Graystripe had already left his nest when Fireheart awoke the next day. He could tell it was sunhigh by the light that glowed through the branches. He rose, his body still weary with grief, and pushed his head out of the den. Snow must have been falling all morning, for it lay thick on the ground and had drifted against the den. Fireheart found himself gazing out over a white wall that was as high as his shoulder.
The usual bustle of the camp seemed muted. Fireheart could see Willowpelt and Halftail whispering on the far side of the clearing. Mousefur was picking her way laboriously toward the store of fresh-kill, a rabbit dangling from her jaws. She stopped and sneezed, then carried on.
Fireheart lifted one paw and rested it on top of the snow. It felt hard at first, but when he pressed down, the thin covering of ice cracked and he gasped as his leg plunged into the drift. Fireheart snorted as he found himself up to his muzzle in snow. Shaking his head and lifting his chin, he leaped forward, only to sink into more deep snow. He struggled on, alarm rising in his chest. He felt as if he were drowning in snow! Then, all of a sudden, there was solid ground under his paws. He had reached the edge of the clearing. The snow here was only a mouse-length deep, and Fireheart sat down with a soft crunch, relieved.
He tensed when he saw Graystripe plowing through the snow toward him. The gray warrior seemed unbothered by it, protected from its damp chill by his thick pelt. His face was shadowed with sorrow. “Have you heard about Bluestar?” he asked as he neared. “She lost a life to greencough.”
Fireheart flicked his ears impatiently. He could have told his friend that last night. “I know,” he snapped. “I was with her.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” mewed Graystripe, shocked.
“You weren’t exactly in a friendly mood last night, if you remember. Anyway, if you weren’t always off breaking the warrior code, you might know what was going on in your own Clan,” he snarled.
Graystripe’s ears twitched uncomfortably. “I’ve just seen Cinderpaw,” he meowed. “I’m sorry she’s so sick.”
“How is she?”
“She looked bad, but Yellowfang said she’s pulling through,” replied Graystripe.
Fireheart stared anxiously across the clearing and stood up. He wanted to see his apprentice for himself.
Graystripe meowed, “She’s asleep now. Frostfur’s with her, and Yellowfang doesn’t want anyone else disturbing her.”
Fireheart flinched involuntarily. How was he going to tell Frostfur that it was his fault that Cinderpaw went to the Thunderpath? Instinctively, Fireheart turned to Graystripe, seeking reassurance. But Graystripe was trudging across the snowy clearing toward the nursery. Off to see Silverstream, Fireheart guessed resentfully, sheathing and unsheathing his claws as he watched his friend disappear from sight.
Fireheart noticed Speckletail, the oldest queen from the nursery and the mother of the kit with whitecough, only when she stopped right in front of him. “Is Tigerclaw inside?” she asked, pointing with her nose to the warriors’ den.
Fireheart shook his head.
Speckletail mewed, “There’s greencough in the nursery. Two of Brindleface’s kits are sick.”
“Greencough!” Fireheart gasped, shaken from his anger. “Will they die?”
“They might. But leaf-bare always brings greencough,” Speckletail pointed out gently.
“Surely there’s something we can do!” Fireheart protested.
“Yellowfang will do what she can,” answered Speckletail. “But in the end, it’s up to StarClan.”
A new flash of fury flared in Fireheart’s belly as Speckletail turned away and padded back to the nursery. How could the Clan tolerate these tragedies? He felt overwhelmed by the need to leave the camp, to escape the gloomy air that the rest of the Clan seemed content to breathe.
He jumped up and raced blindly across the snowy clearing, through the gorse tunnel and out into the forest. He was startled to find himself heading instinctively for the training hollow. The thought that he should be there, teaching Cinderpaw, was more than he could bear. As he veered to avoid it, he heard the voices of Whitestorm and Brackenpaw. The white-furred warrior must have taken Brackenpaw for training while Fireheart had been sleeping. Had no cat stopped to grieve for Bluestar’s lost life? Fireheart’s throat tightened as he fought back his rage and ran on, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and the camp.
He finally stopped beneath Tallpines, his sides heaving with the effort of running through the snow. There was stillness here that calmed him. Even the birds had stopped singing. Fireheart felt as if he were the only creature in the world.
He didn’t know where he was going; he just padded on, letting the woods soothe him. As he walked, his mind cleared. He could do nothing for Cinderpaw, and Graystripe was out of reach, but he might be able to help Yellowfang fight the greencough. He would fetch some more catnip.
Fireheart turned his steps toward his old kittypet home, weaving through the brambles in the oak woods that backed onto Twolegplace. He leaped to the top of the fence at the end of his old home, nudging a ridge of snow into the garden below. It fell with a soft clump. Fireheart peered down into the garden. He could see tracks, smaller than a cat’s. A squirrel had been out hunting for its store of nuts.
It didn’t take Fireheart long to pluck a generous mouthful of leaves from the catnip bush. He wanted to take as much as he could. Its soft leaves might not survive this weather; this could be his last chance to gather it.
With his mouth crammed, Fireheart stared toward the swinging flap he had used as a kit. He wondered if his Twoleg housefolk still lived there. They’d been kind to him. He had spent his first leaf-bare cosseted in their nest, warm and safe from the cruelties of Thunderpaths and greencough.
The scent of this catnip must be going to my head, he thought sharply. He bounded up the garden and onto the fence with a single leap. He was unnerved by how much the thought of his Twoleg home had stirred him. Did he really want the safety and predictability of a kittypet’s life? Of course not! Fireheart shook the thought away. But the idea of returning to camp didn’t appeal to him yet.
Suddenly he thought of Princess.
Fireheart raced along the edge of the woods to the part of Twolegplace where his sister’s garden lay. When her fence was in sight, he dug down through the snow and buried the catnip beneath a layer of dead leaves to protect it from the cold. He was still panting from his run when he leaped onto the fence and called out to Princess. Then he scrambled back down into the woods to wait for her.
The snow made his paws ache with cold as he paced restlessly under an oak tree. Perhaps she is kitting, he told himself, or shut inside. He had just persuaded himself he wasn’t going to see her today when he heard her familiar mew. He looked up to see her standing on top of her fence. Fireheart felt a shiver of anticipation. Her belly was no longer swollen. Princess must have kitted.
He breathed in her scent as she approached and felt it warm him. “You’ve kitted!” he meowed.
Princess gently touched his nose with hers. “Yes,” she mewed softly.
“Did it go okay? Are the kits all right?”
Princess purred. “It was fine. I have five healthy kits,” she meowed, her eyes glowing with pleasure. Fireheart licked her head and she mewed, “I didn’t expect to see you out in this weather.”
“I came to find some catnip,” Fireheart told her. “There’s greencough in the camp.”
Princess’s eyes clouded with worry. “Are many of your Clan ill?”
“Three so far.” Fireheart hesitated for a moment, then meowed sadly, “Our leader lost another life last night.”
“Another life?” echoed Princess. “What do you mean? I thought it was only an old she-cat’s tale that cats have nine lives.”
“Bluestar was granted nine lives by StarClan because she’s leader of our Clan,” Fireheart explained.
Princess looked at him in awe. “Then it’s true!”
“Only for Clan leaders. The rest of us have only one life, like you, and like Cinderpaw. . . .” Fireheart’s voice trailed away.
“Cinderpaw?” Princess must have detected the grief in his voice.
Fireheart gazed into her eyes, and the thoughts that had been troubling him began to tumble out. “My apprentice,” he meowed. “She was hit on the Thunderpath last night.” His voice cracked as he remembered finding her broken, bleeding body. “She’s badly hurt. She might still die. And even if she survives, she’ll never become a warrior.”
Princess moved closer and nuzzled him. “You spoke so fondly of her last time you were here,” she mewed. “She sounded full of fun and energy.”
“The accident shouldn’t have happened,” Fireheart growled. “I was supposed to meet Tigerclaw. He’d asked for Bluestar, but Bluestar was ill, so I offered to go instead. I had to fetch catnip first, and Cinderpaw went in my place.” Princess looked alarmed and Fireheart added quickly, “I told her not to. But perhaps if I’d been a better mentor she’d have listened to me.”
“I’m sure you’re a good mentor.” Princess tried to soothe him, but Fireheart hardly heard her.
“I don’t know why Tigerclaw wanted Bluestar to meet him in such a dangerous place!” he spat. “He said there was evidence that ShadowClan had invaded our territory, but when I arrived there was no scent of them at all!”
“Was it a trap?” Princess suggested.
Fireheart looked into his sister’s questioning eyes and suddenly began to wonder. “Why would Tigerclaw want to hurt Cinderpaw?”
“It was Bluestar he asked for,” Princess pointed out.
Fireheart’s fur bristled. Could his sister be right? Tigerclaw had summoned Bluestar to the narrowest part of the Thunderpath verge. Surely even Tigerclaw wouldn’t deliberately put his Clan leader in danger? Fireheart shook the thought away. “I d-don’t know,” he stammered. “Everything’s so confusing at the moment. Even Graystripe’s hardly speaking to me.”
“Why?”
Fireheart shrugged. “It’s too complicated to explain.” Princess nestled next to him in the snow, pressing her soft fur against his. “I just feel like such an outsider at the moment,” Fireheart went on gloomily. “It’s not easy being different.”
“Different?” Princess looked puzzled.
“Being born a kittypet, when the other cats are all Clanborn.”
“You seem like a Clanborn cat to me,” mewed Princess. Fireheart blinked gratefully at her. She went on, “But if you’re not happy in the Clan, you can always come home with me. My housefolk would look after you, I’m sure.”
Fireheart pictured himself living his old kittypet life, warm, cozy, and safe. But he couldn’t forget how he’d watched the woods from his Twoleg garden and dreamed of being out in the forest. A breeze stirred his thick fur and carried the scent of a mouse to his nose. Fireheart shook his head firmly. “Thank you, Princess,” he meowed. “But I belong with my Clan now. I could never be happy in a Twoleg nest. I would miss the scents of the forest, and sleeping beneath Silverpelt, hunting my own food and sharing it with my Clan.”
His sister’s eyes gleamed. “It sounds like a good life,” she purred. She looked down shyly at her paws. “Sometimes even I stare into the forest and wonder what it feels like to live out there.”
Fireheart purred and stood up. “Then you understand?”
Princess nodded. “Are you going back now?”
“Yes. I must take the catnip to Yellowfang while it’s fresh.”
Princess stretched her head forward to press her muzzle into his side. “Perhaps my kits will be strong enough to meet you next time you come,” she mewed.
Excitement tingled in Fireheart’s belly. “I hope so!” he meowed.
As he turned to leave, Princess called, “Take care, brother. I don’t want to lose you again.”
“You won’t,” Fireheart promised.
“Good thinking, Fireheart,” purred Whitestorm. He had seen Fireheart pad back into camp with his jaws crammed with catnip.
Fireheart’s mouth had been watering all the way home, although he was beginning to think he’d be happy never to see another catnip bush again. But he was happier than when he’d left the camp. His sister had safely kitted and his head felt clearer.
He was heading toward Yellowfang’s den when Tigerclaw appeared at his side.
“More catnip?” observed the great tabby, his eyes suspicious. “I wondered where you’d gone. Brackenpaw can take that to Yellowfang.”
Brackenpaw was helping to clear away snow nearby.
“Come and take this catnip to Yellowfang,” Tigerclaw ordered the apprentice.
Brackenpaw nodded and bounded over at once.
Fireheart dropped the bunch of leaves onto the ground. “I wanted to visit Cinderpaw,” he meowed to Tigerclaw.
“Later,” growled the deputy. He waited while Brackenpaw picked up the catnip and carried it off to Yellowfang’s den. Then he turned back to Fireheart. “I want to know where Graystripe has been going.”
Fireheart felt the heat rising under his fur. “I don’t know,” he replied, holding Tigerclaw’s gaze.
Tigerclaw stared back at him, his eyes cold and hostile. “When you see him,” he hissed, “you can tell him he’s confined to the fallen oak.”
“Yellowfang’s old den?” Fireheart glanced at the tangled branches where the medicine cat had lived when she first came into the ThunderClan camp, when she was still considered a ShadowClan outcast. Swiftpaw was there, lying beside Speckletail’s dark tabby kit.
“Cats with whitecough are confined there until they are well again.”
“But Graystripe only has a cold,” Fireheart protested.
“A cold is bad enough. He’ll stay at the fallen oak!” Tigerclaw repeated. “Cats with greencough are to nest with Yellowfang. We must stop this sickness from spreading.” The deputy’s eyes flashed unsympathetically. Fireheart wondered if he thought of illness as a sign of weakness. “It is for the good of the Clan,” Tigerclaw added.
“Yes, Tigerclaw. I’ll tell Graystripe.”
“And keep away from Bluestar,” the deputy warned.
“But the greencough has left her,” Fireheart objected.
“I am aware of that, but her den still reeks of the sickness. I can’t afford to have any of my warriors falling ill. Whitestorm tells me that RiverClan warriors have been scented even closer to the camp. He also told me he had to train Brackenpaw today. I expect you to take charge of Brackenpaw’s training tomorrow.”
Fireheart nodded. “May I go and see Cinderpaw now?”
Tigerclaw looked at him.
“I doubt if Yellowfang has put her anywhere near the cats with greencough,” Fireheart added with a flash of irritation. “I won’t get infected.”
“Very well,” Tigerclaw agreed, and stalked away.
Fireheart met Brackenpaw in the middle of the clearing. “Yellowfang was very grateful for the catnip,” Brackenpaw mewed.
“Good,” answered Fireheart. “By the way, I’m teaching you how to catch birds tomorrow. I hope you’re ready for a bit of tree climbing.”
Brackenpaw’s whiskers twitched excitedly. “Definitely. I’ll meet you at the training hollow.”
Fireheart nodded and carried on to Yellowfang’s den. He spotted Brindleface’s poor kits straightaway. They lay quietly in a bracken nest, coughing, their noses and eyes streaming.
Yellowfang greeted him. “Thanks for the catnip; we’re going to need it. Patchpelt has greencough now.” She gestured with her nose toward another nest in the bracken. Inside, Fireheart could see the old tom’s matted black-and-white fur.
“How’s Cinderpaw?” he asked, looking back at the medicine cat.
Yellowfang sighed. “She was awake earlier, but not for long. She has an infection in her leg. StarClan knows, I’ve tried everything, but she must fight this one herself.”
Fireheart peered into Cinderpaw’s nest. The little gray cat was twitching in her sleep, her injured leg twisted awkwardly to one side. Fireheart shuddered, suddenly afraid she might yet lose this struggle. He turned back to Yellowfang, looking for words of encouragement, but the medicine cat sat with her head low. She looked exhausted.
“Do you think Spottedleaf would have been able to save these cats?” she meowed unexpectedly, raising her head to meet his gaze.
Fireheart shivered. He could still sense Spottedleaf’s presence here in the clearing. He remembered how efficiently she’d tended to Ravenpaw’s shoulder wound after the battle with RiverClan, and how carefully she’d advised him about caring for Yellowfang when the old she-cat had first come to the ThunderClan camp. Then he looked at Yellowfang, her shoulders weighed down with experience. “I’m sure there’s nothing Spottedleaf would have done differently,” he told her.
One of the kits cried out and Yellowfang sprang up. As she passed, Fireheart leaned forward and gently stroked the old cat’s side with his muzzle. She twitched her shoulder gratefully at him. Then, filled with sadness, he turned and padded toward the fern tunnel.
The white pelt of Frostfur appeared at the other end. She must be coming to see Cinderpaw. As he approached the queen, Fireheart lifted his head and looked into her blue eyes. The sorrow in them made his heart twist with pain. “Frostfur?” he began.
The queen stopped.
“I . . . I’m sorry.” Fireheart trembled as he spoke.
Frostfur looked confused. “What for?”
“I should have been able to stop Cinderpaw from going to the Thunderpath.”
Frostfur gazed at him, but her expression gave away nothing except her sadness. “I don’t blame you, Fireheart,” she murmured. Then she lowered her head and carried on toward her kit.
Graystripe was back, munching a vole beside the nettle clump.
Fireheart padded over to him. “Tigerclaw says you’ve got to move to the fallen oak, with the whitecough cats,” he meowed. With a prickle of resentment, he remembered how the deputy had questioned him about his friend.
“That won’t be necessary,” replied Graystripe cheerfully. “I’m better now. Yellowfang gave me the all-clear this morning.”
Fireheart looked closely at Graystripe. His eyes were certainly bright again, and his runny nose had dried to an unappealing crust. At any other time Fireheart would have teased him about how much he looked like Runningnose, the ShadowClan medicine cat. Now he spat crossly, “Tigerclaw has noticed your disappearances. You should be more careful. Why can’t you stay away from Silverstream, at least for now?”
Graystripe stopped chewing and stared angrily back at Fireheart. “And why can’t you mind your own business?”
Fireheart closed his eyes and snorted with frustration. Would he ever get through to his friend? Then he wondered if he even cared anymore. After all, Graystripe hadn’t asked about Cinderpaw.
Fireheart’s stomach growled to tell him he was hungry. He might as well eat. He took a sparrow from the pile of fresh-kill and carried it away to a deserted corner of the camp to eat alone. As he settled down, he thought of Princess, far away in Twolegplace, with her newborn kits. Lonely and anxious, Fireheart stared across the camp and longed to see her again.