A Dangerous Path (Warriors 4)

“Yes, Bluestar.” Fireheart saw no point in arguing any more. He bowed his head and backed out of the den. Bluestar’s gaze was once more fixed on something unseen. Fireheart wondered if she was looking into the future, and watching the destruction of her Clan.

CHAPTER 3

Fireheart opened his eyes and blinked in the uncomfortably bright sunlight. He still couldn’t get used to the way the sun shone straight into the warriors’ den now that the thick covering of leaves had gone. Yawning, he uncurled himself and shook the clinging scraps of moss from his coat.

Close beside him, Sandstorm was still asleep; Dustpelt and Darkstripe were curled up a little farther away. Fireheart padded out into the clearing. It was three days since the Gathering and the discovery of Tigerstar’s new leadership, and there was still no sign of the attack Bluestar had feared. ThunderClan had used the time to rebuild the camp, and although there was still a long way to go, Fireheart couldn’t help feeling pleased when he saw shady walls of fern beginning to grow back around the edge of the camp, and the bramble thicket firmly interlaced with twigs to shelter the nursing queens and their kits.

As Fireheart made his way toward the pile of fresh-kill, he saw the dawn patrol returning with Whitestorm in the lead. Fireheart paused and waited for the white warrior to join him.

“Any sign of ShadowClan?”

Whitestorm shook his head. “Nothing,” he meowed. “Just the usual scent markings along their border. There was one thing, though….”

Fireheart’s ears pricked. “What?”

“Not far from Snakerocks we found a whole stretch of undergrowth trampled down, and pigeon feathers scattered all over it.”

“Pigeon feathers?” Fireheart echoed. “I haven’t seen a pigeon for days. Is some other Clan hunting in our territory?”

“I don’t think so. The whole place reeked of dog.” Whitestorm wrinkled his nose with distaste. “There was dog dirt there too.”

“Oh, a dog.” Fireheart flicked his tail dismissively. “Well, we all know that Twolegs are always bringing their dogs into the forest. They run around, chase a few squirrels, and then the Twolegs take them home again.” He let out a purr of amusement. “The only unusual thing is that it looks as if this one caught something.”

To his surprise, Whitestorm continued to look serious. “All the same, I think you should tell the patrols to keep their eyes open,” he meowed.

“Okay.” Fireheart respected the older warrior too much to ignore his advice, but privately he thought the dog would be a long way away by now, shut up somewhere in Twolegplace. Dogs were noisy nuisances, but he had more important things to worry about.

He was reminded of his anxiety about food supplies as he followed Whitestorm to the pile of fresh-kill. Brightpaw, Whitestorm’s apprentice, and Cloudpaw, who had made up the rest of the patrol, were already there.

“Look at this!” Cloudpaw complained as Fireheart came up. He turned a vole over with one paw. “There’s hardly a decent mouthful on it!”

“Prey is scarce,” Fireheart reminded him, noticing there were only a few pieces of fresh-kill on the pile. “Any creatures that survived the fire can’t find much to eat.”

“We need to hunt again,” Cloudpaw meowed. He bit into the vole and swallowed. “I’ll go as soon as I’ve finished this.”

“You can come with me,” mewed Fireheart, selecting a magpie for himself. “I’m going to lead out a patrol later on.”

“No, I can’t wait,” Cloudpaw mumbled through another mouthful. “I’m so hungry I could eat you. Brightpaw, do you want to come with me?”

Brightpaw, who was neatly tucking into a mouse, glanced at her mentor for permission. When Whitestorm nodded she sprang up. “Ready when you are,” she meowed.

“All right then,” mewed Fireheart. He was slightly annoyed that Cloudpaw hadn’t asked for his mentor’s permission like Brightpaw, but the Clan did need fresh-kill, and both the apprentices were good hunters. “Don’t go too far from camp,” he warned.

“But all the best prey is farther away, where the fire didn’t reach,” Cloudpaw objected. “We’ll be fine, Fireheart,” he promised. “We’ll hunt for the elders first.”

Swallowing the last of his vole in one enormous gulp, he dashed off toward the camp entrance with Brightpaw racing after him.

“Stay away from Twolegplace!” Fireheart called after them, remembering how Cloudpaw had once been all too fond of visiting the Twolegs. The apprentice had paid a harsh price when they had taken him away to their nest on the far side of WindClan’s territory. As greenleaf drew to an end, with the prospect of a hungry leaf-bare to come, Fireheart hoped that his apprentice wouldn’t be tempted back into his old ways.

“Apprentices!” Whitestorm purred as he watched the two young cats bounding away. “Dawn patrol, and now they’re off hunting. I wish I had their energy.” He dragged a blackbird a little way from the pile of fresh-kill and crouched down to eat.

As Fireheart finished his magpie, he saw Sandstorm padding across from the warriors’ den. The sun shone on her pale ginger coat, and Fireheart admired the ripple of her fur as she moved. “Do you want to come and hunt with me?” he asked as she approached.

“Looks as if we need it,” Sandstorm replied, surveying the pitifully few pieces of fresh-kill that remained. “Let’s go now—I can wait to eat until we catch something.”

Fireheart looked around for another cat to join them and noticed Longtail heading for the apprentices’ den, calling for Swiftpaw. “Hey, Longtail!” he meowed as the two cats padded across the clearing. “Come and join our hunting patrol.”

Longtail hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure whether that was an order from his deputy or not. “We were going to the training hollow,” he explained. “Swiftpaw needs to practice his defense moves.”

“You can do that later.” This time Fireheart made it clear that he was giving an order. “The Clan needs fresh-kill first.”

Longtail flicked his tail irritably but said nothing. Swiftpaw was looking more enthusiastic, his eyes bright. The young black-and-white tom had grown almost as big as his mentor, Fireheart noticed; he was the oldest of the apprentices, and he could expect to be made a warrior soon.

I must talk to Bluestar about his naming ceremony, Fireheart thought. Cloudpaw too, and Brightpaw and Thornpaw. The Clan needs more warriors.

Leaving Whitestorm to take a well-earned rest, Fireheart led his hunting party out of the camp and up the ravine. At the top, he turned toward Sunningrocks. Doing his best to carry out Bluestar’s order about doubling the patrols, he had instructed all the hunting parties to do border duty as well, staying alert for other Clans’ scents or any other signs of an enemy presence. In particular, he had warned them to keep a careful watch on the ShadowClan border, but privately he resolved not to neglect RiverClan.

He had an uneasy feeling about their relationship with ThunderC

lan. With Crookedstar growing old, his deputy, Leopardfur, would have more authority, and Fireheart still expected her to ask for something in return for RiverClan’s help on the night of the fire.

As Fireheart led the way toward the river, he noticed plants pushing their way up through the blackened soil. New ferns were beginning to uncoil and green tendrils spread out to cover the earth. The forest was beginning to recover, but as leaf-fall approached, growth would slow down. Fireheart was still worried that his Clan was heading for a cold and comfortless leaf-bare.

When they reached Sunningrocks, Longtail led Swiftpaw into one of the gullies between the rocks. “You can practice listening for mice and voles,” he told his apprentice. “See if you can catch something before the rest of us.”

Fireheart watched them go approvingly. The pale tabby warrior was a conscientious mentor, and a strong bond had grown between him and Swiftpaw.

Fireheart skirted the rocks on the side that faced the river, where more of the grass and foliage had survived. It was not long before he spotted a mouse scuffling among some brittle grass stems. As it sat up, nibbling a seed clasped in its forepaws, Fireheart sprang and finished it off swiftly.

“Good work,” Sandstorm murmured, padding up to him.

“Do you want it?” Fireheart asked, pushing the fresh-kill toward her with one paw. “You haven’t eaten yet.”

“No, thanks,” meowed Sandstorm tartly. “I can catch my own.”

She slipped off into the shadow of a hazel tree. Fireheart looked after her, wondering if he’d offended her, and then started to scrape earth over his prey so it could be collected later.

“You want to watch out with that one,” a voice meowed behind him. “She’ll claw your ears off if you’re not careful.”

Fireheart spun around. His old friend Graystripe was standing on the border with RiverClan, farther down the slope toward the river. Water gleamed on his thick gray pelt.

“Graystripe!” Fireheart exclaimed. “You startled me!”

Graystripe gave himself a shake and sent droplets sparkling into the air. “I saw you from the other side of the river,” he mewed. “I never thought I’d find you catching prey for Sandstorm. Special to you, is she?”