Fire And Ice

One of the kits cried out and Yellowfang sprang up. As she passed, Fireheart leaned forward and gently stroked the old cat’s side with his muzzle. She twitched her shoulder gratefully at him. Then, filled with sadness, he turned and padded toward the fern tunnel.

The white pelt of Frostfur appeared at the other end. She must be coming to see Cinderpaw. As he approached the queen, Fireheart lifted his head and looked into her blue eyes. The sorrow in them made his heart twist with pain. “Frostfur?” he began.

The queen stopped.

“I…I’m sorry.” Fireheart trembled as he spoke.

Frostfur looked confused. “What for?”

“I should have been able to stop Cinderpaw from going to the Thunderpath.”

Frostfur gazed at him, but her expression gave away nothing except her sadness. “I don’t blame you, Fireheart,” she murmured. Then she lowered her head and carried on toward her kit.

Graystripe was back, munching a vole beside the nettle clump.

Fireheart padded over to him. “Tigerclaw says you’ve got to move to the fallen oak, with the whitecough cats,” he meowed. With a prickle of resentment, he remembered how the deputy had questioned him about his friend.

“That won’t be necessary,” replied Graystripe cheerfully. “I’m better now. Yellowfang gave me the all-clear this morning.”

Fireheart looked closely at Graystripe. His eyes were certainly bright again, and his runny nose had dried to an unappealing crust. At any other time Fireheart would have teased him about how much he looked like Runningnose, the ShadowClan medicine cat. Now he spat crossly, “Tigerclaw has noticed your disappearances. You should be more careful. Why can’t you stay away from Silverstream, at least for now?”

Graystripe stopped chewing and stared angrily back at Fireheart. “And why can’t you mind your own business?”

Fireheart closed his eyes and snorted with frustration. Would he ever get through to his friend? Then he wondered if he even cared anymore. After all, Graystripe hadn’t asked about Cinderpaw.

Fireheart’s stomach growled to tell him he was hungry. He might as well eat. He took a sparrow from the pile of fresh-kill and carried it away to a deserted corner of the camp to eat alone. As he settled down, he thought of Princess, far away in Twolegplace, with her newborn kits. Lonely and anxious, Fireheart stared across the camp and longed to see her again.

Chapter 19

In the following days, Fireheart struggled against the urge to visit his sister. His yearning to be with his kittypet kin was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable. He kept himself busy hunting in the snowy forests, replenishing the camp store.

He had had a successful hunt this afternoon, returning to camp with two mice and a chaffinch as the sun dipped behind the trees. He buried the mice in the snow store and took the chaffinch for his own supper.

As he finished his meal, he noticed Whitestorm padding toward him. “I want you to take Sandpaw out on the dawn patrol,” the great white warrior meowed. “ShadowClan has been scented as close as the Owl Tree.”

“ShadowClan?” Fireheart echoed in alarm. Perhaps Tigerclaw really had found evidence of an invasion after all. “I was planning to take Brackenpaw out again tomorrow.”

“Isn’t Graystripe better now?” asked Whitestorm. “He can take Brackenpaw.”

Of course! thought Fireheart. And perhaps training his apprentice would keep Graystripe away from Silverstream for once. But that meant he would have to go on patrol with Sandpaw. And Fireheart couldn’t help thinking of the furious look Sandpaw had given him when he’d interrupted her fight with the RiverClan warrior beside the gorge. “Just me and Sandpaw?” he asked.

Whitestorm looked at him in surprise. “Sandpaw’s almost a warrior, and you can take care of yourself,” he replied.

Whitestorm had misunderstood Fireheart’s concern. He wasn’t afraid of being attacked by enemy cats; he was afraid Sandpaw hated him as much as Dustpaw did. But Fireheart didn’t correct him. “Does Sandpaw know?”

“You can tell her,” meowed Whitestorm.

Fireheart’s ear twitched. He didn’t think Sandpaw would be too thrilled by the idea of patrolling with him, but he didn’t argue.

Whitestorm nodded briefly and bounded away toward the warriors’ den. Fireheart sighed and padded over to where Sandpaw was sitting with the other apprentices.

“Sandpaw.” Fireheart shifted uneasily. “Whitestorm wants you to patrol with me at dawn tomorrow.”

He waited for a resentful hiss, but Sandpaw merely looked up at him and meowed, “Fine.” Even Dustpaw looked surprised.

“O-okay,” echoed Fireheart, taken aback. “Meet you at sunrise then.”

“Sunrise,” agreed Sandpaw.

Fireheart decided to share the good news about Sandpaw’s lack of hostility with Graystripe. It might be a chance for them to start talking to each other again. Graystripe was sharing tongues with Runningwind by the clump of nettles.

“Hi, Fireheart,” Runningwind meowed as Fireheart approached.