Doubt flickered through Fireheart at Cinderpelt’s confident words. Bluestar was so weak. Who else had the strength to replace her if she…Fireheart winced. He knew the Clan’s deep fear of the massive tom and his rogue cats. They might prefer to accept Tigerclaw as their leader rather than allow ThunderClan to be destroyed fighting him.
“Do you really believe that?” he pressed.
The noise of Yellowfang’s pawsteps as she returned from her den startled them, and all three cats turned. A wad of cobwebs dangled from the old medicine cat’s jaws. She dropped them beside Cinderpelt and meowed, “Believe what?”
“That Tigerclaw will never become Clan leader,” Cinderpelt explained.
Yellowfang’s eyes darkened and she didn’t speak for several long heartbeats. “I think Tigerclaw has the strength of ambition to become whatever he wants to be,” she meowed at last.
Chapter 18
“Not as long as Fireheart is alive,” Cinderpelt argued.
Fireheart felt warmed by her faith in him and was about to respond when Thornpaw complained, his words muffled, “It’s still bleeding you know!”
“Not for long,” answered Yellowfang briskly. “Here, Cinderpelt. You make use of these cobwebs while I see to Fireheart’s wounds.” She nudged the cobwebs closer to Cinderpelt and led Fireheart away to her den. “Wait here,” she ordered, and disappeared inside. She emerged with a mouthful of well-chewed herbs. “Now, where does it hurt?”
“This one’s the worst,” answered Fireheart, twisting his head to point to a bite on his shoulder.
“Right,” meowed Yellowfang. She began to rub in some of the herb mixture with a gentle paw. “Bluestar’s very shaken,” she murmured, not looking up from what she was doing.
“I know,” Fireheart agreed. “I’m going to organize more patrols at once. That may calm her.”
“It may help calm the rest of the Clan too,” Yellowfang remarked. “They’re really worried.”
“They should be.” Fireheart winced as Yellowfang pressed the herbs deep into his wound.
“How are the new apprentices coming along?” she asked, her voice deceptively casual.
Fireheart knew the old medicine cat was offering advice in her wise and indirect fashion. “I’ll speed up their training, starting at dawn,” he told her. Sorrow caught in his throat as he thought of Cloudpaw. The Clan needed him now more than ever; no matter what the white apprentice had thought of the warrior code, no cat could deny that he was a brave and skillful fighter.
Yellowfang stopped massaging his shoulder.
“Have you finished?” he meowed.
“Nearly. I’ll just put a little on those scratches; then you can go.” The old cat blinked at him with wide yellow eyes. “Have courage, young Fireheart. These are dark times for ThunderClan, but no cat could do more than you have.” As she spoke, there was a low rumble of thunder in the distance, a hint of menace that sent a chill through Fireheart’s fur in spite of the medicine cat’s encouragement.
When he returned to the main clearing, his wounds numbed by Yellowfang’s healing herbs, Fireheart was surprised to find many of the cats still awake. Bluestar, Whitestorm, and Mousefur crouched silently beside Runningwind’s body, their grief made plain in their lowered heads and tense shoulders. The other cats lay in small groups, their eyes blinking in the shadows and their ears twitching nervously as they listened to the noises of the forest.
Fireheart lay down at the edge of the clearing. The stifling air made his fur prickle. The whole forest seemed to be waiting for the storm to break. A shadow moved near the edge of the clearing. Fireheart swung his head around. It was Darkstripe.
Fireheart beckoned the striped warrior closer with his tail. Darkstripe slowly padded toward him. “I want you to take out a second patrol as soon as the dawn patrol returns tomorrow,” Fireheart meowed. “From now on there will be three extra patrols every day, and all patrols will have three warriors.”
Darkstripe looked coolly at Fireheart. “But I’m taking Fernpaw out training tomorrow morning.”
Fireheart’s fur prickled with irritation. “Then take her with you,” he snapped. “It’ll be good experience. We need to speed up apprentice training anyway.”
Darkstripe’s ears flicked, but his gaze remained steady. “Yes, deputy,” he murmured, his eyes glittering.
Fireheart wearily pushed his way into Bluestar’s den. Even though it was not yet sunhigh, he’d been out on patrol twice already that day. And he would be taking Whitestorm’s apprentice, Brightpaw, out hunting this afternoon. The days since Runningwind’s death had been busy. All the warriors and apprentices were exhausted trying to keep up with the new patrols. With Willowpelt and Goldenflower in the nursery, Whitestorm reluctant to leave his leader’s side, Cloudpaw gone, and Runningwind dead, Fireheart barely had time to eat and sleep.
Bluestar crouched in her nest, her eyes half-closed, and for a moment Fireheart wondered if she had caught the ShadowClan sickness. Her fur was even more matted, and she sat with the stillness of a cat who could no longer care for itself, but waited silently for death.
“Bluestar,” Fireheart quietly called her name.
The old she-cat turned her head slowly toward him.
“We’ve been patrolling the forest constantly,” he reported. “There’s been no sign of Tigerclaw and his rogues.”
Bluestar looked away without answering. Fireheart paused, wondering whether to say more, but Bluestar had drawn her paws farther under her chest and closed her eyes. Disheartened, Fireheart dipped his head and backed out of the cave.
The sunlit clearing looked so peaceful that it was hard to believe the Clan faced any dangers. Brackenfur was playing with Willowpelt’s kits outside the nursery, flicking his tail for them to chase, while Whitestorm rested in the shade beneath the Highrock. Only the fact that the white warrior’s ears were pricked toward Bluestar’s den betrayed the strain the Clan was under.
Fireheart stared unenthusiastically toward the growing pile of fresh-kill. His belly felt tight and hollow, but he couldn’t imagine being able to swallow anything. He spotted Sandstorm eating a piece of fresh-kill. The sight of her sleek orange pelt was an unexpected pleasure, and Fireheart suddenly couldn’t help thinking how much he’d enjoy her company while he was out hunting with Brightpaw. The thought restored Fireheart’s appetite, and his belly growled with anticipation of the chase. He would leave the fresh-kill for the others to share.
At that moment Brightpaw trotted into the camp behind Mousefur, Frostfur, and Halftail. They were bringing water-soaked moss for the queens and elders. Brightpaw carried her dripping bundle toward Bluestar’s den under Whitestorm’s appreciative gaze.
Fireheart called across to Sandstorm. “You promised you’d catch us a rabbit whenever I asked. You up for coming hunting with Brightpaw and me?”
Sandstorm looked up. Her green eyes shone with an unspoken message that made Fireheart’s pelt glow more warmly than the rays of the sun ever could. “Okay,” she called back, and quickly gulped down her last mouthful of food. Still licking her lips, she trotted toward Fireheart.
They waited side by side for Brightpaw, and although their pelts barely touched, Fireheart could feel his fur tingle.
“Are you ready to go hunting?” Fireheart asked Brightpaw as soon as she emerged from Bluestar’s den.
“Now?” mewed Brightpaw, surprised.
“I know it’s not sunhigh yet, but we can leave now if you’re not too tired.”
Brightpaw shook her head and hurried after them as Fireheart and Sandstorm raced through the gorse tunnel, out into the forest.