Fireheart caught it in his teeth and lay down next to Graystripe. “Good day?” he mumbled with his mouth full.
“Better than yesterday,” answered Graystripe. Fireheart glanced up at him, worried, but Graystripe went on: “I enjoyed it, actually. Brackenpaw’s keen to learn, that’s for sure!”
“So is Cinderpaw.” Fireheart went back to chewing.
“Mind you,” Graystripe went on with a sparkle in his eye, “I kept forgetting I was the mentor and not the apprentice!”
“Me too,” Fireheart admitted.
They shared tongues until the moon rose and the coldness of the night drove them into their den. Graystripe was snoring within moments, but Fireheart felt strangely awake. The image of the pregnant she-cat kept returning to his mind, and even though he was surrounded by the familiar smells of ThunderClan, her soft kittypet scent lingered in his nostrils.
He fell asleep at last, but his dreams all carried the same scent, until finally he dreamed of his days as a kit. He remembered lying beside his mother’s belly, curled in a bed softer than any forest moss with his brothers and sisters. And still the scent of the she-cat lingered.
Fireheart opened his eyes, suddenly jolted out of his sleep. Of course! The she-cat he had seen in the woods…was his sister!
Chapter 10
Fireheart woke at dawn with the image of his sister still clear in his mind. He pushed his way out of the den, hoping the routine of the day would distract him. It was another cold, frosty morning. Whitestorm and Longtail were waiting near the camp entrance, preparing to leave on patrol. Mousefur padded past on her way to join them and greeted Fireheart with a cheery mew. Whitestorm called for Sandpaw, who came racing out of her den just in time to follow the patrol as it pounded out of the camp. It was a scene Fireheart had watched many times, but for once he didn’t yearn to join them as they thundered away into the morning-fresh forest.
He padded across the clearing, wondering if Cinderpaw was awake yet. Brindleface was just squeezing out of the narrow nursery entrance. A speckled kit followed her, then one more. A third kit, pale gray with darker flecks like the other, tumbled out and fell onto the ground.
Brindleface picked it up by its scruff and placed it gently back on its paws. The tenderness of Brindleface’s action brought Fireheart’s dream flooding back. His mother had probably done the same for him. He knew that Brindleface’s fourth kit had died soon after it was born, and she seemed to love the remaining kits even more fiercely now.
Fireheart was overwhelmed by a pang of envy at the thought that the other cats here all shared something he did not—they were all Clanborn. Fireheart had always been proud of his loyalty to the Clan that had taken him in and given him a life he would never have known as a kittypet. He still felt that loyalty—he would die to protect ThunderClan—but no one in the Clan understood or even respected his kittypet roots. Fireheart felt certain the she-cat he had seen yesterday would. With an ache in his heart, he wondered what memories they might share.
Fireheart heard Graystripe’s heavy pawsteps behind him. He turned to greet his friend, stretching his head to touch Graystripe’s nose, and asked, “Could you take Cinderpaw for the day?”
Graystripe looked curiously at Fireheart. “Why?”
“Oh, it’s nothing important,” replied Fireheart as casually as he could. “I just wanted to check out something I saw yesterday. Watch out for Cinderpaw, though; she doesn’t listen to orders very well. Don’t take your eyes off her or she’ll be charging off in every direction.”
Graystripe’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “She sounds like a pawful! Still, it’ll be good for Brackenpaw. He never charges off anywhere without thinking about it carefully first.”
“Thanks, Graystripe!” Fireheart bounded away toward the camp entrance before his friend could remember to ask him where he was going.
As the Twolegplace came into view through the trees, Fireheart dropped into a crouch. He opened his mouth and breathed in the cold morning air. No sign of a ThunderClan patrol, and no Twoleg scents either. He relaxed a little.
Slowly he approached the Twoleg fence where he had seen the she-cat disappear. He hesitated at the bottom and looked around, sniffing the air once more. Then he leaped, landing on a fence post in one easy jump. No Twolegs to be seen—just an empty garden with its strongly scented plants.
Fireheart felt exposed on the post. The branch of a tree hung low overhead. Its leaves had gone, but it would be easier to hide there. Silently he pulled himself up and lay down to wait, flattening himself against the rough bark.
Fireheart could see a swinging flap in the entrance to the Twolegplace. He had used one just like it as a kit. He fixed his gaze on the flap, hoping his sister’s face would appear at any moment. The sun rose slowly into the morning sky, but Fireheart started to feel cold. The damp branch was drawing the heat from his body. Perhaps the Twolegs were keeping his sister shut in. After all, her kitting would be soon. Fireheart licked a paw and wondered if he should go back to the camp.
Suddenly he heard a loud clatter. Fireheart looked up and saw his sister pop out through the swinging flap. The fur along his spine rippled with anticipation, and Fireheart fought to stop himself leaping down into her garden straightaway. He knew he would frighten her, as he had done yesterday. He smelled like a forest cat now, not a friendly kittypet.
Fireheart waited until his sister had reached the end of the grass; then he crept to the tip of the branch and slipped down onto the fence. Quietly he jumped into the bushes below. The she-cat’s scent brought his dream flooding back to him.
How could he get her attention without frightening her? Desperately he searched his mind, trying to think of the name his sister had been given. He could remember only his own kittypet name. Fireheart called softly from the bushes, “It’s me, Rusty!”
The she-cat stopped dead and looked around. Fireheart took a deep breath and crept out from the bushes.
The cat’s eyes widened with terror. Fireheart knew how he must appear to her—lean and wild, with the sharp forest scents on his pelt. The she-cat raised her hackles and hissed ferociously. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling impressed by her courage.
In a flash he remembered his sister’s name. “Princess! It’s me, Rusty, your brother! Do you remember me?”
Princess remained tense. Fireheart guessed she was wondering how this strange cat could know these names. He dropped into a submissive crouch, hope soaring in his chest as he watched his sister’s expression slowly change from fear to curiosity.
“Rusty?” Princess sniffed the air, wide-eyed and wary. Fireheart took a careful step forward. Princess did not move, so Fireheart edged closer. Still, his sister held her ground until Fireheart was standing only a mouse length away.
“You don’t smell like Rusty,” she mewed.
“I don’t live with Twolegs anymore. I’ve been living in the forest with ThunderClan. I carry their scent now.” She’s probably never heard of the Clans, Fireheart realized, remembering his own innocence before he’d met Graystripe in the woods.
Princess stretched her nose forward and rubbed her muzzle cautiously along his cheek. “But our mother’s smell is still there,” she murmured, half to herself. Her words filled Fireheart with happiness, until her eyes narrowed and she took a step backward, her ears flat with distrust. “Why are you here?” she asked.
“I saw you yesterday, in the woods,” Fireheart explained. “I had to come back to speak with you.”