Fire and Ice (Warriors 3)

“Show him the forest,” answered Graystripe.

“I could bring Cinderpaw, and we could travel together.”

“It might be better if we travel alone today,” answered Graystripe.

Fireheart felt a bit hurt. They had been shown ThunderClan’s hunting grounds together as apprentices. He would have liked to do it together again as mentors. But if Graystripe wanted to be by himself, then Fireheart could hardly blame him. “Fine,” he mewed. “I’ll see you later. We can share a mouse and compare apprentices.”

“That’d be good,” Graystripe meowed.

Fireheart crept out of the den. The air outside was even colder. His breath swirled from his muzzle like smoke. He shivered, ruffling out his fur, and stretched one leg at a time. The ground under his paws felt like stone as he trotted over to the apprentices’ den. Cinderpaw was fast asleep inside, a fluffy gray heap that rose and fell as she breathed.

“Cinderpaw,” Fireheart called quietly, and the little gray cat lifted her head at once. Fireheart backed out, and in a moment Cinderpaw bounded from the den, wide-awake and enthusiastic.

“What are we doing today?” she mewed, looking up at him with her ears pricked.

“I thought I’d take you on a tour of ThunderClan territory.”

“Will we see the Thunderpath?” asked Cinderpaw eagerly.

“Er, yes, we will,” Fireheart replied. He couldn’t help thinking Cinderpaw would be disappointed when she saw what a dirty, stinking place it was. “Are you hungry?” he asked, wondering if he should tell her to eat first.

“No!” Cinderpaw shook her head.

“Oh, okay. We’ll eat later,” Fireheart meowed. “Well, follow me.”

“Yes, Fireheart.” The young cat looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. The pang of sadness that had been lingering in Fireheart’s stomach since talking with Graystripe was swept away by a warm feeling of pride. He turned and padded toward the camp entrance.

Cinderpaw raced past him and charged through the gorse tunnel. Fireheart had to break into a run to catch up. “I thought I said follow me!” he called as she scrambled up the side of the ravine.

“But I want to see the view from the top,” Cinderpaw protested.

Fireheart leaped after her. He overtook her easily, climbed to the top, and sat washing a forepaw, keeping an eye on her as she scrambled from rock to rock. By the time she reached the top of the camp ravine she was panting, but no less enthusiastic. “Look at the trees! They look like they’re made from moonstone,” she mewed breathlessly.

She was right. The trees below them sparkled white in the sunshine. Fireheart took a deep breath of cold air. “You should try to save your energy,” he warned. “We have a long way to go today.”

“Oh, yes. Okay. Which way now?” She kneaded the ground with impatient paws, ready to dart away into the woods.

“Follow me,” meowed Fireheart. He narrowed his eyes playfully. “And this time I do mean follow!” He led the way to a trail along the edge of the ravine, into the sandy hollow where he had learned to hunt and fight.

“This is where most of our training sessions will be held,” he explained. During greenleaf, the trees that circled the clearing filtered the sunshine into a warm dappled light. Now cold daylight streamed down onto the frozen red earth.

“A river ran here many moons ago. A stream still flows beyond that rise there,” meowed Fireheart, pointing with his muzzle. “It’s dry most of the summer. That’s where I caught my first prey.”

“What did you catch?” Cinderpaw didn’t wait for an answer. “Will the stream be frozen? Let’s look and see if there’s ice!” She charged down into the hollow and headed toward the rise.

“You’ll see it another time!” Fireheart called. But Cinderpaw kept running, and Fireheart had to race after her. He stopped beside her at the top of the rise and together they looked down at the stream. Ice had formed at the edges, but the speed of the water as it slid over its sandy bed had stopped it from freezing over completely.

“You wouldn’t catch much there now,” mewed Cinderpaw. “Except fish maybe.”

The sight of the spot where he had caught his first prey filled Fireheart with happy memories. He watched Cinderpaw stand at the edge of the stream and crane her neck to peer into the black water. “If I were you, I’d leave fishing to RiverClan,” Fireheart warned her. “If they like getting their fur wet, then let them. I prefer dry paws.”

Cinderpaw padded restlessly around in a circle. “What now?”

Her excitement, and his own apprentice memories, filled Fireheart with energy. He bounded away, calling over his shoulder, “The Owl Tree!” Cinderpaw charged after him, her short fluffy tail sticking out behind her.

They crossed the stream over a fallen tree Fireheart had used many times before. “There are stepping-stones farther down, but this is a quicker route. Be careful though!” The pale white trunk was stripped of its bark. “It gets slippery when it’s wet or icy.”

He let Cinderpaw cross first, keeping close behind in case she lost her pawhold. The stream wasn’t particularly deep, but it would be cold as ice, and Cinderpaw was still too small to cope with a soaking.

She crossed the log easily, and Fireheart felt a glow of pride as he watched his apprentice jump down onto the forest floor at the far end. “Well done,” he purred.

Cinderpaw’s eyes shone. “Thanks,” she mewed. “Now, where’s this Owl Tree?”

“This way!” Fireheart bounded away through the undergrowth. The ferns had turned brown since greenleaf. By the end of leaf-fall, they would be flattened by rain and wind, but now they still stood tall and crisp. Fireheart and Cinderpaw wove their way beneath the arching fronds.

Ahead, a massive oak towered above the surrounding trees. Cinderpaw tipped her head back, looking for the top. “Does an owl really live here?” she mewed.

“Yes,” replied Fireheart. “Can you see the hole in the trunk up there?”

Cinderpaw narrowed her eyes to peer through the branches. “How do you know it’s not a squirrel hole?”

“Smell!” Fireheart told her.

Cinderpaw sniffed loudly but shook her head, her eyes curious as she looked up at Fireheart.

“I’ll show you what squirrels smell like another time,” Fireheart meowed. “You won’t smell any around here. No squirrel would dare make its nest so near an owl hole. Look at the ground; what do you see?”

Cinderpaw looked down, puzzled. “Leaves?”

“Try burrowing under the leaves.”

The forest floor was carpeted with brown oak leaves, crisp with frost. Cinderpaw began snuffling among them and then shoved her nose in right up to her ears. When she sat up there was something the size and shape of a pinecone in her mouth. “Yuck, smells like crowfood!” she spat. Fireheart purred with amusement.

“You knew it was there, didn’t you?”

“Bluestar played the same trick on me when I was an apprentice. You’ll never forget the stench.”

“What is it?”

“An owl pod,” Fireheart explained. He remembered what Bluestar had told him. “Owls eat the same prey as us, but they can’t digest the bones and fur, so their bellies roll the leftovers into pods and they spit them out. If you find one of those under a tree, it means you’ve found an owl.”

“Why would you want to find an owl?” squeaked Cinderpaw in alarm. Fireheart’s whiskers twitched as he looked into her wide eyes, as blue as her mother’s. Frostfur must have told her the elders’ tale of how owls carried off young kits who strayed from their mother’s side.

“Owls get a better view of the forest than we do. On windy nights, when scents are hard to follow, you can look out for owls and follow where they hunt.” Cinderpaw’s eyes were still wide, but the fear had left them, and she nodded. She does listen sometimes! Fireheart thought with relief.

“Where next?” mewed Cinderpaw.

“The Great Sycamore,” Fireheart decided. They traveled through the woods as the sun

rose into the pale blue sky, crossing a Twoleg path and another tiny stream. Eventually they arrived at the sycamore tree.

“It’s huge!” Cinderpaw gasped.