Leopardfur narrowed her eyes but didn’t press the subject any further. “So,” she meowed, “have you come to brag about your new title, or to find out about your old friend?”
Fireheart lifted his chin, surprised that she was giving him a clear opportunity to ask about Graystripe. “How is he?” he meowed.
“He’ll do.” Leopardfur shrugged. “He’ll never be a true RiverClan warrior, but at least he’s getting used to the water, which is more than I expected.” Fireheart had to hold in his claws at her dismissive tone. “His kits are strong and clever,” Leopardfur went on. “They must favor their mother.”
Was this cat trying to annoy him on purpose? Fireheart was struggling to hold back a sharp reply when Mousefur trotted up behind him.
“Hello, Leopardfur,” she greeted the RiverClan deputy. “Stonefur tells me there are new kits in your camp, besides Graystripe’s.”
“Yes, there are,” Leopardfur meowed. “StarClan has blessed our nursery this greenleaf.”
“He also said Mistyfoot’s kits are about to begin their training,” meowed Mousefur. “You know, the ones Fireheart saved from the floods,” she added, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Fireheart noticed Leopardfur stiffen, but his mind was on Mistyfoot and her brother, Stonefur. He glanced around the clearing and saw Bluestar sitting alone beneath the Great Rock. Did she know her son was here? Had she heard that Mistyfoot’s kits were ready for their apprenticeship? When he turned his gaze back to Leopardfur and Mousefur, the RiverClan deputy was stalking away.
Mousefur shot a look of sympathy at Fireheart. “Don’t worry. You’ll find her less intimidating when you get used to her. The rest of RiverClan seems happy to see us. They would not have survived the floods so well without the help of ThunderClan, and we did let them have Silverstream’s kits without a fight.”
“Graystripe was never Leopardfur’s favorite ThunderClan cat, though,” Fireheart reminded her. “Not since Whiteclaw fell into the gorge.”
“She should learn to forgive and forget. Graystripe has given RiverClan two fine, healthy kits.” Mousefur flicked her tail. “Did she ask you about Tigerclaw?”
“Yes.”
“Everyone’s desperate to know what happened to him.”
“And why a kittypet has replaced him,” Fireheart added bitterly.
“That too.” Mousefur glanced briefly at him. “Don’t take it personally, Fireheart. We’d be just as curious about a change of deputy in another Clan.” Her attention wandered around the clearing for a moment before she observed, “Have you noticed how small ShadowClan’s patrol is tonight?”
Fireheart nodded. “I’ve seen only a couple of ShadowClan warriors so far. One of them just had a nasty coughing fit.”
“Really?” meowed Mousefur curiously.
“It is furball season,” Fireheart pointed out.
“I suppose so.”
A voice sounded from the Great Rock. Fireheart looked up and saw the RiverClan leader, Crookedstar, standing on top of the massive boulder, his thick pelt gleaming in the moonlight. Bluestar sat on one side and Tallstar, the WindClan leader, on the other. And on the far side, half hidden by the shadow of an oak tree, sat Nightstar.
Fireheart was shocked by the ShadowClan leader’s appearance. The black tom looked even scrawnier than a WindClan cat, who were kept lean by the rabbits they chased on the moor. But Nightstar didn’t just look thin. He held his head low, and his shoulders were hunched. For a moment Fireheart wondered if he was sick, but then he remembered that Nightstar had already been an elder when he’d taken on the leadership of ShadowClan. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising if he looked frail. He may have been granted the nine lives of a leader, but not even StarClan could turn back time.
“Come on,” Mousefur murmured. Fireheart followed the dusky brown she-cat to the front of the cats and sat down beside her, with Mistyfoot at his other flank.
Crookedstar meowed from the Great Rock, “Bluestar wishes to speak first.” He bowed his head to the ThunderClan leader as she stepped forward and raised her voice, sounding as strong as it always had.
“You may already have heard from WindClan, but for those of you who have not, Brokentail is dead!”
A satisfied murmur rippled through the crowd. Fireheart noticed Nightstar’s ears and tail flicking restlessly. The ShadowClan leader seemed almost excited to know that his old enemy was dead.
“How did he die?” Nightstar rasped.
Bluestar didn’t seem to hear him. “And ThunderClan has a new deputy,” she went on.
“So it’s true what RiverClan has been saying.” The stunned mew of a WindClan warrior rose from the watching cats. “Something’s happened to Tigerclaw!”
“Is he dead?” Mudclaw demanded to know. His words brought a barrage of concerned cries, and Fireheart couldn’t help feeling a twinge of resentment when he realized how much Tigerclaw had been respected by the other Clans. He watched Bluestar anxiously as the cats bombarded her with questions.
“Did he die of sickness?”
“Was it an accident?”
