“By the way, have you seen Graystripe?” asked Tigerclaw. Fireheart felt a pang of concern as Tigerclaw continued: “He’s supposed to stay in camp while he has this cold, but I haven’t seen him since sunhigh.”
Fireheart shifted his paws. Had Graystripe gone off looking for peace and quiet again? “No,” he admitted. “Perhaps he’s with Yellowfang?”
“Perhaps,” echoed Tigerclaw, and padded away to where Bluestar was gnawing a fat pigeon.
Fireheart followed, trying to push away his growing worry about Graystripe’s disappearances. He selected a small chaffinch from the pile of fresh-kill as he passed, then wished he’d chosen a vole. How was he going to give his report with a mouthful of feathers?
“Welcome, Fireheart,” meowed Bluestar as Fireheart sat down in front of her. He placed the chaffinch on the ground, but decided not to start eating.
“Tigerclaw tells me your apprentices caught plenty of prey.” Bluestar’s gaze was friendly. Tigerclaw, sitting up beside her, glared at him more critically, making Fireheart’s tail twitch.
“Yes. They’ve never hunted in the mist before, but it didn’t seem to put either of them off,” Fireheart meowed. “I watched Brackenpaw catch a wood mouse. His stalking was excellent.”
“And what about Cinderpaw?” asked Bluestar.
Fireheart noticed a steely glint appear in her eyes. Was she worried about Cinderpaw’s abilities? Fireheart replied, “Her hunting skills are developing well. She has lots of enthusiasm, that’s for sure, and she doesn’t seem to be scared of anything.”
“Aren’t you worried that might make her reckless?” asked Bluestar.
“She’s quick and inquisitive, which makes her a good learner. I think that will make up for her”—Fireheart searched anxiously for the right word—“eagerness.”
Bluestar flicked her tail. “Her eagerness, as you say, worries me,” she meowed, flashing a glance at Tigerclaw. “She will need careful guidance in her training.” Fireheart’s spirits plummeted. Was Bluestar unhappy with his mentoring?
Bluestar’s eyes softened. “She was always going to be a challenge. But she is clearly turning into a fine hunter. You have done good work with her, Fireheart. With both of them, in fact.” Fireheart brightened immediately, and Bluestar went on. “I’ve noticed how you’ve taken over Brackenpaw’s training without being asked, and I want you to carry on mentoring them both for the time being.”
Tigerclaw turned his gaze away, but Fireheart didn’t miss the anger that flashed in his eyes. “Thank you, Bluestar,” he meowed.
“I see your missing friend has returned,” Tigerclaw growled without turning his head.
Fireheart spun around to see Graystripe appearing from behind the nursery. “He was probably just getting some peace and quiet,” he suggested. “He’s still feverish, and it can’t be easy being stuck in the camp all day.”
“Easy or not, he should be concentrating on getting better,” meowed Tigerclaw. “Leaf-bare is no time for sickness in the camp. Mousefur was coughing on patrol this morning. I just hope StarClan protects us from greencough this season. We lost five kits to it last year.”
Bluestar nodded her gray head solemnly. “Let’s pray this leaf-bare isn’t as long or as hard. It’s never an easy time for the Clans.” She looked wistful for a moment, then told Fireheart, “Take that chaffinch and share it with Graystripe. He’ll want to know how his apprentice did in the assessment.”
“Yes, Bluestar. Thanks,” meowed Fireheart. He picked up the chaffinch and bounded over to the nettle clump where Graystripe had settled himself with a large wood mouse. Graystripe had eaten half of it by the time Fireheart arrived. Perhaps his cold was on the mend.
As Fireheart dropped the chaffinch beside his friend, Graystripe sneezed.
“Cold no better?” asked Fireheart sympathetically.
“Nope,” replied Graystripe with his mouth full. “I guess I’ll have to stay in camp awhile longer.”
Fireheart thought his friend sounded a lot more cheerful than he had before, but he didn’t want to betray his growing suspicion that Graystripe was up to something.
“Brackenpaw did really well in his assessment today,” he meowed.
“Really?” Graystripe took another bite of mouse. “That’s good.”
“Yeah, he’s a great hunter.” Fireheart started to eat his chaffinch. “Graystripe,” he meowed after a long silence, “have you been out of the camp the past few days?”
Graystripe stopped chewing. “Why do you ask?”
Fireheart’s tail twitched uncomfortably. “Well, you weren’t here when I got in from last night’s patrol, and Tigerclaw said he hadn’t seen you since sunhigh today.”
“Tigerclaw?” Graystripe sounded worried.
“I told him you were probably out looking for peace and quiet, or that you might be with Yellowfang,” Fireheart meowed. He took another bite of chaffinch. “Were you?” he asked through the feathers, suddenly desperate for Graystripe to say yes, to stop the suspicion that Graystripe might be keeping a secret from him.
But Graystripe ignored Fireheart’s query. “Well, thanks for covering for me.” He carried on chewing.
Fireheart didn’t ask any more questions, even though he was burning with curiosity. When Graystripe got to his paws and announced he was going to the den, Fireheart was still no wiser about what was on Graystripe’s mind.
“Okay,” he meowed. “I think I’ll stay here a bit longer.” Graystripe gave him a brief nod and padded away. Fireheart rolled onto his back for a long stretch, scratching the ground above his head with his claws. He lay on his back for a while, thinking. From the smell of him, Graystripe had given himself a good wash very recently. Was he trying to hide some scent? Fireheart realized that Graystripe had pretty much admitted he had left the camp. But where could he have gone that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell Fireheart? Suddenly his paws prickled—what about his own visits to Princess, in Twoleg territory, of all places! He’d washed himself thoroughly before returning to camp too, and never mentioned the meetings to Graystripe.
Fireheart flipped over and sat up. There was something caught under one of his claws. He lifted his paw and tugged out the piece of dirt with his teeth. It was a catkin, old and shriveled, but definitely a catkin. What was this doing here? Willow trees didn’t grow in ThunderClan’s part of the forest—in fact, the only willows Fireheart had ever seen grew close to the river, in RiverClan territory. Fireheart held his breath as his heart began to pound. Had this come from Graystripe’s coat?
He crept into the warriors’ den. Graystripe was already asleep. Fireheart lay awake beside him and wondered if Graystripe had really been foolish enough to return to RiverClan territory. The look in Leopardfur’s eyes after Whiteclaw’s death had shown that there was a score to be settled. Fireheart shuddered as he resolved to find out exactly where Graystripe was going and why.
When Fireheart awoke the den felt damp and chilled. One sniff of the air told him rain was on the way. He pushed his way outside, yawning. He hadn’t slept well, worrying about Graystripe. Even now, the thought of his friend alone in RiverClan territory sent a shiver through him.
“Chilly, eh?” Runningwind’s voice startled Fireheart. Fireheart looked over his shoulder, his tail twitching. The lean tabby warrior was padding out of the den.
“Er, yeah,” Fireheart agreed.
“Are you okay?” asked Runningwind. “Not caught your friend’s cold, have you? Mousefur’s streaming with it this morning, and Longtail said Swiftpaw sneezed all through training yesterday.”
Fireheart shook his head. “I’m fine. Just tired after yesterday’s assessment.”