Fire And Ice

Cinderpaw shrugged. “I am just a burden, aren’t I?” She looked up at Fireheart with sad, round eyes.

“Who’s a burden?” Yellowfang’s growl interrupted them as the old gray medicine cat poked her head into the nest. “Are you upsetting my helper?” she meowed at Fireheart. “I don’t know how I would have coped today if it hadn’t been for this one.” She looked warmly at Cinderpaw, her yellow eyes soft. “I even had her mixing herbs this evening!”

Cinderpaw looked down shyly and dipped her head to take a bite of the vole.

“I think I might keep her with me awhile longer,” Yellowfang went on. “She’s becoming more useful every day. Besides, I’m getting used to her company.”

Cinderpaw glanced up at the old medicine cat, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Only because you’re deaf enough to put up with my chattering!” Yellowfang pretended to spit crossly at the young cat, and Cinderpaw added to Fireheart, “Well, that’s what she keeps telling me, anyway.”

Fireheart was surprised to feel a pang of envy at the close bond these two cats had developed. He’d always thought of himself as Yellowfang’s only real friend in the Clan, but now it looked like she had another. But at least Cinderpaw had somewhere to stay—if she couldn’t train to be a warrior, she’d feel out of place in the apprentices’ den.

Fireheart stood up. It was time he went back to Sandstorm. “Will you be okay here with Brokentail?” he asked.

Yellowfang gave him a disdainful look. “I think we can manage, don’t you, Cinderpaw?”

“He wouldn’t dare cause trouble,” she agreed confidently. “And Longtail’s here to help.”

Yellowfang ducked her head out of the nest, and Fireheart squeezed out after her. “’Bye, Cinderpaw!” he called.

“’Bye, and thanks for the food.”

“No problem,” he meowed. He turned to Yellowfang. “Have you got anything for this bite on my neck?”

Yellowfang looked closely at his wound. “Looks like a nasty one,” she growled.

“It’s from Brokentail,” Fireheart confessed.

Yellowfang nodded. “Wait there.” She padded quickly to her den and returned with a bundle of herbs wrapped in leaves. “Can you manage them yourself? Just chew them up and rub the juice into the wounds. It’ll sting, but nothing a brave warrior can’t handle!”

“Thanks, Yellowfang.” Fireheart picked up the bundle in his teeth.

Yellowfang led him to the tunnel entrance. “I appreciate your coming,” she meowed, glancing at Cinderpaw’s nest. “She was feeling pretty low, I think. She felt bad after the battle, and then the naming ceremony.”

Fireheart nodded. He understood. He gave a last wary glance at where Brokentail lay. “You sure you’ll be safe?” he asked again through the bundle of herbs.

“He’s blind,” meowed Yellowfang. She sighed, and then added more brightly, “And I’m not that old!”

Fireheart woke the following morning to find dazzling white light streaming through the den wall. He guessed it had snowed again. At least his wounds had stopped aching. Yellowfang had been right—the herb juice had stung, but he felt much better after a good night’s sleep.

Fireheart wondered how Sandstorm and Dustpelt had managed their vigil. It must have been bitterly cold in the snow. He got to his paws and stretched his forelegs, arching his back and curling his tail up over his head. ThunderClan’s two newest warriors were bundled up, fast asleep on the far edge of the den. Whitestorm must have sent them in when he left on the dawn patrol.

Fireheart padded out into the snow-covered clearing. He could just make out Frostfur’s white pelt skirting the nursery as she slipped out to stretch her legs. There were two bare spots in the center of the clearing, where Sandstorm and Dustpelt had spent the night. Fireheart shivered at the thought, but still he envied them as he remembered the thrill of his first night as a warrior. It had filled him with a warmth not even the hardest frost could have chilled.

The sky was thick with snow-heavy clouds. Flakes were still falling, softly and silently. There would be plenty of hunting to do today, Fireheart realized. The Clan would need to stock up if the snow was going to get deeper.

He heard Bluestar call from the Highrock. The Clan cats began to creep from their dens and pick their way through the snow to hear their leader’s words. Fireheart settled himself into one of the bare spots. It smelled of Sandstorm. He noticed Graystripe sitting on the other side of the clearing, looking tired. Fireheart wondered if he’d slipped out last night to tell Silverstream about the rogue cats.

Bluestar began to speak. “I wanted to make sure you all know that Brokentail is in the camp.” None of the cats uttered a noise. They knew already. The rumor had spread through the camp like a forest fire.