As the sun sank into the forest, Fireheart waited beside the pine tree where Cinderpaw had buried her first lot of fresh-kill. He heard pawsteps and turned to see Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw padding toward him. Prey dangled from their mouths. Brackenpaw could barely hold his catch, it was so big. Fireheart felt a surge of relief. Even Tigerclaw couldn’t criticize the apprentices’ efforts.
“I’ll help carry this lot back,” Fireheart offered, flicking away the covering of pine needles from Cinderpaw’s stash. He dug it up, grasped the fresh-kill between his teeth, and set off back to the camp.
When they arrived in the camp clearing, some of the Clan cats were already taking their share of fresh-kill from the pile. Tigerclaw must have been looking out for their return, because he padded over to them as they dropped their catch near the rest.
“They caught all this themselves?” he asked, nudging the pile with a massive paw.
“Oh, yes,” Fireheart replied.
“Good,” meowed Tigerclaw. “Come and join me and Bluestar. Bring some fresh-kill for yourself; we’re already eating.”
Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw looked at Fireheart with admiring stares—it was a privilege to eat with the Clan leader and deputy. Fireheart didn’t share their excitement. He’d hoped that he would report to Bluestar alone. The last cat he wanted to share his meal with was Tigerclaw.
“By the way, have you seen Graystripe?” asked Tigerclaw. Fireheart felt a pang of concern as Tigerclaw continued: “He’s supposed to stay in camp while he has this cold, but I haven’t seen him since sunhigh.”
Fireheart shifted his paws. Had Graystripe gone off looking for peace and quiet again? “No,” he admitted. “Perhaps he’s with Yellowfang?”
“Perhaps,” echoed Tigerclaw, and padded away to where Bluestar was gnawing a fat pigeon.
Fireheart followed, trying to push away his growing worry about Graystripe’s disappearances. He selected a small chaffinch from the pile of fresh-kill as he passed, then wished he’d chosen a vole. How was he going to give his report with a mouthful of feathers?
“Welcome, Fireheart,” meowed Bluestar as Fireheart sat down in front of her. He placed the chaffinch on the ground, but decided not to start eating.
“Tigerclaw tells me your apprentices caught plenty of prey.” Bluestar’s gaze was friendly. Tigerclaw, sitting up beside her, glared at him more critically, making Fireheart’s tail twitch.
“Yes. They’ve never hunted in the mist before, but it didn’t seem to put either of them off,” Fireheart meowed. “I watched Brackenpaw catch a wood mouse. His stalking was excellent.”
“And what about Cinderpaw?” asked Bluestar.
Fireheart noticed a steely glint appear in her eyes. Was she worried about Cinderpaw’s abilities? Fireheart replied, “Her hunting skills are developing well. She has lots of enthusiasm, that’s for sure, and she doesn’t seem to be scared of anything.”
“Aren’t you worried that might make her reckless?” asked Bluestar.
“She’s quick and inquisitive, which makes her a good learner. I think that will make up for her”—Fireheart searched anxiously for the right word—“eagerness.”
Bluestar flicked her tail. “Her eagerness, as you say, worries me,” she meowed, flashing a glance at Tigerclaw. “She will need careful guidance in her training.” Fireheart’s spirits plummeted. Was Bluestar unhappy with his mentoring?
Bluestar’s eyes softened. “She was always going to be a challenge. But she is clearly turning into a fine hunter. You have done good work with her, Fireheart. With both of them, in fact.” Fireheart brightened immediately, and Bluestar went on. “I’ve noticed how you’ve taken over Brackenpaw’s training without being asked, and I want you to carry on mentoring them both for the time being.”
Tigerclaw turned his gaze away, but Fireheart didn’t miss the anger that flashed in his eyes. “Thank you, Bluestar,” he meowed.
“I see your missing friend has returned,” Tigerclaw growled without turning his head.
Fireheart spun around to see Graystripe appearing from behind the nursery. “He was probably just getting some peace and quiet,” he suggested. “He’s still feverish, and it can’t be easy being stuck in the camp all day.”
“Easy or not, he should be concentrating on getting better,” meowed Tigerclaw. “Leaf-bare is no time for sickness in the camp. Mousefur was coughing on patrol this morning. I just hope StarClan protects us from greencough this season. We lost five kits to it last year.”
Bluestar nodded her gray head solemnly. “Let’s pray this leaf-bare isn’t as long or as hard. It’s never an easy time for the Clans.” She looked wistful for a moment, then told Fireheart, “Take that chaffinch and share it with Graystripe. He’ll want to know how his apprentice did in the assessment.”
“Yes, Bluestar. Thanks,” meowed Fireheart. He picked up the chaffinch and bounded over to the nettle clump where Graystripe had settled himself with a large wood mouse. Graystripe had eaten half of it by the time Fireheart arrived. Perhaps his cold was on the mend.
As Fireheart dropped the chaffinch beside his friend, Graystripe sneezed.
“Cold no better?” asked Fireheart sympathetically.
“Nope,” replied Graystripe with his mouth full. “I guess I’ll have to stay in camp awhile longer.”
Fireheart thought his friend sounded a lot more cheerful than he had before, but he didn’t want to betray his growing suspicion that Graystripe was up to something.
“Brackenpaw did really well in his assessment today,” he meowed.
“Really?” Graystripe took another bite of mouse. “That’s good.”
“Yeah, he’s a great hunter.” Fireheart started to eat his chaffinch. “Graystripe,” he meowed after a long silence, “have you been out of the camp the past few days?”
Graystripe stopped chewing. “Why do you ask?”
Fireheart’s tail twitched uncomfortably. “Well, you weren’t here when I got in from last night’s patrol, and Tigerclaw said he hadn’t seen you since sunhigh today.”
“Tigerclaw?” Graystripe sounded worried.
“I told him you were probably out looking for peace and quiet, or that you might be with Yellowfang,” Fireheart meowed. He took another bite of chaffinch. “Were you?” he asked through the feathers, suddenly desperate for Graystripe to say yes, to stop the suspicion that Graystripe might be keeping a secret from him.
But Graystripe ignored Fireheart’s query. “Well, thanks for covering for me.” He carried on chewing.
Fireheart didn’t ask any more questions, even though he was burning with curiosity. When Graystripe got to his paws and announced he was going to the den, Fireheart was still no wiser about what was on Graystripe’s mind.
“Okay,” he meowed. “I think I’ll stay here a bit longer.” Graystripe gave him a brief nod and padded away. Fireheart rolled onto his back for a long stretch, scratching the ground above his head with his claws. He lay on his back for a while, thinking. From the smell of him, Graystripe had given himself a good wash very recently. Was he trying to hide some scent? Fireheart realized that Graystripe had pretty much admitted he had left the camp. But where could he have gone that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell Fireheart? Suddenly his paws prickled—what about his own visits to Princess, in Twoleg territory, of all places! He’d washed himself thoroughly before returning to camp too, and never mentioned the meetings to Graystripe.
Fireheart flipped over and sat up. There was something caught under one of his claws. He lifted his paw and tugged out the piece of dirt with his teeth. It was a catkin, old and shriveled, but definitely a catkin. What was this doing here? Willow trees didn’t grow in ThunderClan’s part of the forest—in fact, the only willows Fireheart had ever seen grew close to the river, in RiverClan territory. Fireheart held his breath as his heart began to pound. Had this come from Graystripe’s coat?
He crept into the warriors’ den. Graystripe was already asleep. Fireheart lay awake beside him and wondered if Graystripe had really been foolish enough to return to RiverClan territory. The look in Leopardfur’s eyes after Whiteclaw’s death had shown that there was a score to be settled. Fireheart shuddered as he resolved to find out exactly where Graystripe was going and why.
When Fireheart awoke the den felt damp and chilled. One sniff of the air told him rain was on the way. He pushed his way outside, yawning. He hadn’t slept well, worrying about Graystripe. Even now, the thought of his friend alone in RiverClan territory sent a shiver through him.
“Chilly, eh?” Runningwind’s voice startled Fireheart. Fireheart looked over his shoulder, his tail twitching. The lean tabby warrior was padding out of the den.
“Er, yeah,” Fireheart agreed.
“Are you okay?” asked Runningwind. “Not caught your friend’s cold, have you? Mousefur’s streaming with it this morning, and Longtail said Swiftpaw sneezed all through training yesterday.”
Fireheart shook his head. “I’m fine. Just tired after yesterday’s assessment.”
“Ah. Bluestar thought you might be. That’s why she asked me to help you with Cinderpaw’s and Brackenpaw’s training today. Is that okay with you?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Fireheart meowed.
“Right, then,” Runningwind decided. “I’ll meet you in the hollow after I’ve eaten. If Swiftpaw’s coming down with a cold, we should have the place to ourselves. Are you hungry?” Fireheart shook his head, and Runningwind trotted away to pick through the leftovers from last night’s fresh-kill.
Fireheart went straight to the training hollow and waited for the others to arrive. His mind was not on training; he was still thinking about Graystripe. He felt sure his friend would slip out of camp again today.
A rain-laden wind was beginning to sway the leafless branches above the hollow when Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw arrived, followed by Runningwind.
“What are we doing today?” asked Cinderpaw, scampering down into the hollow. Fireheart stared at her blankly. He hadn’t thought about it at all.
“Hunting?” Brackenpaw mewed hopefully as he trotted after Cinderpaw.
Runningwind padded across the hollow and joined them. “How about practicing some stalking techniques?” he suggested.
“Good idea,” Fireheart agreed quickly.
“Not the old ‘rabbit hears you, mouse feels you’ lesson again!” Cinderpaw moaned.
Runningwind silenced her with a look and turned to Fireheart.
Fireheart realized with a jump that Runningwind was waiting for him to start. “Er, I’ll start by showing you the best way to stalk rabbit,” he stammered. He dropped into a crouch and began to move forward, fast and light, until he reached the end of the hollow. He stood and turned to find the other three cats staring at him quizzically.
“Are you sure that’d fool a rabbit?” mewed Cinderpaw, her whiskers twitching.
Fireheart felt confused for a moment until he realized he’d just demonstrated his best bird-stalking technique. A rabbit would have heard the swish of his fur through the undergrowth three fox-lengths away.
Fireheart looked at Runningwind, embarrassed. The tabby warrior frowned. “How about I show you two how to creep up on a shrew?” Cinderpaw turned her bright gaze from Fireheart to Runningwind. Fireheart sighed and padded over to watch.
By sunhigh, Fireheart was still finding it difficult to concentrate on the training session. He kept imagining Graystripe sneaking out of the camp, and longed to follow him. Eventually his restlessness overwhelmed him. He went over to Runningwind and spoke quietly into his ear. “I have a bellyache,” he meowed. “Can you take over the training for the rest of the day? I want to see if Yellowfang has anything for it.”
“I thought you seemed a little distracted,” Runningwind replied. “You go back to camp. I’ll take this pair out hunting.”
“Thanks, Runningwind,” meowed Fireheart, feeling a pang of shame that Runningwind had believed him so easily.
He limped across the hollow, trying to look as if he were in pain. As soon as he was safely among the trees, he broke into a run and raced back to the camp. When Graystripe had returned yesterday, he’d appeared from behind the nursery. Fireheart knew from experience that this was the best place to slip through the camp boundary without being noticed—it was where Yellowfang had escaped from the camp when the Clan had suspected the old medicine cat of Spottedleaf’s murder.
Fireheart padded around the outside of the camp and sniffed at the wall of bracken. His heart sank as he picked up Graystripe’s scent. Graystripe had definitely been sneaking out of the camp this way, and often, by the smell of it. At least the scent was stale, which meant he hadn’t been this way today.
Fireheart crouched behind a nearby tree and settled down to wait. The wood was growing darker as rain clouds began to push across the sky. The shadows hid him perfectly, and he made sure he was downwind so Graystripe wouldn’t detect him. His belly really was aching now, tense with guilt and apprehension. He half hoped Graystripe wouldn’t come, half hoped he would just lead him to some quiet spot within ThunderClan’s borders.
Fireheart’s heart lurched as he heard a rustling in the bracken wall. A gray nose was pushing its way through the fronds. Fireheart ducked his head as Graystripe looked around cautiously. After a few moments, the warrior leaped out and set off at a trot toward the training hollow.
Hope flared in Fireheart’s chest. Perhaps Graystripe’s cold was better and he’d decided to join the training session. He set off after him, keeping a safe distance behind, relying on scent rather than sight to track his friend.
But when the trail veered away from the path that led to the training hollow, Fireheart knew that his hope had been in vain. With an ominous sense of dread, he saw the distinctive gray rock loom ahead through the trees: Sunningrocks. Fireheart pricked his ears and opened his mouth, testing the breeze for the smell of enemy cats. At the edge of the trees, he caught a glimpse of a broad-shouldered gray cat slipping past the rocks, toward the RiverClan border. There was no doubt now where Graystripe was heading.
As soon as his friend was out of sight, Fireheart padded forward and peered down the slope to the river. By the swaying of the undergrowth, Fireheart could guess where Graystripe was. He just hoped there weren’t any RiverClan warriors watching too.
Fireheart made his way down through the fronds. The river wasn’t frozen anymore—he could hear the water lapping at the bank and splashing over the boulders. He slowed his pace as he reached the edge of the bracken and peered out at the open shore.
Graystripe was sitting on the pebbles. The gray warrior was looking around, his ears pricked, but Fireheart could tell from the relaxed slope of his shoulders that he wasn’t listening for prey.
A strange cat’s call sounded in the distance. A RiverClan patrol? Fireheart’s fur prickled and his muscles instinctively tensed, but Graystripe didn’t move. Then Fireheart heard a rustle in the bracken beyond the river. Still Graystripe stayed where he was. Fireheart held his breath as a face appeared on the far riverbank. With barely a sound, the silver she-cat emerged from the undergrowth and slipped into the river. Fireheart felt his heart miss a beat. It was Silverstream, the she-cat who had rescued his friend!
She swam easily across the river. Graystripe stood up and mewed with delight, kneading the pebbles with his paws in anticipation. Holding his tail high, he padded to the edge of the water as she climbed onto the shore.
Silverstream shook the drops from her fur, and the two gray cats touched noses gently. Graystripe rubbed his muzzle along her jaw and she lifted her chin happily. Then Silverstream stood on tiptoe and wound her slender body around his. For once Graystripe didn’t seem to mind getting wet at all, because he purred loud enough for Fireheart to hear as Silverstream pressed her damp fur against him.