Rising Storm (Warriors 5)

Suddenly a second scent wafted toward him on the dry breeze. Fireheart opened his mouth, tipping his head to one side. The pigeon must have smelled it too, for its head shot up and it began to unfold its wings, but it was too late. A rush of white fur shot out from under some brambles. Fireheart stared in surprise as the cat pounced on the startled bird, pinning it to the ground with his front paws before finishing it off with a swift bite to the neck.

The delicious smell of fresh-kill filled Fireheart’s nostrils. He stood up and padded out of the undergrowth toward the fluffy white tom. “Well caught, Cloudpaw,” he meowed. “I didn’t see you coming until it was too late.”

“Nor did this stupid bird,” crowed Cloudpaw, flicking his tail smugly.

Fireheart felt his shoulders tense. Cloudpaw was his apprentice as well as his sister’s son. It was Fireheart’s responsibility to teach him the skills of a Clan warrior and how to respect the warrior code. The young tom was undeniably a good hunter, but Fireheart couldn’t help wishing that he would learn a little humility. Deep down, he sometimes wondered if Cloudpaw would ever understand the importance of the warrior code, the moons-old traditions of loyalty and ritual that had been passed down through generations of cats in the forest.

But Cloudpaw had been born in Twolegplace to Fireheart’s kittypet sister, Princess, and brought to ThunderClan by Fireheart as a tiny kit. Fireheart knew from his own bitter experience that Clan cats had no respect for kittypets. Fireheart had spent his first six moons living with Twolegs, and there were cats in his Clan that would never let him forget the fact that he was not forest-born. He twitched his ears impatiently. He knew he did everything he could to prove his loyalty to the Clan, but his stubborn apprentice was a different matter. If Cloudpaw was going to win any sympathy from his Clanmates, he was going to have to lose some of his arrogance.

“It’s just as well you’re so quick,” Fireheart pointed out. “You were upwind. I could smell you, even if I couldn’t see you. And so could the bird.”

Cloudpaw’s long snowy fur bristled and he snapped back, “I know I was upwind! But I could tell this dumb dove wasn’t going to be hard to catch whether he smelled me or not.”

The young cat stared defiantly into Fireheart’s eyes, and Fireheart felt his annoyance turning to anger. “It’s a pigeon, not a dove!” he spat. “And a true warrior shows more respect for the prey that feeds his Clan.”

“Yeah, right!” retorted Cloudpaw. “I didn’t see Thornpaw show much respect for that squirrel he dragged back to camp yesterday. He said it was so dopey, a kit could have caught it.”

“Thornpaw is just an apprentice,” Fireheart growled. “Like you, he still has a lot to learn.”

“Well, I caught it, didn’t I?” grumbled Cloudpaw, prodding the pigeon with a sullen paw.

“There’s more to being a warrior than catching pigeons!”

“I’m faster than Brightpaw and stronger than Thornpaw,” Cloudpaw spat back. “What more do you want?”

“Your denmates would know that a warrior never attacks with the wind behind him!” Fireheart knew he shouldn’t let himself be drawn into an argument, but his apprentice’s stubbornness infuriated him like a tick on his ear.

“Big deal. You might have been downwind like a good warrior, but I got to the pigeon first!” Cloudpaw raised his voice in an angry yowl.

“Be quiet,” Fireheart hissed, suddenly distracted. He lifted his head and sniffed the air. The forest seemed strangely silent, and Cloudpaw’s loud meows were echoing too loudly through the trees.

“What’s the matter?” Cloudpaw glanced around. “I can’t smell anything.”

“Neither can I,” Fireheart admitted.

“So what are you worried about?”

“Tigerclaw,” Fireheart answered bluntly. The dark warrior had been prowling through his dreams since Bluestar had banished him from the Clan a quarter moon ago. Tigerclaw had tried to kill the ThunderClan leader, but Fireheart had stopped him and exposed his long-hidden treachery to the whole Clan. There had been no sign of Tigerclaw since, but Fireheart felt icy claws of fear pricking at his heart now as he listened to the stillness of the forest. It seemed to be listening too, holding its breath, and Tigerclaw’s parting words echoed in Fireheart’s mind: Keep your eyes open, Fireheart. Keep your ears pricked. Keep looking behind you. Because one day I’ll find you, and then you’ll be crowfood.

Cloudpaw’s mew broke the silence. “What would Tigerclaw be doing around here?” he scoffed. “Bluestar exiled him!”

“I know,” Fireheart agreed. “And only StarClan knows where he went. But Tigerclaw made it clear that we’d not seen the last of him!”

“I’m not scared of that traitor.”

“Well, you should be!” hissed Fireheart. “Tigerclaw knows these woods as well as any cat in ThunderClan. He’d tear you to shreds if he got the chance.”

Cloudpaw snorted and circled his catch impatiently. “You’ve been no fun since Bluestar made you deputy. I’m not hanging around if you’re just going to waste the morning trying to scare me with nursery tales. I’m meant to be hunting for the Clan elders.” And he dashed away into the brambles, leaving the lifeless pigeon lying on the earth.

“Cloudpaw, come back!” Fireheart yowled furiously. Then he shook his head. “Let Tigerclaw have the young mouse-brained idiot!” he muttered to himself.

Lashing his tail, he snatched up the pigeon and wondered whether to carry it back to camp for Cloudpaw. A warrior should be responsible for his own fresh-kill, he concluded, and tossed the pigeon into a thick clump of grass. He padded after it and flattened down the green stalks to cover the fat bird, wishing he could be sure that Cloudpaw would return and take it back with the rest of his catch to the hungry elders. If he doesn’t bring it home with him, he can go hungry until he does, Fireheart decided. His apprentice had to learn that even in greenleaf, prey should never be wasted.

The sun rose higher, scorching the earth and sucking moisture from the leaves on the trees. Fireheart pricked his ears. The forest was still eerily quiet, as if its creatures were hiding till the evening shade brought relief from another day of glaring heat. The stillness unnerved him, and a flicker of doubt tugged at his belly. Perhaps he should go and find Cloudpaw after all.

You tried to warn him about Tigerclaw! Fireheart could almost hear the familiar voice of his best friend, Graystripe, echoing in his head, and he winced as bittersweet memories flooded through him. It was exactly the sort of thing the former ThunderClan warrior would say to him right now. They had trained together as apprentices and fought beside each other until love and tragedy had torn them apart. Graystripe had fallen in love with a she-cat from another Clan, but if Silverstream had not died in her kitting, perhaps Graystripe would have stayed with ThunderClan. Once more Fireheart remembered Graystripe carrying his two kits into RiverClan territory, taking them to join their dead mother’s Clan. Fireheart’s shoulders sagged. He missed the companionship of Graystripe and still silently shared words with him almost every day. He knew his old friend so well, it was always easy to imagine what Graystripe would say in reply.

Fireheart shook away the memories with a flick of his ears. It was time he got back to camp. He was the deputy of ThunderClan now, and there were hunting parties and patrols to organize. Cloudpaw would have to manage alone.

The ground was dry underpaw as Fireheart raced through the woods to the top of the ravine where the camp lay. He hesitated for a moment and enjoyed the surge of pride and affection he always felt as he approached his forest home. Even though he had spent his kithood in Twolegplace, he had known since the first time he had ventured into the forest that this was where he truly belonged.

Below him, the ThunderClan camp was well hidden by thick brambles. Bounding down the steep slope, Fireheart followed the well-worn path to the gorse tunnel that led into the camp.

The pale gray queen, Willowpelt, lay at the entrance to the nursery, warming her swollen belly in the morning sun. Un

til recently she had shared the warriors’ den. Now she lived in the nursery with the other queens while she waited for her first litter to be born.

Beside her, Brindleface affectionately watched her two kits as they tussled on the hard earth, scuffing up small clouds of dust. They had been Cloudpaw’s adopted littermates. When Fireheart had brought his sister’s firstborn into the Clan, Brindleface had agreed to suckle the helpless kit. Cloudpaw had recently been made an apprentice, and it would not be long before Brindleface’s own kits were ready to leave the nursery too.

A murmur of voices drew Fireheart’s gaze toward the Highrock, which stood at the head of the clearing. A group of warriors was gathered in the shadows beneath the rock on which Bluestar, the leader of ThunderClan, normally stood to address her Clan. Fireheart recognized Darkstripe’s tabby pelt, the lithe shape of Runningwind, and Whitestorm’s snowy head among them.

As Fireheart padded silently across the baked earth, Darkstripe’s querulous meow sounded above the other voices. “So who’s going to lead the patrol at sunhigh?”

“Fireheart will decide when he returns from hunting,” Whitestorm answered calmly. The elderly warrior was clearly reluctant to be stirred by Darkstripe’s hostile tone.

“He should be back by now,” complained Dustpelt, a brown tabby who had been an apprentice at the same time as Fireheart.

“I am back,” Fireheart announced. He shouldered his way through the warriors to sit down beside Whitestorm.

“Well, now that you’re here, are you going to tell us who’s going to lead the patrol at sunhigh?” meowed Darkstripe. The silver tabby turned a cold gaze on Fireheart.

Fireheart felt hot under his fur, in spite of the shade cast by the Highrock. Darkstripe had been closer to Tigerclaw than any other cat, and Fireheart couldn’t help wondering about the depth of his loyalty, even though Darkstripe had chosen to stay when his former ally was exiled. “Longtail will lead the patrol,” Fireheart meowed.

Slowly Darkstripe switched his gaze from Fireheart to Whitestorm, his whiskers twitching and his eyes glittering with scorn. Fireheart swallowed nervously, wondering if he had said something stupid.

“Er, Longtail’s out with his apprentice,” explained Runningwind, looking awkward. “He and Swiftpaw won’t be back till evening, remember?” Beside him, Dustpelt snorted scornfully.