“Who? Ravenpaw? Why not? We made it this far!” meowed Graystripe. “Don’t underestimate him. Remember the time Tigerclaw sent him to Snakerocks? He came back with an adder!”
Fireheart purred at the memory as Graystripe leaped across the track and through the hedge on the far side. Fireheart chased after him, quickening his pace to match his friend step for step.
A dog barked furiously from the Twoleg nest, but its vicious snarling soon faded into the distance. The temperature plunged as the sun set, and frost began to form on the grass.
“Should we keep going?” asked Graystripe. “What if the trail takes us to Highstones after all? Nightpelt will definitely be there by now.”
Fireheart lifted his nose and sniffed the browning fronds of some ferns. The smell of WindClan, sour with fear, pricked at him. “We’d better keep going,” he meowed. “We’ll stop when we have to.”
The cold breeze carried another odor to Fireheart’s nose—there was a Thunderpath nearby. Graystripe screwed up his face. He’d smelled it too. The warriors exchanged a look of dismay, but pushed on. The stench grew stronger and stronger until they could hear the roar of Thunderpath monsters in the distance. By the time they reached the hedge that ran alongside the wide gray path, it was hard to make out the WindClan trail at all.
Graystripe stopped and looked around, uncertainty showing in his eyes. But Fireheart could just make out the fear-scent. He crept through the shadows beside the hedge until he reached a place where the hedge was less thick. “They sheltered here,” Fireheart meowed, imagining the terrified WindClan cats staring through the hedge at the Thunderpath.
“This was probably the first time most of them had seen the Thunderpath,” Graystripe remarked as he joined Fireheart by the hedge.
Fireheart looked at his friend in surprise. He had never met a WindClan cat—they had been driven out of their territory almost as soon as he had become an apprentice. “Didn’t they patrol their borders?” he asked, puzzled.
“You’ve seen their territory—it’s pretty wild and barren, and the prey’s not easy to catch. I guess they never thought any of the other Clans would bother hunting there. After all, RiverClan has their river, and, in a good year, our forests are filled with prey, so no cat needs their skinny rabbits.”
A monster roared past on the other side of the hedge, its night eyes glaring. Fireheart and Graystripe flinched as the wind buffeted their fur even through the wall of leaves. When the noise had faded away, they sat up cautiously and sniffed around the roots of the hedge.
“The trail seems to lead under here.” Fireheart squeezed onto the grass verge that lay along the Thunderpath. Graystripe scrabbled through behind him.
But on the other side of the hedge the scent trail stopped abruptly.
“They must have either doubled back or crossed the Thunderpath,” Fireheart meowed. “You look around here, and I’ll check out the other side.” He fought to keep his voice calm, but exhaustion was making him desperate. Surely they couldn’t have lost the trail now, after coming so far?
Chapter 5
Fireheart waited until the only sound he could hear was the pounding of blood in his ears. Then he padded to the edge of the Thunderpath. It stretched ahead of him, wide and foul-smelling, but silent. Fireheart darted out. The ground beneath his paws felt cold and smooth. He didn’t stop until he reached the grass on the other side.
The air here was tainted by the acrid smell of the Thunderpath and its monsters, so Fireheart headed toward the hedge. Still, there was no trace of the WindClan cats. His heart sank.
Suddenly a monster tore past, making Fireheart leap into the air with terror. He scrambled underneath the hedge and crouched, trembling, frantically wondering what to do next.
Then he smelled it: the faintest trace carried on the wind that the monster had stirred up. WindClan had been here!
Fireheart called as loudly as he could to Graystripe. There was a pause, then the sound of paws pounding across the Thunderpath to join him.
“Have you found it?” puffed his friend.
“Not sure. I got a whiff, but I can’t pinpoint it.” Fireheart pushed his way through the hedge, Graystripe right behind him. He lifted his nose toward the open field ahead of them. “Have you any idea what’s over there?”
“No,” replied Graystripe. “I shouldn’t think any Clan cat has ever been this far before.”
“Except WindClan,” muttered Fireheart darkly. Away from the confusing fumes of the Thunderpath, the trail was suddenly clear. WindClan had definitely come this way. The two cats struck out through the long grass, straight across the field.
“Fireheart!” Graystripe sounded alarmed.
“What is it?”
“Look!”
Fireheart stopped and lifted his head. He saw a Thunderpath ahead of them arching high into the air on massive stone legs, illuminated by the eyes of the monsters that moved along it. Another Thunderpath ran below, veering off into the darkness.
Graystripe nodded toward a tall thistle. “And smell this!”
Fireheart inhaled the scent. It was a fresh WindClan marker!
“They must have settled somewhere near here!” Graystripe murmured in disbelief.
A pang of excitement twisted Fireheart’s stomach. Both cats looked silently at each other for a moment. Then, without a word, they moved on toward the stinking Thunderpaths.
Graystripe spoke at last. “Why would WindClan come to a place like this?”
“I guess not even Brokenstar would want to follow them here,” Fireheart answered grimly. He stopped. A thought was nagging at him.
Graystripe paused beside him. “What is it?”
“If WindClan is hiding so near the Thunderpaths,” Fireheart meowed slowly, “they must be fairly desperate not to be found. They’re more likely to trust us if we arrive in daylight than if we creep up on them in darkness.”
“Does that mean we can rest?” asked Graystripe, sitting down heavily.
“Just until it’s light,” meowed Fireheart. “We’ll find somewhere to hide and see if we can get some sleep. Are you hungry?” Graystripe shook his head. “Me neither,” Fireheart agreed. “I don’t know if it’s those herbs or because the stench from the Thunderpath is making me feel sick.”
“Where shall we sleep?” Graystripe looked around.
Fireheart had already noticed a dark shadow in the ground up ahead. “What’s that?”
“A burrow?” Graystripe sounded puzzled. “It’s too big for a rabbit. Surely there can’t be a badger set here!”
“Let’s take a look,” Fireheart suggested.
The hole was larger than a badger set, smooth and lined with stone. Fireheart sniffed it, then put his front paws on its rim and peered cautiously inside. A stone tunnel sloped away, down into the ground. “I can feel air flowing through it,” he meowed, his voice echoing away into the shadows. “It must come up somewhere over there.” He ducked back out and pointed his nose toward the tangle of Thunderpaths.
“Is it empty?” Graystripe asked.
“Smells like it.”
“Come on then.” Graystripe led the way into the tunnel. After a few fox lengths, the slope leveled out.
Fireheart halted and sniffed the damp air. He could smell nothing but the fumes of the Thunderpath. A roaring noise rumbled overhead. Fireheart’s paws trembled as the stone floor vibrated. Was the Thunderpath above them? He fluffed out his coat against the relentless draft and felt Graystripe’s fur brush against him—his friend was circling, preparing to settle down to sleep. Fireheart crouched down and huddled beside his friend. He closed his stinging eyes and thought of the gentle forest breezes and the rustling of the leaves. Exhaustion fought briefly with a pang of longing to be at home in his den, before he gave in to the blackness that swam into his mind.