It was a slow climb out of the ravine, with the boulders covered in snow. When they reached the top, the icebound forest stretched before them. Graystripe charged away at once, his face set with grim determination. Fireheart followed him. As he tracked a mouse around the roots of an oak tree he saw Graystripe racing after a rabbit that had been foolish enough to stray from its burrow. Graystripe pelted furiously after the creature until he finished it off with a well-aimed pounce. Fireheart sat and watched as Graystripe padded back to him and dropped the rabbit at Fireheart’s paws.
“That should feed a kit or two.” He grunted.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” Fireheart told him.
“No?” Graystripe answered bitterly. His eyes met Fireheart’s, cold and angry. “Maybe you should start acting as if you trusted me, then.” He turned away before Fireheart could reply.
By sunhigh Graystripe had caught more than Fireheart, but both cats had done well. They returned to the camp, their jaws heavy with fresh-kill. They padded into the clearing and dropped their prey in the usual place. The spot had been empty so far.
Fireheart wondered if they should go out again. The snow was heavier now, and a cold wind was beginning to blow through the ravine. Fireheart was studying the darkening sky when he heard Brindleface’s worried meow near the nursery. He bounded over to see what was wrong. “What’s the matter?”
“Have you seen Cloudkit?” she demanded.
Fireheart shook his head. “Is he missing?” His paws prickled as Brindleface’s rising panic began to infect him.
“Yes. So are my other kits. I only closed my eyes for a moment. I just woke up and I can’t find them anywhere! It’s too cold for them to be out. They’ll freeze to death!” The queen swayed on her paws.
Alarm shot through Fireheart as he pictured the last time a young cat had disappeared from the camp. It had been Cinderpaw.
CHAPTER 28
“I’ll find them,” Fireheart promised. He automatically looked around for Graystripe. The wind was rising and the snow was growing thicker—he didn’t want to search alone. Fireheart rushed to the warriors’ den and pushed his way inside, but Graystripe wasn’t there.
Sandstorm was just waking up. “What’s wrong?” she meowed, seeing Fireheart peering around the den.
“Brindleface’s kits are missing.”
“Cloudkit too?” Sandstorm scrambled to her paws, instantly awake.
“Yes! I was looking for Graystripe so we could look for them together, but he isn’t here,” Fireheart meowed, his words tumbling out in a rush. He felt a stab of rage that Graystripe was missing yet again—right after accusing Fireheart of not trusting him!
“I’ll come with you,” Sandstorm offered.
Fireheart blinked. “Thanks,” he meowed gratefully. “Come on. We should tell Bluestar before we leave.”
“Dustpelt can tell her. Is it still snowing?”
“Yes, and it’s getting heavier. We’d better hurry.” Fireheart looked at Dustpelt’s sleeping form. “You wake him. I’ll tell Brindleface we’re going and meet you by the entrance.” He bounded away, back to the nursery. Brindleface was still sniffing around in search of scents.
“Any sign?” Fireheart asked.
“No, nothing.” Brindleface’s voice was trembling. “Frostfur’s gone to tell Bluestar!”
“Well, don’t worry. I’m going out to look for them,” he reassured her. “Sandstorm’s coming with me. We’ll find them.”
Brindleface nodded and carried on searching.
Fireheart and Sandstorm arrived at the gorse tunnel together and hurried out into the woods. Outside the camp, the wind felt even fiercer. Fireheart narrowed his eyes and hunched his shoulders against the blizzard.
“It’s going to be hard picking up a scent through the fresh snow,” he warned Sandstorm. “Let’s start by checking to see if they’ve climbed up to the forest.”
“Okay,” meowed Sandstorm.
“You take that side.” Fireheart pointed with his nose. “And I’ll take the other. Meet you back here. Don’t be long.”
Sandstorm bounded away, and Fireheart leaped over a fallen tree, heading toward the trail the Clan followed most often. The sides of the ravine were even more thickly coated than they had been that morning, and slippery now where the snow had frozen into ice. Fireheart stopped and lifted his head, his mouth open, but he could find no scent of the kits. He looked in vain for pawsteps—would their trail already be covered by fresh snow?
He trekked along the bottom of the slope but found no sign of any cats, let alone lost kits. The wind blew until Fireheart could hardly feel the tips of his ears. No kits could survive in this weather, and it wouldn’t be long before the sun began to set. He had to find them before nightfall.
Fireheart raced back to the camp entrance. Sandstorm was waiting for him, her fur striped with small ridges of snow. She shook them off as she saw him coming.
“Any sign?” Fireheart meowed.
“No, nothing.”
“They can’t have gotten far,” Fireheart pointed out. “Come on, let’s try this way.” He headed toward the training hollow.
Sandstorm battled after him. The snow was getting deeper, and she sank up to her belly with every step.
The training hollow was empty.
“Do you think Bluestar realizes how bad the weather is out here?” asked Sandstorm, raising her voice against the wind.
“She’ll know,” Fireheart called back to her.
“We should go back and get help, join up with another search party,” meowed Sandstorm.
Fireheart looked at the shivering warrior. It was not just the kits who might freeze out here. Perhaps Sandstorm was right. “I agree,” he meowed. “We can’t do this by ourselves.”
As they turned toward camp, Fireheart thought he heard a tiny squeal through the wind. “Did you hear that?” he called.
Sandstorm stopped and began sniffing the air furiously. Suddenly she lifted her head. “That way!” she meowed, pointing with her nose to a fallen tree.
Fireheart leaped toward it with Sandstorm right behind him. The squealing grew louder until Fireheart could make out several little voices. He scrambled up onto the log and looked down the other side. Huddled in the snow were two small kits. Fireheart felt a rush of relief until he realized Cloudkit was not with them. “Where’s Cloudkit?” he yowled.
“Hunting,” squeaked one of the kits. Her voice trembled with cold and fear, but there was a note of defiance in it.
Fireheart lifted his head. “Cloudkit!” he called, peering through the snowflakes.
“Fireheart, look!” Sandstorm was on top of the log. Fireheart spun around. A bedraggled white shape was struggling through the snow toward them. Cloudkit! Every step was a massive leap for the tiny kit—the snow was as high as he was. But he kept coming, and in his mouth he carried a small, snow-encrusted vole.
A surge of relief and fury shot through Fireheart. He left Sandstorm with the others and bounded through the snow to scoop up the kit by the scruff of his neck. Cloudkit grunted in protest but refused to drop the vole that dangled from his mouth.
Fireheart turned to see Sandstorm nudging the others toward him. They stumbled ahead of her, sinking up to their ears in the deep snow, but she kept pushing them on.
Cloudkit squirmed in Fireheart’s mouth. Fireheart dropped him back into the snow. Cloudkit looked up at him, proudly holding his catch. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling impressed. In spite of the snow and wind, Cloudkit had caught his first prey!
“Wait there,” he ordered, and dashed back to help Sandstorm. He picked up a tiny she-kit who was mewling pitifully, and began nosing the other one forward.