Cloudpaw was crouched on the tree stump outside his den entrance, play-fighting with Ashpaw, who was scrabbling at him from below. Fireheart was pleased that at least Cloudpaw was getting on with his denmates. He wondered if Graystripe would be at Fourtrees tonight. It seemed unlikely, as he had been in RiverClan for barely a moon. But he had given them Silverstream’s kits. The RiverClan leader, Crookedstar, must have been grateful—after all, Silverstream had been his daughter, so the kits were his kin. And even though it would confirm his friend’s acceptance into another Clan, Fireheart found himself hoping that Graystripe would be granted the privilege of joining the Gathering.
Fireheart pushed himself to his paws and called the cats together for the ThunderClan patrol. As he ran through the list of names that Bluestar had given him—“Mousefur, Runningwind, Sandstorm, Brackenfur, Brightpaw, Ashpaw, and Swiftpaw”—he realized with growing unease that Darkstripe, Longtail, and Dustpelt weren’t among them. The three warriors had all been close allies of Tigerclaw, and Fireheart wondered if Bluestar had left them out deliberately. An uncomfortable shiver rippled through his fur as the three cats exchanged glances, then fixed their gazes on him. There was an unmistakable gleam of anger in Darkstripe’s eyes. Unnerved, Fireheart turned away and joined the other cats to wait for Bluestar.
She was sharing tongues with Whitestorm outside her den, and only when the gathered warriors began kneading the ground with anticipation did she get up and cross the clearing.
“Whitestorm will be in charge of the camp while we’re away,” she announced.
“Bluestar,” Mousefur addressed her leader cautiously. “What are you going to say about the way that WindClan stopped you from traveling to Highstones?”
Fireheart’s shoulders tensed. Mousefur clearly wanted to know if the ThunderClan cats should prepare themselves for hostility.
“I shall say nothing,” Bluestar answered firmly. “WindClan knows that what they did was wrong. It’s not worth risking their aggression by pointing it out in front of the other Clans.”
The ThunderClan warriors greeted her response with reluctant nods, and Fireheart couldn’t help wondering whether they saw weakness or wisdom in their leader’s decision as they followed her through the gorse tunnel and out into the moonlit forest.
Dirt and pebbles showered down as the cats scrambled up the side of the ravine. The lack of rain had left the forest as dry as crushed bones, and the sun-scorched ground seemed to turn to dust beneath their paws. Once in the woods, Bluestar ran on ahead. Fireheart dropped to the rear of the group as the cats raced silently through the trees, ducking beneath brittle ferns and swerving past brambles.
Sandstorm measured her pace until she matched Fireheart stride for stride, clearing a fallen branch in a single fluid leap. As they landed, she turned to Fireheart and murmured, “Bluestar seems to be feeling well again.”
“Yes,” Fireheart agreed guardedly, concentrating on threading his body between some prickly bramble stalks.
Sandstorm went on, keeping her voice low so it didn’t carry to the other cats. “But she seems distant. She doesn’t seem to be as…” She hesitated, and Fireheart didn’t try to fill the silence that followed. His worst fears were being confirmed. The other ThunderClan cats were beginning to notice Bluestar was not herself.
“She’s changed,” Sandstorm finished.
Fireheart didn’t look at the ginger she-cat. Instead he veered away to avoid a thick clump of nettles while Sandstorm leaped over them, springing up and through the stinging leaves to land on the forest floor beyond.
Fireheart ran faster to catch up. “Bluestar’s still shaken,” he said, panting. “Tigerclaw’s treachery was a huge shock.”
“I don’t understand why she never suspected him.”
“Did
“No,” Sandstorm admitted. “No cat did. But the rest of the Clan has recovered from the shock. Bluestar still seems…” Again she seemed lost for words.
“She’s leading us to the Gathering,” Fireheart pointed out.
“Yes, that’s true,” answered Sandstorm, brightening.
“She’s still the same Bluestar,” Fireheart assured her. “You’ll see.”
The two warriors quickened their pace. They leaped over a stream that had been too swollen to cross during the newleaf floods. Now it trickled along a stony bed, so dry that it was almost impossible to imagine the water had ever flowed higher.
The rest of the group was only just ahead of them by the time they neared Fourtrees. Fireheart led Sandstorm along their trail, the undergrowth still trembling where the cats had passed, as if the leaves shared the Clan’s anticipation of the Gathering.
