Yellowfang staggered, and Fireheart thought she was going to collapse. He pressed his body against her flank to support her and whispered, “Does he know you’re his mother?”
Yellowfang shook her head.
Brokenstar began to wail pitifully. “I can’t see!” Fireheart realized with horror that the rogue cat’s eyes had been scratched beyond repair.
Fireheart cautiously approached him. Brokenstar lay still. Fireheart poked him with a forepaw and Yellowfang’s son moaned again. “Don’t kill me,” he whined. Fireheart backed away, feeling a shudder of revulsion at the warrior’s fear.
Yellowfang took a deep breath. “I will see to him.” She walked over to her wounded son, grasped him by the scruff of his neck, and dragged him to the nest that Patchpelt had left.
Fireheart let her go. He wanted to check that Cinderpaw was all right. He caught sight of a dark shape moving inside the split rock where Yellowfang slept. “Cinderpaw?” he called.
Cinderpaw poked her head out.
“Are you okay?” Fireheart asked.
“Have the rogue cats gone?” she whispered.
“Yes, except Brokenstar. He’s badly injured. Yellowfang’s seeing to him.” He waited for Cinderpaw’s shocked reaction, but she just shook her head slowly and stared at the ground.
“Are you okay?” Fireheart repeated.
“I should have fought alongside you.” Cinderpaw’s voice was choked with shame.
“You would have been killed!”
“That’s what Dustpaw said. He told me to go and hide with the kits.” The small cat’s eyes were full of despair. “But I wouldn’t have minded being killed. What good am I like this? I’m just a burden on this Clan.”
Fireheart felt a thorn-sharp pang of pity. He searched for words to comfort her, but before he could speak, Yellowfang’s rasping mew sounded from the bracken.
“Cinderpaw,” she called. “Fetch me some cobwebs, quickly!” Cinderpaw turned at once and disappeared inside the rock, returning a moment later with one paw wrapped in a swathe of cobwebs. As quickly as she could, she scrambled awkwardly over to Yellowfang and thrust the cobwebs inside the nest.
“Now get me some of that comfrey root,” ordered Yellowfang.
As Cinderpaw limped back to the split rock, Fireheart turned to leave. There was nothing more he could do here. He must find out how the rest of the Clan was.
Hardly any cat had moved in the camp clearing. Fireheart padded straight to Dustpaw and meowed, “Yellowfang is tending to Brokenstar’s wounds. Cinderpaw’s helping her.” He ignored Dustpaw’s gasp of disbelief. “Go and guard him.” Dustpaw ran to the tunnel and disappeared inside.
Fireheart went over to Graystripe. The gray warrior was still staring at Clawface’s body. “You saved my life,” Fireheart murmured. “Thank you.”
Graystripe lifted his gaze to Fireheart. “I would give my life for you,” he answered simply.
Feeling choked, Fireheart watched his friend turn and walk away. Perhaps their friendship was not over after all.
The sound of paws pounding through the gorse tunnel broke into his thoughts. Bluestar came rushing into the camp, followed by Longtail and Swiftpaw. Fireheart felt his shoulders droop with relief at the sight of his Clan leader. She looked around at the blood-spattered clearing, her eyes wide, until her gaze rested on Clawface’s body. “Brokenstar attacked?” she meowed.
Fireheart nodded.
“Is he dead?”
“He’s with Yellowfang,” Fireheart answered, forcing out the words in spite of his exhaustion. “He’s been wounded—his eyes.”
“And the other rogue warriors?”
“We chased them off.”
“Are any of our Clan badly hurt?” Bluestar demanded, looking once more around the clearing. The cats shook their heads. “Good,” she meowed. “Sandpaw, Swiftpaw, take this body out of the camp and bury it. No elders need be present. No rogue deserves to be buried with the honor of StarClan ritual.”
Swiftpaw and Sandpaw began to drag Clawface toward the tunnel.
“Are the elders safe?” Bluestar asked.
“They’re in the nursery,” Fireheart told her. As he spoke a rustling sounded from the bramble den, and Halftail appeared, followed by the other kits and elders. Fireheart saw Cloudkit tumble out and scamper excitedly across the clearing to Brindleface. She greeted him with a brisk lick, and the kit turned to watch Clawface’s body as it disappeared away through the tunnel.
“Is he dead?” Cloudkit asked curiously. “Can I go and see?”
“Hush,” whispered Brindleface, tucking her tail around him.
“Where’s Tigerclaw?” Bluestar asked.
“He’s taken a party to attack a ShadowClan patrol,” Firehear
t explained. “We found bones on our patrol. They smelled of ShadowClan so Tigerclaw decided to attack. I sent Brackenpaw to stop him when Yellowfang realized it was Brokenstar’s scent on them.”
“Brackenpaw?” meowed Bluestar, narrowing her eyes. “Even though he might have to cross the Thunderpath?”
“I was the only warrior left in camp. There was no one else I could send.”
Bluestar nodded, the concern in her eyes giving way to understanding. “You didn’t want to leave the camp unguarded?” she meowed. “You did well, Fireheart. I think Brokenstar hoped to lure all our warriors away from the camp. We found bones, too.”
“Graystripe told me.” Fireheart looked around for his friend, but Graystripe had disappeared.
“Send Yellowfang to me when she’s finished with Brokenstar,” Bluestar ordered. She pricked her ears at the noise of more paws in the gorse tunnel. Tigerclaw came racing into the camp, followed by Whitestorm and the rest of the raiding party. Fireheart craned his neck to peer around the warriors until he saw Brackenpaw, right at the back. The young apprentice looked exhausted but unhurt. Fireheart let out a quiet sigh of relief.
“Did Brackenpaw reach you before you found a patrol?” asked Bluestar, walking over to her deputy.
“We hadn’t even entered their territory,” Tigerclaw answered. “We were just about to cross the Thunderpath.” His eyes narrowed. “Was that Clawface they were burying?”
Bluestar nodded.
“Then Brackenpaw was right,” meowed the deputy. “Brokenstar was planning to attack the camp. Is he dead too?”
“No. Yellowfang is tending to his wounds.”
“Surely not!” Mousefur exclaimed, exchanging a glance with Runningwind beside her.
Tigerclaw’s face darkened. “Tending to his wounds?” he snarled. “We should kill him, not waste time making him better!”