by Erin Hunter
Cinderpelt broke into his reverie. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it yet, you know.”
Firestar pushed his muzzle into her fur, grateful for her warmth. “I’ll think about it first,” he mewed slowly. “Right now…it’s too close.” He shivered again at the memory. “Cinderpelt,” he went on, “I’ve never told any cat this before, but…sometimes I have dreams that tell me about the future.”
Cinderpelt’s ears twitched in surprise. “That’s unusual. Clan leaders and medicine cats commune with StarClan, but I never heard of ordinary warriors having prophetic dreams. How long has this been going on?”
“Since I was a kittypet,” Firestar admitted, remembering the dream of hunting a mouse that had first driven him into the forest. “But I…I don’t know if the dreams come from StarClan.” After all, before he came to the forest, he hadn’t even known about StarClan. Could they have been watching over him even then?
The medicine cat’s eyes were thoughtful. “In the end, all dreams come from StarClan,” she murmured. “Do they always come true?”
“Yes,” Firestar replied. “But not always in the way I expect. Some are easier to understand than others.”
“Then you should bear that in mind when you’re trying to understand this latest dream.” Cinderpelt gave him a comforting lick. “Remember, Firestar, you’re not alone. Now that you’re Clan leader, StarClan will share many things with you. But I’m here to help you interpret the signs. Tell me as much or as little as you want.”
Though Firestar was grateful for her understanding, Cinderpelt’s words chilled him. His new relationship with StarClan was driving him along new paths where he might not want to go. For a few heartbeats he longed to be no more than a warrior again, hunting with Graystripe or sharing tongues with Sandstorm in the den.
“Thank you, Cinderpelt,” he meowed, forcing himself to his paws. “I promise I’ll talk to you when ever I feel the need.” But even though he meant what he said, deep down he wondered how helpful she would be. Firestar couldn’t help feeling that this was something he had to face alone. He let out a long sigh. “Let’s keep going.”
However much Firestar longed to get home, his strength was failing. Since the discovery of the dog pack and the heart-stopping dash through the forest to lead them to the gorge, he had eaten little, and scarcely slept except to dream. The long journey to Highstones and the agony of receiving his nine lives, followed by the terrible vision, had taken all he had to give.
His steps became slower and more uncertain. They were passing Barley’s farm when the medicine cat gave his shoulder a sharp nudge. “That’s enough, Firestar,” she meowed firmly. “As your medicine cat I’m telling you that you need to rest. Let’s see if Barley and Ravenpaw are at home.”
“Good idea.” Firestar felt too relieved at the prospect of resting to argue.
Cautiously the two cats approached the Twoleg barn. Firestar was worried that the dogs might be unchained, but their scent was faint and distant. Much stronger was the scent of cats, and as they drew closer Firestar spotted a muscular black-and-white tom squeezing himself through a gap in the door.
“Barley!” he meowed in greeting. “It’s good to see you. You know Cinderpelt, our medicine cat?”
Barley gave both cats a brisk nod. “It’s good to see you, too, Fireheart.”
“Firestar,” Cinderpelt corrected him. “He’s Clan leader now.”
Barley’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Congratulations! But that means that Bluestar must be dead. I’m sorry.”
“She died as she lived, protecting her Clan,” Firestar told him.
“I can see there’s a story to tell,” meowed Barley, turning back to the barn, “and Ravenpaw will want to hear it. Come on in.”
Inside the barn was warm and dark, full of the scent of hay and mice. Firestar listened to the telltale scuttering noises and his head spun with hunger.
“A soft place to sleep, and all the prey you can eat,” he remarked, trying not to let his desperate hunger show. “Better not tell ThunderClan or they’ll all be out here, wanting to be loners.”
Barley chuckled softly. “Ravenpaw,” he called, “come and see who’s here.”
A dark shape sprang down from a nearby stack of hay with a welcoming purr. As an apprentice, Ravenpaw had been the only cat in ThunderClan who knew the truth about the death of Redtail—that he had been murdered by Ravenpaw’s mentor, Tigerstar. When Tigerstar tried to kill his apprentice to prevent him from reporting what he had seen, Firestar had found this new home for him. The life of a loner suited Ravenpaw much better than that of a warrior, yet he had never forgotten his birth Clan, and remained a loyal friend to his former Clan mates.
“So Bluestar is dead,” he murmured when Barley had passed on the news. His eyes clouded with grief. “I’ll never forget her.”
Barley gave a comforting rumble in his throat, and Firestar sensed how welcoming he must have been to the scared young apprentice who had come to him so many moons ago.
Straightening up, Ravenpaw flashed the black-and-white cat a grateful glance. “So you’re Clan leader now,” he continued to Firestar. “StarClan made a good choice.” He led the way to the other side of the barn. “Would you like to hunt?”
“That would be great,” replied Cinderpelt. She gave Firestar a questioning look, and murmured, “Shall I catch something for you?”
In spite of his exhaustion, Firestar shook his head. A fine Clan leader he would make if he couldn’t catch his own prey! He stood alert, listening, and dropped into the hunter’s crouch when he heard a soft scuffling deep within the hay. Pinpointing the mouse by hearing rather than sight, he sprang, and dispatched the creature with a swift bite.
Ravenpaw was lucky, Firestar reflected as he picked up the prey in his jaws and padded back to the others to eat. This was twice the size of the leaf-bare-thin mice in the forest, and easier to catch in the shadows of the barn. He gulped it down in a few famished mouthfuls and felt his strength beginning to return.
“Have some more,” Ravenpaw urged. “There are plenty here.”
When Firestar and Cinderpelt had eaten as much as they could manage they lay in the soft hay, sharing tongues with their friends and bringing them up-to-date with Clan news. Ravenpaw and Barley listened, their eyes huge with shock, as Firestar told them about the dog pack.
“I always knew Tigerstar was bloodthirsty,” Ravenpaw meowed, “but I didn’t think even he would try to destroy a whole Clan like that.”
“Thank StarClan he didn’t succeed,” Firestar replied. “But he came pretty close. I don’t want to go through anything like that again.”
“You’ll have to do something to stop Tigerstar now, before he tries something else,” Barley pointed out.
Firestar nodded. He hesitated, then confessed, “But I don’t know how I’m going to do anything without Bluestar. Everything seems dark and…and overwhelming.” He said nothing about the interruption of his leadership ritual, or the horror of his dream, but he saw from the sympathetic look in Cinderpelt’s eyes that she knew what he was thinking.
“Remember the whole Clan is behind you,” she mewed. “No cat will ever forget that you and Bluestar saved us from the pack.”
“Maybe they expect too much of me.”
“Nonsense!” Cinderpelt’s tone was bracing. “They know you’re going to be a great leader, and they’ll all stand by you to the last breath.”
“So will I,” Ravenpaw offered, startling Firestar. The sleek black tom looked slightly embarrassed as Firestar turned to look at him, but he went on: “I know I’m not a warrior, but if you want my help you have only to ask.”
Firestar blinked his gratitude. “Thank you, Ravenpaw.”
“May I come to the camp soon?” Ravenpaw asked. “I’d like to pay my last respects to Bluestar at her burial place.”
“Yes, of course,” Firestar replied. “Bluestar gave you the right to go where you like on ThunderClan territory. There’s no reas
on to change that now.”
Ravenpaw dipped his head. “Thank you.” As he looked up again, Firestar saw a glow of respect in his eyes. “You saved my life once, Firestar. I’ll never be able to repay you for that. But if trouble with Tigerstar comes, I’ll be proud to stand with the warriors of ThunderClan and fight him to the death.”
CHAPTER 6
Twilight was thickening the shadows under the trees by the time Firestar and Cinderpelt slipped down the ravine toward the camp entrance. They had slept in the barn with Barley and Ravenpaw until the sun was well above the horizon, and feasted again on plump mice before they set off for their own territory. Though Firestar was tired, some of the horror of his dream was fading, and he was looking forward to seeing his Clan mates again.
At first the new leader emerged unnoticed from the gorse tunnel with Cinderpelt. Whitestorm and Brackenfur were sitting together near the nettle patch, finishing off some fresh-kill, while three of the apprentices wrestled playfully outside their den. Firestar picked out the dark tabby pelt of his own apprentice, Bramblepaw, and reminded himself to get him back onto a strict training schedule as soon as he could. There was no reason why leadership duties should prevent him from mentoring the young cat—after all, Bluestar had been a diligent mentor to him.
He was padding over to Whitestorm when he heard his name yowled loudly, and turned to see Ashpaw racing across the clearing from the elders’ den. The apprentice’s gray fur was bristling with excitement. “Fireheart—no, Firestar! You’re back!”
His noisy greeting alerted the rest of the Clan and soon they were pressing around Firestar, calling him by his new name and welcoming him home. Firestar wanted to give himself up to the uncomplicated enjoyment of their warm fur pressed against his, but he could not ignore the awe in their eyes as they gazed at him. He felt a sharp pang in his heart as he was reminded yet again of the new distance between himself and the rest of his Clan.
“Did you really see StarClan?” asked Fernpaw, her eyes wide.
“I really did,” Firestar replied. “But I’m not allowed to say anything about the ceremony.”
Fernpaw didn’t look disappointed. Her eyes brimming with admiration, she turned to Dustpelt and meowed, “I bet he’s going to be a great leader!”
“He’d better be,” replied Dustpelt; his love for Fernpaw wouldn’t let him argue with her, even though Firestar was well aware that he had never been Dustpelt’s favorite cat. But the brown-coated warrior gave him a nod of respect, and Firestar knew that Dustpelt’s loyalty to the warrior code would ensure his support.
“It’s good to see you back,” meowed Graystripe, shouldering through the warriors to reach Firestar’s side. At least he seemed to have recovered from the awe he’d felt when Bluestar had named Firestar leader as she lay dying. Now his yellow eyes were filled with friendship and sympathy. “You look like a fox that’s been dead for a moon. Was it tough?”
“It was,” Firestar murmured, just for Graystripe’s ears, but Cloudtail caught what he had said.
“It’s only your belief in ancient traditions that makes you think you can’t be leader without dragging all the way up to Highstones and back. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve already proved yourself to be the true leader of this Clan, Firestar.”
Firestar gave his kin a hard stare; he was grateful for Cloudtail’s loyalty and respect, but felt as frustrated as ever that the younger cat did not share his beliefs. He wished he could tell the white warrior exactly what he had experienced, if only to shock him into respect for StarClan, but he knew that was impossible.
“Shh! The ancient traditions still matter.” The quiet rebuke came from Lostface, who had come to join Cloudtail. She licked his ear and added, “StarClan watch over us all.”
Cloudtail returned the lick, his tongue passing gently over the injured side of Lostface’s face. Firestar’s annoyance faded. He couldn’t help admiring Cloudtail’s unwavering devotion to Lostface in spite of her terrible injuries. His kin might be difficult and hotheaded, with little respect for the warrior code, but he had brought this young cat back from the brink of death and given her a reason to live.
As the welcoming cats began to disperse, Firestar caught the eye of Whitestorm, who had greeted him and then backed off a pace or two, waiting to speak.
“How are things in camp?” Firestar asked. “Was there any trouble while I was away?”
“Not a thing,” the senior warrior reported. “We’ve patrolled the whole territory, and there’s no sign of dogs or of ShadowClan.”
“Good,” Firestar mewed. Glancing at the well-stocked fresh-kill pile, he added, “I see some cats have been hunting.”
“Sandstorm took a patrol out, and Mousefur and Brackenfur put the apprentices to work,” replied Whitestorm. “Bramblepaw is a skillful hunter. I lost count of how much prey he brought in.”
“Good,” Firestar repeated. His plea sure in hearing his apprentice praised was tempered by the uneasiness he always felt when Tigerstar’s son was mentioned. Tigerstar had been a good hunter too, but that had not stopped him from becoming a murderer and a traitor.
Cinderpelt came up to him again. “I’m off to my den,” she meowed. “Call me if you want anything. Have you remembered that you need to appoint a deputy before moonhigh?”
Firestar nodded. Other duties had been more urgent, but now he needed to give this decision serious thought. Because she had been so shocked by Tigerstar’s treachery and exile, Bluestar had made Firestar’s own appointment a day late, without the proper ceremony. The Clan had been terrified that StarClan would be angry, and that had made things very difficult for Firestar. He was determined not to make the same mistake with his own deputy.
Watching Cinderpelt limping across the clearing to her den, Firestar realized that so far two cats had not come to greet him. One was Darkstripe; that did not surprise him. The other was Sandstorm, and that disturbed him. Had he done something to make her angry?
Then Firestar spotted her a few tail-lengths away, watching him with an uncharacteristically diffident air. Her green eyes flickered toward him and away again as he padded over to her.
“Sandstorm,” he mewed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Firestar.” She didn’t meet his gaze, but looked down at her paws. “It’s good to have you back.”
Now Firestar was certain something was wrong. He had been looking forward all the long journey home to lying beside Sandstorm in the warriors’ den, to sharing tongues with her and catching up on her news. But he would not be able to do that again. From now on he would sleep alone in Bluestar’s old den—his den now—underneath the Highrock.
And with that realization came understanding of what was troubling Sandstorm. For all her confidence when he left the camp, she was not at ease with him now. “Mouse-brain,” he purred affectionately, pressing his muzzle against hers. “I’m still the same cat. Nothing has changed.”
“Everything’s changed!” Sandstorm insisted. “You’re Clan leader now.”
“And you’re still the best hunter and the most beautiful cat in the Clan,” Firestar assured her. “You’ll always be special to me.”
“But you…you’re so far away,” meowed Sandstorm, unconsciously echoing Firestar’s own fears. “You’re closer to Cinderpelt now than anyone else. You both know secrets about StarClan that ordinary warriors don’t.”
“Cinderpelt’s our medicine cat,” Firestar replied. “And she’s one of the best friends I have. But she’s not you, Sandstorm. I know things are difficult right now. There’s so much I have to do to take over the Clan…especially after what Tigerstar tried to do with the pack of dogs. But in a few days we’ll be able to go out on patrol together, just like we used to.”
To his relief he felt Sandstorm relax, and some of the uncertainty faded from her eyes. “You’ll need an evening patrol,” she mewed. Her voice was crisp, more like the old Sandstorm, though Firestar guessed she was covering up her unhappiness. “Shall I round up some cats and g
o?”
“Good idea.” Firestar tried to match her businesslike manner. “Go and have a sniff around Sunningrocks. Make sure RiverClan haven’t been up to their old tricks.” It would be just like Leopardstar, the ambitious leader of RiverClan, to try to claim the long-disputed territory while ThunderClan was shaken by the loss of Bluestar.
“Right.” Sandstorm hurried off toward the nettle patch, where Brackenfur and Longtail were eating. Brackenfur called to his apprentice, Tawnypaw, and all four cats headed for the gorse tunnel.
Firestar made his way toward the leader’s den. He still couldn’t think of it as his own, and he found himself missing his comfy patch of moss in the warriors’ den even more sharply. Before he reached it, he heard his name being called and turned to see Graystripe hurrying after him.
“Firestar, I wanted to tell you—” He broke off as if he were embarrassed.
“What’s the problem?”
“Well…” Graystripe hesitated and then went on in a rush: “I don’t know if you were thinking of choosing me to be your deputy, but I wanted to say that you don’t have to. I know I haven’t been back in the Clan long enough, and some cats still don’t trust me. I won’t be hurt if you pick another cat.”
Firestar felt a pang of regret. He would have chosen Graystripe above all other cats to hunt and fight by his side, and to give him the special support that a deputy gave the Clan leader. But it was true that he could not choose Graystripe so soon after his friend’s return from RiverClan. Though Firestar himself had no doubt of his friend’s loyalty to ThunderClan, Graystripe still had to prove himself before the rest of the Clan would accept him.
Leaning forward, Firestar touched noses with his friend. “Thank you, Graystripe,” he mewed. “I’m glad you understand.”
Graystripe shrugged, more embarrassed than ever. “I just wanted to say.” He turned and vanished through the branches of the warrior’s den.