Fireheart limped over to the clump of nettles and began to lick his wounds. He would go and see Yellowfang later, when she had finished tending to the other cats.
The weak rays of the setting sun threw long shadows across the clearing. Dustpaw had been relieved from his guard duty by Longtail. Tigerclaw had taken the rest of his unscathed raiding party out in search of fresh-kill. Fireheart’s stomach growled. He looked up at the sound of pawsteps, but it was only Sandpaw and Swiftpaw returning from their burial duty.
The two cats padded over to Bluestar, who was sitting beneath the Highrock with Whitestorm. Fireheart pushed himself to his paws and walked over to join them. With a flick of his tail he beckoned to Dustpaw, who was licking his own scratches beside the tree stump. Dustpaw flashed him a doubtful look but got up wearily and followed him.
“We’ve buried Clawface,” meowed Sandpaw.
“Thank you,” Bluestar replied. The ThunderClan leader looked directly at Swiftpaw. “You may go.” The black-and-white apprentice dipped his head and headed for his den.
Fireheart signaled to Dustpaw again to come closer. The tabby apprentice narrowed his eyes and padded forward to stand beside Sandpaw.
“Bluestar,” Fireheart began hesitantly, “Sandpaw and Dustpaw fought like warriors when Brokentail attacked. We would have been in much more trouble without their strength and courage.” Dustpaw’s eyes widened and Sandpaw looked at the ground as Fireheart spoke.
A purr rumbled from Whitestorm’s throat. “It’s not like you to be shy,” he meowed to his apprentice.
Sandpaw’s ears twitched uncomfortably. “Fireheart’s the one who saved the Clan,” she burst out. “He was the one who alerted the camp so that we were ready for Brokentail’s attack.”
It was Fireheart’s turn to feel embarrassed. He was relieved when Tigerclaw and the hunting party trotted into the camp at that moment, carrying plenty of fresh-kill.
Bluestar nodded at Tigerclaw and then turned to face Dustpaw and Sandpaw. “It makes me proud to know that ThunderClan has such fine warriors,” she meowed. “It’s time you both took your warrior names. We shall have the naming ceremony now, while the sun is setting, and then we can eat.”
Sandpaw and Dustpaw looked excitedly at each other. Fireheart lifted his chin and purred. Bluestar called to the Clan, and Fireheart felt even happier when he saw Graystripe appear from the warriors’ den. He hadn’t left the camp after all.
The Clan gathered around the edge of the clearing. Elders and queens sat with the apprentices and kits on one side; Fireheart waited with the warriors on the other. He looked at Cloudkit nestled beside Brindleface. The kit’s eyes shone with excitement, and Fireheart felt a rush of pride that his kin-kit could see him sitting with the Clan warriors. Bluestar stood in the center with Sandpaw and Dustpaw.
The last arc of sun glowed pink on the horizon. The Clan waited silently as it dipped out of sight, leaving the darkening sky pricked with stars.
Bluestar looked up and fixed her eyes on the brightest star in Silverpelt. “I, Bluestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on these two apprentices. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your code, and I commend them to you as warriors in their turn.” She gazed down at the pair of young cats in front of her. “Sandpaw, Dustpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”
Sandpaw stared back, her eyes gleaming. “I do,” she replied.
Dustpaw echoed her words, his voice strong and low. “I do.”
“Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior names: Sandpaw, from this moment you will be known as Sandstorm. StarClan honors your courage and your spirit, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.” Bluestar stepped forward and rested her muzzle on top of Sandstorm’s bowed head.
Sandstorm licked Bluestar’s shoulder respectfully before she turned and walked toward Whitestorm. Fireheart saw her eyes flash proudly at her mentor as she settled down beside him in her new place with the warriors.
Bluestar turned her eyes to the dark brown tabby. “Dustpaw, from this moment you will be known as Dustpelt. StarClan honors your bravery and your honesty, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.” She touched his head with her muzzle, and he too gave the leader’s shoulder a respectful lick before joining the other warriors.
The voices of the Clan rose in tribute, sending clouds of misty breath into the night air. As one they chanted the new warrior names. “Sandstorm! Dustpelt! Sandstorm! Dustpelt!”
“In the tradition of our ancestors,” meowed Bluestar, raising her voice, “Sandstorm and Dustpelt must sit in silent vigil until dawn, and guard the camp alone while we sleep. But before they begin their vigil, the Clan will share a meal. It has been a long day and we have reason to be proud of these cats who defended our camp against the rogues. Fireheart, StarClan thanks you for your courage. You are a great warrior, and I’m proud to count you as a member of my Clan.”
The cats meowed again. A purr burst from Fireheart’s throat as he looked around at his Clan. Only Tigerclaw and Dustpelt eyed him with hostility, but for once he felt untouched by their jealousy. Bluestar had praised him, and that was enough.
One by one the cats stepped forward to take some of the fresh-kill Tigerclaw’s party had brought.
Fireheart walked over to Sandstorm. “We can eat together as warriors tonight,” he meowed happily. “If that’s okay with you?” he added. Sandstorm purred at him and Fireheart felt a prickle of pleasure.
“Choose something for me,” she called as Fireheart dashed away to the pile of fresh-kill. “I’m starving!”
Fireheart picked out a mouse for Sandpaw, temptingly plump for so late in leaf-bare. He took a bluetit for himself and turned to carry his catch back to Sandstorm. Then his heart sank—Dustpelt, Whitestorm, and Darkstripe had joined her. He’d been foolish to expect they would share their meal alone. This was a time for the whole Clan to share together in celebration.
The thought reminded Fireheart of Cinderpaw. He looked around and realized that he hadn’t seen her at the naming ceremony. She must still be in Yellowfang’s clearing. He bounded over to Sandstorm and dropped the fresh-kill beside her. “I’ll be back in five rabbit hops,” he meowed. “I want to take something to Cinderpaw.”
“Sure.” Sandstorm shrugged.
Fireheart quickly collected a vole from the fresh-kill pile and carried it across the clearing. He was surprised to see Yellowfang sitting in her den. She’d been at the naming ceremony, so she must have come straight back afterward.
“I hope that’s not for me,” she growled as Fireheart approached. “I’ve already had my share.”
Fireheart dropped the vole on the ground. “I brought it for Cinderpaw,” he answered. “I thought she might want something. She wasn’t at the naming ceremony.”
“I’ve given her some mouse meat, but you’re welcome to give her that as well.”
Fireheart looked around the fern-shaded clearing. Brokenstar’s brown fur was just visible through the stems of Patchpelt’s old nest. The warrior was not moving.
“He’s still asleep.” Yellowfang’s tone was brisk, the voice of a medicine cat rather than a mother. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling relieved. He wanted to believe Yellowfang’s loyalties still lay with ThunderClan. He picked up the vole and carried it to Cinderpaw’s nest. “Hey, Cinderpaw,” he meowed softly into the bracken.
The gray cat stirred and pushed herself to a sitting position. “Fireheart.”
Fireheart stepped through the fronds and sat in the small space beside her. He dropped the vole at her paws. “Here,” he meowed. “Yellowfang’s not the only one trying to fatten you up!”
“Thanks,” Cinderpaw mewed. But she left the vole lying beside her paw and didn’t even bend down to sniff it.
“Are you still thinking about the battle?” Fireheart asked gently.
Cinderpaw shrugged. “I am just a burden, aren’t I?” She looked up at Fireheart with sad, round eyes.
“Who’s a burden?” Yellowfang’s growl interrupted them as the old gray medicine cat poked her head into the nest. “Are you upsetting my helper?” she meowed at Fireheart. “I don’t know how I would have coped today if it hadn’t been for this one.” She looked warmly at Cinderpaw, her yellow eyes soft. “I even had her mixing herbs this evening!”
Cinderpaw looked down shyly and dipped her head to take a bite of the vole.
“I think I might keep her with me awhile longer,” Yellowfang went on. “She’s becoming more useful every day. Besides, I’m getting used to her company.”
Cinderpaw glanced up at the old medicine cat, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Only because you’re deaf enough to put up with my chattering!” Yellowfang pretended to spit crossly at the young cat, and Cinderpaw added to Fireheart, “Well, that’s what she keeps telling me, anyway.”
Fireheart was surprised to feel a pang of envy at the close bond these two cats had developed. He’d always thought of himself as Yellowfang’s only real friend in the Clan, but now it looked like she had another. But at least Cinderpaw had somewhere to stay—if she couldn’t train to be a warrior, she’d feel out of place in the apprentices’ den.
Fireheart stood up. It was time he went back to Sandstorm. “Will you be okay here with Brokentail?” he asked.
Yellowfang gave him a disdainful look. “I think we can manage, don’t you, Cinderpaw?”
“He wouldn’t dare cause trouble,” she agreed confidently. “And Longtail’s here to help.”
Yellowfang ducked her head out of the nest, and Fireheart squeezed out after her. “’Bye, Cinderpaw!” he called.
“’Bye, and thanks for the food.”
“No problem,” he meowed. He turned to Yellowfang. “Have you got anything for this bite on my neck?”
Yellowfang looked closely at his wound. “Looks like a nasty one,” she growled.
“It’s from Brokentail,” Fireheart confessed.
Yellowfang nodded. “Wait there.” She padded quickly to her den and returned with a bundle of herbs wrapped in leaves. “Can you manage them yourself? Just chew them up and rub the juice into the wounds. It’ll sting, but nothing a brave warrior can’t handle!”
“Thanks, Yellowfang.” Fireheart picked up the bundle in his teeth.
Yellowfang led him to the tunnel entrance. “I appreciate your coming,” she meowed, glancing at Cinderpaw’s nest. “She was feeling pretty low, I think. She felt bad after the battle, and then the naming ceremony.”
Fireheart nodded. He understood. He gave a last wary glance at where Brokentail lay. “You sure you’ll be safe?” he asked again through the bundle of herbs.
“He’s blind,” meowed Yellowfang. She sighed, and then added more brightly, “And I’m not that old!”
Fireheart woke the following morning to find dazzling white light streaming through the den wall. He guessed it had snowed again. At least his wounds had stopped aching. Yellowfang had been right—the herb juice had stung, but he felt much better after a good night’s sleep.
Fireheart wondered how Sandstorm and Dustpelt had managed their vigil. It must have been bitterly cold in the snow. He got to his paws and stretched his forelegs, arching his back and curling his tail up over his head. ThunderClan’s two newest warriors were bundled up, fast asleep on the far edge of the den. Whitestorm must have sent them in when he left on the dawn patrol.
Fireheart padded out into the snow-covered clearing. He could just make out Frostfur’s white pelt skirting the nursery as she slipped out to stretch her legs. There were two bare spots in the center of the clearing, where Sandstorm and Dustpelt had spent the night. Fireheart shivered at the thought, but still he envied them as he remembered the thrill of his first night as a warrior. It had filled him with a warmth not even the hardest frost could have chilled.
The sky was thick with snow-heavy clouds. Flakes were still falling, softly and silently. There would be plenty of hunting to do today, Fireheart realized. The Clan would need to stock up if the snow was going to get deeper.
He heard Bluestar call from the Highrock. The Clan cats began to creep from their dens and pick their way through the snow to hear their leader’s words. Fireheart settled himself into one of the bare spots. It smelled of Sandstorm. He noticed Graystripe sitting on the other side of the clearing, looking tired. Fireheart wondered if he’d slipped out last night to tell Silverstream about the rogue cats.
Bluestar began to speak. “I wanted to make sure you all know that Brokentail is in the camp.” None of the cats uttered a noise. They knew already. The rumor had spread through the camp like a forest fire.
“He is blind, and harmless.” A few cats snorted their displeasure, and Bluestar nodded to acknowledge their fears. “I am as concerned as you are for the safety of our Clan. But, StarClan knows, we cannot turn him out to die in the forest. Yellowfang will nurse him until his wounds heal. Once they have, we’ll discuss this again.”
Bluestar looked around, listening for voices from the crowd, but no cat spoke, so she leaped down from Highrock. As the cats dispersed Fireheart noticed that the leader was walking toward him.
“Fireheart,” she meowed. “One thing concerns me. You still haven’t settled things with Graystripe. I’ve not seen you eat together for days. I told you before, there’s no room for fighting within ThunderClan. I want you to hunt together today.”
Fireheart nodded. “Yes, Bluestar.” That was fine by him. And after yesterday’s battle, he felt hopeful that Graystripe would like the idea too. As Bluestar walked away, Fireheart scanned the clearing, hoping that Graystripe hadn’t disappeared again. No, there he was, helping to clear the snow from the nursery entrance.
“Hey, Graystripe,” Fireheart called. Graystripe carried on with his work. Fireheart bounded over to him. “Do you want to go hunting this morning?”
Graystripe turned to face him, his eyes cold. “Are you making sure I don’t disappear again?” he snarled.
Fireheart was startled. “N-no, I just thought . . . after yesterday . . . Clawface . . .”
“I would have done the same for any ThunderClan cat. That’s what Clan loyalty is about!” Graystripe’s meow was harsh with anger as he went back to pushing snow.
Fireheart’s hopes plummeted. Had he lost his friend’s trust forever? He turned away, tail down, and began to trudge through the snow toward the camp entrance. He called over his shoulder, “Bluestar told me to go hunting with you this morning, actually, so you can explain to her why you’re not coming.”
“Oh, I see, you were just trying to please Bluestar, as usual!” Graystripe hissed. Fireheart stopped and whipped around, ready to throw back a retort, but he paused when he saw that Graystripe was crossing the clearing toward him, shaking snowflakes from his wide shoulders.
“Come on, then,” Graystripe growled, leading the way through the gorse tunnel.
It was a slow climb out of the ravine, with the boulders covered in snow. When they reached the top, the icebound forest stretched before them. Graystripe charged away at once, his face set with grim determination. Fireheart followed him. As he tracked a mouse around the roots of an oak tree he saw Graystripe racing after a rabbit that had been foolish enough to stray from its burrow. Graystripe pelted furiously after the creature until he finished it off with a well-aimed pounce. Fireheart sat and watched as Graystripe padded back to him and dropped the rabbit at Fireheart’s paws.
“That should feed a kit or two.” He grunted.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Fireheart told him.
“No?” Graystripe answered bitterly. His eyes met Fireheart’s, cold and angry. “Maybe you should start acting as if you trusted me, then.” He turned away before Fireheart could reply.
By sunhigh Graystripe had caught more than Fireheart, but both cats had done well. They returned to the camp, their jaws heavy with fresh-kill. They padded into the clearing and dropped their prey in the usual place. The spot had been empty so far.
Fireheart wondered if they should go out again. The snow was heavier now, and a cold wind was beginning to blow through the ravine. Fireheart was studying the darkening sky when he heard Brindleface’s worried meow near the nursery. He bounded over to see what was wrong. “What’s the matter?”
“Have you seen Cloudkit?” she demanded.
Fireheart shook his head. “Is he missing?” His paws prickled as Brindleface’s rising panic began to infect him.
“Yes. So are my other kits. I only closed my eyes for a moment. I just woke up and I can’t find them anywhere! It’s too cold for them to be out. They’ll freeze to death!” The queen swayed on her paws.
Alarm shot through Fireheart as he pictured the last time a young cat had disappeared from the camp. It had been Cinderpaw.