Fire and Ice (Warriors 3)

“She looked bad, but Yellowfang said she’s pulling through,” replied Graystripe.

Fireheart stared anxiously across the clearing and stood up. He wanted to see his apprentice for himself.

Graystripe meowed, “She’s asleep now. Frostfur’s with her, and Yellowfang doesn’t want anyone else disturbing her.”

Fireheart flinched involuntarily. How was he going to tell Frostfur that it was his fault that Cinderpaw went to the Thunderpath? Instinctively, Fireheart turned to Graystripe, seeking reassurance. But Graystripe was trudging across the snowy clearing toward the nursery. Off to see Silverstream, Fireheart guessed resentfully, sheathing and unsheathing his claws as he watched his friend disappear from sight.

Fireheart noticed Speckletail, the oldest queen from the nursery and the mother of the kit with whitecough, only when she stopped right in front of him. “Is Tigerclaw inside?” she asked, pointing with her nose to the warriors’ den.

Fireheart shook his head.

Speckletail mewed, “There’s greencough in the nursery. Two of Brindleface’s kits are sick.”

“Greencough!” Fireheart gasped, shaken from his anger. “Will they die?”

“They might. But leaf-bare always brings greencough,” Speckletail pointed out gently.

“Surely there’s something we can do!” Fireheart protested.

“Yellowfang will do what she can,” answered Speckletail. “But in the end, it’s up to StarClan.”

A new flash of fury flared in Fireheart’s belly as Speckletail turned away and padded back to the nursery. How could the Clan tolerate these tragedies? He felt overwhelmed by the need to leave the camp, to escape the gloomy air that the rest of the Clan seemed content to breathe.

He jumped up and raced blindly across the snowy clearing, through the gorse tunnel and out into the forest. He was startled to find himself heading instinctively for the training hollow. The thought that he should be there, teaching Cinderpaw, was more than he could bear. As he veered to avoid it, he heard the voices of Whitestorm and Brackenpaw. The white-furred warrior must have taken Brackenpaw for training while Fireheart had been sleeping. Had no cat stopped to grieve for Bluestar’s lost life? Fireheart’s throat tightened as he fought back his rage and ran on, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and the camp.

He finally stopped beneath Tallpines, his sides heaving with the effort of running through the snow. There was stillness here that calmed him. Even the birds had stopped singing. Fireheart felt as if he were the only creature in the world.

He didn’t know where he was going; he just padded on, letting the woods soothe him. As he walked, his mind cleared. He could do nothing for Cinderpaw, and Graystripe was out of reach, but he might be able to help Yellowfang fight the greencough. He would fetch some more catnip.

Fireheart turned his steps toward his old kittypet home, weaving through the brambles in the oak woods that backed onto Twolegplace. He leaped to the top of the fence at the end of his old home, nudging a ridge of snow into the garden below. It fell with a soft clump. Fireheart peered down into the garden. He could see tracks, smaller than a cat’s. A squirrel had been out hunting for its store of nuts.

It didn’t take Fireheart long to pluck a generous mouthful of leaves from the catnip bush. He wanted to take as much as he could. Its soft leaves might not survive this weather; this could be his last chance to gather it.

With his mouth crammed, Fireheart stared toward the swinging flap he had used as a kit. He wondered if his Twoleg housefolk still lived there. They’d been kind to him. He had spent his first leaf-bare cosseted in their nest, warm and safe from the cruelties of Thunderpaths and greencough.

The scent of this catnip must be going to my head, he thought sharply. He bounded up the garden and onto the fence with a single leap. He was unnerved by how much the thought of his Twoleg home had stirred him. Did he really want the safety and predictability of a kittypet’s life? Of course not! Fireheart shook the thought away. But the idea of returning to camp didn’t appeal to him yet.

Suddenly he thought of Princess.

Fireheart raced along the edge of the woods to the part of Twolegplace where his sister’s garden lay. When her fence was in sight, he dug down through the snow and buried the catnip beneath a layer of dead leaves to protect it from the cold. He was still panting from his run when he leaped onto the fence and called out to Princess. Then he scrambled back down into the woods to wait for her.

The snow made his paws ache with cold as he paced restlessly under an oak tree. Perhaps she is kitting, he told himself, or shut inside. He had just persuaded himself he wasn’t going to see her today when he heard her familiar mew. He looked up to see her standing on top of her fence. Fireheart felt a shiver of anticipation. Her belly was no longer swollen. Princess must have kitted.

He breathed in her scent as she approached and felt it warm him. “You’ve kitted!” he meowed.

Princess gently touched his nose with hers. “Yes,” she mewed softly.

“Did it go okay? Are the kits all right?”

Princess purred. “It was fine. I have five healthy kits,” she meowed, her eyes glowing with pleasure. Fireheart licked her head and she mewed, “I didn’t expect to see you out in this weather.”

“I came to find some catnip,” Fireheart told her. “There’s greencough in the camp.”

Princess’s eyes clouded with worry. “Are many of your Clan ill?”

“Three so far.” Fireheart hesitated for a moment, then meowed sadly, “Our leader lost another life last night.”

“Another life?” echoed Princess. “What do you mean? I thought it was only an old she-cat’s tale that cats have nine lives.”

“Bluestar was granted nine lives by StarClan because she’s leader of our Clan,” Fireheart explained.

Princess looked at him in awe. “Then it’s true!”

“Only for Clan leaders. The rest of us have only one life, like you, and like Cinderpaw….” Fireheart’s voice trailed away.

“Cinderpaw?” Princess must have detected the grief in his voice.

Fireheart gazed into her eyes, and the thoughts that had been troubling him began to tumble out. “My apprentice,” he meowed. “She was hit on the Thunderpath last night.” His voice cracked as he remembered finding her broken, bleeding body. “She’s badly hurt. She might still die. And even if she survives, she’ll never become a warrior.”

Princess moved closer and nuzzled him. “You spoke so fondly of her last time you were here,” she mewed. “She sounded full of fun and energy.”

“The accident shouldn’t have happened,” Fireheart growled. “I was supposed to meet Tigerclaw. He’d asked for Bluestar, but Bluestar was ill, so I offered to go instead. I had to fetch catnip first, and Cinderpaw went in my place.” Princess looked alarmed and Fireheart added qu

ickly, “I told her not to. But perhaps if I’d been a better mentor she’d have listened to me.”

“I’m sure you’re a good mentor.” Princess tried to soothe him, but Fireheart hardly heard her.

“I don’t know why Tigerclaw wanted Bluestar to meet him in such a dangerous place!” he spat. “He said there was evidence that ShadowClan had invaded our territory, but when I arrived there was no scent of them at all!”

“Was it a trap?” Princess suggested.

Fireheart looked into his sister’s questioning eyes and suddenly began to wonder. “Why would Tigerclaw want to hurt Cinderpaw?”

“It was Bluestar he asked for,” Princess pointed out.

Fireheart’s fur bristled. Could his sister be right? Tigerclaw had summoned Bluestar to the narrowest part of the Thunderpath verge. Surely even Tigerclaw wouldn’t deliberately put his Clan leader in danger? Fireheart shook the thought away. “I d-don’t know,” he stammered. “Everything’s so confusing at the moment. Even Graystripe’s hardly speaking to me.”

“Why?”

Fireheart shrugged. “It’s too complicated to explain.” Princess nestled next to him in the snow, pressing her soft fur against his. “I just feel like such an outsider at the moment,” Fireheart went on gloomily. “It’s not easy being different.”

“Different?” Princess looked puzzled.

“Being born a kittypet, when the other cats are all Clanborn.”

“You seem like a Clanborn cat to me,” mewed Princess. Fireheart blinked gratefully at her. She went on, “But if you’re not happy in the Clan, you can always come home with me. My housefolk would look after you, I’m sure.”

Fireheart pictured himself living his old kittypet life, warm, cozy, and safe. But he couldn’t forget how he’d watched the woods from his Twoleg garden and dreamed of being out in the forest. A breeze stirred his thick fur and carried the scent of a mouse to his nose. Fireheart shook his head firmly. “Thank you, Princess,” he meowed. “But I belong with my Clan now. I could never be happy in a Twoleg nest. I would miss the scents of the forest, and sleeping beneath Silverpelt, hunting my own food and sharing it with my Clan.”