“So what makes you think you’re not cut out to be a medicine cat?” He tried not to let his mind dwell on the fact that the rotting magpie could have been an omen about another cat—his leader, Bluestar.
Cinderpelt flicked her tail with frustration. “Yellowfang asked me to mix a poultice for her. Just a simple one for cleansing wounds. It was one of the first things she ever taught me, but now I’ve forgotten which herbs to put in it. She’s going to think I’m an idiot!” Her voice rose to a wail and her blue eyes were huge and troubled.
“You’re no idiot, and Yellowfang knows it,” Fireheart told her robustly.
“But it’s not the first dumb thing I’ve done lately. Yesterday I had to ask her the difference between foxglove and poppy seeds.” Cinderpelt hung her head even lower. “Yellowfang said I was a danger to the Clan.”
“Oh, you know what Yellowfang’s like,” Fireheart reassured her. “She’s always saying things like that.” Yellowfang had been ShadowClan’s medicine cat and, although she had become part of ThunderClan after being exiled by their cruel leader, Brokentail, she still betrayed flashes of the fierce temper of a ShadowClan warrior. But one of the reasons she and Cinderpelt got on so well was that Cinderpelt was more than capable of standing up to Yellowfang’s irritable outbursts.
Cinderpelt sighed. “I don’t think I’ve got what it takes to become a medicine cat. I thought I was doing the right thing, becoming Yellowfang’s apprentice, but it’s no good. I just can’t learn everything I need to know.”
Fireheart crouched down until his eyes were level with Cinderpelt’s. “This is about Silverstream, isn’t it?” he meowed fiercely. He remembered the day at Sunningrocks when Graystripe’s RiverClan queen had given birth before her time. Cinderpelt had tried desperately to save her, but Silverstream had lost too much blood. The beautiful silver tabby had died, although her newborn kits had survived.
Cinderpelt didn’t reply, and Fireheart knew he was right. “You saved her kits!” he pointed out.
“But I lost her.”
“You did everything you could.” Fireheart leaned forward to lick Cinderpelt on her soft gray head. “Look, just ask Yellowfang what herbs to use in the poultice. She won’t mind.”
“I hope so.” Cinderpelt sounded unconvinced. Then she gave herself a shake. “I need to stop feeling sorry for myself, don’t I?”
“Yeah,” Fireheart answered, flicking his tail at her.
“Sorry.” Cinderpelt threw him a rueful look that glimmered with a hint of her old humor. “I don’t suppose you’ve brought any fresh-kill with you?”
Fireheart shook his head. “Sorry. I just came to speak to you. Don’t tell me Yellowfang’s starving you?”
“No, but this medicine-cat thing is harder than you’d think,” Cinderpelt replied. “I haven’t had the chance to take any fresh-kill today.” Her eyes flashed with curiosity. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Tigerclaw’s kits.” Fireheart felt the bleakness seep into his belly again. “Especially Bramblekit.”
“Because he looks like his father?”
Fireheart winced. Were his feelings that easy to read? “I know I shouldn’t judge him. He’s just a kit. But when I saw him, it was as if Tigerclaw were looking at me. I…I couldn’t move.” Fireheart shook his head slowly, ashamed of his admission but glad of the chance to confide in his friend. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust him.”
“If you see Tigerclaw every time you look at him, it’s not surprising you feel like that,” mewed Cinderpelt gently. “But you must look beyond the color of his pelt and try to see the cat inside. Remember, he’s not just Tigerclaw’s kit. There’s some of Goldenflower in him too. And he will never know his father. It will be the Clan that raises him.” She added, “You of all cats should know that you can’t judge someone by the circumstances of their birth.”
Cinderpelt was right. Fireheart had never let his kittypet roots interfere with his loyalty to the Clan. “Has StarClan spoken to you about Bramblekit?” he asked, knowing that Cinderpelt and Yellowfang would have studied Silverpelt at the moment of his birth.
His heart lurched uncomfortably as the gray cat looked away and murmured, “StarClan doesn’t always share everything with me.”
Fireheart knew Cinderpelt well enough to know she was holding something back. “But they shared something with you, right?”
Cinderpelt gazed up at him, her blue eyes steady. “His destiny will be as important as that of any kit born to ThunderClan,” she mewed firmly.
Fireheart knew he wouldn’t be able to make Cinderpelt reveal what StarClan had told her if she didn’t want to. He decided to tell Cinderpelt about the other problem that was troubling him. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he confessed. “I have to decide who should be the mentors for Brindleface’s kits.”
“Isn’t that up to Bluestar?”
“She asked me to choose for her.”
Cinderpelt lifted her head in surprise. “Why are you looking so worried, then? You should be flattered.”
Flattered? Fireheart echoed silently, recalling the hostility and confusion in Bluestar’s eyes. He shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not sure who to pick.”
“You must have some idea,” Cinderpelt prompted him.
“Not a clue.”
Cinderpelt frowned thoughtfully. “Well, how did you feel when I was named as your apprentice?”
Fireheart was caught off guard by the question. “Proud. And scared. And desperate to prove myself,” he replied slowly.
“Which one of the warriors do you think wants to prove himself most?” Cinderpelt mewed.
Fireheart narrowed his eyes. An image of a brown tabby flashed in his mind. “Dustpelt.” Cinderpelt nodded thoughtfully as he went on: “He must be dying to get his first apprentice. He was pretty close to Tigerclaw, so he’ll want to prove his loyalty to the Clan now that Tigerclaw’s been exiled. He’s a good warrior, and I think he’ll make a good mentor.” Even as he spoke, Fireheart realized he had a more personal motive for choosing Dustpelt. The tabby’s eyes had flashed enviously as Bluestar twice made Fireheart a mentor, first to Cinderpelt, then to Cloudpaw. Perhaps, Fireheart thought guiltily, giving Dustpelt an apprentice would soothe the warrior’s jealousy and make him easier to get along with.
“Well, then, that’s one chosen,” Cinderpelt mewed encouragingly.
Fireheart looked down into the medicine cat’s clear, wide eyes. She made it sound so simple.
“And what about the other?” asked Cinderpelt.
“The other what?” Yellowfang’s rasping mew sounded from the fern tunnel, and the dark gray she-cat padded stiffly into the clearing. Fireheart turned to greet her. As usual, her long fur looked matted and dull, as if caring for the Clan left her no time for grooming, but her orange eyes gleamed, missing nothing.
“Bluestar’s asked Fireheart to choose the mentors for Brindleface’s kits,” Cinderpelt explained.
“Oh, has she?” Yellowfang’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who’ve you come up with?”
“We’ve already chosen Dustpelt?” Fireheart began.
Yellowfang interrupted him. “We’ve?” she rasped. “Who’s we?”
“Cinderpelt helped,” he admitted.
“I’m sure Bluestar will be pleased that a cat who’s barely begun her apprenticeship is making such important decisions for the Clan,” Yellowfang remarked. She turned to Cinderpelt. “Have you finished mixing that poultice?”
Cinderpelt opened her mouth, then shook her head before wordlessly padding back to the pile of herbs in the middle of the clearing.
Yellowfang snorted as she watched her apprentice limp away. “That cat hasn’t answered me back for days!” she complained to Fireheart. “There was a time when I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. The sooner she gets back to normal, the better it’ll be for both of us!” The old medicine cat frowned, then turned back to Fireheart. “Now, where were we?”