“You know that Bluestar is unhappy about the loss of prey,” Fireheart began.
Instantly the fur on the WindClan leader’s shoulders began to bristle. “WindClan did not steal prey from ThunderClan!” he snapped.
“We’ve found scattered remains too,” Deadfoot asserted, limping forward and thrusting his muzzle close to Fireheart’s. “Are you sure ThunderClan haven’t been stealing prey from us?”
Fireheart forced himself not to flinch. “No!” he protested. “I don’t believe any cats have stolen prey.”
“What happened to it, then?” Onewhisker asked.
“I think there’s a dog living in the forest. We’ve smelled it, and found its dung.”
“A dog!” Onewhisker echoed. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What, loose from its Twolegs?”
“I’m certain of it,” Fireheart meowed.
“Could be…” mewed Tallstar. To Fireheart’s relief, the fur on his shoulders was lying flat again. “We’ve certainly scented dog in our territory recently, but then, they’re always up here with their Twolegs.” Sounding more confident, he went on: “Yes, it could be a dog killing the rabbits. I’ll see that our patrols keep a lookout.”
“But you didn’t come all this way to tell us that,” Deadfoot meowed. “So what’s on your mind, Fireheart?”
Fireheart took a deep breath. He didn’t want to betray Bluestar by telling Tallstar of her plans to attack—but he wanted to suggest to the WindClan leader that future battle could be avoided if he would just talk to Bluestar about the prey theft.
“I can’t convince Bluestar about the dog,” he explained. “She feels threatened by WindClan, and sooner or later this will all end in battle unless we can do something.” He could not tell the WindClan warriors how much sooner the battle would take place if he failed now. “Cats will be injured—killed, even—for nothing.”
“Then what do you expect me to do?” Tallstar asked testily. “She’s your leader, Fireheart. This is your problem.”
Fireheart dared to take a couple of steps toward the WindClan leader. “I’ve come to ask you to hold a meeting with Bluestar. If you could discuss things in private, you might be able to make peace.”
“Bluestar wants a meeting?” It was Deadfoot who spoke, sounding disbelieving. “Last time we saw her, she looked as if she would like to claw our throats out.”
“This isn’t Bluestar’s idea—it’s mine,” Fireheart confessed.
All three WindClan cats stared at him. Finally it was Onewhisker who broke the silence. “Does that mean you’re going behind your leader’s back?”
“It’s for the good of both our Clans,” he insisted.
He half expected to be chased out of the camp, but to his relief Tallstar was looking thoughtful. “I’d certainly rather talk than fight,” the leader meowed, “but how are we going to arrange it? How willing to listen will she be if she knows that you have talked to us first, without her knowledge?” Not waiting for Fireheart to reply, he went on: “Perhaps it would be best if I sent a messenger to ask her to meet me at Fourtrees—but can you guarantee the safety of a WindClan cat on ThunderClan territory?”
Fireheart was silent, which was answer in itself.
Tallstar shrugged. “I’m sorry, Fireheart. I won’t risk one of my warriors. If Bluestar decides that she’s willing to talk, she knows where to find us. Onewhisker, you’d better take Fireheart back to Fourtrees. “
“Wait!” Fireheart protested. An idea had just slid into his mind—or perhaps StarClan had sent it to him. “I know what you can do.”
Tallstar’s eyes gleamed in the gathering darkness. “What?”
“Do you know the cat Ravenpaw? He’s a loner who lives on a farm on the edge of your territory, near Highstones. He sheltered us on the journey to bring you home—remember?”
“I know him,” meowed Onewhisker. “He’s a decent cat, even if he’s not a warrior. What about him?”
Fireheart turned to him eagerly. “He could take the message for you. And Bluestar has given him permission to enter ThunderClan territory—as he used to be a ThunderClan cat.”
Tallstar shifted in his nest of heather. “That sounds like it might work. What do you think, Deadfoot?”
A reluctant rumble of agreement came from the deputy.
“Then go!” Fireheart urged Onewhisker, realizing once again how quickly time was running out. “Go now. Tell him to ask Bluestar to meet Tallstar at dawn, at Fourtrees.” There was barely enough time for Onewhisker to find Ravenpaw, and for Ravenpaw to carry the message all the way to the ThunderClan camp before Bluestar would be leaving to launch her attack. Fireheart sent a silent prayer to StarClan that Onewhisker would be able to find Ravenpaw easily on the Twoleg farm.
Onewhisker glanced at his leader, who nodded. At once the brown tabby warrior turned around and disappeared into the darkness outside the den.
Tallstar gazed at Fireheart with narrowed eyes. “Why do I think there’s something you’re not telling me?” he mewed. To Fireheart’s relief, he did not press for more answers. “It’s time for you to go,” he continued. “Deadfoot, escort him off our territory. And Fireheart—I’ll be at Fourtrees at dawn, but that’s all I can do. If Bluestar wants peace, she must be there.”
“Fourtrees at dawn,” Fireheart repeated, and followed the deputy out.
Fireheart made good time back to Fourtrees and onto his own territory. He had not eaten since before the Gathering on the previous night; his belly ached with hunger, and he was beginning to feel shaky on his paws, so he forced himself to stop and hunt.
He paused to listen when he reached the stream, and his ears caught the sound of a vole scuffling among the reeds at the water’s edge. Lifting his head to taste the air, Fireheart pinpointed the creature more by scent than sight. He pounced, and his claws sank into his prey. Gulping it down, he felt strength flow back into him, and he headed for his own camp with renewed speed. The moon had risen above the trees by the time he slipped down the ravine, reminding Fireheart that he had until moonset to choose warriors for Bluestar’s planned attack. His optimism was returning. Tallstar had agreed to talk; surely Bluestar would realize that war with WindClan was unnecessary.
He had almost reached the entrance to the clearing when he heard a cat call his name. He turned to see Whitestorm following him down the ravine at the head of the evening patrol. Brightpaw, Cloudpaw, and Frostfur were with him.
“Everything quiet?” Fireheart asked as Whitestorm came up to him.
“Quiet as a sleeping kit,” the white warrior replied. “No sign of the dog. Maybe its Twolegs found it after all.”
“Maybe,” Fireheart meowed. Suddenly he decided to tell Whitestorm where he had been. He wanted at least one other warrior to share the hope that they might not have to go into battle against WindClan. “Actually, Whitestorm, I wanted a word with you about that. Can you give me a moment?”
“Of course—if you don’t mind my eating while I listen.”
Whitestorm sent the two apprentices to go take prey for themselves; they bounded over to the pile of fresh-kill and fell into a friendly scuffle over a magpie. Frostfur padded off to the warriors’ den with a vole, while Whitestorm chose a squirrel for himself and carried it over to a quiet corner by the newly sprouting nettle patch.
Fireheart followed him. “Whitestorm, Bluestar sent for me this morning…” Quietly he told the older warrior the whole story, from Bluestar’s obsessive belief that WindClan had been stealing prey and her order to attack, to Fireheart’s decision to ask WindClan for a meeting.