“You spoke to Graystripe? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine,” Fireheart purred. “He swims like a fish now.”
“You’re kidding!” mewed Cinderpelt. “I’d never have expected that.”
“Me neither,” Fireheart agreed, then stopped, embarrassed, when his belly growled with hunger.
“Go and eat,” Cinderpelt ordered. “You’d better hurry up before Yellowfang demolishes the entire pile.”
Fireheart leaned down and licked Cinderpelt’s ears. “See you later,” he mewed.
Yellowfang had left him the choice of squirrel or a pigeon. Fireheart took the pigeon and looked around the clearing, wondering where to eat it. He sensed Sandstorm watching him, her slender body stretched out and her tail neatly curled over her hind legs.
Fireheart felt his heart begin to beat faster. Suddenly it didn’t matter that she wasn’t tortoiseshell, and that her eyes were pale green, not amber. Fireheart looked at the pale ginger warrior, the pigeon hanging limply from his jaws, and remembered what Cinderpelt had told him: live in the present, let go of the past. He knew Spottedleaf would always remain in his heart, but he couldn’t deny the way the fur tingled along his spine at the sight of Sandstorm. He padded across the clearing to join her. As he laid his pigeon beside her and started to eat, he heard her begin to purr.
Suddenly a terrible caterwauling made Fireheart jerk up his head. Sandstorm scrambled to her paws as Mousefur and Thornpaw thundered into the clearing. Their fur was matted with blood, and Thornpaw was limping badly.
Fireheart swallowed his mouthful quickly and heaved himself up. “What happened? Where’s Runningwind?”
The other cats gathered behind him, hissing with fear, their fur bristling as they prepared for trouble.
“I don’t know. We were attacked,” panted Mousefur.
“By who?” Fireheart demanded.
Mousefur shook her head. “We couldn’t see. We were in the shadows.”
“But what about their scent?”
“Too near the Thunderpath. Couldn’t tell,” answered Thornpaw, his breath coming in short gasps.
Fireheart looked at the apprentice, who was swaying unsteadily on his paws. “Go and see Yellowfang,” he ordered. “Whitestorm!” he called to the white warrior who was already hurrying from Bluestar’s den. “I want you to come with us.” He turned to Mousefur. “Lead us to where this happened.”
Sandstorm and Dustpelt looked expectantly at Fireheart, waiting to receive orders. “You two stay here and guard the camp,” he meowed. “This might be a trap to lure our warriors away. It’s happened before.” With Bluestar on her last life, Fireheart knew he had to leave the camp well protected.
He charged out of the camp with Whitestorm at his side and Mousefur panting behind them. Together they scrambled up the ravine and raced into the forest.
Fireheart slowed his pace when he saw that Mousefur was struggling to keep up. “Quick as you can,” he urged. He knew she must be in pain after the fight, but they had to find Runningwind. He had a horrible feeling that this attack must have something to do with ShadowClan. Littlecloud and Whitethroat had been in ThunderClan territory so recently. Had they tricked him into leading his Clan into danger after all? He headed instinctively toward the Thunderpath.
“No,” called Mousefur. “It’s this way.” She brushed past him, quickening her pace, and veered toward Fourtrees. Fireheart and Whitestorm sped after her.
As they raced through the trees, Fireheart realized he had been this way before. This was the trail Littlecloud and Whitethroat had followed after Bluestar had sent them away the first time. Had a ShadowClan raiding party come through the stone tunnel under the Thunderpath?
Mousefur skidded to a halt between two towering ash trees. The Thunderpath droned in the distance, its foul stench drifting through the undergrowth. Ahead, Fireheart saw Runningwind’s lean brown body lying on the ground, ominously still. A black-and-white tom was bending over the unmoving warrior. With a jolt, Fireheart realized that it was Whitethroat.
The ShadowClan warrior’s eyes stretched wide as he saw the approaching cats. He began to back away from Runningwind, his legs stumbling with shock. “He’s dead!” he wailed.
Fireheart’s ears flattened as rage pulsed through him. Was this how ShadowClan warriors repaid another Clan’s kindness? Without stopping to see what Whitestorm and Mousefur were doing, he let out a furious screech and flung himself at Whitethroat, who shrank away, hissing. Fireheart knocked the ShadowClan warrior backward, and Whitethroat landed limply on the ground, offering no resistance as Fireheart loomed over him.
Fireheart stared down, confused, as his enemy crouched helplessly beneath him, his eyes narrowed into terrified slits. While he hesitated, Whitethroat darted away and bolted into a tangle of brambles. Fireheart chased after him, ignoring the thorns that tore at his fur. The ShadowClan warrior must be heading for the stone tunnel. He pushed onward and caught a glimpse of the tip of Whitethroat’s tail as the tom struggled out of the brambles onto the grass verge.
Fireheart emerged a moment later and saw Whitethroat poised on the edge of the Thunderpath. Fireheart hurtled toward him, expecting Whitethroat to flee to the tunnel, but Whitethroat took one look at the ThunderClan warrior and raced straight onto the Thunderpath.
Fireheart watched in horror as the terrified cat scrambled blindly across the hard gray surface. A deafening roar sounded in his ears. Fireheart shrank back, screwing up his face as the foul-smelling wind of a monster blasted his fur. When it had passed, he blinked open his eyes and shook the grit from his ear fur. A ragged shape was lying motionless on the Thunderpath. The monster had hit Whitethroat.
For a long heartbeat Fireheart froze, flooded by dreadful memories of Cinderpelt’s accident. Then he saw Whitethroat stir. Fireheart couldn’t leave any cat out there. Not even a ShadowClan enemy that had killed one of ThunderClan’s bravest warriors. He peered up and down the Thunderpath. There were no monsters in sight. He scurried across to where Whitethroat lay. The tom looked smaller than ever, his white chest glistening with blood like fire in the rays of the slowly sinking sun.
Fireheart knew that moving the cat would only hasten his death. Trembling with shock, he looked down at the warrior Cinderpelt had taken such trouble to care for, in secret from the rest of her Clan. “Why did you attack our patrol?” he whispered.
He leaned down as Whitethroat opened his mouth to speak, but the warrior’s gurgling mew was drowned as a monster roared past terrifyingly close, sending a wave of fumes and grit over the two cats. Fireheart sank his claws as well as he could into the unyielding surface and crouched closer to the ShadowClan warrior.
Whitethroat opened his mouth again, releasing a thin trickle of blood. He swallowed painfully, sending a juddering spasm the length of his body. But before he could speak, his eyes focused on a point over Fireheart’s shoulder, back toward the woods of ThunderClan territory. Fireheart watched as Whitethroat’s eyes glittered with fear before they glazed over for the last time.
He spun around to see what had filled Whitethroat’s final moments with such terror. His heart lurched when he saw who stood at the edge of the Thunderpath—the dark warrior who had prowled through so many of his dreams.
Tigerclaw.
Chapter 16
Fireheart’s claws felt rooted to the Thunderpath as he stared at the cat that had cast a menacing shadow over his life for so long. There was no need for any pretense of shared Clan loyalty now. Tigerclaw was an outcast, the enemy of all cats who followed the warrior code.
The fiery evening sun bled through the tips of the trees, its orange rays glowing on the dark pelt of the massive tabby. Across the silence of the deserted Thunderpath, Tigerclaw sneered at Fireheart.