Lionblaze looked up to see a WindClan patrol appearing over the shoulder of the hill. Tornear, the cat who had spoken, was in the lead, followed by Crowfeather, Whitetail, and Heathertail.
Meeting Heathertail’s gaze, Lionblaze saw nothing but cold contempt in the eyes of the cat who had once been his friend—and even more than that. Bitter regret surged through him. As he looked back, those times had been the happiest and easiest of his life, even though he had broken the warrior code to meet Heathertail in the tunnels beneath the forest. Now she looked as if she would have killed him for a couple of mousetails; Lionblaze shuddered as he pictured his own body lying in the stream.
“Greetings, Tornear.” Firestar dipped his head as the WindClan patrol approached.
“What are you doing here?” Tornear sounded wary but not hostile, though Crowfeather’s neck fur was bristling and Whitetail had unsheathed her claws.
“I need to speak with Onestar,” Firestar explained. “May we visit your camp?”
Tornear hesitated, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, then gave a brusque nod. “Very well, but we’ll escort you. And you’d better not start anything.”
“We only want to talk,” Firestar promised.
Taking the lead, Tornear headed farther up the hill in the direction of the WindClan camp. Crowfeather and Whitetail flanked the ThunderClan patrol on either side, while Heathertail brought up the rear. Lionblaze was acutely conscious of her, padding just behind him, and felt her gaze pierce him like a thorn.
At last Tornear led them up the long slope toward the circle of gorse bushes that surrounded the WindClan camp. Pushing through the thorns, Lionblaze paused to look down. It was a bleak place: a wide hollow of rough moorland grass where stones poked up through the thin soil. Twisted thornbushes gave the only shelter, except for the disused badgers’ set that was now the elders’ den.
Lionblaze spotted Onestar sitting near the middle of the hollow, talking to Barkface, the WindClan medicine cat. A few other WindClan cats—including the deputy, Ashfoot, and Crowfeather’s son, Breezepelt—stood around listening.
Lionblaze’s paws pricked with curiosity as he recognized the urgency in Barkface’s stance and expression; Lionblaze couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it looked as though he was sharing grave news with his Clan leader.
What’s all that about? Lionblaze wondered. They can’t know anything about Ashfur!
Onestar glanced up as Tornear raced down the slope to announce the visitors. Seeing Firestar and the others, he hesitated for a few heartbeats, then spoke quickly to Barkface. The medicine cat nodded, and at last Onestar signaled with his tail to let Firestar bring his warriors down into the camp.
“Greetings, Onestar.” Firestar halted in front of the WindClan leader and bowed his head. “Thank you for allowing us to talk to you.”
The look Onestar gave to Firestar showed none of their old friendship. “Say what you have to say,” he mewed cautiously.
His edgy tone made Lionblaze wonder if all was well in WindClan. Maybe there’s something he doesn’t want us to know about. Glancing around, he saw that all the WindClan cats looked skinny and underfed, but that was just as usual for WindClan.
“I’d like to speak to you in private,” Firestar began.
Onestar’s neck fur rose and he shook his head. “Anything you have to say can be said in front of my Clanmates.”
While he was speaking, Ashfoot padded up and stood by her leader’s side. She said nothing, just surveyed the ThunderClan cats with calm, clear eyes.
“Well?” Onestar prompted.
“If that’s how you want it.” Lionblaze’s belly churned as Firestar continued: “On the night of the Gathering, we found Ashfur’s body in the stream that marks our border. There was a gash in his throat; we think a cat killed him.”
Instantly the WindClan warriors began to bristle, and Breezepelt let out an indignant yowl.
Onestar lashed his tail and dug his claws hard into the ground. His eyes blazed with anger. “How dare you assume we had anything to do with it?” he hissed. “We have nothing to gain from killing one of your warriors.”
“None of us had any quarrel with Ashfur,” Whitetail put in.
“This Clan is loyal to the warrior code,” Crowfeather growled, his lip curling in a snarl.
Lionblaze braced himself, ready for the fight he was sure would break out at any moment. But Firestar remained calm; not even his tail-tip twitched.
“No cat is accusing you,” he insisted. “We came to ask if you saw anything on the border that night.”
“What, like one of my warriors killing Ashfur?” Onestar’s fur was still fluffed up with anger. “Look to your own Clanmates first, Firestar. Question their loyalty to the warrior code, not ours.”
Lionblaze felt the fur rising on his neck and shoulders; Brackenfur and Sorreltail were bristling, too, while Brambleclaw flexed his claws in and out at the veiled insult. So what if there are cats of mixed blood in ThunderClan? Lionblaze thought fiercely. We’re all loyal. He pictured Ashfur’s body again, soaked and limp. All except one.
He spotted Heathertail standing off to one side, her gaze fixed on him. She seemed to be daring him to strike out so that she would have an excuse to jump on him and sink her claws into his fur. Breezepelt had padded so close to her that their pelts were brushing, and he met Lionblaze’s stare with a challenge in his eyes. Heathertail is mine now, he seemed to be saying.
You’re welcome to her, Lionblaze glared back.
“Then you saw nothing?” Firestar pressed; his voice had hardened, insisting on an answer.
“Nothing.” Onestar spat out the word like a piece of crow-food. “Now get out of our territory. Ashfoot, take a couple of warriors and escort them to the border.”
His deputy gave him a brisk nod and waved her tail to beckon Tornear and Breezepelt, who padded up to the ThunderClan patrol with truculent stares.
Firestar dipped his head toward the WindClan leader. “Thank you, Onestar. If you learn anything more, will you please send us a message?”
Onestar didn’t reply. Following Firestar’s lead, Lionblaze tried to stay dignified as he and the others were herded up the side of the hollow and through the barrier of gorse bushes onto the open moor.
None of the WindClan cats spoke as they conducted Firestar’s patrol back to the border. Ashfoot set a brisk pace, but Lionblaze would have liked to go racing ahead, to return to the woods, away from the cold eyes of these hostile cats. Yet there was no safety in the woods, either—nowhere he could hide from the death of Ashfur and all it meant for his Clan.
On the hillside above the stream, Ashfoot halted. “You can go back to the camp,” she ordered Breezepelt and Tornear. “I’ll see them the rest of the way.”
“Why?” Breezepelt demanded.
“You’re needed for a hunting patrol,” the WindClan deputy replied. “Or do you think the rabbits will come running into the camp on their own?”
Breezepelt let out an annoyed hiss, and Tornear looked uneasy, stopping once to glance back as both cats climbed to the top of the hill and vanished over it in the direction of the camp.
Ashfoot silently watched until they were out of sight, then turned to Firestar with a sigh. “I wanted to talk to you alone, Firestar. There’s something I have to tell you.”
Lionblaze’s belly lurched. Had Ashfoot been by the stream that night? Could she put a name to the cat whose teeth had torn out Ashfur’s life? But the WindClan deputy looked too calm for a cat who had been a witness to murder.
“Go on,” Firestar meowed.
“A few sunrises ago,” Ashfoot continued, “I was leading the dawn patrol along the stream when I spotted Sol—you remember, the cat who took over ShadowClan for a while?”