The Darkest Hour

Their courage and determination reminded Fireheart of their mother, Bluestar. She had given them up to their father, Oakheart, the RiverClan deputy, and the two cats had grown up believing that they had been born in RiverClan. At first they had hated Bluestar when they learned the truth, but this morning, as she lay dying on the riverbank, they had found it in their hearts to forgive her. In the midst of his pain, Fireheart was relieved beyond words that his leader had been reconciled with her kits before she went to StarClan. He alone of all the ThunderClan cats knew how much Bluestar had suffered, watching them grow up in another Clan.

“I wish we’d known her better,” Stonefur meowed sadly, as if he could read Fireheart’s thoughts. “You’re lucky to have grown up in her Clan and been her deputy.”

“I know.” Fireheart looked down sorrowfully at the blue-gray she-cat lying so still on the sandy floor of the clearing. Bluestar looked small and helpless now that her noble spirit had left her body and gone to hunt with StarClan.

“May we say good-bye to her alone?” Mistyfoot asked tentatively. “Just for a few moments?”

“Of course,” Fireheart replied. He padded out of the den, leaving Stonefur and Mistyfoot to crouch down beside Bluestar’s body and share tongues with their mother for the first and last time.

As he skirted the Highrock he heard the sound of cats approaching through the gorse tunnel. Hurrying forward, he saw Frostfur and Speckletail creep timidly into the clearing, hesitating in the shelter of the tunnel before they dared venture back into the camp. With the same wariness, Brackenfur and Goldenflower followed.

Pain stabbed Fireheart’s heart to see his cats so wary of their own home, and his eyes sought out one warrior in particular—Sandstorm, the pale ginger she-cat he loved. He needed to know that she was unhurt after the crucial part she had played in luring the dog pack away from the camp.

Fireheart spotted his nephew, Cloudtail; the white warrior was carefully escorting Lostface, a young cat who had suffered terrible injuries from the dog pack before they attacked the camp. Next Cinderpelt came limping through the entrance with a bundle of herbs in her mouth; and pushing eagerly behind her were Bramblepaw and Tawnypaw, the two newest apprentices, who were also Tigerstar’s kits.

At last Fireheart saw Sandstorm padding along beside Willowpelt, while Willowpelt’s three kits bounced around them, happily unaware of the crisis their Clan had endured.

A purr swelled in Fireheart’s throat as he ran toward Sandstorm and pressed his muzzle into her flank. The pale orange warrior covered his ears with licks, and when he looked up at her he saw a warm glow in her green eyes.

“I was so worried for you, Fireheart,” she murmured. “I couldn’t believe the size of those dogs! I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“Nor have I,” Fireheart confessed. “All the time I was waiting, I kept thinking they might have caught you.”

“Caught me?” Sandstorm pushed away from him; the end of her tail was twitching, and for a heartbeat Fireheart thought he had offended her, until he saw the sparkle in her eyes. “I was running for you and the Clan, Fireheart. It felt as if I had the speed of StarClan!”

She paced into the center of the clearing and looked around, her expression clouding. “Where is Bluestar? Graystripe told us she was dead.”

“Yes,” Fireheart replied. “I tried to save her, but the struggle in the river was too much for her. She’s in her d en.” He hesitated before adding, “Mistyfoot and St o n e f u r are with her.”

Sandstorm turned to him, her fur bristling with alarm. “There are RiverClan cats in our camp? Why?”

“They helped me pull Bluestar out of the river,” Fireheart explained. “And…and she’s their mother.”

Sandstorm froze and her eyes grew huge. “Bluestar? But how-”

Fireheart interrupted her by pressing his muzzle against hers. “I’ll tell you all about it later,” he promised. “Right now I have to make sure the Clan is okay.”

While they were speaking, the rest of the Clan had appeared through the gorse tunnel and begun to gather in a ragged circle around Fireheart and Sandstorm. Fireheart spotted Fernpaw and Ashpaw, the two apprentices who had begun the race to lure the dogs away from the camp. “Well done, both of you,” he meowed.

The young cats let out a purr. “We hid in the hazel thicket where you told us, and jumped out as soon as we saw the dogs,” mewed Ashpaw.

“Yes, we knew we had to keep them away from the camp,” Fernpaw put in.

“You were very brave,” Fireheart praised them. Once again he remembered the limp body of Brindleface, the apprentices’ mother, murdered by Tigerstar. “I’m proud of you—and your mother would be proud, too.”

Ashpaw shrank, suddenly looking like a fragile kit. “I was terrified,” he admitted. “If we’d known what the dogs were like, I don’t think we’d have dared to do it.”