Bluestar went on, flicking her tail uneasily. “At the same time, you did well to find WindClan and bring them back. But we will need to prepare ourselves for an attack from RiverClan. We need to start training more warriors. Fireheart and Graystripe, Frostfur tells me two of her kits are almost ready to begin their training. I want each of you to take a kit as your apprentice.”
Fireheart felt stunned. What an honor! He couldn’t believe Bluestar had suggested it—especially now. He glanced furtively at Tigerclaw. The deputy sat rigid as a rock.
Graystripe raised his head. “But none of Frostfur’s kits are six moons yet!”
“It won’t be long before they are. The divisions at the last Gathering troubled me, and today…” Bluestar’s voice trailed off, and Fireheart noticed Graystripe look down at his paws once more.
Tigerclaw was staring at Bluestar, his amber eyes hard. “Wouldn’t it be better to ask more experienced warriors like Longtail or Darkstripe to take on another apprentice?” he asked. “These two are hardly more than apprentices themselves!”
“I did consider that,” replied Bluestar. “But Longtail will be busy enough with Swiftpaw, and Darkstripe is getting Dustpaw ready to become a full warrior.”
“What about Runningwind?” Tigerclaw asked.
“Runningwind is a fine hunter and a loyal warrior,” Bluestar answered. “But I don’t think he has the patience for mentoring. ThunderClan has better use for his skills.”
“And you think these two have got what it takes to train ThunderClan warriors?” Tigerclaw meowed scornfully.
Fireheart flinched. Tigerclaw was eyeing him alone as he spoke. Does he think a kittypet is not fit to train Clanborn cats? he wondered angrily.
Bluestar stared back at her deputy. “We shall find out. Don’t forget, they brought WindClan home. And of course, Tigerclaw,” she added, “I am relying on you to oversee the training.” Tigerclaw nodded, and Bluestar turned back to Fireheart and Graystripe. “Get something to eat,” she ordered. “Then rest. We’ll have the naming ceremony for the kits at moonhigh.”
Fireheart led Graystripe out of the den, leaving Tigerclaw behind with Bluestar. The rain had eased to a fine drizzle.
“I’m starving,” meowed Fireheart. He could smell the warm scent of fresh-kill in the clearing. “Are you coming to get something to eat?”
Graystripe stood behind him, his eyes distant and sad. He slowly shook his head. “I just want to sleep,” he muttered.
Once his stomach was full, Fireheart pushed his way into the warriors’ den. Graystripe was curled up in a ball, his head tucked beneath his paws. Fireheart’s eyes felt heavy, but his fur was still soaked, and he forced himself to wash thoroughly before settling into his warm nest.
Willowpelt woke Fireheart with a gentle prod. “Time for the ceremony,” she whispered.
Fireheart lifted his head and blinked. “Thanks, Willowpelt,” he meowed as she ducked out of the den.
He nudged Graystripe. “Ceremony,” he hissed, then stood and stretched up on his toes until his legs quivered. He was about to become a mentor! Excitement tingled in his paws.
Graystripe stirred and uncurled slowly, like an old cat. Suddenly Fireheart’s paws seemed to remember their long journey and began to ache again.
At least the rain had stopped. In silence, Fireheart and Graystripe padded into the clearing. The moon shone above the trees, turning the wet branches silver.
“Well done for bringing WindClan home!” The cheery voice made Fireheart jump. He turned to see Halftail settling down beside him. “You must come and share the story with the elders one night.”
Fireheart nodded absently, then looked back into the clearing. Frostfur was already sitting below the Highrock. A kit sat on either side of her, one smudgy gray and one ginger. The white queen twisted her head and licked behind their ears. The little gray she-kit shook her head impatiently as her mother fussed over her.
Once more, excitement made Fireheart’s fur tingle.
Beside him Graystripe sat staring at the ground. “Aren’t you excited?” Fireheart asked.
Graystripe shrugged.
“Graystripe”—Fireheart lowered his voice—“Whiteclaw’s death wasn’t your fault. It was the worst place for an attack, and the RiverClan cats would have known that. Sandpaw nearly fell over the edge too,” he added.
He glanced at Sandpaw sitting nearby. Beside her, Dustpaw stared at Fireheart with raw jealousy in his eyes. Fireheart couldn’t blame him. He was about to become a mentor when Dustpaw hadn’t even been given his warrior name. But he flinched when Dustpaw leaned toward Sandpaw and whispered, loud enough for Fireheart to hear, “I feel sorry for Fireheart’s apprentice. Imagine a Clan cat being trained by a kittypet!”
But for once Sandpaw didn’t react. She just shot an uncomfortable glance at Fireheart.
Fireheart turned back to Graystripe. “Bluestar doesn’t blame you,” he insisted. “She knows you’re a good warrior. She’s giving you your own apprentice.”
Graystripe lifted his eyes and replied bitterly, “She’s just doing it because ThunderClan needs more apprentices. And why do we need them? Because I’ve given RiverClan an excuse to hate us!”
Fireheart was shocked by the harshness in Graystripe’s tone. Bluestar’s meow summoned them before he could say anything more. Fireheart padded toward his Clan leader, Graystripe trailing after him.
When they reached the center of the clearing, Bluestar gazed around at the assembly of cats. “This moonhigh, we gather together to name two new apprentices. Come forward, you two.”
The gray kit darted from her mother’s side into the clearing, her fluffy tail held high and her blue eyes wide. The ginger kit came forward more slowly. His ears were pricked, and he frowned with seriousness as he walked to the foot of the Highrock.
Fireheart’s heart began to pound in his chest—which one of these kits would he be given? He couldn’t help feeling that the solemn-faced ginger kit would be easier to train, but there was something about the gray kit’s clumsy enthusiasm that reminded him of himself when he had first joined the Clan.
“From this day forward,” Bluestar meowed, gazing down at the little gray kit, “until she has earned her warrior name, this apprentice will be called Cinderpaw.”
“Cinderpaw!” The gray kit couldn’t help mewing her new name out loud. A quietening hiss came from Frostfur, and Cinderpaw ducked her head apologetically.
“Fireheart,” meowed Bluestar, “you are ready for your first apprentice. You will begin Cinderpaw’s training.” Pride swelled in Fireheart’s chest. “You are fortunate, Fireheart, to have had more than one mentor. I expect you to pass on everything I taught you to this young apprentice”—Fireheart suddenly began to feel a bit overwhelmed. Bluestar’s words carried a weight of responsibility he wasn’t sure he was ready for—“and share with her the skills you learned from Tigerclaw and Lionheart.”
At the mention of Lionheart, Fireheart pictured the golden warrior looking down on him from Silverpelt with warm, encouraging eyes. He lifted his head and returned Bluestar’s gaze as steadily as he could.
“And this apprentice”—Bluestar turned her gaze toward the ginger kit—“will be known as Brackenpaw.” Brackenpaw didn’t move or make a sound.
“Graystripe, you will train Brackenpaw. Our lost friend Lionheart was your mentor. I hope that his skill and wisdom will pass through you to your new apprentice.”
Graystripe lifted his head high at Bluestar’s words, and for a moment a gleam of pride showed in his eyes. He stepped forward and touched his new apprentice’s nose with his own. Brackenpaw returned the touch politely. Only his eyes, which shone like stars, gave away the fact that this young cat was as excited as his sister.