Fire and Ice (Warriors 3)

The thought reminded Fireheart of Cinderpaw. He looked around and realized that he hadn’t seen her at the naming ceremony. She must still be in Yellowfang’s clearing. He bounded over to Sandstorm and dropped the fresh-kill beside her. “I’ll be back in five rabbit hops,” he meowed. “I want to take something to Cinderpaw.”

“Sure.” Sandstorm shrugged.

Fireheart quickly collected a vole from the fresh-kill pile and carried it across the clearing. He was surprised to see Yellowfang sitting in her den. She’d been at the naming ceremony, so she must have come straight back afterward.

“I hope that’s not for me,” she growled as Fireheart approached. “I’ve already had my share.”

Fireheart dropped the vole on the ground. “I brought it for Cinderpaw,” he answered. “I thought she might want something. She wasn’t at the naming ceremony.”

“I’ve given her some mouse meat, but you’re welcome to give her that as well.”

Fireheart looked around the fern-shaded clearing. Brokenstar’s brown fur was just visible through the stems of Patchpelt’s old nest. The warrior was not moving.

“He’s still asleep.” Yellowfang’s tone was brisk, the voice of a medicine cat rather than a mother. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling relieved. He wanted to believe Yellowfang’s loyalties still lay with ThunderClan. He picked up the vole and carried it to Cinderpaw’s nest. “Hey, Cinderpaw,” he meowed softly into the bracken.

The gray cat stirred and pushed herself to a sitting position. “Fireheart.”

Fireheart stepped through the fronds and sat in the small space beside her. He dropped the vole at her paws. “Here,” he meowed. “Yellowfang’s not the only one trying to fatten you up!”

“Thanks,” Cinderpaw mewed. But she left the vole lying beside her paw and didn’t even bend down to sniff it.

“Are you still thinking about the battle?” Fireheart asked gently.

Cinderpaw shrugged. “I am just a burden, aren’t I?” She looked up at Fireheart with sad, round eyes.

“Who’s a burden?” Yellowfang’s growl interrupted them as the old gray medicine cat poked her head into the nest. “Are you upsetting my helper?” she meowed at Fireheart. “I don’t know how I would have coped today if it hadn’t been for this one.” She looked warmly at Cinderpaw, her yellow eyes soft. “I even had her mixing herbs this evening!”

Cinderpaw looked down shyly and dipped her head to take a bite of the vole.

“I think I might keep her with me awhile longer,” Yellowfang went on. “She’s becoming more useful every day. Besides, I’m getting used to her company.”

Cinderpaw glanced up at the old medicine cat, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Only because you’re deaf enough to put up with my chattering!” Yellowfang pretended to spit crossly at the young cat, and Cinderpaw added to Fireheart, “Well, that’s what she keeps telling me, anyway.”

Fireheart was surprised to feel a pang of envy at the close bond these two cats had developed. He’d always thought of himself as Yellowfang’s only real friend in the Clan, but now it looked like she had another. But at least Cinderpaw had somewhere to stay—if she couldn’t train to be a warrior, she’d feel out of place in the apprentices’ den.

Fireheart stood up. It was time he went back to Sandstorm. “Will you be okay here with Brokentail?” he asked.

Yellowfang gave him a disdainful look. “I think we can manage, don’t you, Cinderpaw?”

“He wouldn’t dare cause trouble,” she agreed confidently. “And Longtail’s here to help.”

Yellowfang ducked her head out of the nest, and Fireheart squeezed out after her. “’Bye, Cinderpaw!” he called.

“’Bye, and thanks for the food.”

“No problem,” he meowed. He turned to Yellowfang. “Have you got anything for this bite on my neck?”

Yellowfang looked closely at his wound. “Looks like a nasty one,” she growled.

“It’s from Brokentail,” Fireheart confessed.

Yellowfang nodded. “Wait there.” She padded quickly to her den and returned with a bundle of herbs wrapped in leaves. “Can you manage them yourself? Just chew them up and rub the juice into the wounds. It’ll sting, but nothing a brave warrior can’t handle!”

“Thanks, Yellowfang.” Fireheart picked up the bundle in his teeth.

Yellowfang led him to the tunnel entrance. “I appreciate your coming,” she meowed, glancing at Cinderpaw’s nest. “She was feeling pretty low, I think. She felt bad after the battle, and then the naming ceremony.”

Fireheart nodded. He understood. He gave a last wary glance at where Brokentail lay. “You sure you’ll be safe?” he asked again through the bundle of herbs.

“He’s blind,” meowed Yellowfang. She sighed, and then added more brightly, “And I’m not that old!”

Fireheart woke the following morning to find dazzling white light streaming through the den wall. He guessed it had snowed again. At least his wounds had stopped aching. Yellowfang had been right—the herb juice had stung, but he felt much better after a good night’s sleep.

Fireheart wondered how Sandstorm and Dustpelt had managed their vigil. It must have been bitterly cold in the snow. He got to his paws and stretched his forelegs, arching his back and curling his tail up over his head. ThunderClan’s two newest warriors were bundled up, fast asleep on the far edge of the den. Whitestorm must have sent them in when he left on the dawn patrol.

Fireheart padded out into the snow-covered clearing. He could just make out Frostfur’s white pelt skirting the nursery as she slipped out to stretch her legs. There were two bare spots in the center of the clearing, where Sandstorm and Dustpelt had spent the night. Fireheart shivered at the thought, but still he envied them as he remembered the thrill of his first night as a warrior. It had filled him with a warmth not even the hardest frost could have chilled.

The sky was thick with snow-heavy clouds. Flakes were still falling, softly and silently. There would be plenty of hunting to do today, Fireheart realized. The Clan would need to stock up if the snow was going to get deeper.

He heard Bluestar call from the Highrock. The Clan cats began to creep from their dens and pick their way through the snow to hear their leader’s words. Fireheart settled himself into one of the bare spots. It smelled of Sandstorm. He noticed Graystripe sitting on the other side of the clearing, looking tired. Fireheart wondered if he’d slipped out last night to tell Silverstream about the rogue cats.

Bluestar began to speak. “I wanted to make sure you all know that Brokentail is in the camp.” None of the cats uttered a noise. They knew already. The rumor had spread through the camp like a forest fire.

“He is blind, and harmless.” A few cats snorted their displeasure, and Bluestar nodded to acknowledge their fears. “I am as concerned as you are for the safety

of our Clan. But, StarClan knows, we cannot turn him out to die in the forest. Yellowfang will nurse him until his wounds heal. Once they have, we’ll discuss this again.”

Bluestar looked around, listening for voices from the crowd, but no cat spoke, so she leaped down from Highrock. As the cats dispersed Fireheart noticed that the leader was walking toward him.

“Fireheart,” she meowed. “One thing concerns me. You still haven’t settled things with Graystripe. I’ve not seen you eat together for days. I told you before, there’s no room for fighting within ThunderClan. I want you to hunt together today.”

Fireheart nodded. “Yes, Bluestar.” That was fine by him. And after yesterday’s battle, he felt hopeful that Graystripe would like the idea too. As Bluestar walked away, Fireheart scanned the clearing, hoping that Graystripe hadn’t disappeared again. No, there he was, helping to clear the snow from the nursery entrance.

“Hey, Graystripe,” Fireheart called. Graystripe carried on with his work. Fireheart bounded over to him. “Do you want to go hunting this morning?”

Graystripe turned to face him, his eyes cold. “Are you making sure I don’t disappear again?” he snarled.

Fireheart was startled. “N-no, I just thought…after yesterday…Clawface…”

“I would have done the same for any ThunderClan cat. That’s what Clan loyalty is about!” Graystripe’s meow was harsh with anger as he went back to pushing snow.

Fireheart’s hopes plummeted. Had he lost his friend’s trust forever? He turned away, tail down, and began to trudge through the snow toward the camp entrance. He called over his shoulder, “Bluestar told me to go hunting with you this morning, actually, so you can explain to her why you’re not coming.”

“Oh, I see, you were just trying to please Bluestar, as usual!” Graystripe hissed. Fireheart stopped and whipped around, ready to throw back a retort, but he paused when he saw that Graystripe was crossing the clearing toward him, shaking snowflakes from his wide shoulders.

“Come on, then,” Graystripe growled, leading the way through the gorse tunnel.