Forest Of Secrets

“The whole Clan knows,” Fireheart told him reluctantly. “Tigerclaw saw to that. But Goldenflower doesn’t blame the kits, and neither does Bluestar. They’ll be cared for, Graystripe; they really will.”

Graystripe scrambled to his paws, moving stiffly after his long vigil. He looked doubtfully at Fireheart, as if he couldn’t believe that ThunderClan would really accept the kits. “I want to see them.”

“Come on, then,” mewed Fireheart, feeling a surge of relief that his friend felt ready to face the Clan again. “Bluestar sent me to bring you home.”

He led the way through the darkening forest. Graystripe padded after him, but he kept casting glances back, as if he couldn’t bear to leave Silverstream behind. He did not speak, and Fireheart let him be silent with his memories.

When they reached the camp, the curious murmuring groups of warriors and apprentices had broken up, and everything looked normal for a warm newleaf evening. Brackenfur and Dustpelt crouched by the nettle patch, sharing a piece of fresh-kill, and outside the apprentices’ den Thornpaw and Brightpaw were rolling around in a play fight while Swiftpaw looked on. Tigerclaw and Bluestar were nowhere to be seen.

Fireheart breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted Graystripe left alone, at least until he had visited the kits, without being troubled by blame or hostility from his fellow warriors.

Then, on their way to the nursery, they passed Sandstorm. She halted abruptly, glancing from Fireheart to Graystripe and back again.

“Hi,” Fireheart mewed, trying to sound as friendly as he always did. “We’re going to visit the kits. See you in the den later?”

“You can,” Sandstorm growled, with a glare at Graystripe. “Just keep him away from me, that’s all.” She stalked off, her head and tail held high.

Fireheart’s heart sank. He remembered how hostile Sandstorm had been to him when he first joined the Clan. It had taken her a long time to thaw toward him. How long would it be before she would treat Graystripe as a friend again?

Graystripe flattened his ears against his head. “She doesn’t want me here. No cat does.”

“I do,” Fireheart meowed, hoping he sounded sufficiently encouraging. “Come on; let’s go and see your kits.”

Chapter 24

Fireheart leaped from one stepping-stone to the next across the swiftly flowing river. The floodwater had retreated and the stones were clearly visible again. It was the day after Silverstream had died; the sky was gray with a thin drizzle of rain, as if StarClan were mourning her too.

Fireheart was on his way to take the news of Silverstream’s death into RiverClan, although he had not sought Bluestar’s permission first. He had slipped away without telling any cat because he thought Silverstream’s Clan had the right to know what had happened to her. And he suspected that not every cat in ThunderClan would agree with him.

Reaching the opposite bank, Fireheart stood with his head raised, tasting the air for fresh scents. He caught one almost at once, and a heartbeat later a small tabby tom appeared from the ferns above the path.

He hesitated, looking startled, before sidling down the bank to confront Fireheart. “You’re Fireheart, aren’t you?” he meowed. “I recognize you from the last Gathering. What are you doing on our side of the river?”

He was trying to sound confident, but Fireheart could detect nervousness in his voice. He was a very young cat—an apprentice, Fireheart guessed, anxious at being away from the camp without his mentor.

“I’m not here to fight, or to spy,” Fireheart promised. “I need to talk to Mistyfoot. Will you fetch her for me?”

The apprentice hesitated again, as if he would have liked to protest. Then the habit of obeying warriors’ orders won over, and he padded along the riverside in the direction of the RiverClan camp. Fireheart watched him go and scrambled up the bank to a spot where he could lie concealed in the bracken until Mistyfoot appeared.

It was a long time before she came, but at last Fireheart caught sight of her familiar blue-gray shape trotting rapidly toward him. Familiar because of Bluestar, he realized with a jolt. His leader’s daughter was practically her double. To his relief she was alone. As she paused to sniff the air, he called out softly to her, “Mistyfoot! Up here!”

Mistyfoot’s ears twitched; moments later she was pushing her way into the ferns beside him. “What is it?” she meowed, looking worried. “Is it about Silverstream? I haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

Fireheart felt as if a bone were lodged in his throat. He swallowed uncomfortably. “Mistyfoot,” he mewed, “it’s bad news. I’m so sorry…Silverstream is dead.”

Mistyfoot fixed him with wide blue eyes full of disbelief. “Dead?” she echoed. “She can’t be!” Before Fireheart could respond, she added more harshly, “Did some of your ThunderClan warriors catch her over there?”