolegs to be seen—just an empty garden with its strongly scented plants.
Fireheart felt exposed on the post. The branch of a tree hung low overhead. Its leaves had gone, but it would be easier to hide there. Silently he pulled himself up and lay down to wait, flattening himself against the rough bark.
Fireheart could see a swinging flap in the entrance to the Twolegplace. He had used one just like it as a kit. He fixed his gaze on the flap, hoping his sister’s face would appear at any moment. The sun rose slowly into the morning sky, but Fireheart started to feel cold. The damp branch was drawing the heat from his body. Perhaps the Twolegs were keeping his sister shut in. After all, her kitting would be soon. Fireheart licked a paw and wondered if he should go back to the camp.
Suddenly he heard a loud clatter. Fireheart looked up and saw his sister pop out through the swinging flap. The fur along his spine rippled with anticipation, and Fireheart fought to stop himself from leaping down into her garden straightaway. He knew he would frighten her, as he had done yesterday. He smelled like a forest cat now, not a friendly kittypet.
Fireheart waited until his sister had reached the end of the grass; then he crept to the tip of the branch and slipped down onto the fence. Quietly he jumped into the bushes below. The she-cat’s scent brought his dream flooding back to him.
How could he get her attention without frightening her? Desperately he searched his mind, trying to think of the name his sister had been given. He could remember only his own kittypet name. Fireheart called softly from the bushes, “It’s me, Rusty!”
The she-cat stopped dead and looked around. Fireheart took a deep breath and crept out from the bushes.
The cat’s eyes widened with terror. Fireheart knew how he must appear to her—lean and wild, with the sharp forest scents on his pelt. The she-cat raised her hackles and hissed ferociously. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling impressed by her courage.
In a flash he remembered his sister’s name. “Princess! It’s me, Rusty, your brother! Do you remember me?”
Princess remained tense. Fireheart guessed she was wondering how this strange cat could know these names. He dropped into a submissive crouch, hope soaring in his chest as he watched his sister’s expression slowly change from fear to curiosity.
“Rusty?” Princess sniffed the air, wide-eyed and wary. Fireheart took a careful step forward. Princess did not move, so Fireheart edged closer. Still, his sister held her ground until Fireheart was standing only a mouse-length away.
“You don’t smell like Rusty,” she mewed.
“I don’t live with Twolegs anymore. I’ve been living in the forest with ThunderClan. I carry their scent now.” She’s probably never heard of the Clans, Fireheart realized, remembering his own innocence before he’d met Graystripe in the woods.
Princess stretched her nose forward and rubbed her muzzle cautiously along his cheek. “But our mother’s smell is still there,” she murmured, half to herself. Her words filled Fireheart with happiness, until her eyes narrowed and she took a step backward, her ears flat with distrust. “Why are you here?” she asked.
“I saw you yesterday, in the woods,” Fireheart explained. “I had to come back to speak with you.”
“Why?”
Fireheart looked at her in surprise. “Because you’re my sister.” Surely she must feel something for him?
Princess studied him for a moment. To Fireheart’s relief, her guarded expression lifted. “You’re very thin,” she mewed critically.
“Thinner than a kittypet, maybe, but not thin for a Clan—a forest—cat,” Fireheart replied. “Your scent was in my dreams last night. I dreamed of you and our brothers and sister and . . .” Fireheart paused. “Where is our mother?”
“She’s still with her housefolk,” answered Princess.
“What about . . . ?”
Princess guessed what he was going to ask. “. . . our brothers and sisters? Most of them live near here. I see them in their gardens from time to time.”
They sat silently for a moment; then Fireheart asked, “Do you remember the soft bedding of our mother’s basket?” He felt a flicker of guilt about longing for such kittypet softness, but Princess purred, “Oh, yes. I wish I could have it for my own kitting.”
Fireheart’s discomfort faded. It felt good to be able to talk of such a tender memory without shame. “Will this litter be your first?”
Princess nodded, uncertainty showing in her eyes. Fireheart felt a wave of sympathy. Even though they were the same age, she seemed to him very young and naive. “You’ll be fine,” he mewed, remembering Brindleface’s kitting. “You look as if your Twolegs treat you well. I’m sure your kits will be healthy and safe.”
Princess moved closer to him, pressing her fur against his flank. Fireheart felt his heart swell with emotion. For the first time since he was a kit, he caught a glimpse of what the Clan cats must take for granted: the closeness of kinship, a common bond determined by birth and heritage.
Suddenly Fireheart wanted his sister to know about the life he led now. “Do you know about the Clans?”
Princess gazed at him, mystified. “You mentioned a ThunderClan.”
Fireheart nodded. “There are four Clans altogether.” He went on, the words tumbling out. “In the Clan, we take care of each other. Younger cats hunt for elders; warriors protect the hunting grounds from other Clans. I trained all greenleaf to become a warrior. Now I have an apprentice of my own.” Fireheart could see by her bemused expression that his sister couldn’t understand everything he was telling her, yet her eyes brightened with pleasure as he spoke.
“It sounds as if you enjoy your life,” she mewed in awe.
A Twoleg voice called from the house. Fireheart instantly darted under the nearest bush.
“I should go,” Princess mewed. “They’ll be worried if I don’t go back, and I have many tiny mouths to feed. I can feel them moving inside me.” She glanced at her swollen belly, her eyes soft.
Fireheart looked out from beneath the bush. “Go, then. I have to return to my Clan anyway. But I’ll come back and see you.”
“Yes, I’d like that!” Princess called over her shoulder. She was already trotting back toward her Twoleg nest. “Good-bye!”
“See you soon,” Fireheart called. His sister disappeared from view, and he heard the swinging flap slap shut behind her.
Once the garden was silent, Fireheart crept through the bushes to the fence. He jumped over it and ran into the forest. Memories of kithood scents crowded his mind, suddenly more real than the scents of the forest around him.
Fireheart paused at the top of the ravine and looked down at the ThunderClan camp. He didn’t feel ready to go back yet. He was worried that it would all seem strange to him. I’ll go and hunt, he thought. Cinderpaw would be safe with Graystripe for a while longer, and the Clan would welcome any extra fresh-kill. He turned away and headed back into the forest.
When he finally returned to camp, he carried a vole and a wood pigeon in his mouth. The sun was setting, and the Clan cats were gathering for their evening meal. Graystripe sat alone beside the nettle clump, a fat chaffinch at his paws. Fireheart nodded to him as he padded across the clearing to the pile of fresh-kill that had already been collected.
Tigerclaw was sitting below the Highrock, his amber eyes narrow. “I noticed that Cinderpaw spent the day with Graystripe,” he meowed as Fireheart dropped his catch onto the pile. “Where were you?”
Fireheart returned Tigerclaw’s gaze. “It seemed a good day for hunting—too good to waste,” he replied, his heart thudding in his chest. “The Clan needs all the fresh-kill it can get at the moment.”
Tigerclaw nodded, suspicion darkening his eyes. “Yes, but we also need warriors. Cinderpaw’s training is your responsibility.”
“I understand, Tigerclaw,” Fireheart meowed. He dipped his head respectfully. “I’ll take her out tomorrow.”
“Good.” The deputy turned his head and looked around the camp. Fireheart picked up a mouse and carried it over to eat next to Graystripe.
“Find what you were looking for?” asked Graystripe absently.
“Yes.” Fireheart felt a pang of sorrow for the pain in his friend’s eyes. “Are you thinking about that RiverClan warrior?”
“I do try not to,” answered Graystripe quietly. “It’s just when I’m alone I can’t help remembering Barkface’s prediction of an unnecessary death and trouble ahead—”
“Here,” Fireheart interrupted, and pushed his mouse toward Graystripe. “That chaffinch looks like it’ll be half feathers, and I’m not that hungry. Want to swap?” Graystripe shot him a grateful glance, and the two friends exchanged prey and began to eat.
As he crunched on the chaffinch, Fireheart scanned the clearing. He could see Sandpaw and Dustpaw outside the apprentices’ den. Dustpaw was busy ripping apart a rabbit. Fireheart caught Sandpaw’s eye but she looked away.
Cinderpaw lay beside the old tree stump where he’d shared many meals as an apprentice. She was chatting enthusiastically to Brackenpaw, who nodded from time to time while plucking the feathers from a sparrow. Seeing the two young cats—brother and sister—lying together, so at ease, reminded Fireheart once more of Princess, and for the first time the familiar sights of his clan made Fireheart feel uneasy. He had been careful to lick his sister’s smell from his fur before returning to camp, but it was her scent that lingered in his nostrils as the sun disappeared over the distant horizon. He had found the closeness he had missed, but it had given shape to a sense of loneliness that, until now, had lain vague and nameless in his heart. Were the deep-rooted memories he shared with Princess stronger than his loyalty to the Clan?