Fireheart stared in horror. Ahead of him, Tigerclaw had reached the limp body and stood looking down at it, his massive shoulders rigid with shock. Fireheart forced himself nearer. Tentatively he stretched his head forward and sniffed Cinderpaw’s flank. She smelled of Thunderpath. One of her hind legs was twisted and glistening with blood. Fireheart was trembling so much he could hardly stand. Then he saw her side moving. She was still breathing! Speechless with relief, he looked up at Tigerclaw.
“She’s alive,” the deputy growled. He fixed his amber stare on Fireheart. “What was she doing here?”
“She came to find you,” Fireheart whispered.
“You mean you sent her here?”
Fireheart’s eyes widened with surprise. Did Tigerclaw think he would be so stupid? “I told her to stay in camp!” he protested. “She came by herself.” Because I couldn’t make her listen to me! he realized with dismay.
Tigerclaw snorted. “We must get her home.” He bent down with his mouth open, reaching for the small, crumpled body, but Fireheart dipped his head and picked up the apprentice by the scruff of her neck before Tigerclaw could touch her. He began to drag Cinderpaw into the woods as gently as he could, her body hanging limply between his front paws.
Darkstripe came bounding up to them. “I’ve checked Snakerocks again, Tigerclaw. There’s no sign of Shadow—” He broke off when he saw Cinderpaw dangling from Fireheart’s mouth. “What’s happened?”
Fireheart didn’t wait to hear Tigerclaw’s answer. He stumbled away through the trees with his precious burden. He could have prevented this accident! If only he’d made Cinderpaw listen to him; if only he’d been a better mentor. Now her body was damaged and bleeding and she made no sound as she dangled from his jaws. Her hind paws scored a shallow trail through the leaves as, carefully, Fireheart carried her home.
Yellowfang was not in her clearing. The two kits with whitecough were curled together in their shelter, fast asleep. Fireheart laid Cinderpaw on the cold ground, then made a nest for her in the bracken by circling around and around. When he had finished, he grasped Cinderpaw’s scruff and gently pulled her inside.
“Fireheart?” Yellowfang meowed from the clearing. Tigerclaw must have told her about Cinderpaw. Fireheart hopped out of the nest. “She’s in here,” he croaked, feeling weak with relief at seeing the medicine cat.
“Let me look,” Yellowfang ordered. She brushed past Fireheart and climbed into the bracken to examine Cinderpaw. Fireheart sat down and waited.
At last Yellowfang jumped out. “She’s hurt very badly,” she meowed, her eyes dark with concern. “But I think I might be able to save her.”
It was a tiny hope, like a single sparkling dewdrop clinging to his pelt. Fireheart felt it glisten for a moment before Yellowfang went on: “I can’t promise anything.” She looked deep into Fireheart’s eyes and murmured, “Bluestar is very sick and I can do no more for her. StarClan must decide her fate now.”
Fireheart felt his eyes cloud with emotion; he could hardly see Yellowfang’s face, but he heard her speak to him again, her voice gentle. “Go and sit with Bluestar,” she meowed. “She was asking for you earlier. I will take care of Cinderpaw.”
Fireheart nodded blindly and turned away. Bluestar had been his mentor, and more than that, there had been a bond between them since their first meeting. But he felt torn. He should be with Cinderpaw, too.
A shadow loomed at the far end of the fern tunnel. Tigerclaw was sitting at the entrance to Yellowfang’s den, his head held high as usual. Fireheart’s shoulders stiffened with anger. Why couldn’t the great warrior show some sign of sorrow? After all, Cinderpaw had come looking for him. And for what? There hadn’t been any evidence of ShadowClan fresh-kill that Fireheart had noticed! He walked past Tigerclaw without a word, and headed across the clearing toward Bluestar’s den.
Longtail was sitting on guard outside. He glanced sideways but didn’t try to stop Fireheart as the young warrior pushed through the lichen.
Goldenflower, one of the queens, was inside. Fireheart could see her eyes shining in the gloom, and the pale fur of Bluestar lying curled in her nest. Goldenflower leaned forward and gently licked Bluestar’s head to cool it, like a mother nursing her kit. Fireheart’s heart ached as he thought of Cinderpaw. Would Frostfur be at her daughter’s side by now?
“Yellowfang has given her catnip and feverfew,” Goldenflower murmured to Fireheart. “We can only watch and wait now.” She got to her paws and touched Fireheart’s nose with her muzzle. “Will you be okay to sit with her?” she asked gently. Fireheart nodded and Goldenflower padded softly out of the den.
Fireheart lowered himself onto his belly, stretching his forepaws in front of him so that they just touched his leader’s face. He lay very still, his eyes fixed on Bluestar’s limp body. She didn’t even have the strength to cough now. Fireheart could hear her breathing in the darkness, shallow and rasping, and he listened to the faltering rhythm as the night slowly passed.
Her breathing stopped just before dawn. Fireheart had almost dozed off when he realized the cave was silent. There was no noise from the camp outside either, just a deathly hush, as if the whole Clan were holding its breath.
Bluestar was completely still. Fireheart knew she was with StarClan, preparing for her remaining life. He had watched Bluestar lose a life before. He felt his fur prickle at the eerie peace that seemed to enfold her body, but there was nothing he could do, so he waited.
Suddenly Bluestar gasped. “Fireheart, is that you?” she meowed in a croaky voice.
“Yes, Bluestar,” Fireheart murmured. “I’m here.”
“I have lost another life.” Bluestar’s voice was weak, but the relief made Fireheart want to reach forward and lick her between the ears, as Goldenflower had done. “When I lose this one, I will not be able to return.”
Fireheart swallowed hard. The thought of the Clan losing its great leader pained him, but the thought of losing his mentor and friend hurt even more. “How do you feel? Shall I fetch Yellowfang?”
Bluestar shook her head slowly. “The fever has gone. I am well enough. I just need to rest.”
“Very well,” meowed Fireheart. Light was beginning to filter through the lichen, and his head swam from his wakeful night.
“You must be tired,” meowed Bluestar. “Go and get some sleep.”
“Yes.” Fireheart heaved himself up. His legs felt stiff from lying so long. “Is there anything you need?”
“No. Just tell Yellowfang what has happened,” answered Bluestar. “Thank you for sitting with me.”
Fireheart tried to purr but it caught in his throat. There would be time for more words later. He pushed his way out through the lichen.
Outside a harsh brightness made him blink. It had snowed in the night. Fireheart stared in amazement. He had never seen snow before—his Twoleg owners had kept him shut inside when he was a very young kit whenever it was cold. But he’d heard the Clan elders talk of it. He nodded to Darkstripe, who had replaced Longtail guarding Bluestar’s den, and stepped into the strange powder. It felt wet and cold, crunching loudly under his paws.
Tigerclaw was standing in the clearing. It was still snowing and the flakes settled on the tabby’s thick fur without melting. Fireheart could hear him giving orders for the nursery wall to be padded with leaves to keep out the cold. “Then I want a hole to be scraped out where we can store prey,” the ThunderClan deputy instructed. “Use snow to line it, and cover it with more snow once it has been filled. We may as well make use of the snow while it’s here.”
Warriors raced around Tigerclaw, following his orders. “Mousefur, Longtail! Organize some hunting parties. We need as much fresh-kill as we can get before the prey takes to their burrows for good!” Tigerclaw spotted Fireheart padding across the clearing. “Fireheart, wait,” he called. “Oh, I suppose you’ll have to rest. I can’t imagine you’ll be any use on a hunting party this morning.”
Fireheart stared at the dark warrior, hostility rising like bile in his throat. “I’m going to see how Cinderpaw is first,” he growled.
Tigerclaw held his gaze for a moment. “How’s Bluestar?”
Mistrust ruffled Fireheart’s fur like a cold breeze. He’d heard Bluestar lie to Tigerclaw once before about how many lives she had left. “I’m no medicine cat,” he answered. “I can’t say.”
Tigerclaw snorted impatiently, then turned away and went back to giving orders. Fireheart walked over to Yellowfang’s den, relieved to escape the frenetic bustle of the camp. His heart began to pound as he wondered what state he would find Cinderpaw in. “Yellowfang,” he called.
“Hush!” Yellowfang sprang from Cinderpaw’s bracken nest. “She’s sleeping at last. She’s had a hard night. I couldn’t give her poppy seeds to ease the pain until she’d recovered from the shock.”
“But she’s going to live?” Fireheart’s legs felt wobbly with relief.
“I can’t be for sure for a few days. She’s hurt inside, and one of her hind legs is badly broken.”
“But it’ll mend, won’t it?” Fireheart pleaded desperately. “She’ll be training again by newleaf?”
Yellowfang shook her head, her yellow eyes sympathetic. “Fireheart, whatever happens, Cinderpaw will never be a warrior now.”
Fireheart’s head spun. He was dizzy with lack of sleep, and this devastating news sapped the last of his energy. Cinderpaw had been entrusted to him for her warrior training. Memories of the naming ceremony pricked like cruel thorns—Cinderpaw’s excitement, Frostfur’s motherly pride . . . “Does Frostfur know?” he meowed, feeling hollow.
“Yes, she was here till dawn. She’s back in the nursery now; there are other kits to tend to. I’ll ask one of the elders to sit with Cinderpaw. She needs to be kept warm.”
“I can do that.” Fireheart padded over to the nest where Cinderpaw was sleeping and looked inside. She squirmed, and her blood-smeared sides heaved, as though she were fighting a battle as she slept.
Yellowfang gently nudged Fireheart with her nose. “You need to get some sleep,” she rasped. “Leave Cinderpaw to me.”
Fireheart stayed where he was. “Bluestar lost another life,” he burst out. Yellowfang blinked for a moment, then lifted her head to StarClan. She didn’t utter a word, but Fireheart could see the anguish in her orange eyes. “You know, don’t you?” he murmured.
Yellowfang lowered her chin and gazed into his eyes. “That this is Bluestar’s final life? Yes, I know. A medicine cat can tell these things.”
“Will the rest of the Clan be able to tell as well?” Fireheart asked, thinking of Tigerclaw.
Yellowfang narrowed her eyes. “No. She will be no weaker in this life than she was in any of her others.”
Fireheart blinked gratefully at her.
“Now,” Yellowfang ordered, “do you want some poppy seeds to help you sleep?”
Fireheart shook his head. Part of him longed for the deep, easy sleep they would bring. But if Tigerclaw was right and ShadowClan really was about to attack ThunderClan’s borders, he did not want to dull his senses. He might be needed to defend the camp.
Graystripe was back in the warriors’ den. Fireheart did not speak to him; his rage at finding him missing the night before lingered like a dull bruise. He padded silently to his nest, circled once, and settled down to wash.
Graystripe looked up. “You’re back, then.” He sounded edgy, as if he wanted to say more.
Fireheart stopped licking his forepaw and stared at Graystripe.
“You tried to warn Silverstream off,” Graystripe hissed furiously. Willowpelt, who was dozing on the other side of the den, opened one eye, then closed it again.
Graystripe lowered his voice. “Stay out of it, will you?” he spat. “I’m going to keep on seeing her, whatever you do or say.”
Fireheart snorted and flashed a resentful glance at his friend. His talk with Silverstream seemed so long ago, he’d almost forgotten it. But he hadn’t forgotten that Graystripe had been missing when he’d needed help finding Cinderpaw. He laid his head angrily on his muddy forepaws and closed his eyes. Cinderpaw was battling against her injuries and Bluestar was on her ninth life. As far as Fireheart was concerned, Graystripe could do what he liked.