“Makes a change to see you speak up for your friend, Graystripe. Last night you wanted to shred him!” sneered Longtail.
Graystripe glared at the pale tabby, then whipped around as Darkstripe challenged him. “Yeah, Graystripe! How do you know Fireheart has blood worthy of ThunderClan? Did you taste it last night when you tried to take a chunk out of his leg?”
Bluestar stepped forward, her blue eyes clouded with worry. “Fireheart, I believe that you meant no disloyalty to the Clan by visiting your sister, but why did you agree to bring her kit here? It is not your place to make decisions like this. What you have done affects the whole Clan.”
Fireheart looked at Graystripe, hoping for more support, but Graystripe wouldn’t meet his eyes. Fireheart craned his head around, and every cat turned their gaze away from him. Fireheart began to panic. Had he endangered his own position in the Clan by bringing Princess’s kit here?
Bluestar spoke again. “Tigerclaw, what do you think?”
“What do I think?” meowed Tigerclaw. Fireheart felt his heart sink at the note of arrogant satisfaction in the deputy’s voice. “I think he should get rid of it at once.”
“Goldenflower?”
“It certainly looks too small to survive until newleaf,” the ginger queen remarked.
“It’ll have greencough by sunrise!” added Mousefur.
“Or it’ll eat our fresh-kill until next snowfall and then die of cold!” spat Runningwind.
Bluestar dipped her head. “That’s enough. I must think about this.” She padded to her den and disappeared inside. The rest of the Clan slipped away, muttering darkly.
Fireheart picked up the bedraggled kit and carried him to the warriors’ den. The kit was shivering and mewling pathetically. Fireheart curled his body around the little scrap and closed his eyes, but hostile faces of the Clan swam around his mind, filling his heart with dread. He thought he had been lonely before, but now it seemed as if the entire Clan had disowned him.
Graystripe pushed his way into the den and settled down into his nest. Fireheart glanced nervously at him. Graystripe had been the only cat to speak in his defense, and Fireheart wanted to thank him. After an uncomfortable pause, in which the kit cried and cried, Fireheart mumbled, “Thanks for sticking up for me.”
Graystripe shrugged. “Yeah, well,” he meowed, “no one else was going to do it.” He twisted his head around and began to wash his tail.
The kit carried on mewling, his cries growing louder. Some of the other warriors padded into the den to escape the rain outside. Willowpelt glanced briefly at Fireheart and the kit, but she didn’t speak.
“Can’t you shut that thing up?” complained Darkstripe as he prodded the moss in his nest.
Fireheart licked the kit desperately. It must be very hungry by now. A rustle in the den wall made him lift his head. It was Frostfur. She crept over to Fireheart’s nest and looked down at the miserable kit. Suddenly she dipped her head and sniffed the kit’s soft fur. “He’d be better off in the nursery,” she murmured. “Brindleface has milk to spare. I could ask her to feed it.”
Fireheart stared at the queen in surprise.
Frostfur gazed back at him, her eyes warm. “I haven’t forgotten that you rescued my kits from ShadowClan.”
Fireheart picked up the kit yet again and followed Frostfur out of the warriors’ den. The rain was even heavier now. Together they padded quickly to the nursery. Frostfur disappeared through its narrow entrance, and Fireheart squeezed in after her. He paused inside the thicket of brambles, blinking until his eyes got used to the dim light.
Inside the dry, dark cocoon, Brindleface was curled around her two healthy kits. She looked suspiciously at Fireheart, then at the kit that dangled from his jaws.
Frostfur whispered to Fireheart, “One of Brindleface’s kits died last night.” Fireheart remembered the sick kits squirming beside Yellowfang and wondered, with a pang, which one had gone. He put Princess’s kit down and turned to Brindleface. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
The queen blinked at him, her grief raw in her eyes.
“Brindleface,” Frostfur began, “I can only guess at how much pain you feel. But this kit is starving, and you have milk. Will you feed him?”
Brindleface shook her head and shut her eyes tight as if to deny Fireheart’s presence in her den.
Frostfur stretched her head forward and pressed her muzzle gently against Brindleface’s cheek. “I know he won’t replace your son,” she whispered. “But he needs your warmth and care.”
Fireheart waited anxiously. The kit’s cries grew louder. It could smell Brindleface’s milk and began to squirm blindly toward her soft belly. It nuzzled its way between Brindleface’s other two kits. Brindleface looked down as it wriggled forward, following her milk-scent. She watched, without resisting, as he latched onto her belly and began to suckle. Fireheart ached with relief and gratitude as he saw Brindleface’s eyes soften and the white kittypet began to purr, kneading her swollen stomach with tiny paws.
Frostfur nodded. “Thank you, Brindleface. Can I tell Bluestar that you will care for the kit?”
“Yes,” replied Brindleface quietly, not taking her eyes off the white kit. She nudged him closer to her belly with one hind paw.
Fireheart purred and bent his head to nose her shoulder. “Thank you. I promise I’ll bring you extra fresh-kill every day.”
“I’ll go and tell Bluestar,” meowed Frostfur.
Fireheart looked up at the white queen, stirred by her kindness. “Thank you,” he mewed.
“No kit deserves to starve, Clanborn or not.” Frostfur turned and pushed her way out of the brambles.
“You can go now,” Brindleface murmured to Fireheart. “Your kit will be safe with me.”
Fireheart nodded and followed Frostfur out into the rain. He thought about returning to his den, but until he’d heard Bluestar’s decision about the kit, he knew he could not settle.
As he paced around the clearing, his fur matting into wet clumps, he saw Frostfur slip out of Bluestar’s den and hurry back to the nursery.
Willowpelt was preparing to lead evening patrol out of the camp when Bluestar finally came out of her den. Fireheart stopped, his heart pounding so fast he thought his legs would give way under him. Bluestar leaped onto the Highrock and began the familiar summons. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather below the Highrock.”
The patrol turned away from the camp entrance and padded after Willowpelt, back toward the Highrock. The rest of the Clan began to leave their dry nests, grumbling about the rain. Tigerclaw leaped onto the rock beside Bluestar, his face grim.
They’re going to make me take him back, thought Fireheart. His breath began to come in shallow gasps. Darker thoughts pushed their way into Fireheart’s mind. What if Bluestar asks Tigerclaw to abandon him in the forest? He’ll never survive. Oh, StarClan, what am I going to say to Princess?
When all the cats were settled, Bluestar spoke. “Cats of ThunderClan, no cat can deny that we need warriors. We have lost one cat to greencough already, and there are many moons until newleaf. Cinderpaw has been gravely injured, and she will never be a warrior. As Graystripe rightly pointed out…”
Fireheart heard Dustpaw whispering nearby, “Graystripe’s turning into a kittypet himself these days!” He turned his head sharply, but a warning hiss from one of the elders silenced Dustpaw before Fireheart could say anything.
“As Graystripe pointed out,” Bluestar repeated, “this kittypet carries Fireheart’s blood. There is every chance the kit will make a fine warrior.” Some of the Clan glanced at Fireheart, who had barely heard Bluestar’s compliment. Hope was surging in his chest, making him dizzy.