“Thanks,” Firestar mewed.
He shot a glance at the black-striped warrior as they walked past him to the pile of fresh-kill. Darkstripe had finished his meal; he rose to his paws and stalked toward the warriors’ den without acknowledging Firestar’s presence. Brackenfur followed with a determined look on his face.
Dustpelt emerged from the den just as Darkstripe reached it; Firestar couldn’t help noticing that the brown tabby veered sharply away as he went to join Fernpaw outside the apprentices’ den. The cats of ThunderClan were making their feelings very clear. Dustpelt had been Darkstripe’s apprentice, and now he didn’t even want to speak to his former mentor.
Firestar picked out a magpie from the fresh-kill pile and took it over to the nettle patch.
“Hey, Firestar,” meowed Mousefur as he approached. “Thornpaw said you were going to have a word with me about his warrior ceremony. It’s about time.”
“It certainly is,” Firestar agreed. Bluestar’s refusal to make the three oldest apprentices into warriors had led to Swiftpaw’s death and Lostface’s injuries, and there wouldn’t be a cat in the Clan who didn’t remember that when Thornpaw finally received his warrior name. “Why don’t the three of us take the dawn patrol tomorrow? That should give me a chance to see how he’s shaping up—not that I have any doubts,” he added hastily.
“I should think not!” Mousefur mewed. “Will you tell Thornpaw about the patrol or shall I?”
“I will,” Firestar replied, taking a quick bite of his magpie. “I want a word with Fernpaw and Ashpaw, too.”
W h en he and Sandstorm had finished eating, the ginger she-cat went off to Cinderpelt’s den, while Firestar padded over toward the tree stump where the apprentices ate. Dustpelt and Fernpaw were already there with Thornpaw and Ashpaw, and Cloudtail was just strolling over from the elders’ den, Lostface close beside him.
“Thornpaw.” Firestar gave the apprentice a nod as he settled down beside him. “Are your claws sharp? All your warrior skills ready?”
Thornpaw sat up straight, his eyes suddenly gleaming. “Yes, Firestar!”
“Dawn patrol tomorrow, then,” Firestar told him. “If it goes well, we’ll hold your ceremony at sunhigh.”
Thornpaw’s ears quivered with anticipation, but then the light in his eyes slowly died and he looked away.
“What’s the matter?” Firestar asked.
“Swiftpaw…and Lostface.” Thornpaw spoke in a low voice, with a flick of the tail toward the injured she-cat. “They should both be with me.”
“I know.” Firestar closed his eyes briefly at the memory of so much pain. “But you mustn’t let that spoil it for you. You’ve deserved this for moons.”
“I will be with you, Thornpaw.” Lostface spoke up from where she was sitting beside Cloudtail. “I’ll be the first cat to call you by your new name.”
“Thanks, Lostface,” Thornpaw mewed with a grateful dip of his head.
“And while we’re on the subject of names,” Cloudtail broke in, “what about h e r s?” He tilted his head toward Lostface; he always refused to use the cruel name Bluestar had bestowed on the injured cat. “What about getting it changed?”
“Can you change a warrior’s name?” Firestar asked. “It’s given in the sight of StarClan.”
Cloudtail let out a sigh of exasperation. “I never thought I’d call my Clan leader a mouse-brain, but honestly! Do you think One-eye or Ha l f tail started off with those names? They had other warrior names first, you can be sure of that. There must be a ceremony of some sort. And I know the rest of the Clan won’t accept a new name until you’ve said the right words.”
“Please, Firestar.” Lostface was looking at him with a hopeful expression. “I’m sure the other cats wouldn’t feel so awkward talking to me if I didn’t have this awful name.”
“Of course.” Firestar felt a stir of distress that he hadn’t noticed the burden the young cat was carrying. “I’ll talk to the elders right away. One-eye is bound to know what to do.”
He rose to his paws and suddenly remembered what else he had meant to say. “Ashpaw, Fernpaw, don’t think that you’ve been forgotten. You were brilliant in the race with the dog pack, but you’re still a bit young to be made warriors.” That was true, but at the same time Firestar wanted Thornpaw to keep his seniority by being made warrior first. “I promise it won’t be long,” he told them.
“We understand,” Ashpaw mewed. “There’s still stuff we need to learn.”
“Firestar,” Fernpaw asked nervously, “what’s going to happen about…about Darkstripe? If he did that to Sorrelkit, I don’t want him for my men t o r.”
“If he did that to Sorrelkit, he won’t be your mentor,” Firestar promised.
“Sorrelkit?” Cloudtail demanded. “What’s all this about Sorrelkit? Did something happen while we were out hunting?”
Immediately Thornpaw and Ashpaw shifted position to crouch beside him and Lostface, and began passing on the news in hushed voices.
“So who’s going to mentor Fernpaw then?” Dustpelt asked Firestar, taking it for granted that Darkstripe was guilty. “I could manage her as well as Ashpaw,” he suggested hopefully.
Fernpaw brightened but Firestar shook his head. “Not a chance, Dustpelt. You wouldn’t be nearly tough en o u g h with her.”
Dustpelt’s eyes sparked with annoyance; then he nodded sheepishly. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Don’t worry,” Firestar promised as he headed for the elders’ den. “I’ll make sure she gets a good mentor.”
Inside their den beside the fallen tree trunk, the elders were settling down for the night.
“What’s the matter now?” Smallear grumbled, raising his head from his mossy nest. “Can’t a cat get a wink of sleep around here?”
Dappletail let out a drowsy purr. “Don’t listen to him, Firestar. You’re always welcome.”
“Thanks, Dappletail,” Firestar meowed. “But it’s One-eye I want to talk to.”
One-eye was curled up in a clump of ferns in the shelter of the trunk. She blinked her single eye and opened her jaws in a huge yawn. “I’m listening, Firestar. But make it quick.”
“I need to ask you about names,” Firestar began, and he explained how Cloudtail wanted a new name for Lostface.
At the sound of the young cat’s name, Speckletail padded over and sat listening. She had cared for Lostface when she was newly injured, and a strong bond had developed between them.
“I can’t say I blame Cloudtail,” she commented when Firestar had finished. “No cat wants a name like that.”
One-eye yawned. “I was already old when they changed my name to One-eye,” she mewed, “and to be honest I don’t care what they call me so long as they bring the fresh-kill on time. But it’s different for a young cat.”
“So can you tell me what to do?” Firestar prompted.
“Of course I can.” One-eye raised her tail and beckoned him closer. “Come here, and listen carefully…”
Heavy rain fell during the night. When Firestar led Mousefur and Thornpaw out of the camp at dawn, he saw that the light snowfall had vanished. Every fern and clump of grass was loaded with drops of water that shone as daylight seeped into the sky. Shivering, Firestar set a brisk pace.
He could see from the gleam in Thornpaw’s eyes that the young cat was wildly excited, but he kept calm, determined to show his leader that he was fit to be a warrior. The three cats paused at the top of the ravine, where the breeze was carrying a strong scent of mouse. Thornpaw flashed an inquiring look at Firestar, who nodded.