Fire and Ice (Warriors 3)

He was suddenly aware of the rain clinging to his fur. The kit needed shelter, and soon. It looked strong, but it was still too small to withstand the cold and wet for long.

“I’ll take him,” he meowed. “This is a great gift you’ve given to ThunderClan. And I’ll train him to be the finest warrior the Clan has ever seen!” He dipped his head and scooped up the kit by his scruff.

Princess’s eyes shone with gratitude and pride. “Thank you, Fireheart,” she purred. “Who knows, maybe he’ll even become a leader and be given nine lives!”

Fireheart gazed fondly at her trusting, hopeful face. Did his sister really believe this might happen? Then a twinge of doubt pricked him. He was taking this tiny kit back to a camp infected by greencough. What if he didn’t even make it to newleaf? But the cozy scent of the kit under his muzzle soothed him. The kit would survive. It was strong, and it shared his blood. Fireheart took a deep breath. He must be quick—the kit was getting cold already. He blinked a farewell at Princess and raced away into the bushes.

The kit was heavier than he’d expected. It dangled from his mouth, bumping against his forelegs with faint protesting squeaks. By the time Fireheart reached the top of the ravine, his neck was aching. He made his way down to the camp, putting one paw carefully in front of the other, wary of slipping on the fast-melting snow.

At the entrance, Fireheart hesitated. For the first time he wondered how he would explain this kit to the Clan—he was going to have to admit to visiting his kittypet sister. But it was too late now. He could feel the kit shivering. Fireheart squared his shoulders and padded through the gorse tunnel. The kit let out a deafening wail as a thorn tugged at its fur. Several pairs of eyes turned to look in amazement as Fireheart emerged into the clearing.

Both hunting parties had returned. Mousefur, Whitestorm, Sandpaw, and Brackenpaw were all in the clearing. Only Graystripe was missing. One by one the rest of the Clan were drawn out of their dens by the noise and the unfamiliar scent. None of the cats made a sound. They stared at Fireheart with hostile, puzzled eyes as though he were a stranger.

Fireheart turned slowly in the center of the clearing, the kit still dangling from his mouth, and looked at the ring of questioning eyes. His mouth began to feel dry. Why had he assumed the Clan would accept a kit that wasn’t even forest-born?

He felt a rush of relief when Bluestar emerged from Yellowfang’s den. But her eyes widened in surprise as she saw him. “What is this?” she demanded.

A tremor of foreboding ran along Fireheart’s spine. He placed the kit between his front paws and wrapped his tail over it to keep it warm. “It’s my sister’s firstborn,” he replied.

“Your sister!” Tigerclaw glared at him accusingly.

“You have a sister?” called Speckletail. “Where?”

“The same place as Fireheart was born, of course,” Longtail hissed with disgust. “Twolegplace!”

“Is that true?” Bluestar asked, her eyes widening further.

“Yes,” Fireheart admitted. “My sister gave it to me to bring to the Clan.”

“And why would she do that?” Bluestar asked with menacing calm.

Fireheart stammered nervously. “I told her about Clan life—how great it was….” His voice trailed away under Bluestar’s incredulous gaze.

“How long have you been visiting Twolegplace?”

“Not long, just since leaf-bare began. But only to see my sister. My loyalty still lies with ThunderClan.”

“Loyalty?” Darkstripe’s yowl rang out across the clearing. “And yet you bring a kittypet here?”

“Isn’t having one kittypet in the Clan enough?” croaked one of the elders.

“Trust a kittypet to find another kittypet!” snarled Dustpaw, ruffling his fur indignantly. He turned to Sandpaw and nudged her with his nose. Sandpaw glanced uncomfortably at Fireheart and then looked down at her paws.

“Why have you brought it here?” Tigerclaw growled.

“We need warriors….” The tiny kit squirmed beneath his belly as he spoke, and Fireheart realized how ridiculous he must sound. He bowed his head as yowls of scorn met his words.

When the insults had died away, Runningwind spoke up. “The Clan has enough to worry about already without this.”

“It’ll be nothing but a burden,” Mousefur agreed. “It’ll be at least five moons before it’s ready to begin training.”

Whitestorm nodded his head in agreement. “You shouldn’t have brought this kittypet here, Fireheart,” he meowed. “It’ll be too soft for Clan life.”

Fireheart bristled. “I was born a kittypet. Am I soft?” He thought that he’d begun to challenge the Clan’s prejudice against kittypets, but he was wrong. He couldn’t see one friendly face in the crowd.

A voice sounded from behind Whitestorm. “If it carries Fireheart’s blood, it’ll make a good Clan cat.”

Fireheart felt relief surge through his body. It was Graystripe! A brief flame of hope flared in Fireheart’s chest as Whitestorm stood aside and the other cats turned to look at the gray warrior. Graystripe stared around the circle of cats, meeting their gazes one by one with wide, steady eyes.

“Makes a change to see you speak up for your friend, Graystripe. Last night you wanted to shred him!” sneered Longtail.

Graystripe glared at the pale tabby, then whipped around as Darkstripe challenged him. “Yeah, Graystripe! How do you know Fireheart has blood worthy of ThunderClan? Did you taste it last night when you tried to take a chunk out of his leg?”

Bluestar stepped forward, her blue eyes clouded with worry. “Fireheart, I believe that you meant no disloyalty to the Clan by visiting your sister, but why did you agree to bring her kit here? It is not your place to make decisions like this. What you have done affects the whole Clan.”

Fireheart looked at Graystripe, hoping for more support, but Graystripe wouldn’t meet his eyes. Fireheart craned his head around, and every cat turned their gaze away from him. Fireheart began to panic. Had he endangered his own position in the Clan by bringing Princess’s kit here?

Bluestar spoke again. “Tigerclaw, what do you think?”

“What do I think?” meowed Tigerclaw. Fireheart felt his heart sink at the note of arrogant satisfaction in the deputy’s voice. “I think he should get rid of it at once.”

“Goldenflower?”

“It certainly looks too small to survive until newleaf,” the ginger queen remarked.

“It’ll have greencough by sunrise!” added Mousefur.

“Or it’ll eat our fresh-kill until next snowfall and then die of cold!” spat Runningwind.

Bluestar dipped her head. “That’s enough. I must think about this.” She padded to her den and disappeared inside. The rest of the Clan slipped away, muttering darkly.

Fireheart picked up the bedraggled kit and carried him to the warriors’ den. The kit was shivering and mewling pathetically. Fireheart curled his body around the little scrap and closed his eyes, but hostile faces of the Clan swam around his mind, filling his heart with dread. He thought he had been lonely before, but now it seemed as if the entire Clan had disowned him.

Graystripe pushed his way into the den and settled down into his nest. Fireheart glanced nervously at him. Graystripe had been the only cat to speak in his defense, and Fireheart wanted to thank him. After an uncomfortable pause, in which the kit cried and cried, Fireheart mumbled, “Thanks for sticking up for me.”

Graystripe shrugged. “Yeah, well,” he meowed, “no one else was going to do it.” He twisted his head around and began to wash his tail.

The kit carried on mewling, his cries growing louder. Some of the other warriors padded into the den to escape the rain outside. Willowpelt glanced briefly at Fireheart and the kit, but she didn’t speak.

“Can’t you shut that thing up?” complained Darkstripe as he prodded the moss in his nest.

Fireheart licked the kit desperately. It must be very hungry by now. A rustle in the den wall made him lift his head.

It was Frostfur. She crept over to Fireheart’s nest and looked down at the miserable kit. Suddenly she dipped her head and sniffed the kit’s soft fur. “He’d be better off in the nursery,” she murmured. “Brindleface has milk to spare. I could ask her to feed it.”

Fireheart stared at the queen in surprise.

Frostfur gazed back at him, her eyes warm. “I haven’t forgotten that you rescued my kits from ShadowClan.”

Fireheart picked up the kit yet again and followed Frostfur out of the warriors’ den. The rain was even heavier now. Together they padded quickly to the nursery. Frostfur disappeared through its narrow entrance, and Fireheart squeezed in after her. He paused inside the thicket of brambles, blinking until his eyes got used to the dim light.

Inside the dry, dark cocoon, Brindleface was curled around her two healthy kits. She looked suspiciously at Fireheart, then at the kit that dangled from his jaws.

Frostfur whispered to Fireheart, “One of Brindleface’s kits died last night.” Fireheart remembered the sick kits squirming beside Yellowfang and wondered, with a pang, which one had gone. He put Princess’s kit down and turned to Brindleface. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.