Fire and Ice (Warriors 3)

“Another day of sunshine!” Fireheart purred to Graystripe, feeling his flame-colored pelt glow in the weak morning sun. Thanks to the fine weather, he had visited Princess nearly every day recently, slipping away to see her between patrols, hunting, and training sessions. Now he walked with his friend along the short trail to the sandy hollow where Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw would be waiting.

“Let’s hope it stays clear for the rest of leaf-bare,” Graystripe meowed. Fireheart knew how much his thick-coated friend hated rain—when Graystripe’s fur got wet, it clung to him and stayed damp long after Fireheart’s shorter fur had dried off.

The two warriors arrived at the edge of the hollow just as Cinderpaw pounced on a pile of frosty leaves, sending them flying in all directions. She leaped and twisted to catch one as it fluttered back to the ground.

Fireheart and Graystripe glanced at each other, amused.

“At least Cinderpaw will be warmed up and ready for today’s assignment,” Graystripe observed.

Brackenpaw jumped to his paws and looked up at his mentor, his eyes wide. “Good morning, Graystripe,” he meowed. “What is today’s assignment?”

“A hunting mission,” Graystripe told him. He padded down into the hollow, followed by Fireheart.

“Where?” mewed Cinderpaw, dashing toward them. “What are we going to catch?”

“We’re going to Sunningrocks,” Fireheart replied, suddenly sharing her enthusiasm. “And we’ll catch whatever we can.”

“I’d like to catch a vole,” declared Cinderpaw. “I’ve never tasted vole.”

“I’m afraid everything we catch today goes straight back to the elders,” Graystripe warned. “But I’m sure if you asked one of them nicely, they’d be happy to share.”

“Okay,” mewed Cinderpaw. “Which way is Sunningrocks?” She bounded up one side of the hollow and peered into the forest, her tail sticking straight up.

“This way!” meowed Fireheart, leaping up the opposite side.

“Okay.” Cinderpaw raced down the slope, across the hollow, and up to Fireheart’s side, sending fallen leaves flying everywhere.

Graystripe leaped up and caught one as it drifted past his nose. He pinned it to the ground with a purr of satisfaction and saw Brackenpaw staring at him. “Er, never miss a chance to practice your hunting skills,” Graystripe told him quickly.

The four cats made their way along the familiar scent-trails to Sunningrocks. The sun was above the trees by the time they emerged into open territory. Ahead of them, a slope of rock rose out of the soft earth, its smooth surface lined with cracks. The cats had to narrow their eyes as they looked at it. After the shade of the woods, the flat rock face reflected the sun with dazzling glare.

“This is Sunningrocks,” Fireheart announced, blinking. “Come on!”

“Mrrrrr! It feels nice!” mewed Cinderpaw as she raced up the stone slope behind him. Fireheart realized she was right. The stone felt comfortingly warm and smooth after the ice-cold forest floor.

They rested at the top, where the far side fell away steeply to the forest. Fireheart listened for the gentle bubbling of the river that followed the RiverClan border, flowing down from the uplands. It touched the Sunningrocks before turning to run deeper into RiverClan territory. He could barely hear it—perhaps the water was low after the dry weather.

Fireheart stretched out, enjoying the warmth of the rock beneath him and the soft heat of the sun on his pelt. He closed his eyes, feeling proud to be lying here, a place where generations of ThunderClan cats had come to warm themselves, and which they had battled hard to keep.

Graystripe joined him. “Come on,” he meowed to the two apprentices. “Make the most of the sun while it’s here. There are enough cold, damp days ahead of us.” The two apprentices lay down beside their mentors and purred as the warmth seeped into their fur.

“Is this where Redtail died?” asked Brackenpaw.

“Yes,” Fireheart answered cautiously.

“And where Tigerclaw avenged his death by killing Oakheart?” Cinderpaw piped up.

Fireheart’s fur prickled as he remembered Ravenpaw’s account of the fight—that Redtail had been responsible for Oakheart’s death and then Tigerclaw had killed Redtail, the deputy of his own Clan. Fireheart pushed away the disturbing thoughts and replied simply, “This is the place.” The two apprentices fell silent and looked down the slope in awe.

Suddenly Fireheart heard a noise. He pricked his ears. “Hush,” he hissed. “What can you hear?”

The two apprentices strained their ears forward.

“I think I can hear some scrabbling,” Brackenpaw whispered.

“It might be a vole,” murmured Graystripe. “Can you tell where it’s coming from?”

“Over there!” mewed Cinderpaw, leaping to her paws. The scrabbling noise became more furious and then disappeared.

“I think it heard you,” Fireheart remarked. Cinderpaw looked crestfallen. Brackenpaw purred with amusement at his sister’s clumsiness.

“Never mind,” meowed Graystripe. “Now you know that it’s better to creep up slowly, especially on voles. They’re fast!”

“Sit still and listen,” Fireheart advised. “Next time we hear something, work out where it is and then begin to move toward it very slowly. A mouse could probably hear even the rustling of your fur, so let him think it’s just the wind blowing across the rock.”

The cats remained where they were, no one daring to move until they heard the scrabbling sound again. His ears pricked, Fireheart rose and crept forward, placing each paw noiselessly in front of the other until he reached the edge of a small crack that ran across the rock face. He paused. The scrabbling noise continued. Fireheart lunged forward and reached down into the crack with a forepaw. He scooped out a fat vole that had been hiding in the shadows and flung it onto the bright stone. It squealed as it landed, but the hard ground stunned it and Fireheart finished it off quickly.

“Wow!” mewed Cinderpaw. “I want to do that!”

“Don’t worry; you’ll have plenty of chances. For now, let’s get back to the forest,” meowed Graystripe.

“Aren’t we going to catch anything else?” Cinderpaw protested.

“Did you hear that vole squeal?” meowed Fireheart. Cinderpaw nodded. “Well, so did every other creature around here. The prey will be hiding for a while. I should have caught it

and killed it before it could make a sound.”

Graystripe’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “I wasn’t going to say a word,” he purred.

Fireheart picked up the dead vole in his mouth, and together the cats headed down the slope and began to trek onward through the forest. After the open warmth of Sunningrocks, the woods seemed chilly, even though sunhigh was approaching. Fireheart smelled fresh markers at the RiverClan border. Beyond them the ground sloped down to meet the river.

A leaf fluttered down toward Brackenpaw. The young cat immediately leaped up and caught it between his paws. He landed, looking pleased with himself.

“Well done!” called Graystripe. “You’ll have no trouble with voles!” Brackenpaw looked doubly pleased.

“Nice catch, Brackenpaw!” Cinderpaw mewed. She nudged her brother’s shoulder with her nose before turning to stare down the wooded slope.

“The river’s quiet today,” Fireheart mumbled through his mouthful of vole.

“That’s because it’s frozen,” mewed Cinderpaw excitedly. “I can see it through the trees!”

Fireheart dropped the vole. “Frozen? Completely?” He stared down the wooded slope. The river glittered at the bottom, frosty and still. Could Cinderpaw be right? Fireheart’s paws tingled with excitement. He had never seen the river frozen over.

“Can we have a look?” asked Cinderpaw. Without waiting for an answer, she bounded past the scent-markers. Fireheart’s excitement turned to panic as he saw the small gray cat disappear into RiverClan territory. He couldn’t call after her—he didn’t want to alert any RiverClan patrols that might be in the area. But he had to get her back. He left the vole where he’d dropped it and tore after her, Graystripe and Brackenpaw close behind him.

They caught up with Cinderpaw at the edge of the river. It was almost totally frozen, apart from a narrow channel of dark water that flowed swiftly between two wide fringes of ice. Fireheart remembered Whiteclaw with a shudder. He was about to suggest they leave when he noticed Graystripe’s ears were pricked.