Firepaw and Graypaw retraced their steps to ThunderClan territory. Both cats were bone-weary and wet through, but Firepaw kept up the pace. The storm was beginning to move away. A ThunderClan patrol would be out soon and on Yellowfang’s trail. They had to find her first.
The sky was still dark, even though the black thunderclouds were beginning to roll away toward the horizon. Firepaw guessed that it must be nearly sunset.
“Why don’t we head straight into ShadowClan territory?” suggested Graypaw as they ran down the steep hillside into Fourtrees.
“We need to pick up Yellowfang’s scent first,” Firepaw explained. “I just hope it won’t lead to the ShadowClan camp.”
Graypaw glanced sideways at his friend, but didn’t reply.
They headed back over the stream, into ThunderClan territory. There was no scent of Yellowfang until they crossed into the oak woods close to the camp.
Now that the rain had finally stopped, the scents around them were beginning to return. Firepaw hoped that the rain had not washed away Yellowfang’s trail completely. He stopped and brushed at a fern with the tip of his nose, and recognized the familiar smell. Yellowfang’s fear-scent prickled in his nostrils. “She came this way!” he meowed.
He pushed his way through the wet undergrowth. Graypaw followed. The rain was easing, and the thunder was fading into the distance. Time was running out. Firepaw pushed on faster.
To his dismay, he realized Yellowfang’s scent was indeed leading them straight to ShadowClan territory. His heart sank. Did this mean Tigerclaw’s accusations were true? Firepaw began to hope that each new smell would take them in a different direction, but the trail was unfaltering.
They arrived at the Thunderpath and halted. Several monsters roared by, throwing up fountains of dirty water. The two cats hung back from the edge of the wide, gray track until there was a gap. Then they raced across the path and into ShadowClan territory.
The scent markers that lined the border made Firepaw’s paws tingle.
Graypaw halted and looked around nervously. “I always thought I’d have a few more warriors with me when I finally entered ShadowClan territory,” he confessed.
“Not afraid, are you?” Firepaw murmured.
“Aren’t you? My mother warned me about the stench of ShadowClan many times.”
“My mother never taught me such things,” Firepaw replied. But for the first time he was relieved that his fur was so wet that it clung to his body—Graypaw might not notice the way it was bristling fearfully along his spine.
The two cats prowled onward, alert to every sight and sound. Graypaw was on the lookout for ShadowClan patrols, and Firepaw for the ThunderClan party he knew must come soon.
Yellowfang’s scent trail led them steadily into the heart of ShadowClan’s hunting grounds. The woods here were gloomy, the undergrowth crowded with nettles and brambles.
“I can’t smell her,” complained Graypaw. “It’s too wet.”
“It’s there,” Firepaw assured him.
“I can smell that though,” Graypaw spat suddenly.
“What?” Firepaw hissed. He stopped, alarmed.
“Kitscent. There’s kit blood here!”
Firepaw sniffed again, seeking out the smell of ThunderClan offspring. “I smell it too,” he agreed. “And something else!” He flicked his tail down sharply, warning Graypaw to keep quiet. Then, silently, he signaled with his whiskers toward a blackened ash tree up ahead.
Graypaw twitched his ears questioningly. Firepaw gave him a tiny nod. Yellowfang was sheltering behind the wide, split trunk.
Instinctively the two cats separated, each moving toward the tree, one on either side. They crept over the soft forest floor, using all the tricks of basic training, stepping lightly, keeping their bodies low.
Then they leaped.
Yellowfang yowled with surprise as the two cats landed beside her and pinned her to the ground. She struggled free, spitting, and backed into a sheltered hollow at the base of the trunk. Firepaw and Graypaw moved forward, blocking her way out.
“I knew ThunderClan would blame me!” she hissed, her eyes flashing with all her old hostility.
“Where are the kits?” Firepaw demanded.
“We can smell their blood!” spat Graypaw. “Have you harmed them?”
“I don’t have them,” snarled Yellowfang angrily. “I’ve come to find them and take them back. I stopped because I smelled blood too. But they’re not here.”
Firepaw and Graypaw looked at one another.
“I don’t have them!” insisted Yellowfang.
“Why did you run away, then? Why did you kill Spottedleaf?” Graypaw asked the questions Firepaw couldn’t bring himself to say out loud.
“Spottedleaf is dead?” There was no mistaking the shock in Yellowfang’s voice.
Relief washed over Firepaw. “You didn’t know?” he croaked.
“How could I? I left the camp as soon as I heard the kits were missing.”
Graypaw looked suspicious, but Firepaw could hear the truth in her voice.
“I know who has taken the kits,” she continued. “I smelled his scent near the nursery.”
“Who was it?” Firepaw asked.
“Clawface—one of Brokenstar’s warriors. And as long as the kits are with ShadowClan, they’re in great danger.”
“But surely even ShadowClan wouldn’t harm kits!” Firepaw protested.
“Don’t be so sure,” spat Yellowfang. “Brokenstar intends to use them as warriors.”
“But they are only three moons old!” Graypaw gasped.
“That hasn’t stopped him before. He has been training kits as young as three moons since he became leader. At five moons he sends them out as warriors!”
“Surely they’d be too small to fight!” Firepaw protested. But in his mind’s eye he pictured the undersize ShadowClan apprentices he had seen at the Gathering. They weren’t just small; they were kits!
Yellowfang hissed scornfully, “Brokenstar doesn’t care about that. He has plenty more kits to spare, and if they run out, he can steal them from other Clans!” Her voice was filled with rage. “After all, we’re talking about a cat who killed kits from his own Clan!”
Firepaw and Graypaw were stunned.
“If he killed ShadowClan’s kits, why wasn’t he punished?” Firepaw asked at last.
“Because he lied,” growled Yellowfang. Bitterness made her voice hard. “He accused me of their murder, and ShadowClan believed him!”
Firepaw suddenly understood. “Is that why you were driven out of ShadowClan?” he asked. “You have to come back with us and tell all this to Bluestar.”
“Not before I have rescued your kits!” Yellowfang spat.
Firepaw lifted his head and sniffed the air. The rain had stopped, and the wind was dying down. The ThunderClan patrol would be well on its way. They were not safe here.
Graypaw still seemed shocked by Yellowfang’s accusation. “How could a leader kill kits from his own Clan?” he demanded.
“Brokenstar insisted on training them too hard and too young. He took two of the kits away for battle practice.” Yellowfang took a deep, wheezing breath. “They were only four moons old. They were already dead when he brought them back to me. They bore the scratches and bites of a full warrior, not of apprentices. He must have fought them himself. There was nothing I could do. When their mother came to see them, Brokenstar was with me. He said that he had found me standing over their dead bodies.” Her voice cracked and she looked away.
“Why didn’t you tell her it was Brokenstar?” Firepaw asked in disbelief.
Yellowfang shook her head. “I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
The old she-cat hesitated. When she spoke, her voice was heavy with regret. “Brokenstar is ShadowClan’s leader. Noble Raggedstar was his father. His word is law.”
Firepaw looked away and the three cats sat in silence for a moment. Then Firepaw meowed, “We’ll rescue the kits together. Tonight. But we can’t stay here. I can smell the ThunderClan patrol coming.” He paused. “If Tigerclaw is with them, Yellowfang doesn’t stand a chance. He’ll kill her before we can explain.”
Yellowfang looked at him, alert and determined again. “There’s peat this way; it’ll be wet after the rain,” she told him. “Our scents will be disguised there.”
She leaped into a clump of ferns and Firepaw and Graypaw quickly followed her. They could hear the rustling of undergrowth in the distance now. It was no longer the wind that disturbed the bushes, but an approaching patrol, no doubt hungry for revenge and fired up by Tigerclaw’s lies.
An eerie stillness settled over the woods, and a thin fog was beginning to gather between the tree trunks. Firepaw shook the droplets off his coat and impatiently pulled a burr off his chest.
Yellowfang led them onward. The ground grew soggier, and their paws began to sink into the soft peat. The musty smell choked Firepaw’s nostrils, but at least it would mask their own trail. Behind them, the noise of cats grew louder.
“Quick, under here,” Yellowfang urged, ducking under a broad-leaved bush. The three cats crouched beneath it, drawing in their tails. Firepaw kept as still as he could, trying to ignore the rank wetness of the ground seeping into his belly fur, and listening to the rustling of the ThunderClan patrol as it came nearer and nearer.