Fireheart blinked at her. He would have liked to give the young queen a lick of gratitude, but he was afraid of getting a clawed ear in return. Mistyfoot seemed to have gotten over the worst of her hostility, but she wasn’t going to let him forget that they came from two different Clans.
“Thank you, Mistyfoot,” he meowed. “I won’t forget this. And if ever I can do anything for you—”
“Just go!” Mistyfoot hissed. As Fireheart slipped past her toward the gap in the bushes, she added with a purr of amusement, “And don’t forget the fox dung.”
Chapter 5
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Fireheart muttered as he pushed through the gorse tunnel into his own camp.
He had found some fresh fox dung in the forest, and rolled in it until he reeked. No cat would ever guess he had been into RiverClan territory now. Whether they would let him into the warriors’ den was another matter. At least he had managed to catch a squirrel on his way back, so he wasn’t returning empty-pawed.
As he emerged from the gorse tunnel, Fireheart saw Bluestar standing on top of the Highrock. He realized he had just missed hearing her call the Clan together, because other cats were appearing from their dens to gather below her.
Fireheart left his squirrel on the pile of fresh-kill and padded over to join them. Across the clearing, Brindleface’s kits tumbled out of the nursery, followed by Brindleface herself. Fireheart could easily pick out his sister’s son, Cloudkit, by his gleaming white fur. Princess, Fireheart’s sister who still lived in Twolegplace, had no wish to leave the comfortable life of a kittypet, but Fireheart’s tales of Clan life had captivated her, and she had given her eldest son to the Clan.
So far the Clan cats were finding it hard to accept another kittypet among them even though Brindleface treated him like one of her own kits. Fireheart knew from experience how much determination Cloudkit would need to make a place for himself.
As he drew closer, Fireheart heard the white kit complaining loudly to Brindleface. “Why can’t I be an apprentice? I’m nearly as big as that dumb ginger kit of Frostfur’s!”
Fireheart’s interest quickened. Bluestar must be about to perform the apprentice-naming ceremony for Frostfur’s two remaining kits. Their brother and sister, Brackenpaw and Cinderpaw, had been named apprentices a few moons ago, and Fireheart could guess that these two must be desperate for their own naming. He was glad that he had returned in time to witness it.
“Shh!” Brindleface whispered to Cloudkit, as she gathered her kits around her and found them a place to sit. “You can’t be an apprentice until you’re six moons old.”
“But I want to be an apprentice now!”
Fireheart left Brindleface trying to explain Clan customs to the insistent Cloudkit and went to sit near the front of the gathering, next to Sandstorm.
Her head whipped around in alarm as he took his place. “Fireheart! Where have you been? You smell like a fox that’s been dead for a moon!”
“Sorry,” Fireheart mumbled. “It was an accident.” He hated the stench as much as any cat, and he didn’t like having to lie to Sandstorm about how he came to smell like that.
“Well, stay away from me till it wears off!” Though Sandstorm’s words were firm, there was laughter in her eyes as she shifted a tail-length away from him.
“And clean yourself up before you come into the den,” growled a familiar voice. Fireheart turned to see Tigerclaw standing behind him. “I’m not going to sleep with that stink in my nose!”
Fireheart dipped his head in embarrassment as Tigerclaw stalked away, then looked up as Bluestar began to speak.
“We are gathered here to give two Clan kits their apprentice names.” She glanced down to where Frostfur was sitting proudly, with her tail curled neatly over her paws. The two kits sat one on each side of her, and as Bluestar spoke, the bigger of them, a ginger kit like his brother Brackenpaw, sprang impatiently to his paws.
“Yes, come forward, both of you,” Bluestar invited warmly.
The ginger kit dashed forward and skidded to a stop at the foot of the Highrock. His sister followed more sedately. She was white like her mother, except for ginger patches along her back, and a ginger tail.
Fireheart closed his eyes for a moment. Not long ago, he had been given Cinderpaw as his apprentice. He half wished that he could be mentor to one of these kits, but he knew that if Bluestar had chosen him for this honor, she would have already told him to expect it.
Perhaps she would never choose him again, he thought with a pang that chilled his heart, after he had failed Cinderpaw so badly.
“Mousefur,” meowed Bluestar, “you have told me that you are ready to take on an apprentice. You will be mentor to Thornpaw.”
Fireheart watched as Mousefur, a wiry, compact she-cat with brown fur, stepped forward and went to stand beside the ginger kit, who scampered up to meet her.
“Mousefur,” Bluestar went on, “you have shown yourself a brave and intelligent warrior. See that you pass on your courage and wisdom to your new apprentice.”
While Bluestar spoke, Mousefur looked just as proud as the newly named Thornpaw. The two of them touched noses and withdrew to the edge of the clearing. Fireheart could hear Thornpaw meowing eagerly, as if he was already plying his mentor with questions.
The ginger-and-white kit was still standing beneath the Highrock, looking up at Bluestar. Fireheart was close enough to see her whiskers quivering with anticipation.
“Whitestorm,” Bluestar announced, “you are free to take a new apprentice now that Sandstorm has become a warrior. You will be mentor to Brightpaw.”
The big white cat, who had been stretched out at the front of the gathering, stood up and padded over to Brightpaw. She waited for him with her eyes shining.
“Whitestorm,” meowed Bluestar, “you are a warrior of great skill and experience. I know that you will pass on all you know to this young apprentice.”
“Certainly,” Whitestorm purred. “Welcome, Brightpaw.” He bent to touch noses with her, and escorted her back to the assembled cats.
The other cats began to gather around, congratulating the two new apprentices and calling them by their new names. As he went to join them, Fireheart caught sight of Graystripe at the back of the crowd, beside the tunnel. His friend must have returned to camp unseen while the rest of the Clan were listening to Bluestar.
“It’s all arranged,” Graystripe mewed softly, padding over to Fireheart. “If it’s sunny tomorrow, Silverstream and Mistyfoot will persuade Graypool to leave the camp for some exercise. They’ll meet us at sunhigh.”
“Where?” Fireheart asked, not sure that he wanted to go far into RiverClan territory two days running. It was dangerous to leave so much fresh ThunderClan scent there.
“There’s a quiet glade just over the border, not far from the Twoleg bridge,” Graystripe explained. “Silverstream and I used to meet there, before, you know…”
Fireheart understood. Graystripe had been keeping his promise about meeting Silverstream only at Fourtrees, and it was only because of his desire to find out about the Sunningrocks battle that they were taking an extra risk. “Thank you,” he murmured sincerely.
As he padded over to the pile of fresh-kill to choose a piece for himself, his paws twitched in anticipation of the next sunhigh, when he would discover what Graypool knew of this mystery.
“This is the place,” Graystripe whispered.
He and Fireheart were only a few rabbit-hops over the RiverClan border, on their own side of the river. The ground gave way to a deep hollow, sheltered by thornbushes. Snow had drifted there, and a tiny stream, frozen now into icicles, carved a deep channel between two rocks. Fireheart guessed that when newleaf came and the snow melted, this would be a beautiful and well-hidden place.