The Darkest Hour (Warriors 2)

As he stood wrapped in silent apprehension, he noticed scraps of white drifting down from the sky. Snow! Firestar thought, glancing up at a sky where the clouds were darker than ever. Hearing a surprised squeak from Bramblepaw, he turned around. A snowflake had landed on Bramblepaw’s nose and was slowly melting. The apprentice flicked out a pink tongue and licked it off, his yellow eyes round with wonder.

“What is it, Firestar?” he asked. “It’s cold!”

Firestar let out a purr of amusement. “It’s snow,” he replied. “It comes in leaf-bare. If it goes on like this, the flakes will cover all the ground and the trees.”

“Really? But they’re so tiny!”

“There will be lots of them, though.”

The flakes were already growing larger and falling more thickly, almost hiding the trees on the other side of the Thunderpath and smothering the ShadowClan scent. Even the roar of the monsters was muffled and they moved slowly, as if their glowing eyes couldn’t see well through the snow.

Firestar knew that snowfall would bring more problems to the forest. Prey would die in the cold, or huddle deep in holes where hunters could not follow. It would be harder than ever to feed the Clan.

His apprentice was watching the falling flakes with wide eyes. Firestar saw him reach out one paw tentatively to dab at one of them. A heartbeat later he was leaping and whirling with high-pitched mews of excitement, as if he were trying to catch every single flake before it reached the ground.

Firestar was surprised by a rush of affection. It was good to see the young cat playing like a kit again. Surely the dark-hearted Tigerstar had never chased snowflakes just for the joy of it? Or if he had, when had he lost the joy, and begun to care only for his own power?

There was no answer to that question, and Firestar knew that for Tigerstar, just as much as for himself, there was no going back. Their paws were firmly on the path StarClan had decided they should follow, and sooner or later the two leaders must meet to decide who should remain in the forest.

CHAPTER 8

The snow had stopped by the time Firestar and Bramblepaw return e d to camp. The clouds had cleared away and the setting sun cast long blue shadows over the thin coating of white that powder e d the ground. Both cats were carrying fresh-kill; Firestar had watched his apprentice’s hunting skills and been impressed by the young cat’s concentration and skillful stalking.

They had just reached the top of the ravine when they heard a yowl behind them. Firestar turned to see Graystripe bounding through the undergrowth.

“Hi,” panted the gray warrior as he caught up with them. His eyes widened when he saw their catch. “You’ve had better luck than me. I couldn’t find so much as a mouse.”

Firestar grunted sympathetically as he led the way toward the gorse tunnel. He noticed that Sorrelkit, the most adventurous of Willowpelt’s three kits, had left the camp and climbed halfway up the steep slope farther along the ravine. To Firestar’s surprise, she was with Darkstripe; the warrior was b ending over her, saying something to her.

“Odd,” Firestar muttered through a mouthful of squirrel fur, half to himself. “Darkstripe has never shown much interest in kits before. And what’s he doing out here on his o w n?”

Suddenly Firestar heard a sharp exclamation from Graystripe and his friend flashed past him, hurtling along the side of the ravine, his paws scrabbling against the loose snow-covered stones. At the same moment Sorrelkit’s legs crumpled underneath her sturdy tortoiseshell body and she started writhing in the snow. Firestar dropped his fresh-kill in amazement as Graystripe yowled, “No!” and flung himself on the dark warrior. Darkstripe clawed and flailed at him with his hind legs, but Graystripe’s teeth were sunk in his throat and would not let go.

“What-?” Firestar dashed down the slope with Bramblepaw right behind him. He dodged the fighting cats, still locked together in a whirlwind of teeth and claws, and reached Sorrelkit’s side.

The little kit twisted and turned on the ground, her eyes wide and glazed. She was letting out high-pitched moans of pain, and there was foam on her lips.

“Get Cinderpelt!” Firestar ordered Bramblepaw.

His apprentice shot off, his paws sending up puffs of snow. Firestar bent over the young kit and placed a paw gently on her belly. “It’s all right,” he murmured. “Cinderpelt is coming.”

Sorrelkit’s jaws gaped wide and Firestar caught a glimpse of half-chewed berries in her mouth, scarlet against her white teeth.

“Deathberries!” He gasped.

There was a dark-leaved shrub growing from a crack in the rock just above his head, with more of the lethal scarlet berries clustered among the leaves. He remembered a time many moons ago when Cinderpelt had appeared just in time to stop Cloudtail from eating the deathberries, and warned him of how poisonous they were. Later, Yellowfang had used them to kill her son, Brokentail; Firestar had seen for himself how quickly and fatally they worked.

Crouching over Sorrelkit, Firestar did his best to scoop the crushed berries out of her mouth, but the kit was in too much terror and pain to keep still and make his task easier. Her head thrashed from side to side, and her body was convulsing in regular spasms that to Fireheart’s horror seemed to be growing weaker. He could still hear Graystripe and Darkstripe screeching in the throes of their fight, but they seemed oddly far away. All his attention was concentrated on the kit.

Then to his relief he felt Cinderpelt arrive beside him. “Deathberries!” he told her quickly. “I’ve tried to get them out, but…”

Cinderpelt took his place by the kit’s side. She had a bundle of leaves in her mouth; setting them down, she mewed, “Good. Keep holding her, Firestar, while I take a look.”

With two of them to help, and the kit’s struggles definitely growing weaker, Cinderpelt was soon able to paw out the remains of the deathberries. Then she rapidly chewed up one of her leaves and stuffed the pulp into Sorrelkit’s mouth. “Swallow it,” she ordered. To Firestar she added, “It’s yarrow. It’ll make her sick.”

The kit’s throat convulsed. A moment later she vomited; Firestar could see more scarlet specks among the pulp of leaves.

“Good,” Cinderpelt mewed soothingly. “That’s very good. You’re going to be fine, Sorrelkit.”

The little kit lay gasping and trembling; then Firestar watched in dismay as she went limp and her eyes closed.

“Is she dead?” he whispered.

Before Cinderpelt could rep l y, a yowl came from the entrance to the camp. “My kit! W here’s my kit?” It was Willowpelt, racing up the ravine with Bramblepaw. She crouched beside Sorrelkit, her blue eyes wide and distraught. “What happened?”

“She ate deathberries,” Cinderpelt explained. “But I think I’ve gotten rid of them all. We’ll carry her back to my den and I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Willowpelt began licking Sorrelkit’s tortoiseshell fur. By now Firestar had seen the faint rise and fall of the kit’s flank as she breathed. She was not dead, but he could see from Cinderpelt’s anxious look that she was still in danger from the effects of the poison.

For the first time Firestar had a chance to draw breath and look for Graystripe. The gray warrior had pinned Darkstripe down a few tail-lengths away with one paw on his neck and another on his belly. Darkstripe was bleeding from one ear, and he spat in fury as he fought vainly to free himself.

“What’s going on?” Firestar demanded.

“Don’t ask me,” snarled Graystripe. Firestar could hardly remember seeing his friend look so savage. “Ask this…this piece of fox dung why he tried to murder a kit!”

“Murder?” Firestar echoed. The accusation was so unexpected that for a heartbeat he could do nothing but stare stupidly.

“Murder,” repeated Graystripe. “Go on, ask him why he was feeding deathberries to Sorrelkit.”

“You mouse-brained fool.” Darkstripe’s voice was cold as he gazed up at his attacker. “I wasn’t feeding her the berries. I was trying to stop her from eating the

m.”

“I know what I saw,” Graystripe insisted through gritted teeth.

Firestar tried to recall the image of the warrior and the kit that he had seen when he paused at the top of the ravine. “Let him get up,” he meowed reluctantly to his friend. “Darkstripe, tell me what happened.”

The warrior rose and shook himself. Firestar could see bare patches on his flank where Graystripe had clawed out lumps of fur.

“I was coming back to camp,” he began. “I found the stupid kit stuffing herself with death berries, and I was trying to stop her when this idiot jumped on me.” He stared resentfully at Graystripe. “Why would I want to murder a kit?”

“That’s what I want to know!” spat Graystripe.

“Of course, we know who the noble Firestar will believe!” Darkstripe sneered. “There’s no use expecting justice in ThunderClan these days.”