Forest Of Secrets

“Then we’d better put you right,” Fireheart hissed, beginning to lash his tail. “Do you want me to tear your other ear?”

Longtail took a step back. He was clearly remembering Fireheart’s arrival in the camp. He had fought Longtail fiercely, showing no fear in spite of the warrior’s “kittypet” taunts. Fireheart knew that even if the other cats let Longtail forget his defeat, his torn ear would remind him forever.

“You’d better watch it,” the warrior blustered. “Tigerclaw’ll have your tails off if you touch me.”

“It would be worth it,” Fireheart retorted. “Call me Firepaw once more, and you’ll find out.”

Longtail said nothing, only turning his head aside to lick his pale fur. Fireheart relaxed his threatening stance. “Come on, then,” he grunted. “If we’re going to hunt, let’s get on with it.”

He and Graystripe led the way out of the gorse tunnel and up the side of the ravine. Longtail followed, loudly suggesting where to hunt as if he were in charge, but once they were in the forest Fireheart and Graystripe did their best to ignore him.

The day was cold and gray, and a thin rain had begun to fall. Prey was hard to find. Graystripe caught sight of movement in some bracken fronds and went to investigate, but Fireheart was almost ready to give up by the time he saw a chaffinch pecking around the roots of a hazel bush. He dropped into a crouch, creeping forward paw by paw while the bird pecked on unawares.

He was preparing to pounce, his haunches rocking from side to side, when Longtail jeered, “Call that a crouch? I’ve seen better on a three-legged rabbit!” As soon as he spoke the chaffinch fluttered away in a panic, letting out a loud alarm call.

Fireheart whirled around furiously. “That was your fault!” he snarled. “As soon as it heard you—”

“Rubbish,” meowed Longtail. “Don’t make excuses. You couldn’t catch a mouse if it sat between your paws.”

Fireheart flattened his ears and bared his teeth, but as he braced himself for a fight, he suddenly wondered if Longtail was deliberately provoking him. Longtail would have a fine story to tell Tigerclaw if Fireheart attacked him.

“Fine,” Fireheart growled through his teeth. “If you’re so good, show us how it’s done.”

“As if there’ll be any prey left, after the racket that bird made when you scared it,” Longtail sneered.

“Now who’s making excuses?” Fireheart spat back.

Before Longtail could reply, Graystripe emerged from the bracken with a vole in his jaws. He dropped it beside Fireheart and began to kick earth over it to bury it until they were ready to return to camp.

Longtail used the interruption to turn away and stalk toward the tunnel Graystripe had made in the bracken.

Graystripe watched him go. “What’s the matter with him? He looks as if he’s swallowed mouse bile.”

Fireheart shrugged. “Nothing. Come on, let’s keep going.”

After that, Longtail left them alone, and by sunset the two young warriors had collected a respectable pile of fresh-kill to carry back to the camp.

“You take some to the elders,” Fireheart suggested to Graystripe as they dragged the last pieces in. “I’ll see to Yellowfang and Cinderpaw.” He chose a squirrel and headed toward the medicine cat’s den. Yellowfang was standing outside the cleft in the rock, with Cinderpaw sitting in front of her. Fireheart’s former apprentice looked happy and alert. She was sitting very straight, with her tail wrapped around her paws, and her blue eyes were fixed on Yellowfang as she listened to the old cat.

“We can chew up ragwort leaves and mix them with crushed juniper berries,” rasped Yellowfang. “It makes a good poultice for aching joints. Do you want to try doing it?”

“Okay!” Cinderpaw mewed enthusiastically. She sprang up and sniffed the heap of herbs Yellowfang had laid on the ground. “Does it taste bad?”

“No,” answered Yellowfang, “but try not to swallow it. A bit won’t hurt you, but too much will give you a bellyache. Yes, Fireheart, what do you want?”

Fireheart crossed the clearing, dragging the squirrel between his front paws. Cinderpaw was already crouching in front of the ragwort, chewing vigorously, but she flicked her tail at Fireheart in greeting.

“This is for you,” Fireheart mewed as he dropped the squirrel beside Yellowfang.

“Oh, yes, Runningwind told me you were back on apprentice duties,” Yellowfang growled. “Mouse-brain! You might have known some cat would find out you were helping RiverClan.”

“Well, it’s done now.” Fireheart didn’t want to talk about his punishment.

To his relief, Yellowfang seemed happy to change the subject. “I’m glad you’ve come,” she meowed, “because I want a word with you. You see that poultice?” She lifted her muzzle toward the green mash of chewed leaves Cinderpaw was making.

“Yes.”

“It’s for Smallear. He’s in my den now, with the worst case of stiff joints I’ve seen in moons. He can hardly move. And if you ask me, it’s all because his nest was recently lined with damp moss.” Her tone was mild, but her yellow eyes burned into Fireheart’s.