by Erin Hunter
“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 mentor.”
“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 enough 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.
“We’re not hunting,” he mewed quietly, “but we won’t say no to a bit of prey. Let’s see your action.”
Thornpaw froze for a moment, pinpointing the mouse scuffling among the leaves under a bush. Stealthily he crept up on it, his body falling smoothly into the hunter’s crouch. Firestar noticed approvingly that he remembered how sensitive the mouse would be to the vibration of his pawsteps; he almost seemed to float over the ground. Then he sprang, and turned back to Firestar and his mentor with triumph in his eyes and the limp body of the mouse in his jaws.
“Well done!” meowed Mousefur.
“That was great,” Firestar agreed. “Bury it now, and we’ll pick it up on the way back.”
When Thornpaw had scraped earth over his catch, Firestar led the patrol toward Snakerocks. He had not been this way since that dreadful morning when he had discovered the trail of dead rabbits laid by Tigerstar to lead the dog pack to the ThunderClan camp. He swallowed bile in his throat as he remembered the reek of blood, but this morning he could detect nothing but the ordinary forest scents. When they reached Snakerocks everything was silent. The howls and barking that he had heard coming from the cave were now no more than a memory.
“Right, Thornpaw,” Firestar meowed, trying not to reveal the clinging horror that he still felt about this place. “What can you smell?”
The apprentice lifted his head and opened his jaws to draw air past his scent glands. Firestar could see that he was concentrating fiercely.
“Fox,” he announced at last. “It’s stale, though…two days old, I’d guess. Squirrel. And…and just a trace of dog.” He shot a glance at Firestar, who could see that the young cat shared his own misgivings. Thornpaw knew as well as any of them that this was where Swiftpaw had died and Lostface had been attacked.
“Anything else?”
“The Thunderpath,” Thornpaw replied. “And there’s something…” He tasted the air again. “Firestar, I don’t understand. I think I can smell cats, but it’s not the scent of any of the Clans. Coming from over there.” He flicked his tail. “What do you think?”
Firestar took a deep breath and realized that Thornpaw was right. The breeze was blowing a faint trace of unfamiliar cat scent toward them.
“Let’s take a look,” Firestar murmured. “And be careful. It might only be a lost kittypet, but you can never tell.”
As the three cats padded warily through the undergrowth, the scent grew stronger. Firestar felt more certain now about the scent. “Rogues or loners,” he meowed. “Three of them, I’d guess. And the scent is fresh. We must have just missed them.”
“But what are they doing on our territory?” Thornpaw asked. “Are they Tigerstar’s rogues, do you think?” He was referring to the band of Clanless cats who had helped Tigerstar to attack ThunderClan during his exile, before he had joined ShadowClan.
“No,” replied Mousefur. “Tigerstar’s rogues took on ShadowClan scent long ago. This must be a new lot.”
“As for what they’re doing,” Firestar added, “I’d like to know that, too. Let’s follow them. Thornpaw, you lead.”
Thornpaw was serious now, his excitement at his upcoming warrior ceremony lost in the possible threat from the group of rogues. He did his best to follow the scent but lost it in a marshy stretch of ground, where not even Firestar could pick it up again.
“I’m sorry, Firestar,” mewed Thornpaw, crestfallen.
“It’s not your fault,” Firestar reassured him. “If the scent’s gone, it’s gone.” He raised his head, staring in the direction the trail had led them. It looked as if the strange cats were heading for the Thunderpath, or perhaps for Twolegplace. In either case, they were on their way out of the territory. He shrugged. “I’ll tell the patrols to keep a lookout, but hopefully there’s nothing to worry about. That was well scented, Thornpaw.” Turning to the young cat, he added with a purr of approval, “Let’s head back to camp. We have a warrior ceremony to arrange.”
“Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting!
”
Almost at once Firestar saw Thornpaw approaching from the apprentices’ den with Mousefur beside him. Both cats had groomed themselves for the ceremony; Thornpaw’s golden-brown fur shone in the gray light of leaf-bare, and he looked as if he would burst with pride.
As he waited for the rest of the Clan to emerge, Firestar spotted Cinderpelt coming from her den. Graystripe was with her, and the two cats had their heads together, talking in low voices. Firestar wondered how Sorrelkit was getting on. He had briefly looked into the medicine cat’s den before he left with the dawn patrol. The kit had been sleeping then, and Cinderpelt had still not been prepared to say whether she thought the poison was out of her system. Firestar decided to check on Sorrelkit again as soon as the ceremony was over.
He could not help noticing Darkstripe emerging from the warriors’ den with Brackenfur right behind him. When they sat down in front of the Highrock, a space cleared itself all around them. None of the other cats wanted to be an y where near Darkstripe. The warrior stared straight ahead with a sneer on his face, but Firestar guessed he would be as anxious as the rest of them to know if Sorrelkit would recover.
Firestar looked at the rest of the Clan for a moment. This was a day that Thornpaw would remember for the rest of his life, but it was special for Firestar too, because Thornpaw was the first warrior he would make as Clan leader.
His voice rang out clearly as he began the ceremony with the words that were familiar to him from his own ceremony and all the others he had seen. “I, Firestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on this apprentice. He has trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend him to you as a warrior in his turn.” Turning to the apprentice, Firestar continued, “Thornpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”
Thornpaw’s reply was firm and confident. “I do.”
“Then by the powers of StarClan,” Firestar declared, “I give you your warrior name: Thornpaw, from this moment you will be known as Thornclaw. StarClan honors your loyalty and your intelligence, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.”
Stepping forward, Firestar rested his muzzle on the top of Thornclaw’s head, feeling the new warrior quiver with excitement. Thornclaw licked his shoulder in return, and met his gaze with a long look in which happiness and sorrow were mingled. Firestar knew he was remembering his den mate Swiftpaw, dead before he could know the fulfilment of being a warrior.
As Thornclaw stepped back to join the warriors, Lostface slipped over to him. “Thornclaw!” she purred, swiping her tongue over his ear. She had kept her promise to be the first cat to greet him with his new warrior name, and her voice held warmth and pride in his achievement.
Cloudtail pressed up behind her, greeting Thornclaw in his turn, and flashed a questioning look at Firestar.
Firestar gave him a nod. For a few moments he allowed the Clan to welcome the new warrior by chanting his name, and then he signaled with his tail for silence. When the cats had settled down, he meowed, “Before you go, I’ve something more to say. First, I want to honor the apprentice who should have been here, receiving his warrior name along with Thornclaw. You all know how Swiftpaw met his death trying to hunt down the dog pack who threatened us. His Clan will always remember that.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the assembled cats. Firestar glanced at Longtail, who had been the dead apprentice’s mentor, and saw a look of pride and grief cross his face.
“In addition,” Firestar continued, “I want to give thanks from the Clan to Fernpaw and Ashpaw. They showed the bravery of warriors in the race against the dogs, and although they are still too young to receive their warrior names, we honor them.”
“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 leave 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.”