Mistyfoot nodded. “I’d like that, Fireheart.”
“Her kits are alive,” Fireheart added, in an attempt to ease some of the queen’s grief.
“Her kits?” Mistyfoot sat up, alert again.
“Two kits,” mewed Fireheart. “They’re going to be fine.”
Mistyfoot blinked, suddenly deep in thought. “Will ThunderClan want them, when they’re half RiverClan?”
“One of our queens is suckling them,” Fireheart assured her. “The Clan’s angry with Graystripe, but no cat would take it out on the kits.”
“I see.” Mistyfoot was silent for a while, still thoughtful, and then rose to her paws. “I must get back to camp and tell the Clan. They don’t even know about Graystripe. I can’t imagine what I’m going to say to Silverstream’s father.”
Fireheart knew how she felt. Many warrior fathers did not stay close to their kits, but Crookedstar had maintained a close bond with Silverstream. His grief at her death would be mixed with anger that she had betrayed her Clan by taking Graystripe as a mate.
Mistyfoot gave Fireheart a quick lick on the forehead. “Thank you,” she mewed. “Thank you for coming to tell me.”
Then she was gone, sliding rapidly through the ferns. Fireheart waited until she was out of sight before he padded down the pebbly shore and crossed the stepping stones back to his own territory.
Hunger roused Fireheart from sleep. Peering through the dim light in the warriors’ den, he saw that Graystripe had left his nest already. Oh, no! Fireheart thought irritably. He’s gone off to meet Silverstream again! Then he remembered.
Two dawns had passed since Silverstream’s death. The shock the Clan felt about her affair with Graystripe was beginning to die down, though none of the warriors except Fireheart and Brackenfur would talk to Graystripe or go on patrols with him. Bluestar had still not announced what his punishment would be.
Fireheart stretched and yawned. All night his sleep had been disturbed by Graystripe twitching and whimpering, but the weariness inside him went deeper than that. He couldn’t see how the Clan could possibly recover from the blow that had been struck by the discovery of Graystripe’s disloyalty. There was an atmosphere of uncertainty and distrust that dulled conversation and cut short the familiar rituals of sharing tongues.
With a determined shake, Fireheart slipped out through the branches and padded over to the pile of fresh-kill. The sun was rising, dappling the camp with golden light. As he bent to pick out a plump vole, he heard a voice calling, “Fireheart! Fireheart!”
Fireheart turned. Cloudkit was racing across the clearing toward him from the nursery. Brindleface and the rest of her kits followed more slowly, and to Fireheart’s surprise Bluestar was with them.
“Fireheart!” Cloudkit panted, skidding to a stop in front of him. “I’m going to be an apprentice! I’m going to be an apprentice now!”
Fireheart dropped the vole. He couldn’t help feeling cheered up when he saw the kit’s excitement, along with a twinge of guilt that he had completely forgotten Cloudkit was approaching his sixth moon.
“You’ll mentor him, of course, Fireheart?” Bluestar meowed as she came up. “It’s time you had another apprentice. You did good work with Brackenfur, even though he wasn’t yours.”
“Thank you,” meowed Fireheart, dipping his head to acknowledge her praise. He couldn’t help thinking sadly of Cinderpaw. He would never lose the feeling that he had been partly responsible for her accident, and he resolved to do better with Cloudkit.
“I’ll work harder than any cat!” Cloudkit promised, his eyes wide. “I’ll be the best apprentice there ever was!”
“We’ll see about that,” Bluestar mewed, while Brindleface purred with amusement.
“He’s been pestering me day and night,” she meowed fondly. “I know he’ll do his best. He’s strong and intelligent.”
Cloudkit’s eyes gleamed at her praise. He seems to have gotten over finding out he was a kittypet, Fireheart thought. But he’s arrogant, and he barely knows what the warrior code is, let alone respects it. Did I do the right thing, to bring him here? he wondered yet again. Mentoring him wouldn’t be easy, he knew.
“I’ll call the meeting,” Bluestar meowed, heading for the Highrock. With a glance at Fireheart, Cloudkit bounced after her, and the rest of the kits tumbled along behind.
“Fireheart,” meowed Brindleface, “there’s something I want to ask you.”
Fireheart suppressed a sigh. “What is it?” Obviously he wasn’t going to have time to eat his vole before Cloudkit’s ceremony.
“It’s about Graystripe. I know what he’s been through, but he’s never out of the nursery, watching over those two kits. It’s as if he thinks Goldenflower can’t look after them properly. He’s getting in the way of all of us.”
“Have you told him?”
“We’ve tried dropping hints. Speckletail even asked him if he thought he was expecting kits himself. He doesn’t take any notice.”
Fireheart gave the vole a last regretful glance. “I’ll talk to him, Brindleface. Is he there now?”
“Yes, he’s been there all morning.”
“I’ll fetch him out for the meeting.” Fireheart padded across the clearing; as he reached the nursery he heard Bluestar summoning the Clan from the top of the Highrock.
As he entered the nursery he felt a jolt of surprise to meet Tigerclaw coming out. He stepped aside to let the deputy pass him, wondering what he had been doing in the nursery, until he remembered that one of Goldenflower’s kits was a dark tabby; Tigerclaw must be their father.
The nursery was warm, and full of comforting milky smells. Goldenflower lay in her nest with Graystripe crouching over her, sniffing at the bundle of kits.
“Are they getting enough milk?” he meowed anxiously. “They’re so small.”
“That’s because they’re young,” Goldenflower replied patiently. “They’ll grow.”
Fireheart went over to watch the four kits suckling busily in the warmth of their mother’s body. The little dark tabby certainly looked just
like Tigerclaw. Graystripe’s two were smaller, but now that their coats had dried and fluffed out they looked just like any other healthy kits. One was the same dark gray as Graystripe, while the other had their mother’s silvery coat.
“They’re beautiful,” Fireheart whispered.
“Better than he deserves,” snorted Speckletail, pushing past on her way to answer Bluestar’s summons.
“Don’t listen to Speckletail,” mewed Goldenflower when the older queen had gone. She bent over the kits and touched the silvery one with her nose. “She’ll be as beautiful as her mother, Graystripe.”
“But what if they die?” Graystripe blurted out.
“They’re not going to die,” Fireheart insisted. “Goldenflower is looking after them.”
Goldenflower was gazing at all four kits with equal love and admiration, but Fireheart couldn’t help thinking that she was looking tired and strained. Perhaps four kits were too much for her to manage. He pushed the thought away. The bond between a mother and her own kits was strong, he reflected, but Clan loyalty was strong too, and Goldenflower would give the best she could to these kits because they were half ThunderClan, and she had a kind heart.
“Come on.” Fireheart gave Graystripe a nudge. “Bluestar has called a meeting. She’s going to make Cloudkit an apprentice.”
For a heartbeat Graystripe hesitated, and Fireheart thought he was going to refuse to come. Then he pushed himself up and let Fireheart herd him toward the entrance, looking back all the while at his kits.
Outside in the clearing the rest of the Clan had already gathered. Fireheart heard Willowpelt announce happily to Mousefur and Runningwind, “I’ll have to move into the nursery soon. I’m expecting kits.”
Runningwind murmured his congratulations, while Mousefur gave her friend’s ears a joyful lick. Fireheart couldn’t help wondering who had fathered these kits, and as he glanced around he noticed Whitestorm watching proudly from a distance. The news of Willowpelt’s kits reassured Fireheart. No matter what disasters they had to face, Clan life went on.