Firestar’s Quest

“Are you okay?” she asked. “You were twitching in your sleep.”

Firestar let out a groan as he sat up. His muscles felt as stiff as if he had really been trekking over that barren moorland.

“It was just a dream,” he muttered. “I’ll be fine.”

“Look, I brought you some fresh-kill.” She pushed the limp body of a vole toward him. “I just got back from a hunting patrol.”

“Thanks.” The vole must have been freshly caught; its warm scent made his mouth water, and his belly felt hollow with hunger. Bending his head, he devoured the prey in a few rapid bites.

“Better now?” Sandstorm inquired with a glint of mischief in her green eyes. “That’ll teach you to let young cats jump all over you.”

Firestar flicked her ear with the tip of his tail; word of Bramblepaw’s successful assessment had obviously spread through the camp. “Hey, I’m not an elder yet, you know.” The damp shadows of his dream were melting away in the bright sunlight. He stepped out of his nest and gave himself a quick grooming. “Do you know if all the patrols are back yet?”

“The last ones just came in.” A shadow fell across the entrance of the den, and Firestar looked up to see his deputy, Graystripe, standing just outside. “The hunting patrols caught so much prey, Thornclaw has taken the apprentices out to collect it. Why, did you want them?”

“Not right away, but I need to know what they reported,” Firestar replied. He beckoned the gray warrior inside with his tail. Remembering the unfamiliar cat he had seen in the ravine the night before, he asked warily, “Did any of them see any sign of rogues in our territory?”

Graystripe shook his head. “Not a trace. Everything’s peaceful out there.” His yellow eyes narrowed with concern.

“Firestar, is something bothering you?”

Firestar hesitated. His old friend knew him well enough to tell when something was on his mind. But he didn’t think this was the time to share his dream or the vision of the cat in the ravine. He had so little to go on; his solitary brooding on Tigerstar and Whitestorm could have made him see things in the shadows.

“No, I’m fine,” he replied, pushing the strange gray cat to the back of his mind. “Bramblepaw did an amazing assessment last night. He jumped on me by the ShadowClan border. Come on,” he meowed to Graystripe and Sandstorm. “I want to hold his warrior ceremony as soon as the apprentices get back.”

He led the way out of his den and leaped onto the Highrock. The rain had stopped; above the trees the sky was blue, with scudding white clouds. Sunlight reflected from puddles, dazzling his eyes, and the barrier of thorns around the camp sparkled with raindrops. Thornclaw was emerging from the gorse tunnel with his apprentice, Sootpaw, behind him, both cats laden with fresh-kill. Moments later Cloudtail appeared with Rainpaw and Sorrelpaw.

Firestar let out a yowl. “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

Pride surged through him as he watched his Clan collect below the rock. The three youngest apprentices dashed over from the fresh-kill pile to sit near the base of the Highrock.

They chattered excitedly, maybe imagining what it would be like when they became warriors too. Speckletail led the other elders from their den beside the burned-out shell of the fallen tree. Cinderpelt the medicine cat appeared from the fern tunnel that led to her den and limped across to sit beside Brackenfur, Willowpelt, and Mousefur.

Firestar spotted Brightheart emerging from the nursery. As an apprentice, she had been injured by a pack of dogs, leaving one side of her face torn away. Now, with her belly swollen with the kits she would bear soon, Firestar thought she had never looked happier. She padded slowly across the clearing to join her mate, Cloudtail, near the fresh-kill pile; the white warrior touched her ear affectionately with his nose.

Behind her came Ferncloud with her two kits, who dashed off with squeals of excitement toward the nearest puddle.

“Shrewkit! Spiderkit! Come back at once,” Ferncloud scolded them.

The two kits sat down at the edge of the water, but they kept shooting glances at their mother and dabbing the surface with an outstretched paw. Firestar watched, amused, as their father, Dustpelt, padded over to them, said something sternly to them, then went to sit by Ferncloud. Barely a heartbeat passed before a tiny paw flashed out again.

“Spiderkit!” Dustpelt called, loud enough for Firestar to hear him. “What did I just tell you?”