“I haven’t hurt you, have I?” the ginger-and-white apprentice asked anxiously.
“No, I’m fine.” Fireheart gasped. “Did Whitestorm show you that move? I never saw it coming. Well done.”
Trying not to limp, he padded across the training hollow to where Swiftpaw, Thornpaw, and Cloudpaw were watching. He had been assessing the apprentices’ fighting skills, and they had all held their own against him. They had the makings of formidable warriors.
“I’m glad you’re all on my side. I wouldn’t want to meet you in battle,” Fireheart meowed. “I’ve had a word with your mentors, and they think you’re ready, so I’m going to ask Bluestar if you can be made warriors.”
Brightpaw, Thornpaw, and Swiftpaw exchanged excited glances. Cloudpaw tried to look nonchalant, but there was a gleam of anticipation in his eyes too.
“Okay,” Fireheart went on. “Hunt on your way back to camp, and see that the elders and the queens are fed. Then you can eat.”
“If there’s anything left,” mewed Swiftpaw.
Fireheart flicked a glance at him. Swiftpaw sometimes picked up discontented rumblings from his mentor, Longtail, who had once been a close ally of Tigerclaw, but on this occasion he seemed to be trying to make a joke. All four young cats sprang up and dashed out of the training hollow. Fireheart heard Brightpaw yowling to Cloudpaw, “Bet I catch more prey than you!”
It seemed a long time since he had been that carefree, Fireheart reflected as he followed more slowly. Under the weight of his responsibilities as deputy, he sometimes felt older than the elders. The Clan was surviving, managing to find food and to rebuild the devastated camp, but all the warriors were overstretched. Fireheart was on his paws from dawn to sunset, and every night he went to his den with tasks still undone. How long can we go on? he asked himself. It’ll get harder, not easier, when leaf-bare comes. Already the few leaves that the fire had left on the trees were turning red and gold. As Fireheart paused at the top of the hollow, he felt a chill breeze ruffle his fur, though the sun shone brightly.
He slipped quietly back into camp and stood for a moment near the entrance, looking around. Darkstripe, who was in charge of the rebuilding, had started to patch the remaining gaps in the branches of the warriors’ den. Dustpelt was working with him and the two younger apprentices, Fernpaw and Ashpaw.
On the other side of the camp Fireheart saw Cinderpelt making her way to the elders’ den, carrying some herbs in her jaws.
In the center of the clearing, Goldenflower’s two kits were playing with Speckletail’s kit, while the queens sat watching them near the entrance to the nursery. Willowpelt was there too, carefully guarding her litter, who were much younger, from the rough play of the older kits.
Fireheart’s gaze rested on Bramblekit, the bigger of Goldenflower’s kits. That strong, muscular body and dark brown pelt were disturbingly familiar; no cat who looked at the kit could doubt that Tigerstar was his father. The thought always made Fireheart uneasy, and he struggled to push it aside. Logically, he knew that he should feel just as suspicious of the kit’s sister, Tawnykit, but though she shared the same father, she didn’t share the misfortune of looking exactly like him. Fireheart knew it was unfair to blame Bramblekit for his father’s crimes.
Yet Fireheart could not banish the memory of the young kit clinging to a branch of a blazing tree, wailing in terror as Fireheart tried to reach him. And he could not forget that while he was rescuing Bramblekit, the fire had trapped Yellowfang in her den. Had he sacrificed Yellowfang to save Tigerstar’s son?
Suddenly a shrill squeal came from the group of kits. Bramblekit had bowled over Snowkit and was holding him down on the ground with his claws. The squealing came from the sturdy white kit, who didn’t seem to be trying to defend himself.
Fireheart shot forward, barreling into Bramblekit and knocking him away from his victim. “Enough!” he snarled. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The dark tabby kit picked himself up, amber eyes glaring with shock and indignation.
“Well?” Fireheart demanded.
Bramblekit shook dust off his fur. “It’s nothing, Fireheart. We’re only playing.”
“Only playing? Then why was Speckletail’s kit crying out like that?”
The glow died from Bramblekit’s amber eyes and he shrugged. “How should I know? He can’t play properly anyway.”
“Bramblekit!” It was Goldenflower who spoke, coming to stand beside her kit. “How many times do I have to tell you? If somebody squeals, you let go. And don’t be so rude to Fireheart. Remember, he’s the deputy.”
Bramblekit’s eyes flicked to Fireheart and away again. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“Yes, well, make sure it doesn’t happen again,” Fireheart snapped.
Bramblekit padded past him to where Snowkit still crouched on the ground. Speckletail was giving his white fur a brisk lick. “Come on, get up,” she meowed. “You’re not hurt.”
“Yeah, come on, Snowkit,” Bramblekit mewed, swiping his tongue over the kit’s ear. “I didn’t mean it. Come and play, and you can be Clan leader this time.”
Bramblekit’s sister, Tawnykit, was sitting a couple of tail-lengths away, her tail curled around her paws. “He’s no fun,” she mewed. “He never has any good games.”
“Tawnykit!” Goldenflower cuffed her lightly across one ear. “Don’t be so nasty. I don’t know what’s gotten into the pair of you today.”
Snowkit was still crouched on the ground, and got up only when his mother nudged him to his feet.
“Maybe you should let Cinderpelt check him,” Fireheart advised the pale tabby queen. “Make sure he’s not hurt.”
Speckletail swung her head around and glared at her Clan deputy. “There’s nothing wrong with my kit!” she growled. “Are you saying that I can’t look after him properly?” Turning her back on Fireheart, she herded Snowkit back into the nursery.
“She’s very protective of her kit,” Goldenflower explained. “I think it comes of having only the one.” She blinked fondly at her two kits, now scuffling together on the ground.
Fireheart went to sit beside her, feeling uncomfortable about the harsh way he had spoken to Bramblekit. “Have you told them that their father is leader of ShadowClan now?” he asked quietly.
Goldenflower gave him a quick glance. “No, not yet,” she admitted. “They would only boast about it, and then some cat would tell them the rest of the story.”
“Sooner or later they’ll find out,” meowed Fireheart.
The ginger queen vigorously washed her chest fur for a few moments. “I’ve seen the way you look at them,” she mewed at last. “Especially Bramblekit. It’s not his fault that he looks exactly like Tigerstar. But other cats look at him like that too.” Thoughtfully she licked her paw and drew it over her ear. “I want my kits to grow up happy, not feeling guilty because of something that happened before they were born. Maybe there’s more hope of that now, if Tigerstar becomes a great leader. Maybe they’ll even be proud of him in the end.”
Fireheart twitched his ears uncomfortably, unable to share her optimism.
“They both respect you, you know,” Goldenflower went on. “Especially since you saved Bramblekit from the fire.”
For a moment Fireheart didn’t know what to say. He felt guiltier than ever about his hostile feelings toward Bramblekit, yet however hard he tried he could not help seeing the murderous father in the young kit.
“I think you should tell them about Tigerstar,” Goldenflower meowed, turning an intense gaze on him. “You’re the deputy, after all. They would take it well from you—and I know you would tell them the truth.”