Forest of Secrets (Warriors 6)

“May StarClan light your path,” meowed Deadfoot gratefully.

The other WindClan cats wished Fireheart and Graystripe good hunting, and went on toward their own camp.

“That was bad luck,” Fireheart growled as he and Graystripe padded down to Fourtrees.

“Why?” asked Graystripe. “The WindClan cats didn’t mind us on their territory. We’re all friends now.”

“Use your brains, Graystripe,” Fireheart mewed. “What if Deadfoot mentions that he saw us to Bluestar at the next Gathering? She’s bound to wonder what we were doing out here!”

Graystripe stopped. “Mousedung!” he spat. “I never thought of that.” His eyes met Fireheart’s, and Fireheart saw his own uneasy feelings reflected there. “Bluestar won’t like it if she finds out we’re sneaking around investigating Tigerclaw.”

Fireheart shrugged. “Let’s just hope we can settle all this before the next Gathering. Now come on; we ought to try to catch something to take back with us.”

He set off again, picking up the pace until the two cats were racing over the snow. As they skirted the hollow at Fourtrees and entered their own forest territory, he relaxed a little, pausing to drink the air in the hope of picking up the scent of prey. Graystripe sniffed hopefully among the roots of a nearby tree, and came back looking disappointed.

“Nothing,” he grumbled. “Not a single mouse—not even a whisker!”

“We haven’t got time to keep looking,” Fireheart decided. He saw that the sky was already growing lighter above the trees. Time was running out, and their absence from camp was more likely to be noticed with every heartbeat.

The dawn light was growing stronger as they reached the ravine. Limbs aching with weariness, muscles stiff with cold, Fireheart led the way silently between the boulders toward the gorse tunnel. Thankful to be home at last, he bounded into the tunnel’s dark mouth. As he emerged into the camp, he skidded to a halt so abruptly that Graystripe cannoned into him from behind.

“Move, you big furball!” Graystripe gave a muffled mew.

Fireheart didn’t reply. Sitting a few tail-lengths away, in the middle of the clearing, was Tigerclaw. His head was sunk below his massive shoulders, and his yellow eyes were gleaming with triumph.

“Maybe you’d like to tell me where you’ve been?” he growled. “And why it took you so long to get back from the Gathering?”

CHAPTER 3

“Well?” Tigerclaw challenged.

“We thought we’d hunt.” Fireheart raised his head to hold the deputy’s amber gaze. “The Clan needs fresh-kill.”

“But we couldn’t find anything,” Graystripe added, coming to stand beside Fireheart.

“Was the prey all curled up in their nests, eh?” Tigerclaw hissed. He padded forward until he stood nose to nose with Fireheart, sniffed him, and then did the same to Graystripe. “So how is it the pair of you smell of mouse?”

Fireheart exchanged a glance with Graystripe. It seemed a long time since they had hunted in the Twoleg barn, and he had forgotten that they might still be carrying the scent of the mice they ate.

Graystripe looked back at him helplessly, anxiety making his eyes wide.

“Bluestar should hear about this,” the deputy growled. “Follow me.”

Fireheart and Graystripe had no choice but to obey. Tigerclaw led them across the clearing to Bluestar’s den at the foot of the Highrock. Beyond the curtain of lichen that covered the entrance, Fireheart could see the Clan leader curled up, apparently asleep, but as Tigerclaw shouldered his way into the den she raised her head at once and sat up.

“What is it, Tigerclaw?” she meowed, sounding puzzled.

“These two brave warriors have been out hunting.” Tigerclaw’s voice was thick with contempt. “They’re full-fed, but they haven’t brought home a single piece of fresh-kill for the Clan.”

“Is this true?” Bluestar turned her ice-blue eyes on the young warriors.

“We weren’t on a hunting patrol,” Graystripe mumbled.

That was true, thought Fireheart. Strictly speaking, they hadn’t broken the warrior code by not bringing back any prey, but he knew it was no real excuse.

“We ate the first prey we caught, to keep our strength up,” he meowed. “And then we couldn’t find anything else. We meant to bring back fresh-kill, but our luck was out.”

Tigerclaw gave a snort of disgust, as if he didn’t believe a word Fireheart had said.

“Even so,” Bluestar meowed, “with prey so scarce, every cat should think of the Clan before himself, and share what they have. I’m disappointed in you both.”

Fireheart couldn’t help feeling ashamed. Bluestar had brought him into the Clan when he was a kittypet, and he wanted to show her that he deserved her trust. If he had been alone with Bluestar, he might have tried to explain his real reason for being so late back to camp. But with Tigerclaw glaring at him, it was impossible.

Besides, Fireheart wasn’t ready to tell Bluestar about Ravenpaw’s latest version of the Sunningrocks battle. He wanted to speak to cats from RiverClan first, to confirm how Oakheart had really died.

“I’m sorry, Bluestar,” he murmured.

“‘Sorry’ fills no bellies,” Bluestar warned him. “You must understand that the needs of the Clan come first, especially in leaf-bare. Until next sunrise, you’ll hunt for the Clan, not for yourselves. When the rest of the Clan have eaten, then you can take food for yourself.” Her gaze softened. “You both look exhausted,” she observed. “Go and sleep now. But I shall expect to see you out hunting before sunhigh.”

“Yes, Bluestar.” Fireheart dipped his head and backed out of the den.

Graystripe followed him, his fur fluffed up in a mixture of fear and embarrassment. “I thought she’d have our tails off for sure!” he meowed as the two cats turned toward the warriors’ den.

“Then you should think yourselves lucky.” The low growl came from behind them; Fireheart glanced over his shoulder to see that Tigerclaw was padding after them. “If I were Clan leader, I’d have punished you properly.”

Fireheart felt his fur prickle with anger. His lips drew back in the beginnings of a snarl. Then he heard a warning hiss from Graystripe, and bit back what he wanted to say, turning away from Tigerclaw again.

“That’s right, kittypet,” Tigerclaw jeered. “Slink back to your nest. Bluestar may trust you, but I don’t. I saw you at the WindClan battle, don’t forget.” He bounded past the two younger cats and pushed his way into the warriors’ den ahead of them.

Graystripe let out a long, shivering breath. “Fireheart,” he meowed solemnly, “you’re either the bravest cat in all the Clans, or raving mad! For StarClan’s sake, don’t wind Tigerclaw up any more.”

“I didn’t ask for him to hate me,” Fireheart pointed out angrily. He slid through the branches to see Tigerclaw settling himself into his place near the center. The dark tabby ignored Fireheart, turning himself around two or three times before curling up to sleep.

Fireheart made for his own sleeping place. Nearby, Sandstorm and Dustpelt were stretched out together.

Sandstorm sat up as Fireheart approached. “Tigerclaw has been watching for you ever since we got back from the Gathering,” she whispered. “I gave him your message, but I don’t think he believed me. What did you do to tweak his tail?”

Fireheart felt comforted by the sympathetic look in her eyes, but he couldn’t stop his jaws from gaping in a massive yawn. “I’m sorry, Sandstorm,” he mumbled. “I’ve got to get some sleep. I’ll talk to you later.”

He half expected Sandstorm to be offended, but instead she got up and padded over to him. As he settled into the soft moss that lined the floor of the den she crouched down beside him and pressed her side against his.

Dustpelt opened one eye and glared at Fireheart. He let out a snort and pointedly turned his back.

But Fireheart was too tired to worry about Dustpelt’s jealousy. He was already drifting into sleep. As his eyes closed, his last

sensation was of Sandstorm’s fur warm against his flank.