“I’ll find them,” Fireheart promised. He automatically looked around for Graystripe. The wind was rising and the snow was growing thicker—he didn’t want to search alone. Fireheart rushed to the warriors’ den and pushed his way inside, but Graystripe wasn’t there.
Sandstorm was just waking up. “What’s wrong?” she meowed, seeing Fireheart peering around the den.
“Brindleface’s kits are missing.”
“Cloudkit too?” Sandstorm scrambled to her paws, instantly awake.
“Yes! I was looking for Graystripe so we could look for them together, but he isn’t here,” Fireheart meowed, his words tumbling out in a rush. He felt a stab of rage that Graystripe was missing yet again—right after accusing Fireheart of not trusting him!
“I’ll come with you,” Sandstorm offered.
Fireheart blinked. “Thanks,” he meowed gratefully. “Come on. We should tell Bluestar before we leave.”
“Dustpelt can tell her. Is it still snowing?”
“Yes, and it’s getting heavier. We’d better hurry.” Fireheart looked at Dustpelt’s sleeping form. “You wake him. I’ll tell Brindleface we’re going and meet you by the entrance.” He bounded away, back to the nursery. Brindleface was still sniffing around in search of scents.
“Any sign?” Fireheart asked.
“No, nothing.” Brindleface’s voice was trembling. “Frostfur’s gone to tell Bluestar!”
“Well, don’t worry. I’m going out to look for them,” he reassured her. “Sandstorm’s coming with me. We’ll find them.”
Brindleface nodded and carried on searching.
Fireheart and Sandstorm arrived at the gorse tunnel together and hurried out into the woods. Outside the camp, the wind felt even fiercer. Fireheart narrowed his eyes and hunched his shoulders against the blizzard.
“It’s going to be hard picking up a scent through the fresh snow,” he warned Sandstorm. “Let’s start by checking to see if they’ve climbed up to the forest.”
“Okay,” meowed Sandstorm.
“You take that side.” Fireheart pointed with his nose. “And I’ll take the other. Meet you back here. Don’t be long.”
Sandstorm bounded away, and Fireheart leaped over a fallen tree, heading toward the trail the Clan followed most often. The sides of the ravine were even more thickly coated than they had been that morning, and slippery now where the snow had frozen into ice. Fireheart stopped and lifted his head, his mouth open, but he could find no scent of the kits. He looked in vain for pawsteps—would their trail already be covered by fresh snow?
He trekked along the bottom of the slope but found no sign of any cats, let alone lost kits. The wind blew until Fireheart could hardly feel the tips of his ears. No kits could survive in this weather, and it wouldn’t be long before the sun began to set. He had to find them before nightfall.
Fireheart raced back to the camp entrance. Sandstorm was waiting for him, her fur striped with small ridges of snow. She shook them off as she saw him coming.
“Any sign?” Fireheart meowed.
“No, nothing.”
“They can’t have gotten far,” Fireheart pointed out. “Come on, let’s try this way.” He headed toward the training hollow.
Sandstorm battled after him. The snow was getting deeper, and she sank up to her belly with every step.
The training hollow was empty.
“Do you think Bluestar realizes how bad the weather is out here?” asked Sandstorm, raising her voice against the wind.
“She’ll know,” Fireheart called back to her.
“We should go back and get help, join up with another search party,” meowed Sandstorm.
Fireheart looked at the shivering warrior. It was not just the kits who might freeze out here. Perhaps Sandstorm was right. “I agree,” he meowed. “We can’t do this by ourselves.”
As they turned toward camp, Fireheart thought he heard a tiny squeal through the wind. “Did you hear that?” he called.
Sandstorm stopped and began sniffing the air furiously. Suddenly she lifted her head. “That way!” she meowed, pointing with her nose to a fallen tree.
Fireheart leaped toward it with Sandstorm right behind him. The squealing grew louder until Fireheart could make out several little voices. He scrambled up onto the log and looked down the other side. Huddled in the snow were two small kits. Fireheart felt a rush of relief until he realized Cloudkit was not with them. “Where’s Cloudkit?” he yowled.
“Hunting,” squeaked one of the kits. Her voice trembled with cold and fear, but there was a note of defiance in it.
Fireheart lifted his head. “Cloudkit!” he called, peering through the snowflakes.
“Fireheart, look!” Sandstorm was on top of the log. Fireheart spun around. A bedraggled white shape was struggling through the snow toward them. Cloudkit! Every step was a massive leap for the tiny kit—the snow was as high as he was. But he kept coming, and in his mouth he carried a small, snow-encrusted vole.
A surge of relief and fury shot through Fireheart. He left Sandstorm with the others and bounded through the snow to scoop up the kit by the scruff of his neck. Cloudkit grunted in protest but refused to drop the vole that dangled from his mouth.
Fireheart turned to see Sandstorm nudging the others toward him. They stumbled ahead of her, sinking up to their ears in the deep snow, but she kept pushing them on.
Cloudkit squirmed in Fireheart’s mouth. Fireheart dropped him back into the snow. Cloudkit looked up at him, proudly holding his catch. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling impressed. In spite of the snow and wind, Cloudkit had caught his first prey!
“Wait there,” he ordered, and dashed back to help Sandstorm. He picked up a tiny she-kit who was mewling pitifully, and began nosing the other one forward.
The bedraggled group struggled back to the camp. Brindleface was waiting outside the gorse tunnel. Bluestar stood beside her, her eyes narrowed against the driving snow. As soon as they spotted Fireheart’s party, they rushed forward to help. Bluestar scooped up Cloudkit and Brindleface grabbed the other kit; then they turned and raced into the shelter of the camp with Fireheart and Sandstorm hurrying behind.
Once in the clearing, the three cats dropped their frozen bundles onto the ground. Fireheart shook the snow from his fur and looked down at Cloudkit, who was still stubbornly clinging to his catch.
Bluestar glared at the three kits. “What did you think you were doing out there? You know it’s against the warrior code for kits to hunt!”
Brindleface’s two kits shrank under their leader’s angry gaze, but Cloudkit looked back at her with round blue eyes. He dropped his vole and mewed, “The Clan needed fresh-kill, so we decided to catch some.”
Fireheart flinched at his boldness.
“Whose idea was it?” Bluestar demanded.
“Mine,” Cloudkit announced, his head still unbowed.
Bluestar fixed her eyes on the defiant little kit and yowled, “You could have frozen to death out there!”
Cloudkit was startled by the anger in her voice and dropped into a crouch. “We did it for the Clan,” he mewed defensively.
Fireheart held his breath as he waited to see what Bluestar would do next. Cloudkit had broken the warrior code. Would Bluestar change her mind about letting him stay?
“Your intention,” Bluestar meowed slowly, “was good. But it was a foolish thing to do.” Fireheart felt a flicker of hope. Then he cringed as Cloudkit piped up again.
“I caught something, though.”
“I can see that,” replied Bluestar coldly. She gazed at all three kits. “I shall leave it to your mother to decide what to do with you. But I don’t want to find you doing anything like this again. Do you understand?”
Fireheart relaxed a little as Cloudkit nodded with the others. “Cloudkit, you may add your catch to the fresh-kill pile,” Bluestar added. “Then all three of you go straight to the nursery and get yourselves dry and warm.” Fireheart felt surprised. Was that a motherly tone he detected in the ThunderClan leader’s voice?
Brindleface’s kits stumbled toward the nursery, followed by their mother, while Cloudkit picked up his vole and trotted off toward the pile of fresh-kill. The proud tilt of his head made Fireheart’s paws prickle with worry, but as Bluestar watched him go, Fireheart thought he detected a glint of admiration in his leader’s eyes.
“Well done, you two,” she meowed, turning her attention to Sandstorm and Fireheart. “I’ll send Longtail out to retrieve the other search party. You should go to your den and try to warm up too!”
“Yes, Bluestar,” Fireheart answered. He turned to leave with Sandstorm but Bluestar called him back. “Fireheart,” she meowed, “I want to talk to you.” Her tone made Fireheart feel apprehensive. Perhaps he’d relaxed too soon.
“Cloudkit showed some fine hunting skills today,” Bluestar began. “But all the skill in the world is worthless if he can’t learn to obey the warrior code. It may be for his own safety now, but in the future the safety of the whole Clan will depend on it.”
Fireheart stared down at the ground. He knew Bluestar was right, but he couldn’t help feeling that she was expecting too much of the young kit. Cloudkit was still very young, and he’d been with the Clan only a short time. Fireheart swallowed a pang of resentment as he thought of how shamelessly Graystripe, a Clanborn cat, was disobeying the warrior code. He looked up at the Clan leader. “Yes, Bluestar,” he meowed. “I’ll make sure he learns.”
“Good.” Bluestar sounded satisfied. She turned away and padded to her den.
Fireheart made his way to the warriors’ den even though he no longer felt cold. Bluestar’s words had made him burn. He pushed his way inside, settled into his nest, and began to wash. He stayed in his nest all afternoon, brooding about Graystripe and Cloudkit. He knew that Bluestar was right. The pride and defiance he’d seen in the white kit’s eyes made Fireheart wonder if he really would be able to adjust to Clan life.
As evening came, hunger drew Fireheart from the den. He picked a thrush from the pile of fresh-kill and settled down by the nettle clump to eat it. It was dark now, and the snow had eased. Once his eyes had adjusted to the night, Fireheart could see the camp entrance clearly.
He spotted Graystripe as soon as he appeared, and watched him walk to the pile of fresh-kill. The gray warrior was carrying prey. Perhaps he’d just been hunting after all.
Graystripe dropped most of his catch onto the pile. He kept a large mouse for himself and took it to a sheltered spot near the camp wall. Fireheart’s brief hope faded. The distracted look in Graystripe’s eyes told him that his suspicions were right—Graystripe had been with Silverstream.
Fireheart got to his paws and padded into the den. He had no trouble falling into a deep sleep. And as he slept, he dreamed again.
The snowy forest spread out around him, glowing white beneath the cold moon. Fireheart stood on a tall, jagged rock. Beside him stood Cloudkit—a fully grown warrior, his thick white pelt rippling in the wind. Frost sparkled on the stone beneath their paws.
“Watch!” Fireheart hissed to Cloudkit. A wood mouse scuttled around the frozen roots of a tree. Cloudkit followed his gaze and leaped silently from the rock onto the forest floor. Fireheart watched the white tom prowl toward the prey. Suddenly he smelled a scent so warm and familiar, his fur quivered. He felt warm breath on his ear and turned sharply. Spottedleaf was standing beside him.
Her dappled pelt shone in the moonlight as she touched her soft pink nose to his. “Fireheart,” she whispered. “I have a warning for you from StarClan.” Her tone was somber and her eyes burned into his. “A battle is coming, Fireheart. Beware a warrior you cannot trust.”
The squeal of a mouse made Fireheart jump and look around. Cloudkit must have made his kill. He turned back to Spottedleaf but she had disappeared.
Fireheart woke up with a start and turned to the nest beside him. Graystripe was curled up, fast asleep, his nose tucked under his thick tail. Spottedleaf’s words echoed in Fireheart’s mind: “Beware a warrior you cannot trust!”
He shivered. The bitter cold of the forest seemed to cling to his fur even here, and the sweet fragrance of Spottedleaf lingered in his nostrils. Graystripe stirred beside him, muttering in his sleep, and Fireheart flinched. He knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep again, but he stayed in his nest and watched his friend sleeping until the dawn light began to shine through the walls of the den.