Forest Of Secrets

Triumphantly, Fireheart headed back to the camp, dragging the rabbit along with him. As soon as he entered the clearing, he saw with relief that the pile of fresh-kill was swelling again after the morning patrols. Bluestar was standing beside it. “Well done, Fireheart,” she meowed as he brought the rabbit to the pile. “Will you take that straight to Yellowfang in her den?”

Warmed by his leader’s approval, Fireheart hauled the rabbit across the clearing. A tunnel of ferns, brown and brittle now, led to the secluded corner of the camp where the ThunderClan medicine cat had her den inside a split rock.

Ducking under the ferns, Fireheart saw Yellowfang lying in the mouth of her den with her paws tucked under her chest. Cinderpaw sat in front of her, her smoky gray fur fluffed up and her blue eyes focused on the medicine cat’s broad face.

“Now, Cinderpaw,” came the old cat’s rasping mew. “One-eye’s paw pads are cracked because of the cold. What are we going to do for her?”

“Marigold leaves in case of infection,” Cinderpaw replied promptly. “Ointment of yarrow to soften the pads and help them heal. Poppy seed if she’s in pain.”

“Well done,” purred Yellowfang.

Cinderpaw sat up even straighter, and her eyes shone with pride. As Fireheart knew only too well, the medicine cat didn’t give praise lightly.

“Right, you can take her the leaves and the ointment,” meowed Yellowfang. “She won’t need the poppy seed unless the cuts get worse.”

Cinderpaw stood up and was on her way into the den when she caught sight of Fireheart standing by the tunnel. Mewing in delight, she hurried over to him with an awkward, lurching gait.

Regret stabbed at Fireheart, sharp as a claw. Cinderpaw had been a ceaseless bundle of energy before the Thunderpath accident that crushed her leg. Now she would never run properly again, and had had to give up her dreams of becoming a ThunderClan warrior.

But the Thunderpath monster had not crushed her bright spirit. Her eyes were dancing as she reached Fireheart. “Fresh-kill!” she exclaimed. “Is that for us? Great!”

“About time too!” grumbled Yellowfang, still sitting inside her den. “Mind you, the rabbit’s very welcome,” she added. “We’ve had half the Clan in here since sunrise, complaining about some ache or other.”

Fireheart carried the rabbit across the clearing and dropped it in front of the medicine cat.

Yellowfang poked it with one paw. “It might have a bit of flesh on its bones for once,” she remarked grudgingly. “All right, Cinderpaw, take the marigold leaves and the yarrow to One-eye, and hurry back. If you’re quick there might be some rabbit left.”

Cinderpaw purred and brushed Yellowfang’s shoulder with the tip of her tail as she went past her into the den.

Softly, Fireheart mewed, “How’s she doing? Is she settling down?”

“She’s fine,” snapped Yellowfang. “Stop worrying about her.”

Fireheart wished he could. Cinderpaw had been his apprentice. He could not help feeling that he had been partly responsible for her accident. He should have stopped her from going to the Thunderpath alone.

Then he brought himself up short, remembering exactly how the accident had happened. Tigerclaw had asked Bluestar to meet him by the Thunderpath, but Bluestar had been too ill to go. Few warriors were in the camp; Fireheart himself had been about to leave on an urgent mission for catnip to treat Bluestar’s greencough. He had told Cinderpaw not to go meet Tigerclaw instead of him, but Cinderpaw had ignored his order. The accident had happened because Tigerclaw had placed his scent marker too close to the edge of the Thunderpath. Fireheart suspected that it was meant as a trap for Bluestar, and Tigerclaw was responsible.

As Fireheart said good-bye to Yellowfang and went back to hunting, he felt a new surge of determination to bring Tigerclaw’s guilt into the open. For the sake of Redtail, murdered; for Ravenpaw, driven from the Clan; for Cinderpaw, crippled. And for all the Clan cats, both now and to come, who were in danger from Tigerclaw’s greed for power.

It was the day after their hunting punishment. Fireheart had decided there was no time to lose before visiting RiverClan territory, to discover how Oakheart had really died. He crouched at the edge of the forest and looked out toward the frozen river. The wind made a rustling sound in the dry reeds that poked up through the ice and snow.

Beside him, Graystripe sniffed the breeze, alert for the scent of other cats. “I can smell RiverClan cats,” he whispered. “But the scent’s old. I think we can cross safely.”

Fireheart realized he was more worried about cats from his own Clan seeing them than meeting an enemy patrol. Already Tigerclaw suspected him of treachery. If the deputy found out what they were doing now, they’d be crowfood. “All right,” he whispered back. “Let’s go.”