Fire and Ice (Warriors 3)

Bluestar was completely still. Fireheart knew she was with StarClan, preparing for her remaining life. He had watched Bluestar lose a life before. He felt his fur prickle at the eerie peace that seemed to enfold her body, but there was nothing he could do, so he waited.

Suddenly Bluestar gasped. “Fireheart, is that you?” she meowed in a croaky voice.

“Yes, Bluestar,” Fireheart murmured. “I’m here.”

“I have lost another life.” Bluestar’s voice was weak, but the relief made Fireheart want to reach forward and lick her between the ears, as Goldenflower had done. “When I lose this one, I will not be able to return.”

Fireheart swallowed hard. The thought of the Clan losing its great leader pained him, but the thought of losing his mentor and friend hurt even more. “How do you feel? Shall I fetch Yellowfang?”

Bluestar shook her head slowly. “The fever has gone. I am well enough. I just need to rest.”

“Very well,” meowed Fireheart. Light was beginning to filter through the lichen, and his head swam from his wakeful night.

“You must be tired,” meowed Bluestar. “Go and get some sleep.”

“Yes.” Fireheart heaved himself up. His legs felt stiff from lying so long. “Is there anything you need?”

“No. Just tell Yellowfang what has happened,” answered Bluestar. “Thank you for sitting with me.”

Fireheart tried to purr but it caught in his throat. There would be time for more words later. He pushed his way out through the lichen.

Outside a harsh brightness made him blink. It had snowed in the night. Fireheart stared in amazement. He had never seen snow before—his Twoleg owners had kept him shut inside when he was a very young kit whenever it was cold. But he’d heard the Clan elders talk of it. He nodded to Darkstripe, who had replaced Longtail guarding Bluestar’s den, and stepped into the strange powder. It felt wet and cold, crunching loudly under his paws.

Tigerclaw was standing in the clearing. It was still snowing and the flakes settled on the tabby’s thick fur without melting. Fireheart could hear him giving orders for the nursery wall to be padded with leaves to keep out the cold. “Then I want a hole to be scraped out where we can store prey,” the ThunderClan deputy instructed. “Use snow to line it, and cover it with more snow once it has been filled. We may as well make use of the snow while it’s here.”

Warriors raced around Tigerclaw, following his orders. “Mousefur, Longtail! Organize some hunting parties. We need as much fresh-kill as we can get before the prey takes to their burrows for good!” Tigerclaw spotted Fireheart padding across the clearing. “Fireheart, wait,” he called. “Oh, I suppose you’ll have to rest. I can’t imagine you’ll be any use on a hunting party this morning.”

Fireheart stared at the dark warrior, hostility rising like bile in his throat. “I’m going to see how Cinderpaw is first,” he growled.

Tigerclaw held his gaze for a moment. “How’s Bluestar?”

Mistrust ruffled Fireheart’s fur like a cold breeze. He’d heard Bluestar lie to Tigerclaw once before about how many lives she had left. “I’m no medicine cat,” he answered. “I can’t say.”

Tigerclaw snorted impatiently, then turned away and went back to giving orders. Fireheart walked over to Yellowfang’s den, relieved to escape the frenetic bustle of the camp. His heart began to pound as he wondered what state he would find Cinderpaw in. “Yellowfang,” he called.

“Hush!” Yellowfang sprang from Cinderpaw’s bracken nest. “She’s sleeping at last. She’s had a hard night. I couldn’t give her poppy seeds to ease the pain until she’d recovered from the shock.”

“But she’s going to live?” Fireheart’s legs felt wobbly with relief.

“I can’t be for sure for a few days. She’s hurt inside, and one of her hind legs is badly broken.”

“But it’ll mend, won’t it?” Fireheart pleaded desperately. “She’ll be training again by newleaf?”

Yellowfang shook her head, her yellow eyes sympathetic. “Fireheart, whatever happens, Cinderpaw will never be a warrior now.”

Fireheart’s head spun. He was dizzy with lack of sleep, and this devastating news sapped the last of his energy. Cinderpaw had been entrusted to him for her warrior training. Memories of the naming ceremony pricked like cruel thorns—Cinderpaw’s excitement, Frostfur’s motherly pride…“Does Frostfur know?” he meowed, feeling hollow.

“Yes, she was here till dawn. She’s back in the nursery now; there are other kits to tend to. I’ll ask one of the elders to sit with Cinderpaw. She needs to be kept warm.”

“I can do that.” Fireheart padded over to the nest where Cinderpaw was sleeping and looked inside. She squirmed, and her blood-smeared sides heaved, as though she were fighting a battle as she slept.

Yellowfang gently nudged Fireheart with her nose. “You need to get some sleep,” she rasped. “Leave Cinderpaw to me.”

Fireheart stayed where he was. “Bluestar lost another life,” he burst out. Yellowfang blinked for a moment, then lifted her head to StarClan. She didn’t utter a word, but Fireheart could see the anguish in her orange eyes. “You know, don’t you?” he murmured.

Yellowfang lowered his chin and gazed into his eyes. “That this is Bluestar’s final life? Yes, I know. A medicine cat can tell these things.”

“Will the rest of the Clan be able to tell as well?” Fireheart asked, thinking of Tigerclaw.

Yellowfang narrowed her eyes. “No. She will be no weaker in this life than she was in any of her others.”

Fireheart blinked gratefully at her.

“Now,” Yellowfang ordered, “do you want some poppy seeds to help you sleep?”

Fireheart shook his head. Part of him longed for the deep, easy sleep they would bring. But if Tigerclaw was right and ShadowClan really was about to attack ThunderClan’s borders, he did not want to dull his senses. He might be needed to defend the camp.

Graystripe was back in the warriors’ den. Fireheart did not speak to him; his rage at finding him missing the night before lingered like a dull bruise. He padded silently to his nest, circled once, and settled down to wash.

Graystripe looked up. “You’re back, then.” He sounded edgy, as if he wanted to say more.

Fireheart stopped licking his forepaw and stared at Graystripe.

“You tried to warn Silverstream off,” Graystripe hissed furiously. Willowpelt, who was dozing on the other side of the den, opened one eye, then closed it again.

Graystripe lowered his voice. “Stay out of it, will you?” he spat. “I’m going to keep on seeing her, whatever you do or say.”

Fireheart snorted and flashed a resentful glance at his friend. His talk with Silverstream seemed so long ago, he’d almost forgotten it. But he hadn’t forgotten that Graystripe had been missing when he’d needed help finding Cinderpaw. He laid his head angrily on his muddy forepaws and closed his eyes. Cinderpaw was battling against her injuries and Bluestar was on her ninth life. As far as Fireheart was concerned, Graystripe could do what he liked.

CHAPTER 18

Graystripe had already left his nest when Fireheart awoke the next day. He could tell it was sunhigh by the light that glowed through the branches. He rose, his body still weary with grief, and pushed his head out of the den. Snow must have been falling all morning, for it lay thick on the ground and had drifted against the den. Fireheart found himself gazing out over a white wall that was as high as his shoulder.

The usual bustle of the camp seemed muted. Fireheart could see Willowpelt and Halftail whispering on the far side of the clearing. Mousefur was picking her way laboriously toward the store of fresh-kill, a rabbit dangling from her jaws. She stopped and sneezed, then carried on.

Fireheart lifted one paw and rested it on top of the snow. It felt hard at first, but when he pressed down, the thin covering of ice cracked and he gasped as his leg plunged into the drift. Fireheart snorted as he found himself up to his muzzle in snow. Shaking his head and lifting his chin, he leape

d forward, only to sink into more deep snow. He struggled on, alarm rising in his chest. He felt as if he were drowning in snow! Then, all of a sudden, there was solid ground under his paws. He had reached the edge of the clearing. The snow here was only a mouse-length deep, and Fireheart sat down with a soft crunch, relieved.

He tensed when he saw Graystripe plowing through the snow toward him. The gray warrior seemed unbothered by it, protected from its damp chill by his thick pelt. His face was shadowed with sorrow. “Have you heard about Bluestar?” he asked as he neared. “She lost a life to greencough.”

Fireheart flicked his ears impatiently. He could have told his friend that last night. “I know,” he snapped. “I was with her.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” mewed Graystripe, shocked.

“You weren’t exactly in a friendly mood last night, if you remember. Anyway, if you weren’t always off breaking the warrior code, you might know what was going on in your own Clan,” he snarled.

Graystripe’s ears twitched uncomfortably. “I’ve just seen Cinderpaw,” he meowed. “I’m sorry she’s so sick.”

“How is she?”