“Fernpaw! Ashpaw!” The two apprentices looked overwhelmed to hear themselves praised by their Clan mates, and Dustpelt’s eyes shone with delight. Only Darkstripe, Fernpaw’s mentor, remained silent, staring coldly in front of him without even turning to look at his apprentice.
Firestar waited until the noise died down. “There’s one more ceremony to perform.” He flicked his tail to beckon Lostface out of the crowd. Nervously she stepped forward to stand in front of him; Cloudtail followed her, remaining a tail-length or so away.
A murmur of surprise went through the watching cats. Many of them, Firestar realized, would not know what was about to happen. The name-changing ceremony for a warrior who had already been given a new name had not been held for many seasons.
Remembering what One-eye had told him, he began to speak. “Spirits of StarClan, you know every cat by name. I ask you now to take away the name from the cat you see before you, for it no longer stands for what she is.”
He paused and saw the young ginger-and-white she-cat shiver, as she waited, nameless, before StarClan. Firestar hoped she would like the name he had chosen for her; he had thought hard before he was sure he had gotten it right.
“By my authority as Clan leader,” Firestar announced, “and with the approval of our warrior ancestors, I give this cat a new name. From this moment she will be known as Brightheart, for though her body has been gravely injured, we honor her brave spirit and the light that shines on within her.”
He stepped close to the newly named Brightheart, and as he had done in the warrior ceremony, rested his muzzle on her head. She responded like any newly named warrior by licking his shoulder.
“Brightheart! Brightheart!” The yowl rose from the assembled cats. Brightheart had been popular when she was an apprentice, and the whole Clan had grieved over her injuries. She would never be a warrior in the truest sense of the word, but there would always be a place for her in ThunderClan.
Firestar led Brightheart to where Cloudtail was waiting. “Well?” he asked. “Is that fair enough for you?”
Cloudtail could barely reply; he was too busy pressing his muzzle against Brightheart’s and winding his tail with hers. “It’s perfect, Firestar,” he murmured.
Brightheart’s good eye brimmed with happiness and she was purring too hard to speak, but she blinked her gratitude at Firestar. She had carried the burden of Bluestar’s anger against StarClan for too long, and even if she could never become a full warrior, she had a name to be proud of now.
Firestar swallowed, his throat choked with emotion. It was moments like this that made being a leader worthwhile.
“Listen, Firestar,” meowed Cloudtail after a moment, “Brightheart and I are going to train together. We’re going to work on a fighting technique she can manage with just one eye and ear. When she’s able to fight again, can she lea v e the elders and come to live in the warriors’ den with the rest of us?”
“Well…” Firestar was uncertain. Brightheart could never be a full warrior because she couldn’t hunt alone, and she would be at a serious disadvantage in a fight. But it was hard to resist her determination; besides, Firestar wanted her to be able to defend herself and her Clan mates as best she could. “You haven’t got an apprentice yet, Cloudtail,” he agreed, “so you do have the time to spend with Brightheart.”
“Does that mean we can train together?” Cloudtail urged.
“Please, Firestar,” meowed Brightheart. “I want to be some use to the Clan.”
“All right,” Firestar agreed. With a sudden thought he added, “If you work out some new moves, we can teach them to the others. Brightheart isn’t the first warrior to be injured like this, and she won’t be the last.”
Cloudtail meowed agreement. The two young cats were moving away when Whitestorm, who had been Brightheart’s mentor, came up to congratulate her. To Firestar, he added, “I looked in on Sorrelkit just before the ceremony. She was starting to wake up. Cinderpelt thinks she’ll recover.”
“That’s great news!” Firestar purred. Whitestorm, he remembered, was Sorrelkit’s father. “Do you think she’s fit yet to tell us what happened?”
“You’ll have to ask Cinderpelt,” the white warrior replied. “Go now—I’ll see to the patrols.”
Firestar thanked him and hurried toward the medicine cat’s den.
Cinderpelt met him at the mouth of the fern tunnel. “I was coming to look for you,” she meowed. After hearing Whitestorm’s good news, Firestar was surprised to see the depth of anxiety in her eyes. “Sorrelkit is awake,” she went on. “She’s going to be fine. But you need to hear the story she has to tell.”
Chapter 10
Sorrelkit was curled up in a mossy nest near the entrance to Cinderpelt’s den. She raised her head as Firestar approached with the medicine cat, but her eyes were heavy and it looked as though she was finding it difficult to move.
Sandstorm was crouched close beside her on guard duty. “Poor little scrap,” she murmured to Firestar. “She nearly died. We’ve got to do something about Darkstripe.”
The pale ginger she-cat was looking as anxious as Cinderpelt; she would have heard Sorrelkit’s story too, Firestar realized. He nodded. “You can leave Darkstripe to me.” Settling down beside Sorrelkit, he mewed gently, “I’m glad to see you’re awake, Sorrelkit. Can you tell me what happened to you?”
The tiny tortoiseshell kit blinked up at him. “Sootkit and Rainkit were asleep in the nursery,” she began in a faint voice. “But I wasn’t sleepy. My mother wasn’t watching, so I went to play in the ravine. I wanted to catch a mouse. And then I saw Darkstripe.” Her voice shook and she hesitated.
“Go on,” Firestar encouraged her.
“He was coming up the ravine by himself. I knew he should have had Brackenfur with him, and I…I wondered where he was going. I followed him—I remembered the time he took Bramblepaw and Tawnypaw out of the camp, and I thought I might have an adventure like that, too.”
Firestar felt a pang of sadness as he remembered how Sorrelkit was always so bright and curious, getting into trouble because of her misguided courage. This limp scrap of fur didn’t look at all adventurous now, and Firestar could only hope that with Cinderpelt’s care she would soon be her lively self again.
“I followed him a long way,” Sorrelkit went on, sounding rather proud of herself. “I’d never been so far from the camp. I hid from Darkstripe too—he didn’t know I was there. And then he met another cat—a cat I’d never seen before.”
“What other cat? What did it look like? What scent did it have?” Firestar questioned her urgently.
Sorrelkit looked bewildered. “I didn’t recognize the scent,” she mewed. Her nose wrinkled. “But it was yucky. He was a big white cat—bigger than you, Firestar. And he had black paws.”
Firestar stared at her as he realized whom she had seen. “Blackfoot!” he exclaimed. “Tigerstar’s deputy. That was ShadowClan scent you smelled, Sorrelkit.”
“And what’s Darkstripe doing, meeting the ShadowClan deputy on our territory?” Sandstorm growled. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“So what happened then?” Firestar prompted the kit.
“I got scared,” Sorrelkit admitted, looking down at her paws. “I ran back to camp, but I think Darkstripe must have heard me, because he caught up with me in the ravine. I thought he would be angry because I spied on him, but he told me how clever I was. He gave me some red berries for a special treat. They looked tasty, but when I ate them I started to feel really ill… And I don’t remember anything else, except waking up here.”