Petalnose shivered and focused her eyes on him. “He died protecting what he loved most,” she whispered. “Me, and his kits, and his new Clan.”
Firestar tried to find words that would comfort her. “He hunts with his ancestors now.”
Petalnose’s eyes were bleak, and she did not respond. Firestar dared not say any more. This young Clan had no experience of their ancestors yet, so how could Petalnose have faith that Rainfur had found anything after his death?
“He was a brave cat,” he mewed instead. “I’m honored to have known him.”
As the night went on, the Clan gathered around the body of Rainfur to keep vigil for him. Echosong guided Petalnose and her two kits down from the nursery, and the she-cat crouched beside her mate, pushing her nose into his cold gray fur. Sagekit and Mintkit huddled on each side of her, while Echosong sat at Rainfur’s head, her gaze fixed on the distant stars.
Remembering the fidgety, superstitious vigil for Skywatcher, Firestar realized how far the Clan had moved on. Now there was a genuine sense of loss and respect for the fallen warrior.
But his heart ached when he reminded himself that rebuilding the Clan had led directly to Rainfur’s death. If he had decided to remain a rogue, he would still be alive.
Restlessness pricked at Firestar’s paws, and as the sky turned gray with the first light of dawn, he climbed up the trail to the Skyrock and sat alone, looking down into the gorge. Have I done the right thing? Since being here he had learned so much about himself and what it meant to be a Clan leader, but that wasn’t why he had come. Was it fair to ask these cats to give up their lives for the warrior code, when they had lived happily and peacefully before?
A sweet scent drifted around him, the only scent that could comfort him now. A pelt brushed against his, and a voice murmured in his ear.
“Don’t grieve,” Sandstorm whispered. “You have saved SkyClan.”
“But Rainfur’s dead.”
“I know. But the SkyClan cats made their own decision to fight for the gorge, and the warrior code—and their Clan. The battle has brought them together as nothing else could have.”
Firestar shifted uneasily, wanting to believe what his mate said, wanting to believe that what had been won was worth Rainfur’s death.
“Life can’t go on without death,” Sandstorm went on.
“Rainfur died like the greatest warrior, fighting for his Clan.
Wherever his warrior ancestors are, they will have been watching, and will be waiting for him now.”
“I know.” Sandstorm’s words eased some of the pain in his heart, but Firestar knew that many moons would pass before he could forget the sight of Rainfur’s body surrounded by his dead enemies, knowing that he had led the gray cat there to die.
Chapter 34
The sun was edging above the cliffs when Firestar and Sandstorm padded down into the gorge again. Rainfur’s body still lay at the foot of the Rockpile, but the Clan were relaxing from their vigil; only Petalnose remained close to him, her two kits sleeping beside her. Echosong sat at the entrance to her cave, piles of herbs around her as she examined Patchfoot’s fresh wounds.
Firestar knew he should get his own wounds treated, but before he could head for the medicine cat’s den, Leafdapple bounded over to him. Firestar saw that her eyes were troubled, and a pang of alarm shot through him. Surely there couldn’t be more danger?
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“It’s Shortwhisker.” Leafdapple glanced back to where the tabby tom was standing beside Sharpclaw, Cherrypaw, and Sparrowpaw. “He says he wants to leave the Clan. He wants to go back to his housefolk.”
“What?” Firestar brushed past her and headed for the little knot of cats.
“Are you completely mouse-brained?” Sharpclaw was arguing as he came up. “You stuck with us through all the danger from the rats, and now that we’ve shown them this is our home, you want to leave? You’ve got bees in your brain!”
Shortwhisker flinched and turned to Firestar with a look of relief. “I’m sorry,” he began. “But the rat attack just showed me that I’m not cut out for life in a Clan.”
“You did your duty like a warrior,” Firestar meowed.
“But I was scared,” Shortwhisker protested. “Scared to the roots of my pelt.”
“And you think the rest of us weren’t?” Sharpclaw growled.
Leafdapple padded up and touched Sharpclaw’s shoulder with her tail tip. “Don’t be angry,” she mewed. “We can’t force him to understand.” Turning to Shortwhisker, she added, “We’ll respect your decision. But all the same, we wish you would stay.”
“We’ll miss you,” Cherrypaw told him.
Shortwhisker still faced Firestar, and addressed his words to him. “I was scared,” he repeated. “And I knew that I didn’t want to give up my life for the sake of my Clan.” He hung his head. “I’m a coward, and selfish,” he murmured. “But I can’t change the way I feel.”
“You’re not selfish or a coward,” Firestar told him. “The warrior code isn’t right for every cat.” He remembered his friend Ravenpaw, forced to leave ThunderClan for fear of Tigerstar, and now living happily with Barley on the Twoleg farm near Highstones. “You must choose the path that suits you best.”
“Then that’s the path of a kittypet.” Shortwhisker glanced around the circle of his friends, and though his eyes were regretful, his voice was certain.
“We’re still your friends, Shortwhisker—” Sparrowpaw began.
“That’s not my name anymore,” Shortwhisker interrupted him. “I guess you’d better call me Hutch again.”
For the last time he climbed the trail to the top of the cliff; Firestar, Leafdapple, and Sharpclaw followed him. Hutch pushed his way through the belt of undergrowth and paused at the edge of the scrubland.
“Good-bye,” he meowed. “I’m proud to have been a SkyClan cat; I really am.”
“Good-bye.” Cherrypaw nudged him with her shoulder.
“Make sure you keep that Oscar in his place.”
“And tell the other kittypets about SkyClan,” Sparrowpaw added.
Leafdapple dipped her head. “Farewell, Hutch. Don’t forget to come and visit us. You helped save SkyClan, and you’ll always be welcome here.”
Hutch brightened a little. “I won’t forget any of you—especially you, Firestar,” he added, glancing at the flame-colored tom. “You’ve taught me so much.”
“I’ve learned from you, too,” Firestar replied, meaning it.
“May StarClan light your path.”
The two toms touched noses; then Hutch turned and began to make his way toward the distant walls of the Twolegplace. His head and tail were held high, and he didn’t look back.
“So that’s the end,” Sharpclaw murmured, looking after him. “The last echo of our battle against the rats.”
“No,” Leafdapple meowed. “There’s one more thing to do.”
Firestar and Sharpclaw exchanged a mystified glance, and followed her down the trail to the warriors’ cave. Leafdapple stood facing the stone trunk with its ancient claw marks: the marks of many cats and the tiny claw marks of the rats scored across them as a sign of their long-ago victory.
“This,” Leafdapple meowed. Extending her claws, she raked them down the stone, then again and a third time, until the rat scratches were obliterated under deep vertical scars.
The record of the first defeat was gone.
“Now the gorge belongs to SkyClan again,” the tabby she-cat announced.
The days that followed the battle were gray with clouds.
Stiff breezes blew with a tang of rain, and one morning Firestar emerged from the warriors’ den to find the rocks rimed with frost. He stood sniffing the cold air until Sandstorm appeared, fluffing up her pelt against the claws of the wind.