“Will the rest of the Clan be able to tell as well?” Fireheart asked, thinking of Tigerclaw.
Yellowfang narrowed her eyes. “No. She will be no weaker in this life than she was in any of her others.”
Fireheart blinked gratefully at her.
“Now,” Yellowfang ordered, “do you want some poppy seeds to help you sleep?”
Fireheart shook his head. Part of him longed for the deep, easy sleep they would bring. But if Tigerclaw was right and ShadowClan really was about to attack ThunderClan’s borders, he did not want to dull his senses. He might be needed to defend the camp.
Graystripe was back in the warriors’ den. Fireheart did not speak to him; his rage at finding him missing the night before lingered like a dull bruise. He padded silently to his nest, circled once, and settled down to wash.
Graystripe looked up. “You’re back, then.” He sounded edgy, as if he wanted to say more.
Fireheart stopped licking his forepaw and stared at Graystripe.
“You tried to warn Silverstream off,” Graystripe hissed furiously. Willowpelt, who was dozing on the other side of the den, opened one eye, then closed it again.
Graystripe lowered his voice. “Stay out of it, will you?” he spat. “I’m going to keep on seeing her, whatever you do or say.”
Fireheart snorted and flashed a resentful glance at his friend. His talk with Silverstream seemed so long ago, he’d almost forgotten it. But he hadn’t forgotten that Graystripe had been missing when he’d needed help finding Cinderpaw. He laid his head angrily on his muddy forepaws and closed his eyes. Cinderpaw was battling against her injuries and Bluestar was on her ninth life. As far as Fireheart was concerned, Graystripe could do what he liked.
Chapter 18
Graystripe had already left his nest when Fireheart awoke the next day. He could tell it was sunhigh by the light that glowed through the branches. He rose, his body still weary with grief, and pushed his head out of the den. Snow must have been falling all morning, for it lay thick on the ground and had drifted against the den. Fireheart found himself gazing out over a white wall that was as high as his shoulder.
The usual bustle of the camp seemed muted. Fireheart could see Willowpelt and Halftail whispering on the far side of the clearing. Mousefur was picking her way laboriously toward the store of fresh-kill, a rabbit dangling from her jaws. She stopped and sneezed, then carried on.
Fireheart lifted one paw and rested it on top of the snow. It felt hard at first, but when he pressed down, the thin covering of ice cracked and he gasped as his leg plunged into the drift. Fireheart snorted as he found himself up to his muzzle in snow. Shaking his head and lifting his chin, he leaped forward, only to sink into more deep snow. He struggled on, alarm rising in his chest. He felt as if he were drowning in snow! Then, all of a sudden, there was solid ground under his paws. He had reached the edge of the clearing. The snow here was only a mouse-length deep, and Fireheart sat down with a soft crunch, relieved.
He tensed when he saw Graystripe plowing through the snow toward him. The gray warrior seemed unbothered by it, protected from its damp chill by his thick pelt. His face was shadowed with sorrow. “Have you heard about Bluestar?” he asked as he neared. “She lost a life to greencough.”
Fireheart flicked his ears impatiently. He could have told his friend that last night. “I know,” he snapped. “I was with her.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” mewed Graystripe, shocked.
“You weren’t exactly in a friendly mood last night, if you remember. Anyway, if you weren’t always off breaking the warrior code, you might know what was going on in your own Clan,” he snarled.
Graystripe’s ears twitched uncomfortably. “I’ve just seen Cinderpaw,” he meowed. “I’m sorry she’s so sick.”
“How is she?”
“She looked bad, but Yellowfang said she’s pulling through,” replied Graystripe.
Fireheart stared anxiously across the clearing and stood up. He wanted to see his apprentice for himself.
Graystripe meowed, “She’s asleep now. Frostfur’s with her, and Yellowfang doesn’t want anyone else disturbing her.”
Fireheart flinched involuntarily. How was he going to tell Frostfur that it was his fault that Cinderpaw went to the Thunderpath? Instinctively, Fireheart turned to Graystripe, seeking reassurance. But Graystripe was trudging across the snowy clearing toward the nursery. Off to see Silverstream, Fireheart guessed resentfully, sheathing and unsheathing his claws as he watched his friend disappear from sight.
Fireheart noticed Speckletail, the oldest queen from the nursery and the mother of the kit with whitecough, only when she stopped right in front of him. “Is Tigerclaw inside?” she asked, pointing with her nose to the warriors’ den.
Fireheart shook his head.
Speckletail mewed, “There’s greencough in the nursery. Two of Brindleface’s kits are sick.”
“Greencough!” Fireheart gasped, shaken from his anger. “Will they die?”
“They might. But leaf-bare always brings greencough,” Speckletail pointed out gently.
“Surely there’s something we can do!” Fireheart protested.
“Yellowfang will do what she can,” answered Speckletail. “But in the end, it’s up to StarClan.”
A new flash of fury flared in Fireheart’s belly as Speckletail turned away and padded back to the nursery. How could the Clan tolerate these tragedies? He felt overwhelmed by the need to leave the camp, to escape the gloomy air that the rest of the Clan seemed content to breathe.
He jumped up and raced blindly across the snowy clearing, through the gorse tunnel and out into the forest. He was startled to find himself heading instinctively for the training hollow. The thought that he should be there, teaching Cinderpaw, was more than he could bear. As he veered to avoid it, he heard the voices of Whitestorm and Brackenpaw. The white-furred warrior must have taken Brackenpaw for training while Fireheart had been sleeping. Had no cat stopped to grieve for Bluestar’s lost life? Fireheart’s throat tightened as he fought back his rage and ran on, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and the camp.
He finally stopped beneath Tallpines, his sides heaving with the effort of running through the snow. There was stillness here that calmed him. Even the birds had stopped singing. Fireheart felt as if he were the only creature in the world.
He didn’t know where he was going; he just padded on, letting the woods soothe him. As he walked, his mind cleared. He could do nothing for Cinderpaw, and Graystripe was out of reach, but he might be able to help Yellowfang fight the greencough. He would fetch some more catnip.
Fireheart turned his steps toward his old kittypet home, weaving through the brambles in the oak woods that backed onto Twolegplace. He leaped to the top of the fence at the end of his old home, nudging a ridge of snow into the garden below. It fell with a soft clump. Fireheart peered down into the garden. He could see tracks, smaller than a cat’s. A squirrel had been out hunting for its store of nuts.
It didn’t take Fireheart long to pluck a generous mouthful of leaves from the catnip bush. He wanted to take as much as he could. Its soft leaves might not survive this weather; this could be his last chance to gather it.
With his mouth crammed, Fireheart stared toward the swinging flap he had used as a kit. He wondered if his Twoleg housefolk still lived there. They’d been kind to him. He had spent his first leaf-bare cosseted in their nest, warm and safe from the cruelties of Thunderpaths and greencough.
The scent of this catnip must be going to my head, he thought sharply. He bounded up the garden and onto the fence with a single leap. He was unnerved by how much the thought of his Twoleg home had stirred him. Did he really want the safety and predictability of a kittypet’s life? Of course not! Fireheart shook the thought away. But the idea of returning to camp didn’t appeal to him yet.