Fire and Ice

by Erin Hunter

  Fireheart felt exposed on the post. The branch of a tree hung low overhead. Its leaves had gone, but it would be easier to hide there. Silently he pulled himself up and lay down to wait, flattening himself against the rough bark.

  Fireheart could see a swinging flap in the entrance to the Twolegplace. He had used one just like it as a kit. He fixed his gaze on the flap, hoping his sister’s face would appear at any moment. The sun rose slowly into the morning sky, but Fireheart started to feel cold. The damp branch was drawing the heat from his body. Perhaps the Twolegs were keeping his sister shut in. After all, her kitting would be soon. Fireheart licked a paw and wondered if he should go back to the camp.

  Suddenly he heard a loud clatter. Fireheart looked up and saw his sister pop out through the swinging flap. The fur along his spine rippled with anticipation, and Fireheart fought to stop himself leaping down into her garden straightaway. He knew he would frighten her, as he had done yesterday. He smelled like a forest cat now, not a friendly kittypet.

  Fireheart waited until his sister had reached the end of the grass; then he crept to the tip of the branch and slipped down onto the fence. Quietly he jumped into the bushes below. The she-cat’s scent brought his dream flooding back to him.

  How could he get her attention without frightening her? Desperately he searched his mind, trying to think of the name his sister had been given. He could remember only his own kittypet name. Fireheart called softly from the bushes, “It’s me, Rusty!”

  The she-cat stopped dead and looked around. Fireheart took a deep breath and crept out from the bushes.

  The cat’s eyes widened with terror. Fireheart knew how he must appear to her—lean and wild, with the sharp forest scents on his pelt. The she-cat raised her hackles and hissed ferociously. Fireheart couldn’t help feeling impressed by her courage.

  In a flash he remembered his sister’s name. “Princess! It’s me, Rusty, your brother! Do you remember me?”

  Princess remained tense. Fireheart guessed she was wondering how this strange cat could know these names. He dropped into a submissive crouch, hope soaring in his chest as he watched his sister’s expression slowly change from fear to curiosity.

  “Rusty?” Princess sniffed the air, wide-eyed and wary. Fireheart took a careful step forward. Princess did not move, so Fireheart edged closer. Still, his sister held her ground until Fireheart was standing only a mouse length away.

  “You don’t smell like Rusty,” she mewed.

  “I don’t live with Twolegs anymore. I’ve been living in the forest with ThunderClan. I carry their scent now.” She’s probably never heard of the Clans, Fireheart realized, remembering his own innocence before he’d met Graystripe in the woods.

  Princess stretched her nose forward and rubbed her muzzle cautiously along his cheek. “But our mother’s smell is still there,” she murmured, half to herself. Her words filled Fireheart with happiness, until her eyes narrowed and she took a step backward, her ears flat with distrust. “Why are you here?” she asked.

  “I saw you yesterday, in the woods,” Fireheart explained. “I had to come back to speak with you.”

  “Why?”

  Fireheart looked at her in surprise. “Because you’re my sister.” Surely she must feel something for him?

  Princess studied him for a moment. To Fireheart’s relief, her guarded expression lifted. “You’re very thin,” she mewed critically.

  “Thinner than a kittypet, maybe, but not thin for a Clan—a forest—cat,” Fireheart replied. “Your scent was in my dreams last night. I dreamed of you and our brothers and sister and…” Fireheart paused. “Where is our mother?”

  “She’s still with her housefolk,” answered Princess.

  “What about…?”

  Princess guessed what he was going to ask. “…our brothers and sisters? Most of them live near here. I see them in their gardens from time to time.”

  They sat silently for a moment; then Fireheart asked, “Do you remember the soft bedding of our mother’s basket?” He felt a flicker of guilt about longing for such kittypet softness, but Princess purred, “Oh, yes. I wish I could have it for my own kitting.”

  Fireheart’s discomfort faded. It felt good to be able to talk of such a tender memory without shame. “Will this litter be your first?”

  Princess nodded, uncertainty showing in her eyes. Fireheart felt a wave of sympathy. Even though they were the same age, she seemed to him very young and naive. “You’ll be fine,” he mewed, remembering Brindleface’s kitting. “You look as if your Twolegs treat you well. I’m sure your kits will be healthy and safe.”

  Princess moved closer to him, pressing her fur against his flank. Fireheart felt his heart swell with emotion. For the first time since he was a kit, he caught a glimpse of what the Clan cats must take for granted: the closeness of kinship, a common bond determined by birth and heritage.

  Suddenly Fireheart wanted his sister to know about the life he led now. “Do you know about the Clans?”

  Princess gazed at him, mystified. “You mentioned a ThunderClan.”

  Fireheart nodded. “There are four Clans altogether.” He went on, the words tumbling out. “In the Clan, we take care of each other. Younger cats hunt for elders, warriors protect the hunting grounds from other Clans. I trained all greenleaf to become a warrior. Now I have an apprentice of my own.” Fireheart could see by her bemused expression that his sister couldn’t understand everything he was telling her, yet her eyes brightened with pleasure as he spoke.

  “It sounds as if you enjoy your life,” she mewed in awe.

  A Twoleg voice called from the house. Fireheart instantly darted under the nearest bush.

  “I should go,” Princess mewed. “They’ll be worried if I don’t go back, and I have many tiny mouths to feed. I can feel them moving inside me.” She glanced at her swollen belly, her eyes soft.

  Fireheart looked out from beneath the bush. “Go, then. I have to return to my Clan anyway. But I’ll come back and see you.”

  “Yes, I’d like that!” Princess called over her shoulder. She was already trotting back toward her Twoleg nest. “Good-bye!”

  “See you soon,” Fireheart called. His sister disappeared from view, and he heard the swinging flap slap shut behind her.

  Once the garden was silent, Fireheart crept through the bushes to the fence. He jumped over it and ran into the forest. Memories of kithood scents crowded his mind, suddenly more real than the scents of the forest around him.

  Fireheart paused at the top of the ravine and looked down at the ThunderClan camp. He didn’t feel ready to go back yet. He was worried that it would all seem strange to him. I’ll go and hunt, he thought. Cinderpaw would be safe with Graystripe for a while longer, and the Clan would welcome any extra fresh-kill. He turned away and headed back into the forest.

  When he finally returned to camp, he carried a vole and a wood pigeon in his mouth. The sun was setting, and the Clan cats were gathering for their evening meal. Graystripe sat alone beside the nettle clump, a fat chaffinch at his paws. Fireheart nodded to him as he padded across the clearing to the pile of fresh-kill that had already been collected.

  Tigerclaw was sitting below the Highrock, his amber eyes narrow. “I noticed that Cinderpaw spent the day with Graystripe,” he meowed as Fireheart dropped his catch onto the pile. “Where were you?”

  Fireheart returned Tigerclaw’s gaze. “It seemed a good day for hunting—too good to waste,” he replied, his heart thudding in his chest. “The Clan needs all the fresh-kill it can get at the moment.”

  Tigerclaw nodded, suspicion darkening his eyes. “Yes, but we also need warriors. Cinderpaw’s training is your responsibility.”

  “I understand, Tigerclaw,” Fireheart meowed. He dipped his head respectfully. “I’ll take her out tomorrow.”

  “Good.” The deputy turned his head and looked around the camp. Fireheart picked up a mouse and carried it over to eat next to Graystripe.

  “Find what you
were looking for?” asked Graystripe absently.

  “Yes.” Fireheart felt a pang of sorrow for the pain in his friend’s eyes. “Are you thinking about that RiverClan warrior?”

  “I do try not to,” answered Graystripe quietly. “It’s just when I’m alone I can’t help remembering Barkface’s prediction of an unnecessary death and trouble ahead—”

  “Here,” Fireheart interrupted, and pushed his mouse toward Graystripe. “That chaffinch looks like it’ll be half feathers, and I’m not that hungry. Want to swap?” Graystripe shot him a grateful glance, and the two friends exchanged prey and began to eat.

  As he crunched on the chaffinch, Fireheart scanned the clearing. He could see Sandpaw and Dustpaw outside the apprentices’ den. Dustpaw was busy ripping apart a rabbit. Fireheart caught Sandpaw’s eye but she looked away.

  Cinderpaw lay beside the old tree stump where he’d shared many meals as an apprentice. She was chatting enthusiastically to Brackenpaw, who nodded from time to time while plucking the feathers from a sparrow. Seeing the two young cats—brother and sister—lying together, so at ease, reminded Fireheart once more of Princess, and for the first time the familiar sights of his clan made Fireheart feel uneasy. He had been careful to lick his sister’s smell from his fur before returning to camp, but it was her scent that lingered in his nostrils as the sun disappeared over the distant horizon. He had found the closeness he had missed, but it had given shape to a sense of loneliness that, until now, had lain vague and nameless in his heart. Were the deep-rooted memories he shared with Princess stronger than his loyalty to the Clan?

  CHAPTER 11

  “Another day of sunshine!” Fireheart purred to Graystripe, feeling his flame-colored pelt glow in the weak morning sun. Thanks to the fine weather, he had visited Princess nearly every day recently, slipping away to see her between patrols, hunting, and training sessions. Now he walked with his friend along the short trail to the sandy hollow where Cinderpaw and Brackenpaw would be waiting.

  “Let’s hope it stays clear for the rest of leaf-bare,” Graystripe meowed. Fireheart knew how much his thick-coated friend hated rain—when Graystripe’s fur got wet, it clung to him and stayed damp long after Fireheart’s shorter fur had dried off.

  The two warriors arrived at the edge of the hollow just as Cinderpaw pounced on a pile of frosty leaves, sending them flying in all directions. She leaped and twisted to catch one as it fluttered back to the ground.

  Fireheart and Graystripe glanced at each other, amused.

  “At least Cinderpaw will be warmed up and ready for today’s assignment,” Graystripe observed.

  Brackenpaw jumped to his paws and looked up at his mentor, his eyes wide. “Good morning, Graystripe,” he meowed. “What is today’s assignment?”

  “A hunting mission,” Graystripe told him. He padded down into the hollow, followed by Fireheart.

  “Where?” mewed Cinderpaw, dashing toward them. “What are we going to catch?”

  “We’re going to Sunningrocks,” Fireheart replied, suddenly sharing her enthusiasm. “And we’ll catch whatever we can.”

  “I’d like to catch a vole,” declared Cinderpaw. “I’ve never tasted vole.”

  “I’m afraid everything we catch today goes straight back to the elders,” Graystripe warned. “But I’m sure if you asked one of them nicely, they’d be happy to share.”

  “Okay,” mewed Cinderpaw. “Which way is Sunningrocks?” She bounded up one side of the hollow and peered into the forest, her tail sticking straight up.

  “This way!” meowed Fireheart, leaping up the opposite side.

  “Okay.” Cinderpaw raced down the slope, across the hollow, and up to Fireheart’s side, sending fallen leaves flying everywhere.

  Graystripe leaped up and caught one as it drifted past his nose. He pinned it to the ground with a purr of satisfaction and saw Brackenpaw staring at him. “Er, never miss a chance to practice your hunting skills,” Graystripe told him quickly.

  The four cats made their way along the familiar scent-trails to Sunningrocks. The sun was above the trees by the time they emerged into open territory. Ahead of them, a slope of rock rose out of the soft earth, its smooth surface lined with cracks. The cats had to narrow their eyes as they looked at it. After the shade of the woods, the flat rock face reflected the sun with dazzling glare.

  “This is Sunningrocks,” Fireheart announced, blinking. “Come on!”

  “Mrrrrr! It feels nice!” mewed Cinderpaw as she raced up the stone slope behind him. Fireheart realized she was right. The stone felt comfortingly warm and smooth after the ice-cold forest floor.

  They rested at the top, where the far side fell away steeply to the forest. Fireheart listened for the gentle bubbling of the river that followed the RiverClan border, flowing down from the uplands. It touched the Sunningrocks before turning to run deeper into RiverClan territory. He could barely hear it—perhaps the water was low after the dry weather.

  Fireheart stretched out, enjoying the warmth of the rock beneath him and the soft heat of the sun on his pelt. He closed his eyes, feeling proud to be lying here, a place where generations of ThunderClan cats had come to warm themselves, and which they had battled hard to keep.

  Graystripe joined him. “Come on,” he meowed to the two apprentices. “Make the most of the sun while it’s here. There are enough cold, damp days ahead of us.” The two apprentices lay down beside their mentors and purred as the warmth seeped into their fur.

  “Is this where Redtail died?” asked Brackenpaw.

  “Yes,” Fireheart answered cautiously.

  “And where Tigerclaw avenged his death by killing Oakheart?” Cinderpaw piped up.

  Fireheart’s fur prickled as he remembered Ravenpaw’s account of the fight—that Redtail had been responsible for Oakheart’s death and then Tigerclaw had killed Redtail, the deputy of his own Clan. Fireheart pushed away the disturbing thoughts and replied simply, “This is the place.” The two apprentices fell silent and looked down the slope in awe.

  Suddenly Fireheart heard a noise. He pricked his ears. “Hush,” he hissed. “What can you hear?”

  The two apprentices strained their ears forward.

  “I think I can hear some scrabbling,” Brackenpaw whispered.

  “It might be a vole,” murmured Graystripe. “Can you tell where it’s coming from?”

  “Over there!” mewed Cinderpaw, leaping to her paws. The scrabbling noise became more furious and then disappeared.

  “I think it heard you,” Fireheart remarked. Cinderpaw looked crestfallen. Brackenpaw purred with amusement at his sister’s clumsiness.

  “Never mind,” meowed Graystripe. “Now you know that it’s better to creep up slowly, especially on voles. They’re fast!”

  “Sit still and listen,” Fireheart advised. “Next time we hear something, work out where it is and then begin to move toward it very slowly. A mouse could probably hear even the rustling of your fur, so let him think it’s just the wind blowing across the rock.”

  The cats remained where they were, no one daring to move until they heard the scrabbling sound again. His ears pricked, Fireheart rose and crept forward, placing each paw noiselessly in front of the other until he reached the edge of a small crack that ran across the rock face. He paused. The scrabbling noise continued. Fireheart lunged forward and reached down into the crack with a forepaw. He scooped out a fat vole that had been hiding in the shadows and flung it onto the bright stone. It squealed as it landed, but the hard ground stunned it and Fireheart finished it off quickly.

  “Wow!” mewed Cinderpaw. “I want to do that!”

  “Don’t worry; you’ll have plenty of chances. For now, let’s get back to the forest,” meowed Graystripe.

  “Aren’t we going to catch anything else?” Cinderpaw protested.

  “Did you hear that vole squeal?” meowed Fireheart. Cinderpaw nodded. “Well, so did every other creature around here. The prey will be hiding for a while. I should have caught it
and killed it before it could make a sound.”

  Graystripe’s whiskers twitched with amusement. “I wasn’t going to say a word,” he purred.

  Fireheart picked up the dead vole in his mouth, and together the cats headed down the slope and began to trek onward through the forest. After the open warmth of Sunningrocks, the woods seemed chilly, even though sunhigh was approaching. Fireheart smelled fresh markers at the RiverClan border. Beyond them the ground sloped down to meet the river.

  A leaf fluttered down toward Brackenpaw. The young cat immediately leaped up and caught it between his paws. He landed, looking pleased with himself.

  “Well done!” called Graystripe. “You’ll have no trouble with voles!” Brackenpaw looked doubly pleased.

  “Nice catch, Brackenpaw!” Cinderpaw mewed. She nudged her brother’s shoulder with her nose before turning to stare down the wooded slope.

  “The river’s quiet today,” Fireheart mumbled through his mouthful of vole.

  “That’s because it’s frozen,” mewed Cinderpaw excitedly. “I can see it through the trees!”

  Fireheart dropped the vole. “Frozen? Completely?” He stared down the wooded slope. The river glittered at the bottom, frosty and still. Could Cinderpaw be right? Fireheart’s paws tingled with excitement. He had never seen the river frozen over.

  “Can we have a look?” asked Cinderpaw. Without waiting for an answer, she bounded past the scent-markers. Fireheart’s excitement turned to panic as he saw the small gray cat disappear into RiverClan territory. He couldn’t call after her—he didn’t want to alert any RiverClan patrols that might be in the area. But he had to get her back. He left the vole where he’d dropped it and tore after her, Graystripe and Brackenpaw close behind him.

  They caught up with Cinderpaw at the edge of the river. It was almost totally frozen, apart from a narrow channel of dark water that flowed swiftly between two wide fringes of ice. Fireheart remembered Whiteclaw with a shudder. He was about to suggest they leave when he noticed Graystripe’s ears were pricked.