Fire and Ice (Warriors 3)

His sister’s eyes gleamed. “It sounds like a good life,” she purred. She looked down shyly at her paws. “Sometimes even I stare into the forest and wonder what it feels like to live out there.”

Fireheart purred and stood up. “Then you understand?”

Princess nodded. “Are you going back now?”

“Yes. I must take the catnip to Yellowfang while it’s fresh.”

Princess stretched her head forward to press her muzzle into his side. “Perhaps my kits will be strong enough to meet you next time you come,” she mewed.

Excitement tingled in Fireheart’s belly. “I hope so!” he meowed.

As he turned to leave, Princess called, “Take care, brother. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” Fireheart promised.

“Good thinking, Fireheart,” purred Whitestorm. He had seen Fireheart pad back into camp with his jaws crammed with catnip.

Fireheart’s mouth had been watering all the way home, although he was beginning to think he’d be happy never to see another catnip bush again. But he was happier than when he’d left the camp. His sister had safely kitted and his head felt clearer.

He was heading toward Yellowfang’s den when Tigerclaw appeared at his side.

“More catnip?” observed the great tabby, his eyes suspicious. “I wondered where you’d gone. Brackenpaw can take that to Yellowfang.”

Brackenpaw was helping to clear away snow nearby.

“Come and take this catnip to Yellowfang,” Tigerclaw ordered the apprentice.

Brackenpaw nodded and bounded over at once.

Fireheart dropped the bunch of leaves onto the ground. “I wanted to visit Cinderpaw,” he meowed to Tigerclaw.

“Later,” growled the deputy. He waited while Brackenpaw picked up the catnip and carried it off to Yellowfang’s den. Then he turned back to Fireheart. “I want to know where Graystripe has been going.”

Fireheart felt the heat rising under his fur. “I don’t know,” he replied, holding Tigerclaw’s gaze.

Tigerclaw stared back at him, his eyes cold and hostile. “When you see him,” he hissed, “you can tell him he’s confined to the fallen oak.”

“Yellowfang’s old den?” Fireheart glanced at the tangled branches where the medicine cat had lived when she first came into the ThunderClan camp, when she was still considered a ShadowClan outcast. Swiftpaw was there, lying beside Speckletail’s dark tabby kit.

“Cats with whitecough are confined there until they are well again.”

“But Graystripe only has a cold,” Fireheart protested.

“A cold is bad enough. He’ll stay at the fallen oak!” Tigerclaw repeated. “Cats with greencough are to nest with Yellowfang. We must stop this sickness from spreading.” The deputy’s eyes flashed unsympathetically. Fireheart wondered if he thought of illness as a sign of weakness. “It is for the good of the Clan,” Tigerclaw added.

“Yes, Tigerclaw. I’ll tell Graystripe.”

“And keep away from Bluestar,” the deputy warned.

“But the greencough has left her,” Fireheart objected.

“I am aware of that, but her den still reeks of the sickness. I can’t afford to have any of my warriors falling ill. Whitestorm tells me that RiverClan warriors have been scented even closer to the camp. He also told me he had to train Brackenpaw today. I expect you to take charge of Brackenpaw’s training tomorrow.”

Fireheart nodded. “May I go and see Cinderpaw now?”

Tigerclaw looked at him.

“I doubt if Yellowfang has put her anywhere near the cats with greencough,” Fireheart added with a flash of irritation. “I won’t get infected.”

“Very well,” Tigerclaw agreed, and stalked away.

Fireheart met Brackenpaw in the middle of the clearing. “Yellowfang was very grateful for the catnip,” Brackenpaw mewed.

“Good,” answered Fireheart. “By the way, I’m teaching you how to catch birds tomorrow. I hope you’re ready for a bit of tree climbing.”

Brackenpaw’s whiskers twitched excitedly. “Definitely. I’ll meet you at the training hollow.”

Fireheart nodded and carried on to Yellowfang’s den. He spotted Brindleface’s poor kits straightaway. They lay quietly in a bracken nest, coughing, their noses and eyes streaming.

Yellowfang greeted him. “Thanks for the catnip; we’re going to need it. Patchpelt has greencough now.” She gestured with her nose toward another nest in the bracken. Inside, Fireheart could see the old tom’s matted black-and-white fur.

“How’s Cinderpaw?” he asked, looking back at the medicine cat.

Yellowfang sighed. “She was awake earlier, but not for long. She has an infection in her leg. StarClan knows, I’ve tried everything, but she must fight this one herself.”

Fireheart peered into Cinderpaw’s nest. The little gray cat was twitching in her sleep, her injured leg twisted awkwardly to one side. Fireheart shuddered, suddenly afraid she might yet lose this struggle. He turned back to Yellowfang, looking for words of encouragement, but the medicine cat sat with her head low. She looked exhausted.

“Do you think Spottedleaf would have been able to save these cats?” she meowed unexpectedly, raising her head to meet his gaze.

Fireheart shivered. He could still sense Spottedleaf’s presence here in the clearing. He remembered how efficiently she’d tended to Ravenpaw’s shoulder wound after the battle with RiverClan, and how carefully she’d advised him about caring for Yellowfang when the old she-cat had first come to the ThunderClan camp. Then he looked at Yellowfang, her shoulders weighed down with experience. “I’m sure there’s nothing Spottedleaf would have done differently,” he told her.

One of the kits cried out and Yellowfang sprang up. As she passed, Fireheart leaned forward and gently stroked the old cat’s side with his muzzle. She twitched her shoulder gratefully at him. Then, filled with sadness, he turned and padded toward the fern tunnel.

The white pelt of Frostfur appeared at the other end. She must be coming to see Cinderpaw. As he approached the queen, Fireheart lifted his head and looked into her blue eyes. The sorrow in them made his heart twist with pain. “Frostfur?” he began.

The queen stopped.

“I…I’m sorry.” Fireheart trembled as he spoke.

Frostfur looked confused. “What for?”

“I should have been able to stop Cinderpaw from going to the Thunderpath.”

Frostfur gazed at him, but her expression gave away nothing except her sadness. “I don’t blame you, Fireheart,” she murmured. Then she lowered her head and carried on toward her kit.

Graystripe was back, munching a vole beside the nettle clump.

Fireheart padded over to him. “Tigerclaw says you’ve got to move to the fallen oak, with the whitecough cats,” he meowed. With a prickle of resentment, he remembered how the deputy had questioned him about his friend.

“That won’t be necessary,” replied Graystripe cheerfully. “I’m better now. Yellowfang gave me the all-clear this morning.”

Fireheart looked closely at Graystripe. His eyes were certainly bright again, and his runny nose had dried to an unappealing crust. At any other time Fireheart would have teased him about how much he looked like Runningnose, the ShadowClan medicine cat. Now he spat crossly, “Tigerclaw has noticed your disappearances. You should be more careful. Why can’t you stay away from Silverstream, at least for now?”

Graystripe stopped chewing and stared angrily back at Fireheart. “And why can’t you mind your own business?”

Fireheart closed his eyes and snorted with frustration. Would he ever get through to his friend? Then he wondered if he even cared anymore. After all, Graystripe hadn’t asked about Cinderpaw.

Fireheart’s stomach growled to tell him he was hungry. He might as well eat. He took a sparrow from the pile of fresh-kill and carried it away to a deserted corner of the camp to eat alone. As he settled down, he thought of Princess, far away in Twolegplace, with her n

ewborn kits. Lonely and anxious, Fireheart stared across the camp and longed to see her again.

CHAPTER 19

In the following days, Fireheart struggled against the urge to visit his sister. His yearning to be with his kittypet kin was beginning to make him feel uncomfortable. He kept himself busy hunting in the snowy forests, replenishing the camp store.

He had had a successful hunt this afternoon, returning to camp with two mice and a chaffinch as the sun dipped behind the trees. He buried the mice in the snow store and took the chaffinch for his own supper.

As he finished his meal, he noticed Whitestorm padding toward him. “I want you to take Sandpaw out on the dawn patrol,” the great white warrior meowed. “ShadowClan has been scented as close as the Owl Tree.”

“ShadowClan?” Fireheart echoed in alarm. Perhaps Tigerclaw really had found evidence of an invasion after all. “I was planning to take Brackenpaw out again tomorrow.”

“Isn’t Graystripe better now?” asked Whitestorm. “He can take Brackenpaw.”

Of course! thought Fireheart. And perhaps training his apprentice would keep Graystripe away from Silverstream for once. But that meant he would have to go on patrol with Sandpaw. And Fireheart couldn’t help thinking of the furious look Sandpaw had given him when he’d interrupted her fight with the RiverClan warrior beside the gorge. “Just me and Sandpaw?” he asked.

Whitestorm looked at him in surprise. “Sandpaw’s almost a warrior, and you can take care of yourself,” he replied.

Whitestorm had misunderstood Fireheart’s concern. He wasn’t afraid of being attacked by enemy cats; he was afraid Sandpaw hated him as much as Dustpaw did. But Fireheart didn’t correct him. “Does Sandpaw know?”