Fireheart’s hackles bristled with horror. How could Graystripe be so stupid? He was breaking every part of the warrior code by meeting this cat from another Clan.
“Graystripe!” Fireheart hissed as he sprang from the bushes.
The two cats spun around to face him. Silverstream’s ears flattened angrily. Graystripe just stared at him, startled. “You followed me!”
Fireheart ignored his stunned meow. “What are you doing? Don’t you know how dangerous this is?”
Silverstream spoke up. “It’s okay. There won’t be a patrol here till after sunset.”
“You can be sure of that, can you? As if you know all your Clan’s movements!” Fireheart growled.
Silverstream lifted her chin. “Actually, I do. My father is Crookedstar, the leader of RiverClan.”
Fireheart froze. “What are you playing at?” he spat at Graystripe. “Could you have chosen worse?”
Graystripe met Fireheart’s eyes for an instant, then turned to Silverstream. “I’d better go,” he mewed.
Silverstream blinked slowly and stretched her head forward to touch his cheek. They closed their eyes and remained still for a moment. Fireheart watched, his paws prickling with alarm. Silverstream whispered something into Graystripe’s ear and the two cats stepped apart. The RiverClan she-cat raised her head and stared challengingly into Fireheart’s eyes before slipping back into the river.
Graystripe bounded over to Fireheart’s side. The two friends didn’t speak as they raced out of RiverClan territory and back past Sunningrocks. As they approached the camp, Graystripe slowed his pace.
Fireheart slowed too. “You must stop seeing her,” he panted. His panic had lessened now they were well away from the RiverClan border, but he was still angry.
“I can’t,” replied Graystripe hoarsely. He coughed, his sides heaving.
“I don’t understand,” Fireheart meowed. “RiverClan is completely hostile to ThunderClan at the moment. You heard Leopardfur after Whiteclaw died.” Fireheart winced, knowing that the reminder would be painful for his friend, but he couldn’t stop now. “How do you even know you can trust this RiverClan cat?”
“You don’t know Silverstream,” Graystripe spat back. He stopped and sat down. His eyes glazed with pain. “And there’s no need to remind me about Whiteclaw. Do you think it’s easy knowing I’m responsible for the death of one of Silverstream’s Clan mates?” Fireheart snorted impatiently—Whiteclaw was an enemy warrior, not a Clanmate! But Graystripe went on. “Silverstream understands it was an accident. The gorge was no place for a battle. Any cat could have fallen there!”
Fireheart paced around him as Graystripe began to lick the scent of Silverstream from his fur. “It doesn’t matter what Silverstream thinks! What about your loyalty to ThunderClan?” he demanded. “You’re breaking the Clan code by seeing her!”
Graystripe stopped washing. “You think I don’t know that?” he hissed. “Do you doubt my loyalty to ThunderClan?”
“What else can I think? You can’t see her without lying to the Clan. And what if we have a battle with RiverClan? Have you thought about that?”
“You worry too much,” Graystripe snapped. “It won’t come to that. Now that Brokenstar’s gone and WindClan is back, the Clans will be at peace.”
“RiverClan doesn’t seem to be acting very peacefully,” Fireheart pointed out. “You know they’ve been hunting on Sunningrocks, in our territory.”
“They’ve been hunting on Sunningrocks since before I was kitted,” scoffed Graystripe, twisting to wash the base of his tail.
Fireheart carried on pacing. Graystripe just didn’t seem to understand what he was doing. “Okay. What if a RiverClan patrol catches you?”
“Silverstream won’t let that happen,” answered Graystripe between long licks along his bushy tail.
“For StarClan’s sake, aren’t you even a bit worried?” Fireheart burst out, exasperated.
Graystripe stopped washing and looked up at his friend. “You don’t get it, do you? StarClan must have planned this. Look, Silverstream wants to see me—even after what happened to Whiteclaw. We share the same thoughts; it’s as if we were born into the same Clan.”
Fireheart realized it was pointless to argue anymore. “Come on,” he meowed heavily. “We’d better get back before you’re missed again.”
Graystripe got to his paws. Side by side, he and Fireheart walked to the top of the ravine and looked down at the camp. Over and over, one thought echoed in Fireheart’s mind—how could Graystripe love Crookedstar’s daughter, but remain loyal to ThunderClan?
He glanced at Graystripe, and they began to climb down the steep slope home. They crept back into the camp the same way Graystripe had left it. Fireheart held his breath as he squeezed through the boundary wall, angry with Graystripe for making him sneak around like this. His heart sank as they rounded the nursery to find Whitestorm approaching them.
“Graystripe, you should be resting, not hanging around here. That cough of yours has already begun to spread. We don’t want it getting into the nursery!” warned the warrior. Graystripe nodded and padded back toward the warriors’ den. “And you”—Fireheart’s ears flicked nervously as Whitestorm turned to him—“shouldn’t you be training your apprentices?”
“I came back to get something from Yellowfang for a bellyache,” Fireheart mumbled.
“Well, go and get it then,” replied Whitestorm. “And once you have, you can make yourself useful and find some fresh-kill. It’s leaf-bare—we can’t have young warriors hanging around the camp doing nothing!”
“Yes, Whitestorm,” meowed Fireheart. He turned away, relieved to escape any more questions, and ran toward Yellowfang’s den.
Yellowfang was busy mixing herbs. There were several heaps of leaves gathered in front of her. Fireheart stood and watched her for a moment without speaking. He felt sad, drained after the row with Graystripe. He couldn’t help wishing it were Spottedleaf here mixing herbs instead of Yellowfang.
Yellowfang glanced up at him. “My supplies are running low. I might need help to restock.”
Fireheart didn’t reply. He was just wondering if he should confide his worries about Graystripe when she interrupted his thoughts.
“It looks like there’s whitecough in the camp,” she growled, prodding impatiently at a dried leaf. “Two cases this morning.”
“Swiftpaw?” asked Fireheart.
The old medicine cat shook her head. “Swiftpaw’s just got a cold. It’s Speckletail’s kit. And Patchpelt. Not serious at the moment, but we need to concentrate on getting the Clan strong. Leaf-bare always brings the threat of greencough.” Fireheart understood her concern. Greencough was a killer. Yellowfang looked up again. “What do you want?”
“Oh, nothing, just a bellyache, but it doesn’t matter if you’re busy.”
“Bad?” she meowed.
“No,” Fireheart admitted, unable to meet her gaze.
“Then come back when it is.” The medicine cat went back to her mixing. Fireheart turned to leave, but Yellowfang called him back. “Make sure Graystripe stays in his den, will you? He’s a strong young warrior. If he were resting, his cough would be better by now.”
Fireheart’s tail twitched nervously. Had she guessed that Graystripe had been slipping out of the camp? He waited, his heart thudding, in case she was going to say more, but Yellowfang was frowning at the herbs again, so he padded quietly away.
It was getting dark, and Fireheart knew he had only a short time left for hunting. He quickly caught a shrew, a chaffinch, and a mouse, but hesitated before returning to camp. His fears for Graystripe felt more important than anything Whitestorm might say if he didn’t add something to the fresh-kill pile in time. Fireheart came to a decision—if Graystripe wouldn’t listen to reason, maybe Silverstream would.
He stashed his catch beneath a tree root and covered it with leaves. For the second time that day, he turned toward Sunningrocks. The rain that had been threatening all day finally began to fall. It was drumming steadily on the bracken by the time Fireheart crept down the shadowy slope toward the river.
Even in the rain, Silverstream’s scent was easy to find. Fireheart followed the trail to the place where he had found Graystripe and Silverstream together. Hyper-alert, he padded onto the shore. The dark water rushed past relentlessly, sending a shiver down Fireheart’s spine. He had no desire to swim across. His fur did not have the oily protection from the water that that of the RiverClan cats had, and leaf-bare was no season to get a soaking.
Suddenly Fireheart froze. He smelled RiverClan warriors!
He dropped to a crouch and looked across the river to see Silverstream pushing her way through the trailing branches of a willow. Behind her came two of her Clan, one of them a warrior with massive shoulders and battle-torn ears. The warrior sniffed the air suspiciously and peered around.
Fireheart heard the blood roaring in his ears. Had the warrior picked up his scent?