Then Fireheart pushed himself to his paws. “It’s time we were on our way,” he meowed.
“Take care,” Ravenpaw mewed. “And watch out for Tigerclaw.”
“Don’t worry,” Fireheart assured him. “You’ve given us what we need to deal with him.” With Graystripe behind him, he slid under the door and ventured out into the snow.
“It’s freezing out here!” Graystripe grumbled as they bounded down to the fence at the edge of the Twoleg farm. “We should have taken a couple more of those mice to feed the Clan,” he added.
“Yeah, right,” Fireheart retorted. “And what would you tell Tigerclaw when he asked you where you found such fat mice in this weather?”
The moon was close to setting, and soon the sky would begin to pale toward dawn. The chill of the snow soon penetrated Fireheart’s winter-thick fur, even colder after the warmth of the barn. His legs were aching with weariness; it had been a long night, and they still had to cross WindClan’s territory before they could rest in their own camp. Fireheart could not stop thinking about what Ravenpaw had told them. He was sure that his friend was telling the truth, but it would be hard to convince the rest of the Clan. Bluestar had already refused to believe Ravenpaw’s original story.
Yet that was when Fireheart thought Redtail had killed Oakheart. Bluestar could not accept that Redtail would kill another warrior unnecessarily. Now Fireheart understood the real story, that Oakheart had died by accident… But how could Fireheart accuse Tigerclaw again unless he had something to back up what Ravenpaw had told him?
“The RiverClan cats would know,” he realized aloud, pausing under a rocky outcrop on the moorland slope, where the snow was not so thick.
“What?” meowed Graystripe, padding up to him to share the shelter. “Know what?”
“How Oakheart died,” Fireheart replied. “They must have seen Oakheart’s body. They would be able to tell us whether he died from a rockfall, and not a death blow from a warrior.”
“Yes, the marks on his body would prove it,” agreed Graystripe.
“And they might know what Oakheart meant when he said that no ThunderClan cat should attack Stonefur,” Fireheart added. “We need to speak to a RiverClan warrior who took part in the battle, maybe Stonefur himself.”
“But you can’t just walk into the RiverClan camp and ask,” Graystripe protested. “Think of how tense it was at the Gathering—it’s too soon after the battle.”
“I know one RiverClan warrior who would welcome you,” Fireheart murmured.
“If you mean Silverstream, yes, I could ask her,” Graystripe agreed. “Now, can we please get back to the camp before my paws freeze completely?”
The two cats padded onward, more slowly now as weariness made their limbs heavy. They were within sight of Fourtrees when they spotted three other cats climbing the hillside. The breeze carried the scent of a WindClan patrol to Fireheart. Not wanting to explain their presence in WindClan territory, he looked swiftly around for cover, but the snow stretched smoothly on all sides, with no rocks or bushes nearby. And it was clear that the WindClan cats had already seen them, as they changed direction to meet them.
Fireheart recognized the familiar uneven gait of the Clan deputy, Deadfoot, with the tabby warrior Tornear, and his apprentice, Runningpaw.
“Hello, Fireheart,” called Deadfoot, limping up with a puzzled look in his eyes. “You’re a long way from home.”
“Er…yes,” Fireheart admitted, dipping his head respectfully. “We just…we picked up a ShadowClan scent trail, and it led us up here.”
“ShadowClan on our territory!” Deadfoot’s fur began to bristle.
“I reckon it was an old scent,” Graystripe put in hastily. “Nothing to worry about. We’re sorry we crossed your border.”
“You’re welcome here,” meowed Tornear. “The other Clans would have destroyed us in the last battle if your Clan hadn’t helped. Now we’re sure they’ll keep away. They know they have ThunderClan to reckon with.”
Fireheart felt embarrassed at Tornear’s praise. He and Graystripe had helped the WindClan cats in the past, but this time he was uncomfortable with the thought that any cats from WindClan had seen them on their territory. “We’d best be getting back,” he muttered. “Everything seems quiet enough up here.”
“May StarClan light your path,” meowed Deadfoot gratefully.
The other WindClan cats wished Fireheart and Graystripe good hunting, and went on toward their own camp.
“That was bad luck,” Fireheart growled as he and Graystripe padded down to Fourtrees.
“Why?” asked Graystripe. “The WindClan cats didn’t mind us on their territory. We’re all friends now.”
“Use your brains, Graystripe,” Fireheart mewed. “What if Deadfoot mentions that he saw us to Bluestar at the next Gathering? She’s bound to wonder what we were doing out here!”
Graystripe stopped. “Mousedung!” he spat. “I never thought of that.” His eyes met Fireheart’s, and Fireheart saw his own uneasy feelings reflected there. “Bluestar won’t like it if she finds out we’re sneaking around investigating Tigerclaw.”
Fireheart shrugged. “Let’s just hope we can settle all this before the next Gathering. Now come on; we ought to try to catch something to take back with us.”
He set off again, picking up the pace until the two cats were racing over the snow. As they skirted the hollow at Fourtrees and entered their own forest territory, he relaxed a little, pausing to drink the air in the hope of picking up the scent of prey. Graystripe sniffed hopefully among the roots of a nearby tree, and came back looking disappointed.
“Nothing,” he grumbled. “Not a single mouse—not even a whisker!”
“We haven’t got time to keep looking,” Fireheart decided. He saw that the sky was already growing lighter above the trees. Time was running out, and their absence from camp was more likely to be noticed with every heartbeat.
The dawn light was growing stronger as they reached the ravine. Limbs aching with weariness, muscles stiff with cold, Fireheart led the way silently between the boulders toward the gorse tunnel. Thankful to be home at last, he bounded into the tunnel’s dark mouth. As he emerged into the camp, he skidded to a halt so abruptly that Graystripe cannoned into him from behind.
“Move, you big furball!” Graystripe gave a muffled mew.
Fireheart didn’t reply. Sitting a few tail-lengths away, in the middle of the clearing, was Tigerclaw. His head was sunk below his massive shoulders, and his yellow eyes were gleaming with triumph.
“Maybe you’d like to tell me where you’ve been?” he growled. “And why it took you so long to get back from the Gathering?”
Chapter 3
“Well?” Tigerclaw challenged.
“We thought we’d hunt.” Fireheart raised his head to hold the deputy’s amber gaze. “The Clan needs fresh-kill.”
“But we couldn’t find anything,” Graystripe added, coming to stand beside Fireheart.
“Was the prey all curled up in their nests, eh?” Tigerclaw hissed. He padded forward until he stood nose to nose with Fireheart, sniffed him, and then did the same to Graystripe. “So how is it the pair of you smell of mouse?”
Fireheart exchanged a glance with Graystripe. It seemed a long time since they had hunted in the Twoleg barn, and he had forgotten that they might still be carrying the scent of the mice they ate.
Graystripe looked back at him helplessly, anxiety making his eyes wide.
“Bluestar should hear about this,” the deputy growled. “Follow me.”
Fireheart and Graystripe had no choice but to obey. Tigerclaw led them across the clearing to Bluestar’s den at the foot of the Highrock. Beyond the curtain of lichen that covered the entrance, Fireheart could see the Clan leader curled up, apparently asleep, but as Tigerclaw shouldered his way into the den she raised her head at once and sat up.