Fireheart knew that Whitestorm was warning him as carefully as possible—the warrior hadn’t even mentioned the possibility that Tigerclaw might still be around—but his guilt at letting Cloudpaw go off alone made him defensive. “You let Brightpaw hunt alone this morning,” he retorted.
“Yes. I told her to stay in the ravine and to be back by sunhigh.” Whitestorm’s tone was mild, but he stopped washing his paw and looked at Fireheart with concern in his eyes. “I hope Cloudpaw won’t go too far from the camp.”
Fireheart looked away and muttered, “I should go and tell Bluestar the kits are ready.”
“Good idea,” answered Whitestorm. “I can take Brightpaw out for some training. She hunts well, but her fighting skills need some work.”
Silently cursing Cloudpaw, Fireheart padded away toward the Highrock. Outside Bluestar’s den, he gave his ears a quick wash and put Cloudpaw out of his mind before calling a greeting through the lichen that draped the entrance. A soft “Enter” sounded from inside, and Fireheart pushed his way slowly in.
It was cool in the small cave, hollowed out of the base of the Highrock by an ancient stream. The sunlight that filtered through the lichen made the walls glow warmly. Bluestar sat hunched in her nest like a brooding duck. Her long gray fur was dirty and matted.
But the worry he had seen in Whitestorm’s eyes pricked at him. Fireheart couldn’t help noticing how thin Bluestar looked, and he remembered the half-eaten bird she’d abandoned last night, returning alone to her den instead of staying to share tongues with her senior warriors, as she’d used to.
The Clan leader raised her eyes as Fireheart entered, and he was relieved to see a faint spark of interest when she saw him.
“Fireheart,” she greeted him, sitting up and lifting her chin. She held her broad gray head with the same dignity Fireheart had admired when he first met her in the woods near his old Twoleg home. It was Bluestar who had invited him to join the Clan, and her faith in him had quickly established a special bond between them.
“Bluestar,” he began, respectfully dipping his head. “Whitestorm’s been to the nursery today. Brindleface told him her kits are ready to begin their apprenticeships.”
Bluestar slowly widened her eyes. “Already?” she murmured.
Fireheart waited for Bluestar to start giving orders for the apprentice ceremony. But the she-cat just stared at him.
“Er…who do you want to be their mentors?” he prompted.
“Mentors,” echoed Bluestar faintly.
Fireheart’s fur began to prickle with unease.
Suddenly a flinty hardness flared in her blue eyes. “Is there any cat we can trust to train these innocent kits?” she spat.
Fireheart flinched, too shocked to answer. The leader’s eyes flashed once more. “Can
Fireheart shook his head, trying to push away the alarm that jabbed at him like an adder. Had Bluestar forgotten that Graystripe was no longer part of ThunderClan? “I—I already have Cloudpaw. And Graystripe…” His words trailed away. He took a small, fast breath and began again. “Bluestar, the only warrior not fit to train these kits was Tigerclaw, and he has been exiled, remember? Any one of ThunderClan’s warriors would make a fine mentor for Brindleface’s kits.” He searched Bluestar’s face for a reaction, but she was staring unseeing at the floor of the den. “Brindleface is hoping to have a naming ceremony soon,” he persisted. “Her kits are more than ready. Cloudpaw was their littermate, and he’s been an apprentice for half a moon now.”
Fireheart leaned forward, willing Bluestar to answer. At last the she-cat nodded her head briskly and lifted her eyes to Fireheart. With a wave of relief he saw the tension leave her shoulders. And although her gaze still seemed remote and icy, it was calmer now. “We’ll have the naming ceremony before we eat this evening,” she meowed, as if she had never doubted it.
“So who do you want to be their mentors?” Fireheart asked cautiously. He felt a tremor ripple through his tail as Bluestar stiffened again and her gaze darted anxiously around the cave.
“You decide.”
Her reply was barely audible, and Fireheart decided not to press her any more. He dipped his head and meowed, “Yes, Bluestar,” before backing out of the den.
