Fire And Ice

Bluestar looked up and fixed her eyes on the brightest star in Silverpelt. “I, Bluestar, leader of ThunderClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down on these two apprentices. They have trained hard to understand the ways of your code, and I commend them to you as warriors in their turn.” She gazed down at the pair of young cats in front of her. “Sandpaw, Dustpaw, do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend this Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

Sandpaw stared back, her eyes gleaming. “I do,” she replied.

Dustpaw echoed her words, his voice strong and low. “I do.”

“Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior names: Sandpaw, from this moment you will be known as Sandstorm. StarClan honors your courage and your spirit, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.” Bluestar stepped forward and rested her muzzle on top of Sandstorm’s bowed head.

Sandstorm licked Bluestar’s shoulder respectfully before she turned and walked toward Whitestorm. Fireheart saw her eyes flash proudly at her mentor as she settled down beside him in her new place with the warriors.

Bluestar turned her eyes to the dark brown tabby. “Dustpaw, from this moment you will be known as Dustpelt. StarClan honors your bravery and your honesty, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.” She touched his head with her muzzle, and he too gave the leader’s shoulder a respectful lick before joining the other warriors.

The voices of the Clan rose in tribute, sending clouds of misty breath into the night air. As one they chanted the new warrior names. “Sandstorm! Dustpelt! Sandstorm! Dustpelt!”

“In the tradition of our ancestors,” meowed Bluestar, raising her voice, “Sandstorm and Dustpelt must sit in silent vigil until dawn, and guard the camp alone while we sleep. But before they begin their vigil, the Clan will share a meal. It has been a long day and we have reason to be proud of these cats who defended our camp against the rogues. Fireheart, StarClan thanks you for your courage. You are a great warrior, and I’m proud to count you as a member of my Clan.”

The cats meowed again. A purr burst from Fireheart’s throat as he looked around at his Clan. Only Tigerclaw and Dustpelt eyed him with hostility, but for once he felt untouched by their jealousy. Bluestar had praised him, and that was enough.

One by one the cats stepped forward to take some of the fresh-kill Tigerclaw’s party had brought.

Fireheart walked over to Sandstorm. “We can eat together as warriors tonight,” he meowed happily. “If that’s okay with you?” he added. Sandstorm purred at him and Fireheart felt a prickle of pleasure.

“Choose something for me,” she called as Fireheart dashed away to the pile of fresh-kill. “I’m starving!”

Fireheart picked out a mouse for Sandpaw, temptingly plump for so late in leaf-bare. He took a bluetit for himself and turned to carry his catch back to Sandstorm. Then his heart sank—Dustpelt, Whitestorm, and Darkstripe had joined her. He’d been foolish to expect they would share their meal alone. This was a time for the whole Clan to share together in celebration.

The thought reminded Fireheart of Cinderpaw. He looked around and realized that he hadn’t seen her at the naming ceremony. She must still be in Yellowfang’s clearing. He bounded over to Sandstorm and dropped the fresh-kill beside her. “I’ll be back in five rabbit hops,” he meowed. “I want to take something to Cinderpaw.”

“Sure.” Sandstorm shrugged.

Fireheart quickly collected a vole from the fresh-kill pile and carried it across the clearing. He was surprised to see Yellowfang sitting in her den. She’d been at the naming ceremony, so she must have come straight back afterward.

“I hope that’s not for me,” she growled as Fireheart approached. “I’ve already had my share.”

Fireheart dropped the vole on the ground. “I brought it for Cinderpaw,” he answered. “I thought she might want something. She wasn’t at the naming ceremony.”

“I’ve given her some mouse meat, but you’re welcome to give her that as well.”

Fireheart looked around the fern-shaded clearing. Brokenstar’s brown fur was just visible through the stems of Patchpelt’s old nest. The warrior was not moving.

“He’s still asleep.” Yellowfang’s tone was brisk, the voice of a medicine cat rather than a mother. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling relieved. He wanted to believe Yellowfang’s loyalties still lay with ThunderClan. He picked up the vole and carried it to Cinderpaw’s nest. “Hey, Cinderpaw,” he meowed softly into the bracken.

The gray cat stirred and pushed herself to a sitting position. “Fireheart.”

Fireheart stepped through the fronds and sat in the small space beside her. He dropped the vole at her paws. “Here,” he meowed. “Yellowfang’s not the only one trying to fatten you up!”

“Thanks,” Cinderpaw mewed. But she left the vole lying beside her paw and didn’t even bend down to sniff it.

“Are you still thinking about the battle?” Fireheart asked gently.