“Oh, yes,” answered Morningflower.
“What about you?” asked Fireheart.
Morningflower didn’t answer.
Fireheart turned to a gray queen, who answered his unspoken question. “Don’t worry,” she meowed. “I’ll take the kit next.”
The Clan followed the hedgerow along the Thunderpath before turning away to join the track through the woods. The scents here seemed to soothe the WindClan cats, but the journey had taken its toll; they were traveling slower than ever. And when they reached the fence at the far side, it took all Fireheart’s strength to help the weakest cats over.
The sun had passed its highest point by the time Fireheart spotted the Twolegplace in the distance. He sniffed the air hopefully but there was still no scent of Ravenpaw. Fireheart felt a stab of grief, and tried to ignore the nagging thought that he should never have sent his friend here alone.
Clouds billowed up over Highstones, growing blacker as they covered the sinking sun. A cold wind ruffled the cats’ fur, bringing the first drops of rain.
Fireheart looked at the WindClan cats. There was no way they could travel through a long, wet night. He was tired too, and, for the first time since he’d eaten Yellowfang’s herbs, he was feeling the effects of hunger. A glance at Graystripe told him that his friend felt the same way. The big gray warrior’s tail drooped, and his ears were flattened against the spattering rain.
“Tallstar,” Fireheart called. “Perhaps we should stop soon and shelter for the night.”
The WindClan leader stopped and waited while Fireheart caught up with him. “I agree,” he meowed. “There’s a ditch here; we can shelter in that until sunrise.”
Graystripe and Fireheart exchanged glances. “We might be better sheltering in the hedgerow,” Fireheart suggested. “There are rats in these ditches.”
Tallstar nodded. “Very well.” He turned to his Clan and announced that they would be spending the night here. The queens and elders flopped down at once, despite the rain, while the warriors and apprentices gathered to discuss hunting patrols.
Fireheart and Graystripe joined them. “I don’t know how good the hunting will be here,” Fireheart meowed. “There are too many Twolegs.”
Graystripe’s stomach growled as if in agreement. The other warriors turned to him with amused but sympathetic eyes. Then they froze as the grass behind them rustled. The WindClan warriors bristled and arched their backs, unsheathing sharp claws, but Fireheart and Graystripe turned their heads joyfully. The wind carried a scent as familiar as their own den.
“Ravenpaw!” Fireheart gasped as a sleek black cat emerged from the long grass.
Fireheart raced over to his old friend and nuzzled him. “Thank StarClan you’re safe!” he purred. He stepped back and studied Ravenpaw in surprise. What had happened to the skinny, scared black apprentice? This cat was plump and sleek, and his fur, usually so dull before, now shed the rain like a holly leaf.
“Firepaw!” Ravenpaw meowed in delight.
“Fireheart,” Graystripe corrected him. He stepped forward and touched noses with the black cat. “We’re warriors now! I’m Graystripe.”
“Do you know this cat?” snarled Deadfoot.
The hostility in his voice made Fireheart flinch. He looked at the bristling WindClan cats and silently cursed himself for calling Ravenpaw’s name out loud. He just hoped Tallstar’s warriors had been too distracted to hear it. If WindClan mentioned it at a Gathering, it would spread through the Clans like a forest fire. Ravenpaw was supposed to be dead!
“Is he a loner?” asked Onewhisker.
“He can help us find food,” Fireheart meowed quickly, glancing at Ravenpaw.
The black cat nodded. “I know all the best places to hunt around here!” he meowed. His fur didn’t even bristle beneath so many hostile gazes. How much he has changed! Fireheart thought.
“Why would a loner help us?” demanded Deadfoot.
“Loners have helped us before,” Graystripe told him. “Another loner once saved us from a rat attack near here.”
Ravenpaw stepped forward and bent his head respectfully as he addressed the WindClan warriors. “Let me help you! I owe my life to Fireheart and Graystripe, and if they’re traveling with you, then you must be friends.” He lifted his eyes and let his gaze rest on the WindClan cats. They returned his stare, more weary now than hostile. The rain was falling harder and, with their fur bedraggled, they looked skinnier than ever.
“I’ll go and find Barley,” Ravenpaw meowed. “He will help, too.” He turned and disappeared through the long grass.
Tallstar’s eyes burned with curiosity, but all he asked Fireheart was, “Can we trust him?”
Fireheart met Tallstar’s gaze. “Completely.”
Tallstar nodded to his warriors. They let the fur lie flat on their shoulders, and settled down to wait.
Fireheart was almost wet through to his skin when Ravenpaw appeared again. This time Barley was with him. Fireheart greeted the black-and-white loner with a friendly mew. It was good to see him again.
Barley took one look at the dripping cats and meowed, “We need to find you some proper shelter. Follow me!”
Fireheart leaped forward at once, glad to move his stiffening legs. Graystripe was right behind him, but the WindClan cats hung back, fear and suspicion showing in their eyes.
Tallstar blinked at his Clan. “We have to trust him,” he growled, before turning to follow the loner. One by one, the WindClan cats fell in step behind their leader.
Barley and Ravenpaw led them through the hedge into another field. In an overgrown corner, among the brambles and nettles, stood an abandoned Twoleg nest. The walls were full of holes where stones had fallen out, and only half the roof was left.
The WindClan cats stared fearfully at it. “You won’t get me in there!” muttered one of the elders.
“Twolegs never come here now,” Barley reassured them.
“It’ll give us some shelter from the rain,” urged Fireheart.
One of the apprentices whispered loudly, “I’m not surprised he wants to hide in a Twoleg nest—once a kittypet, always a kittypet.”
Fireheart bristled. He hadn’t heard that insult for several moons. But the story that a kittypet had joined a Clan must have made rich gossip at any Gathering. Of course WindClan would know. He whipped around and glared at the apprentice. “You’ve spent two moons living in a Twoleg tunnel. Does that make you a rat?”
The WindClan apprentice drew himself up, ruffling out his fur, but Graystripe stepped between them. “Come on; we’re just getting wetter the longer we stand out here.”
Tallstar meowed, “We’ve faced worse than a Twoleg shelter these past moons. One night here will do us no harm.”
The WindClan cats murmured nervously among themselves, clearly reluctant, but with a glance at Fireheart, Morningflower picked up her kit and padded into the Twoleg shelter. The gray queen followed after her, nudging her own kit forward out of the rain. The other cats gradually followed until every cat was inside.
Fireheart looked around the gloomy shelter. The ground was bare except for patches where weeds had burrowed their way under the stone walls. The wind and rain found their way through the gaps in the walls and roof, but it was drier and more sheltered than anywhere outside. He watched the WindClan cats sniffing cautiously around. As they began to settle themselves away from the dripping holes and drafty cracks, he glanced at Graystripe, relieved. Only Tallstar and Deadfoot remained on their paws.
“What about food?” asked Deadfoot.
Barley spoke. “You should all be resting,” he meowed. “Raven–”
Fireheart interrupted him before Barley could finish saying Ravenpaw’s name out loud. “Why don’t you two show me and Graystripe the best places to hunt around here?”
“Deadfoot and Onewhisker will go with you,” meowed Tallstar. Fireheart couldn’t decide if the WindClan leader still didn’t trust these two strangers, or if he was determined to show that his Clan could look after itself.
The six cats ventured back out into the rain. Hunting would be hard, but Fireheart was starving. Hunger always made him a better hunter. Tonight the voles and mice wouldn’t stand a chance. “Just show me where they are!” he meowed to Barley and Ravenpaw.
The two cats led them into a small patch of woodland. Fireheart breathed in a lungful of the familiar scent. Then he dropped into a hunting crouch and began to stalk into the ferns.
When the hunting party returned, each cat carried a mouthful of fresh-kill. The WindClan cats shared a feast with their new allies that night. Every cat from the eldest to the youngest ate their fill, then curled up together to share tongues in mutual grooming, while outside the wind and rain lashed at the walls of the shelter.
As darkness settled in, Barley got to his paws. “I’m off. Rats to catch!” he meowed.
Fireheart stood and touched the loner’s nose with his own. “Thank you again,” he purred. “This is the second time you’ve helped us.”