That night Fireheart dreamed again. The clear night sky stretched overhead as his dream swept him high above the forest to Fourtrees, holding him in its starry talons before dropping him down onto the Great Rock. Fireheart felt the ageless strength of the boulder beneath his paws and relished the coolness of the smooth stone on his pads, which still stung from chasing after Cloudpaw. He felt Spottedleaf coming, and with the feeling came a surge of relief that she had not abandoned him, like in his last dream.
“Fireheart.” The familiar voice whispered in his ears, and Fireheart spun around, expecting to see the medicine cat’s tortoiseshell coat glowing in the moonlight. But she was not there.
“Spottedleaf, where are you?” he called out, his heart aching with longing to see her.
“Fireheart,” the voice murmured again. “Beware an enemy who seems to sleep.”
“What do you mean?” asked Fireheart, his chest tightening. “What enemy?”
“Beware!”
Fireheart opened his eyes and jerked up his head. It was still dark inside the den and he could hear the steady breathing of the other ThunderClan warriors. He pushed himself up and weaved his way toward the entrance. As he slipped past Darkstripe, he noticed that the warrior’s ears were pricked and alert, although his eyes were closed.
Beware an enemy who seems to sleep. The warning sounded again in Fireheart’s head, but he shook the thought away. Spottedleaf didn’t need to remind him to be wary of Darkstripe. Fireheart knew very well that Darkstripe’s loyalty to ThunderClan did not necessarily mean loyalty to him. Spottedleaf’s warning had been about something else, something she feared Fireheart could not see for himself.
The clearing brought pale, silvery moonlight and a cool breeze. Fireheart sat at the edge and stared up at the stars. What could it be that Spottedleaf feared on Fireheart’s behalf? He searched his mind, going over everything that had happened to him recently—Bluestar’s recovery, Cloudpaw’s disappearance, his discovery of the sick ShadowClan cats. The ShadowClan cats! Cinderpelt said she had cured their sickness, but perhaps she hadn’t. Perhaps they only seemed better. Fireheart felt alarm pricking like fleabites at the base of his tail. Spottedleaf had been a medicine cat. She might know that the sickness was not really cured. Perhaps she was warning him that it had already spread into the ThunderClan camp. The more Fireheart thought about it, the more certain he felt that this was what his dream had meant.
Bats flitted between the trees overhead and their soundless wings seemed to fan the flames of Fireheart’s alarm. How could he have let the ShadowClan cats stay in ThunderClan territory? He had to ask Cinderpelt if she was sure she had cured their sickness. He leaped to his paws and raced silently across the clearing, through the tunnel of ferns, and into Yellowfang’s den.
He skidded to a halt, panting. Yellowfang’s rasping snores echoed from the dark crack in the rock ahead. Fireheart could hear Cinderpelt’s gentler breathing from a nest among the ferns that walled the clearing. He thrust his head into the small hollow. “Cinderpelt!” he hissed urgently.
“Is that you, Fireheart?” she mewed sleepily.
“Cinderpelt,” Fireheart hissed again, loud enough to make the gray cat open her eyes.
She squinted at him, then slowly rolled onto her belly and lifted her head. “What is it?” she asked, frowning.
“Are you certain that the ShadowClan cats are really cured?” Fireheart demanded. He kept his voice low, even though he knew Yellowfang would not be able to hear him from inside her den.
Cinderpelt blinked in confusion. “You woke me up to ask me that? I told you yesterday, they’re getting better.”
“But they’re still sick?”
“Well, yes,” Cinderpelt admitted. “But not nearly as sick as they were.”
“And what about you? Do you have any signs of the sickness? Have any of our cats come to you with fever or pain?”
Cinderpelt yawned and stretched. “I’m fine,” she mewed. “The ShadowClan cats are fine. ThunderClan is fine.” She shook her head wearily. “Everybody’s fine! What in StarClan is worrying you?”
“I had a dream,” Fireheart explained uncomfortably. “Spottedleaf came and told me to beware an enemy who seems to sleep. I think she means the sickness.”
Cinderpelt snorted. “The dream was probably warning you not to go waking poor old Cinderpelt, who’s had a really long day, or you might get your whiskers pulled!”
Fireheart realized she looked exhausted. She must have been even busier than usual lately, carrying out her duties in the camp as well as caring for Littlecloud and Whitethroat. “I’m sorry,” he meowed. “But I think the ShadowClan cats have to leave.”
Cinderpelt opened her eyes fully for the first time. “You said they could stay till they were completely better,” she reminded him. “Have you changed your mind because of this dream?”
“Spottedleaf has been right before,” Fireheart answered. “I can’t take the risk of letting them stay.”
Cinderpelt stared at him wordlessly for a moment, then mewed, “Let me speak to them.”
Fireheart nodded. “But you must do it tomorrow,” he insisted.
Cinderpelt rested her chin on her front paws. “I’ll tell them,” she promised. “But what if your dream was wrong? If ShadowClan is as riddled with the sickness as they say it is, you could be sending these cats to their deaths.”
Fireheart felt his breath catch in his chest, but he knew he had to protect his own Clan. “You can show them how to make the healing mixture, can’t you?” he suggested.
Cinderpelt nodded.
“Okay,” Fireheart went on. “If you do that, they’ll be able to take care of themselves, maybe even help their Clanmates.” The thought that he was not totally abandoning the desperate ShadowClan cats came as a relief, but he still felt the need to explain why he was turning them away. “Cinderpelt, I have to listen to Spottedleaf…” A hard lump of sadness choked him into silence. The scent of ferns around him made the memory of the medicine cat even sharper, for this was where she had lived and worked.
“You talk about her as if she is still alive,” murmured Cinderpelt, closing her eyes. “Why can’t you let her rest with StarClan? I know she was special to you, but remember what Yellowfang said to me when I couldn’t stop thinking about Silverstream: Put your energy into today. Stop worrying about the past.”
“What’s wrong with remembering Spottedleaf?” Fireheart protested.
“Because while you’re dreaming about her, there’s another cat—a living one—right under your nose whom you should be thinking about instead.”
Fireheart stared at Cinderpelt, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“Haven’t you noticed?”
“Noticed what?”
Cinderpelt opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Fireheart, every cat in the Clan can see that Sandstorm is very, very fond of you!”
Fireheart felt a hot flush spread through his fur and he started to protest, but Cinderpelt ignored him. “Now go away and let me rest,” she muttered, resting her chin on her paws once more. “I’ll tell Littlecloud and Whitethroat to leave tomorrow, I promise.”
By the time Fireheart reached the fern tunnel he could hear Cinderpelt’s gentle snoring mingling with the steady rasps of Yellowfang. His mind was still reeling as he padded into the clearing. He knew Sandstorm liked and respected him, far more than he would ever have expected when he first joined the Clan, but it had never occurred to him that she felt anything stronger than friendship for him. Suddenly he pictured the soft sparkle in her pale green eyes when she had licked his stinging paws, and his fur began to prickle with a sensation he had not felt before.