Fire And Ice

Fireheart’s head spun. He was dizzy with lack of sleep, and this devastating news sapped the last of his energy. Cinderpaw had been entrusted to him for her warrior training. Memories of the naming ceremony pricked like cruel thorns—Cinderpaw’s excitement, Frostfur’s motherly pride…“Does Frostfur know?” he meowed, feeling hollow.

“Yes, she was here till dawn. She’s back in the nursery now; there are other kits to tend to. I’ll ask one of the elders to sit with Cinderpaw. She needs to be kept warm.”

“I can do that.” Fireheart padded over to the nest where Cinderpaw was sleeping and looked inside. She squirmed, and her blood-smeared sides heaved, as though she were fighting a battle as she slept.

Yellowfang gently nudged Fireheart with her nose. “You need to get some sleep,” she rasped. “Leave Cinderpaw to me.”

Fireheart stayed where he was. “Bluestar lost another life,” he burst out. Yellowfang blinked for a moment, then lifted her head to StarClan. She didn’t utter a word, but Fireheart could see the anguish in her orange eyes. “You know, don’t you?” he murmured.

Yellowfang lowered his chin and gazed into his eyes. “That this is Bluestar’s final life? Yes, I know. A medicine cat can tell these things.”

“Will the rest of the Clan be able to tell as well?” Fireheart asked, thinking of Tigerclaw.

Yellowfang narrowed her eyes. “No. She will be no weaker in this life than she was in any of her others.”

Fireheart blinked gratefully at her.

“Now,” Yellowfang ordered, “do you want some poppy seeds to help you sleep?”

Fireheart shook his head. Part of him longed for the deep, easy sleep they would bring. But if Tigerclaw was right and ShadowClan really was about to attack ThunderClan’s borders, he did not want to dull his senses. He might be needed to defend the camp.

Graystripe was back in the warriors’ den. Fireheart did not speak to him; his rage at finding him missing the night before lingered like a dull bruise. He padded silently to his nest, circled once, and settled down to wash.

Graystripe looked up. “You’re back, then.” He sounded edgy, as if he wanted to say more.

Fireheart stopped licking his forepaw and stared at Graystripe.

“You tried to warn Silverstream off,” Graystripe hissed furiously. Willowpelt, who was dozing on the other side of the den, opened one eye, then closed it again.

Graystripe lowered his voice. “Stay out of it, will you?” he spat. “I’m going to keep on seeing her, whatever you do or say.”

Fireheart snorted and flashed a resentful glance at his friend. His talk with Silverstream seemed so long ago, he’d almost forgotten it. But he hadn’t forgotten that Graystripe had been missing when he’d needed help finding Cinderpaw. He laid his head angrily on his muddy forepaws and closed his eyes. Cinderpaw was battling against her injuries and Bluestar was on her ninth life. As far as Fireheart was concerned, Graystripe could do what he liked.

Chapter 18

Graystripe had already left his nest when Fireheart awoke the next day. He could tell it was sunhigh by the light that glowed through the branches. He rose, his body still weary with grief, and pushed his head out of the den. Snow must have been falling all morning, for it lay thick on the ground and had drifted against the den. Fireheart found himself gazing out over a white wall that was as high as his shoulder.

The usual bustle of the camp seemed muted. Fireheart could see Willowpelt and Halftail whispering on the far side of the clearing. Mousefur was picking her way laboriously toward the store of fresh-kill, a rabbit dangling from her jaws. She stopped and sneezed, then carried on.

Fireheart lifted one paw and rested it on top of the snow. It felt hard at first, but when he pressed down, the thin covering of ice cracked and he gasped as his leg plunged into the drift. Fireheart snorted as he found himself up to his muzzle in snow. Shaking his head and lifting his chin, he leaped forward, only to sink into more deep snow. He struggled on, alarm rising in his chest. He felt as if he were drowning in snow! Then, all of a sudden, there was solid ground under his paws. He had reached the edge of the clearing. The snow here was only a mouse-length deep, and Fireheart sat down with a soft crunch, relieved.

He tensed when he saw Graystripe plowing through the snow toward him. The gray warrior seemed unbothered by it, protected from its damp chill by his thick pelt. His face was shadowed with sorrow. “Have you heard about Bluestar?” he asked as he neared. “She lost a life to greencough.”

Fireheart flicked his ears impatiently. He could have told his friend that last night. “I know,” he snapped. “I was with her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” mewed Graystripe, shocked.

“You weren’t exactly in a friendly mood last night, if you remember. Anyway, if you weren’t always off breaking the warrior code, you might know what was going on in your own Clan,” he snarled.