Forest Of Secrets

Cinderpaw backed away, passing her tongue around her mouth over and over again as she stared at the rotting carcass. Her dark gray fur was fluffed up and her blue eyes wide. “Crowfood,” she whispered. “Crowfood among the fresh-kill. What does it mean?”

Fireheart couldn’t imagine how the rotten magpie had gotten there. No cat would have brought it in; even the youngest apprentice knew better than that.

“What does it mean?” Cinderpaw repeated.

Fireheart suddenly realized she wasn’t thinking about any practical reasons for how maggot-ridden prey had ended up in the pile. “Do you think it’s an omen?” he croaked. “A message from StarClan?”

“It might be.” Cinderpaw shivered, and stared at him with huge blue eyes. “StarClan haven’t spoken to me yet, Fireheart, not since the ceremony at the Moonstone. I don’t know if it’s an omen or not, but if it is…”

“It must be for Bluestar,” Fireheart finished. His fur prickled as he realized this was the first sign of Cinderpaw’s new powers as an apprentice medicine cat. “You were going to take the magpie to her.” He felt a thrill of horror at the thought of what the omen might mean. Was StarClan trying to say that Bluestar’s leadership was rotting away from the inside, even though Tigerclaw’s outer threat had gone? “No,” he meowed firmly. “That can’t be right. Bluestar’s problems are over. Some cat’s been careless, that’s all, and brought crowfood back by mistake.”

But he didn’t believe his own words, and he could tell that Cinderpaw didn’t, either. “I’ll ask Yellowfang,” she mewed, shaking her head in bewilderment. “She’ll know.” Cinderpaw quickly snatched a vole from the heap and began limping rapidly across the clearing.

Fireheart called after her, “Don’t tell any cat except Yellowfang. The Clan mustn’t know. I’ll bury this.”

She flicked her tail to show she had heard, and vanished among the ferns.

Fireheart glanced around to make sure that no other cat had overheard their conversation, or seen the decaying magpie. Bile rose in his throat as he gripped the bird by the tip of one wing and dragged it to the edge of the clearing. He didn’t begin to relax until he had scraped up enough earth to cover the vile thing.

Even then, he could not get it out of his mind. If the rotting, maggot-filled crowfood was indeed an omen, what new disasters did StarClan have in store for ThunderClan and their leader now?

By sunhigh, the Clan had settled down again. The hunting patrols had returned, all the cats were full-fed, and Fireheart was beginning to think it was time he went to Bluestar’s den to see if she would talk to him about leading the Clan.

He was distracted by movement in the gorse tunnel. Four RiverClan cats appeared, the same four who had joined in the battle the day before: Leopardfur, Mistyfoot, Stonefur, and Blackclaw.

Leopardfur bore a newly healed wound across one dappled shoulder, and Blackclaw’s ear was torn at the tip, proof of how they had fought with ThunderClan to drive out the rogue cats. Fireheart wished he could believe that they had come only to find out if the ThunderClan warriors were all right. But deep down he knew their mission had to do with Graystripe’s kits. Struggling to hide the heaviness in his heart, he padded across the clearing and dipped his head to Leopardfur—not the respectful signal from a warrior to a deputy, but a courteous greeting between equals.

“Greetings,” meowed Leopardfur, her eyes registering surprise at Fireheart’s new attitude. “We need to speak to your leader.”

Fireheart hesitated, wondering how much to explain. It would take the rest of the day to tell the full story of Tigerclaw’s treachery, and to describe how Fireheart himself had been named deputy. In a heartbeat’s pause, he decided to tell the visiting patrol nothing. Even RiverClan, though they seemed friendly now, might be tempted to attack a Clan that seemed to be weak. The next Gathering would be soon enough for them to know. He bowed his head once more and went to look for Bluestar.

To his relief, the Clan leader was sitting in her den, finishing a piece of fresh-kill. She looked more like herself than Fireheart had seen her since Tigerclaw’s attack. As he announced himself at the entrance to the den, Bluestar looked up, swallowing the last of her mouse. Her tongue swiped around her jaws and she meowed, “Fireheart? Come in. We have a great deal to discuss.”

“Yes, Bluestar,” Fireheart mewed, “but not now. The RiverClan warriors are here.”

“Ah.” Bluestar rose to her paws and stretched. “I was expecting them, although I had hoped they wouldn’t come back quite so soon.” She led the way out of her den to where the patrol was waiting. By now, Graystripe had appeared and seemed to be exchanging news with Mistyfoot. Fireheart hoped he was not telling her too much as he settled down a respectful distance from the RiverClan patrol.

Other cats too were gathering around, their faces revealing their curiosity about the reason for the RiverClan cats’ visit.