“Tigerclaw, you have to come see this!”
Tigerclaw sat up and looked at Clawface. “What is it?” he grumbled. “I’m not on the dawn patrol today.”
“I know, I’ve just returned with it. But something is happening on the other side of the Thunderpath. The forest is on fire!”
Tigerclaw leaped out of his nest and thrust past Clawface. Behind him, the scrawny brown warrior called, “It looked like the flames were right above the ThunderClan camp!”
Tigerclaw pounded through the thorns and raced through the pine trees, ignoring the brambles that snagged at his pelt. Nightwhisper was standing beside the Thunderpath, straining to see through the trees on the other side. A terrible roaring, crackling sound echoed from ThunderClan territory, and the air was acrid with pale gray smoke. Glimpses of bright orange flames flickered among the trunks, and every so often the distant rumble was splintered by the sound of a tree crashing to the ground. Tigerclaw crouched at the edge of the Thunderpath and scanned for monsters.
“Are you going over there?” Nightwhisper yowled over the noise of the burning trees. “Do you want me to come with you? There might be cats who need our help.”
Tigerclaw shook his head. “I’m not going on a rescue mission,” he growled. “I just need to see what’s going on. Stay here; I want to do this alone.”
Nightwhisper shifted his weight onto his front paws as Tigerclaw began to cross, as if he was about to follow. Tigerclaw glared over his shoulder at him. “I said, stay here!” He bounded across the rest of the hard black stone and plunged into the long, cool grass.
At once the scents of ThunderClan bathed his nose, cutting through the smell of cinders. Tigerclaw breathed in deeply, then burst out coughing as sharp smoke pricked the back of his throat. He ducked his head and pushed through the grass into the trees. The leaf-mulch beneath his paws was instantly familiar, and he quickly found his way to an almost invisible trail that led deeper into the woods, toward the ravine. The crackling of the flames grew louder, and Tigerclaw felt his fur grow hot as he neared the camp. As far as he could tell, the trees between the ravine and Twolegplace were burning, and the deafening roar suggested that the fire was heading straight toward the ThunderClan camp. No!
This is the Clan that drove you out! Forced you to live as a rogue, turned you away in favor of a kittypet! Mapleshade’s voice snarled in his ear.
Tigerclaw curled his lip. Don’t mistake this for caring about my former Clanmates. I want the satisfaction of destroying them myself, not watching them burn like trapped rabbits, that’s all. He wondered if Mapleshade could sense the horror that squirmed in his belly. No cat deserved to die in flames, surely?
He winced as Twoleg shouts rang out close to his ear, and giant figures, muffled by thick dark pelts, crashed through the undergrowth. A two-tone howl sounded from the Thunderpath, and something long and heavy was dragged past him, hissing over the crumpled bracken. Tigerclaw bounded in the other direction, weaving through the oaks and beech trees until the ground fell away steeply into the crevice that had been his home for so many moons. Smoke billowed over the ravine, and flames already licked at the brambles on the far side. Shrieks and yowls of terrified cats cut through the noise of the fire. Tigerclaw crept to the edge of the cliff and peered over.
Frostfur’s white pelt gleamed through the smoke as he nudged Bluestar up the path that led out of the camp. The leader stumbled along at a half run, caught up among her fleeing Clanmates.
“Head for the river!” called a voice from below. Tigerclaw felt his muscles tense. Fireheart was in charge, of course. Surely that mouse-brained ThunderClan leader hadn’t made him deputy? “Keep an eye on your denmates,” Fireheart ordered. “Don’t lose sight of one another.”
That should be me down there, Tigerclaw thought furiously. I should be saving my Clanmates, not some kittypet!
Now Fireheart was handing Willowpelt’s kits to Longtail and Mousefur, telling them to stay close to the queen, who was carrying the third kit. Tigerclaw scanned the cats for a pale ginger pelt and let out a growl of relief. Goldenflower was at the top of the ravine, racing toward the river. A tiny pale brown shape ran at her heels: Tawnykit had made it out.
Fireheart followed the cats to the top of the slope and paused. “Wait! Is any cat missing?”
Cloudpaw’s fluffy white head popped up. He looked as much like a kittypet as ever. “Where are Halftail and Patchpelt?” he squeaked.
“They’re not with me,” Smallear called from farther along the path.
“They must still be in camp!” meowed Whitestorm. Tigerclaw shrugged. If elders couldn’t manage to save themselves, they were a waste of fresh-kill.
“Where’s Bramblekit?” Goldenflower shrieked, and Tigerclaw felt the blood chill in his veins. Bramblekit! “He was behind me when I was climbing the ravine!” the queen wailed.
“I’ll find them,” Fireheart meowed. “It’s too dangerous for you to stay here any longer. Whitestorm and Darkstripe, make sure the rest of the Clan make it to the river.”
“You can’t go back down there!” Sandstorm yowled.
“I have to,” Fireheart insisted. Yes, play the hero, run into fire to show just what a loyal little warrior you are. Tigerclaw sank his claws into the dusty soil. Where is Bramblekit?
“I’m coming too,” Sandstorm mewed.
“No!” Whitestorm told her. “We are short of warriors already. We need you to help get the Clan to the river.”
“Then I’ll come!” Tigerclaw blinked as Cinderpelt staggered back to the edge of the ravine. The pale gray medicine cat looked exhausted, her eyes streaming from the smoke. “I’m no warrior,” Cinderpelt mewed. “I’d be no use anyway if we met an enemy patrol.”
“No way!” Fireheart hissed.
Then Yellowfang lurched over to them. “I may be old, but I’m steadier on my paws than you,” mewed the old medicine cat to Cinderpelt. “The Clan will need your healing skills. I’ll go with Fireheart. You stay with the Clan.”
Tigerclaw stared in disbelief. Was the life of his son dependent on an ancient medicine cat and an arrogant kittypet?
Cinderpelt looked as if she was going to say something, but Fireheart cut her off. “There’s no time to argue. Yellowfang, come with me. The rest of you, head for the river.” He turned and ran back down the path with Yellowfang lumbering behind him.
Tigerclaw peered through the smoke, searching desperately for a small dark brown shape. Flames were devouring the ferns around the camp and twining around the slender tree trunks. Two filthy, blurred shapes were just visible at the foot of a birch. Yellowfang rushed forward and grabbed the closest body—Tigerclaw was pretty sure it was Halftail—and started to drag it across the clearing. Fireheart hauled Patchpelt through the gorse tunnel first and managed to get the old tom to the top of the cliff. Yellowfang and Halftail were much slower, and the trees around them exploded in fire before they were halfway up the slope.
“Help! Help!”
Tigerclaw whipped his head around and stared in horror at the tiny cat clinging to the branch of a tree that sprouted from the side of the ravine. “Bramblekit!” he roared. The bark just below his son was smoldering, and in the next heartbeat the whole trunk was ablaze. Tigerclaw was about to launch himself off the top of the cliff when there was a blur of movement and a soot-stained shape raced up the tree.