There was a kind of relief in Runningnose’s voice as he told the story. Fireheart guessed how relieved the medicine cat must have felt to be able to share the secret at last.
“The Clan cats thought the sickness was so bad it took all of Nightstar’s lives at once,” Runningnose continued. “They were scared—very scared. They had never been in greater need of a strong leader.”
So they accepted Tigerstar without question. Fireheart added what the medicine cat had not said. But there was no need for Runningnose to voice his doubts about his new leader. “Has Tigerstar said anything about attacking ThunderClan?” Fireheart asked hesitantly.
Runningnose let out a purr of amusement. “Do you really expect me to answer that? If he was planning anything, I’d be betraying my Clan if I told you. As far as I know, you haven’t anything to worry about, but whether you believe me or not is up to you.”
Fireheart discovered that he believed him—at least, he believed that Runningnose knew nothing about any plans that Tigerstar might be making. Whether the medicine cat was right was another question altogether.
“Fireheart!” The voice was Cinderpelt’s. She had risen to her paws and was gazing across the hollow to the swell of moorland beyond. This was the WindClan territory that the medicine cats would have to cross to reach Highstones for the ceremony. “Are you and Runningnose going to sit there gossiping all day like a couple of elders?”
Her paws worked impatiently in the grass. Littlecloud was standing beside her, his head raised and his eyes shining eagerly.
“All right,” Runningnose meowed, getting up and going to join them. “We’ve got all day, you know. Highstones isn’t going anywhere.”
The four cats padded around the top of the hollow until they reached the edge of the windswept moor. Cinderpelt paused and touched noses with Fireheart. “I’ll be fine from here,” she meowed. “Thanks for coming this far. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
“Take care,” Fireheart replied.
He had stood here once before and said good-bye to Cinderpelt when she first went to face the mysteries of the Moonstone. A shiver ran through his fur as he thought of her plunging down through the underground tunnels to the glittering crystal for her silent communion with StarClan. He said nothing more, only gave the gray she-cat’s ear a swift lick in farewell, and stood watching as she limped across the moorland turf with the two ShadowClan cats.
Chapter 6
The forest was dark. No moon shone down that night, and when Fireheart looked up he could see nothing but a faint pattern of branches against the sky. The trees looked taller than he remembered, hemming him in. Brambles and ivy tangled around his paws.
“Spottedleaf!” he mewed. “Spottedleaf, where are you?”
There was no answer to his cries, only the rush of water from somewhere ahead of him. He was afraid of stepping forward and finding nothing but black emptiness under his paws as the raging torrent swept him down with it.
In some part of his mind Fireheart knew he was dreaming. He had lain down in the warriors’ den in the hope that he would be able to meet with Spottedleaf in sleep. When Fireheart had first come to ThunderClan, Spottedleaf had been the medicine cat, but she had been killed by one of Brokentail’s vicious followers. Now she visited Fireheart in his dreams, so that once again he could find in her gentle wisdom the answers to much that troubled him.
But now, though he searched more and more desperately in the black forest, he could not find her. “Spottedleaf!” he cried again. This was not the first time in his recent dreams that she had been invisible to him. The last time, he had only heard her voice, and he fought with the terrible fear that she was drawing away from him. “Spottedleaf, don’t leave me!” he begged.
A heavy weight landed on him from behind. Fireheart writhed on the forest floor, trying to free himself. Then the scent of another cat was in his nostrils, and he opened his eyes to find himself scuffling in his mossy bedding with Dustpelt cuffing him around the shoulders.
“What’s the matter with you?” Dustpelt growled. “No cat can get a wink of sleep with you yowling like that.”
“Leave him alone.” Sandstorm put her head up from her nest, blinking sleep from her eyes. “It was only a dream. It’s not his fault.”
“You would say that,” Dustpelt sneered. He turned his back on them and made his way out through the overhanging branches.
Fireheart sat up and began grooming scraps of moss out of his coat. Through the charred branches overhead, he could see that the sun was already up. Whitestorm must have left already with the dawn patrol; there were no other warriors sleeping in the den.
The darkness of his dream was fading, but he could not forget it. Why had the forest seemed so black and terrifying? Why had Spottedleaf not come to him, not even as a scent or the sound of her voice?
“Are you all right?” asked Sandstorm, anxiety showing in her green eyes.
Fireheart shook himself. “I’m fine,” he meowed. “Let’s go and hunt.”
The day was bright, though the chill of leaf-fall was in the air. Fireheart was relieved to see that grass and ferns were growing back thickly as the forest recovered. If only the fine weather would last! Then the growth could continue and prey would return.
He led the way up the ravine and through the forest toward Tallpines. Since the fire, most cats had avoided the stretch of territory closest to Treecutplace, where the devastation was worst. The fire had started there, and whole stretches of the forest had been reduced to nothing but gray ash, dotted with tree stumps. Fireheart wondered if there was a chance of prey there yet, but as he and Sandstorm approached the edge of Tallpines he guessed that he was going to be disappointed.
The pines, charred to tapering trunks, were still a jumble, with fallen trees caught up against others that still stood. The few remaining branches stirred uneasily in the breeze. The ground was black, and no birds sang.
“It’s useless here,” Sandstorm meowed. “Let’s go and—”
She broke off as another cat appeared through the trees, a small tabby-and-white shape stepping nervously over the debris of the fire. With a gasp of surprise Fireheart recognized his sister, Princess.
She spotted him at the same moment and bounded toward him, calling, “Fireheart! Fireheart!”
“Who’s that?” Sandstorm spat. “She’ll scare off all the prey between here and Fourtrees.”
Before Fireheart could reply, his sister came up to him. She was purring as if she would never stop, pressing her face against his and covering him with licks. “Fireheart, you’re alive!” she mewed. “I was so frightened when I saw the fire! I thought you and Cloudpaw were dead.”
“Yes, well, I’m okay,” Fireheart meowed awkwardly, giving Princess a quick lick in return and taking a step back, acutely conscious of Sandstorm’s eyes on him. “And Cloudpaw’s fine too.”
Glancing at Sandstorm, he saw that a look of disgust had appeared on the ginger warrior’s face and her fur was fluffed out. “That’s a kittypet,” she snarled. “She’s got kittypet scent all over her.”
Princess gave her a scared look and edged closer to Fireheart. “Is…is this one of your friends, Fireheart?” she stammered.
“Yes, this is Sandstorm. Sandstorm, this is my sister, Princess, Cloudpaw’s mother.”
Sandstorm took a step or two away from them, though she let the fur lie flat on her neck again. “Cloudpaw’s mother?” she repeated. “She still sees you both, then?” She shot a glance at Fireheart, clearly wondering how much he had told Princess about Cloudpaw’s escapade with the Twolegs.