The Darkest Hour (Warriors 2)

“Tawnypaw!” Firestar called. “What’s the matter?”

For a heartbeat he thought the apprentice was going to ignore him. Then she veered sharply to stand in front of him. “Smallear!” she spat. “If ever a cat asked to have his fur clawed off—”

“You shouldn’t talk like that about an elder,” Firestar rebuked her. “Smallear’s given good service to the Clan and we should respect that.”

“What about a bit of respect for me?” Tawnypaw was so furious she seemed to have forgotten she was talking to her leader. “Just because I was a little late going to clear out the old bedding, Smallear said that Tigerstar had never wanted to serve the elders either, and he could see I was going to turn out just like my father.” She scraped her claws on the sandy floor of the clearing as if she were picturing the old tom’s fur. “It’s not the first time he’s said things, either. I don’t see why I should have to put up with it!”

While she was speaking, Bramblepaw had come to join them, putting down the moss he was carrying. “You know Smallear’s joints are aching because of the cold weather,” he meowed.

“You’re not my mentor!” Tawnypaw flared up at her brother. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Calm down, Tawnypaw,” Firestar mewed. He wanted to reassure her that no cat believed she would end up a murderer and traitor like her father, but he knew that wasn’t entirely true. “You’re doing very well as an apprentice, and you’re going to make a great warrior. Sooner or later the Clan will see that.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her,” Bramblepaw meowed, and added to his sister, “We’ve got to live down what Tigerstar did. That’s the only way the Clan will believe in our loyalty.”

“Some cats believe in it already,” Graystripe put in, and Bramblepaw flashed him a grateful glance.

The worst of Tawnypaw’s fury was fading, though her amber eyes still burned. With a toss of her head she turned a w a y, flinging her parting words over her shoulder as she stalked toward the gorse tunnel. “I’m going to fetch some fresh moss.”

“I’m sorry, Firestar,” Bramblepaw murmured when she had gone. “But Tawnypaw’s right to be upset.”

“I know,” Firestar reassured him. “If I can catch Smallear at a good moment, I’ll have a word with him.”

“Thanks, Firestar.” Bramblepaw dipped his head in gratitude, picked up his moss, and hurried after his sister.

Firestar gazed worriedly after the two apprentices. He must talk to Smallear, he decided, and soon. Constantly taunting the young cats about their parent age was not the way to en sure their loyalty to ThunderClan.

Realising that Graystripe was still waiting patiently beside him, he mewed, “Okay, tell me what’s on your mind.”

“It’s my kits,” Graystripe confessed. “Ever since the Gathering, I can’t get them out of my mind. Mistyfoot and Stonefur weren’t there, so I couldn’t ask them for news, but now that Tigerstar has essentially taken over RiverClan, I’m sure my kits are in danger.”

Firestar took a bite of vole and chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t see why they should be at risk more than any other cat,” he replied, swallowing his mouthful. “Tigerstar will want to look after all the apprentices to guarantee a strong fighting force.”

Graystripe didn’t look reassured. “But Tigerstar knows who their father is,” he pointed out. “He hates me, and I’m worried that he’ll take it out on Featherpaw and Stormpaw.”

Firestar realized that Graystripe had a fair point about Tigerstar’s hostility. “What would you like to do?”

Graystripe blinked nervously. “I want you to come with me across the river and bring them back to ThunderClan.”

Firestar stared at his friend. “Are you completely mouse-brained? You’re asking your Clan leader to stroll into RiverClan territory and steal a couple of apprentices?”

Graystripe scraped his forepaw on the ground. “Well, if you put it like that…”

“How else would you put it?” Firestar tried to control his shock, but Graystripe’s suggestion was too close to Brokentail’s old crime of stealing kits. If Firestar agreed and RiverClan found out about it, they would be justified in a t tacking ThunderClan. And with ShadowClan to help them, that was a risk Firestar couldn’t take.

“I knew you wouldn’t listen.” Graystripe turned and began to retreat, his tail drooping.

“I am listening. Graystripe, come back and let’s think about this.” As Graystripe stopped, Firestar went on: “You don’t know that Featherpaw and Stormpaw are in danger. And they’re apprentices now, not kits. They have the right to decide their own future. What if they want to stay in RiverClan?”

“I know.” Graystripe sounded despairing. “Don’t worry, Firestar. I understand there’s nothing you can do to help.”

“I didn’t say that.” Against all his better judgment, Firestar knew he couldn’t stand by and do nothing to help his friend. Graystripe pricked his ears, half-hopeful, as Firestar went on: “Suppose we go over there quietly, just the two of us, and check on them? If they’re okay, then you won’t need to worry any more. If they’re not, I’ll tell them there’s a place for them in ThunderClan, if that’s what they choose.”

Graystripe’s yellow eyes had begun to glow as Firestar spoke. “That’s great!” he meowed. “Thanks, Firestar. Can we go now?”

“If you like. Let me finish this vole first. You find Whitestorm and tell him he’s in charge of the camp. But don’t tell him where we’re going,” he added quickly.

Graystripe bounded off to the warriors’ den while Firestar swallowed the last few gulps of vole and swiped his tongue over his mouth. By the time he had finished, Graystripe had reappeared and the two friends headed for the mouth of the gorse tunnel.

Reaching it, however, they stopped short as a familiar black shape slipped into the clearing.

“Ravenpaw!” Firestar exclaimed happily. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you,” Ravenpaw responded, touching noses in greeting with Firestar and then with Graystripe. “Graystripe, I haven’t seen you in moons! How are you?”

“I’m fine. It’s easy to see you’re doing well,” he added, eyeing Ravenpaw’s glossy black pelt.

“I came to pay my respects to Bluestar,” Ravenpaw explained. “You remember, Firestar, you said I could.”

“Yes, of course.” Firestar glanced at Graystripe, whose paws were working urgently in his haste to be off. “Ravenpaw, can you go and find Cinderpelt? She’ll show you the place where Bluestar is buried. Graystripe and I are just off on a mission.”

“That sounds like the old days!” meowed Ravenpaw, half enviously. “What is it this time?”

“We’re going over to RiverClan to check on my kits,” Graystripe told him in a rush. “I’m worried about them, now that Tigerstar is taking over.”

Ravenpaw’s shocked look reminded Firestar that he knew nothing of the recent developments in the forest. Rapidly he told the black cat what Tigerstar had announced at the last Gathering.

“But that’s a disaster!” Ravenpaw hissed when he had finished. “Is there anything I can do to help? I could come with you.”

His eyes were gleaming. Firestar guessed Ravenpaw was excited by the prospect of adventure. How different he was now from the nervous apprentice he had once been, bullied by his fierce mentor, Tigerclaw!

“All right,” he meowed, trusting his instincts that it would be good to have Ravenpaw with them. “We’ll be glad to have you.”

As he bounded through the forest, his two oldest friends by his side, Firestar felt his mind flood with memories of how they had trained and hunted together as apprentices. For a short time he could almost imagine that those days had returned, that he had shed his responsibilities like falling leaves and was young and carefree again.

But he knew that this was impossible. He was Clan leader now, and he could never escape from his duty to the cats who depended on him.

The sun had gone down by the time t

hat Firestar and his friends reached the edge of the forest. Warning Graystripe and Ravenpaw to stay back, Firestar crept through the undergrowth until he could look out over the river.

In front of him lay the stepping-stones, the easiest route into RiverClan territory. As Firestar peered at the cold, gray water, he caught a strong scent of cats—RiverClan and S h a d o w C l an mixed. A patrol was making its way along the opposite bank. They were too far away for Firestar to be sure which cats they were, but he could not see the blue-gray pelts of Mistyfoot and Stonefur.

He felt a pang of disappointment. If either of their friends had been near the border, Graystripe could have asked them for news and the matter could have ended there. Now they would have to go right into RiverClan territory.

Firestar knew he was risking everything on slipping in and slipping out again quietly, unobserved. If it was ever found out that a Clan leader had trespassed on another Clan’s territory, he would be in trouble. But he knew that he had to do it for Graystripe.

The gray warrior had crept up beside him. “What’s the matter?” he whispered. “Why are we waiting here?”