Forest of Secrets (Warriors 6)

“Fireheart!” he wailed. “Help me!”

Fireheart felt as if every hair on his body was bristling. He launched himself down into the hollow, his front paws outstretched for the attack. He was dimly aware of Sandstorm and Brackenpaw at his heels. Fireheart raked his claws down the badger’s side, and the huge beast rounded on him with a roar, jaws snapping. It was fast; it might even have caught Fireheart if Brackenpaw hadn’t leaped from the side, clawing for its eyes.

The badger whipped its head around to where Sandstorm had sunk her teeth into one of its back legs. Kicking out strongly, it threw her off, and she rolled into the snow.

Fireheart dashed in again to claw the badger’s flank. Drops of scarlet blood fell onto the snow. The badger growled, but it was backing away now, and as Sandstorm got to her paws and advanced, spitting, it turned and lumbered off up the ravine.

Fireheart spun around to Cloudkit. “Are you hurt?”

Cloudkit crept out from the cleft in the rock, trembling uncontrollably. “N-No.”

Fireheart felt shaky with relief. “What happened? Where’s Brindleface?”

“I don’t know. We were all playing, and then I turned around and I couldn’t see any of the others. I thought I’d come and find you, and then there was the badger….” He let out a terrified mew, and crouched down with his head on his paws.

Fireheart was stretching his neck to give him a comforting lick when he heard Sandstorm say, “Fireheart, look.”

Fireheart turned. Brackenpaw was lying on his side, blood seeping from his hind leg into the snow.

“It’s nothing,” he grunted, bravely trying to get to his paws.

“Stay still while we look,” Sandstorm ordered.

Fireheart rushed over and examined the wound. To his relief, the slash on Brackenpaw’s leg was long but not deep, and the bleeding had nearly stopped. “You were lucky, thank StarClan,” he meowed. “And you saved me from a nasty bite. It was a brave thing to do, Brackenpaw.”

The apprentice’s eyes shone at Fireheart’s praise. “It wasn’t really brave,” he mewed shakily. “I didn’t have time to think.”

“A warrior couldn’t have done better,” meowed Sandstorm. “But what’s a badger doing out in daylight? They always hunt by night.”

“It must be hungry, like us,” Fireheart guessed. “Otherwise it wouldn’t attack something as big as Cloudkit.” He turned back to the kit and nudged him gently to his paws. “Come on; let’s get you back to camp.”

Sandstorm helped Brackenpaw to get up and padded beside him as he limped to the top of the hollow and toward the ravine. Fireheart followed with Cloudkit, who kept very close to him.

As they reached the ravine, Brindleface burst out of it, frantically calling Cloudkit’s name. Other cats came hurrying behind her, drawn out of the camp by her panic-stricken wailing. Fireheart spotted Runningwind and Dustpelt; then his heart sank as Tigerclaw followed them out of the tunnel.

Brindleface sprang at Cloudkit and covered him with anxious licks. “Where have you been?” she scolded. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! You shouldn’t run away like that.”

“I didn’t!” Cloudkit protested.

“What’s going on?” Tigerclaw shouldered his way to the front of the group of cats.

Fireheart explained, while Brindleface continued to smooth down Cloudkit’s ruffled fur. “We drove the badger off,” he told the deputy. “Brackenpaw was very brave.”

All the while he was speaking, Tigerclaw stared at him with fierce amber eyes, but Fireheart held his head high; this time he had no reason to feel guilty.

“You’d better go to Yellowfang and have that leg seen to,” the deputy grunted to Brackenpaw. “As for you…” He swung around and loomed threateningly over Cloudkit. “What were you doing, putting yourself in danger like that? Do you think that warriors have nothing better to do than rescue you?”

Cloudkit flattened his ears. “I’m sorry, Tigerclaw. I didn’t mean to get into danger.”

“Didn’t mean to! Has no cat taught you any better than to go wandering away like that?”

“He’s only a kit,” Brindleface protested mildly, turning her gentle green gaze on the deputy.

Tigerclaw drew his lips back in a snarl. “He’s caused more trouble already than all the rest of the kits put together,” he growled. “It’s time he learned a lesson. He can do some real work for a change.”

Fireheart opened his mouth to object. For once Cloudkit hadn’t meant to cause trouble; his bad fright had been punishment enough for straying away from Brindleface.

But Tigerclaw was still talking. “You can go and look after the elders,” he ordered. “Clear out their dirty bedding and fetch clean moss. Make sure they have enough fresh-kill, and go over their coats for ticks.”

“Ticks!” exclaimed Cloudkit, losing the last of his fear in outrage. “I’m not doing that! Why can’t they see to their own ticks?”

“Because they’re elders,” Tigerclaw hissed. “You need to start understanding a lot more about the ways of the Clan, if you ever want to be an apprentice.” He glared at Cloudkit. “Go on. And keep at it until I tell you to stop.”

Cloudkit looked mutinous for a moment longer, but not even he would defy Tigerclaw twice. He met the deputy’s glare with hot blue eyes, and then ran off toward the tunnel. Brindleface let out a mew of distress and followed him.

“I always said bringing kittypets into the Clan was a bad idea,” Tigerclaw growled to Dustpelt. He glared at Fireheart as he spoke, as if he was daring the young warrior to protest.

Fireheart looked away. “Come on, Brackenpaw,” he mewed, swallowing his anger. There was no point getting into a fight. “Let’s get you to Yellowfang.”

“I’ll go back and see if I can find our prey,” offered Sandstorm. “We don’t want that badger to get it!” She started to scramble back up the ravine. Fireheart meowed his thanks after her and set off for the camp with Brackenpaw. The apprentice was limping quite badly, and looked tired.

As they approached the gorse tunnel, Fireheart was surprised to see Brokentail stumbling out with Yellowfang at his side. Two guards, Darkstripe and Longtail, followed closely.

“We must be mad, taking him out like this,” Longtail grumbled. “What if he runs off?”

“Runs off?” rasped Yellowfang. “And I suppose you think hedgehogs can fly? He’s not running anywhere,

you stupid furball.” Carefully she cleared the snow from a smooth rock and guided Brokentail to it. He settled down with his blind face raised to the sun and sniffed the air.

“It’s a fine day,” Yellowfang murmured, curling her scrawny gray body close to his. Fireheart had never heard her sound so gentle. “Soon the snow will melt, and new-leaf will be here. Prey will be good and fat. You’ll feel better then.”

Listening, Fireheart recalled what no other cat knew—that Yellowfang was Brokentail’s mother. Even Brokentail himself didn’t know, and now he gave no sign that he had heard Yellowfang’s kind words. Fireheart winced at the pain in the medicine cat’s eyes. She had been forced to give Brokentail up when he was born because medicine cats were forbidden to have kits. And later she had blinded him to save her adopted Clan from the rogue cats’ attack.

But she still loved him, although she meant no more to him than any other cat in ThunderClan. Fireheart could almost have yowled in sympathy with her.

“I’ll have to tell Tigerclaw about this,” Darkstripe meowed fussily, pacing at the foot of the rock where the cats sat. “He didn’t give any orders to let the prisoner leave the camp.”

Stalking up to him, Fireheart pushed his muzzle into Darkstripe’s face. “Bluestar was Clan leader last time I looked,” he spat. “And who do you think she’s going to listen to—you or the medicine cat?”

Darkstripe reared up on his back legs, his lips drawn back to show his fangs. Behind him, Fireheart heard Brackenpaw hiss in alarm. He tensed, ready for the older warrior to strike, but before a fight could break out Yellowfang interrupted them with a furious growl.

“Stop this nonsense! What’s happened to Brackenpaw?” Her flattened face appeared over the edge of the rock, creased with worry.

“He was clawed by a badger,” Fireheart told her, with a last glare at Darkstripe.

The old medicine cat jumped down stiffly and inspected Brackenpaw’s leg, sniffing all along the wound. “You’ll live,” she grunted. “Go to my den. Cinderpaw’s there, and she’ll give you some herbs to press on that.”