by Erin Hunter
As soon as his friend was out of sight, Fireheart padded forward and peered down the slope to the river. By the swaying of the undergrowth, Fireheart could guess where Graystripe was. He just hoped there weren’t any RiverClan warriors watching too.
Fireheart made his way down through the fronds. The river wasn’t frozen anymore—he could hear the water lapping at the bank and splashing over the boulders. He slowed his pace as he reached the edge of the bracken and peered out at the open shore.
Graystripe was sitting on the pebbles. The gray warrior was looking around, his ears pricked, but Fireheart could tell from the relaxed slope of his shoulders that he wasn’t listening for prey.
A strange cat’s call sounded in the distance. A RiverClan patrol? Fireheart’s fur prickled and his muscles instinctively tensed, but Graystripe didn’t move. Then Fireheart heard a rustle in the bracken beyond the river. Still Graystripe stayed where he was. Fireheart held his breath as a face appeared on the far riverbank. With barely a sound, the silver she-cat emerged from the undergrowth and slipped into the river. Fireheart felt his heart miss a beat. It was Silverstream, the she-cat who had rescued his friend!
She swam easily across the river. Graystripe stood up and mewed with delight, kneading the pebbles with his paws in anticipation. Holding his tail high, he padded to the edge of the water as she climbed onto the shore.
Silverstream shook the drops from her fur, and the two gray cats touched noses gently. Graystripe rubbed his muzzle along her jaw and she lifted her chin happily. Then Silverstream stood on tiptoe and wound her slender body around his. For once Graystripe didn’t seem to mind getting wet at all, because he purred loud enough for Fireheart to hear as Silverstream pressed her damp fur against him.
CHAPTER 14
Fireheart’s hackles bristled with horror. How could Graystripe be so stupid? He was breaking every part of the warrior code by meeting this cat from another Clan.
“Graystripe!” Fireheart hissed as he sprang from the bushes.
The two cats spun around to face him. Silverstream’s ears flattened angrily. Graystripe just stared at him, startled. “You followed me!”
Fireheart ignored his stunned meow. “What are you doing? Don’t you know how dangerous this is?”
Silverstream spoke up. “It’s okay. There won’t be a patrol here till after sunset.”
“You can be sure of that, can you? As if you know all your Clan’s movements!” Fireheart growled.
Silverstream lifted her chin. “Actually, I do. My father is Crookedstar, the leader of RiverClan.”
Fireheart froze. “What are you playing at?” he spat at Graystripe. “Could you have chosen worse?”
Graystripe met Fireheart’s eyes for an instant, then turned to Silverstream. “I’d better go,” he mewed.
Silverstream blinked slowly and stretched her head forward to touch his cheek. They closed their eyes and remained still for a moment. Fireheart watched, his paws prickling with alarm. Silverstream whispered something into Graystripe’s ear and the two cats stepped apart. The RiverClan she-cat raised her head and stared challengingly into Fireheart’s eyes before slipping back into the river.
Graystripe bounded over to Fireheart’s side. The two friends didn’t speak as they raced out of RiverClan territory and back past Sunningrocks. As they approached the camp, Graystripe slowed his pace.
Fireheart slowed too. “You must stop seeing her,” he panted. His panic had lessened now they were well away from the RiverClan border, but he was still angry.
“I can’t,” replied Graystripe hoarsely. He coughed, his sides heaving.
“I don’t understand,” Fireheart meowed. “RiverClan is completely hostile to ThunderClan at the moment. You heard Leopardfur after Whiteclaw died.” Fireheart winced, knowing that the reminder would be painful for his friend, but he couldn’t stop now. “How do you even know you can trust this RiverClan cat?”
“You don’t know Silverstream,” Graystripe spat back. He stopped and sat down. His eyes glazed with pain. “And there’s no need to remind me about Whiteclaw. Do you think it’s easy knowing I’m responsible for the death of one of Silverstream’s Clan mates?” Fireheart snorted impatiently—Whiteclaw was an enemy warrior, not a Clan mate! But Graystripe went on. “Silverstream understands it was an accident. The gorge was no place for a battle. Any cat could have fallen there!”
Fireheart paced around him as Graystripe began to lick the scent of Silverstream from his fur. “It doesn’t matter what Silverstream thinks! What about your loyalty to ThunderClan?” he demanded. “You’re breaking the Clan code by seeing her!”
Graystripe stopped washing. “You think I don’t know that?” he hissed. “Do you doubt my loyalty to ThunderClan?”
“What else can I think? You can’t see her without lying to the Clan. And what if we have a battle with RiverClan? Have you thought about that?”
“You worry too much,” Graystripe snapped. “It won’t come to that. Now that Brokenstar’s gone and WindClan is back, the Clans will be at peace.”
“RiverClan doesn’t seem to be acting very peacefully,” Fireheart pointed out. “You know they’ve been hunting on Sunningrocks, in our territory.”
“They’ve been hunting on Sunningrocks since before I was kitted,” scoffed Graystripe, twisting to wash the base of his tail.
Fireheart carried on pacing. Graystripe just didn’t seem to understand what he was doing. “Okay. What if a RiverClan patrol catches you?”
“Silverstream won’t let that happen,” answered Graystripe between long licks along his bushy tail.
“For StarClan’s sake, aren’t you even a bit worried?” Fireheart burst out, exasperated.
Graystripe stopped washing and looked up at his friend. “You don’t get it, do you? StarClan must have planned this. Look, Silverstream wants to see me—even after what happened to Whiteclaw. We share the same thoughts; it’s as if we were born into the same Clan.”
Fireheart realized it was pointless to argue anymore. “Come on,” he meowed heavily. “We’d better get back before you’re missed again.”
Graystripe got to his paws. Side by side, he and Fireheart walked to the top of the ravine and looked down at the camp. Over and over, one thought echoed in Fireheart’s mind—how could Graystripe love Crookedstar’s daughter, but remain loyal to ThunderClan?
He glanced at Graystripe, and they began to climb down the steep slope home. They crept back into the camp the same way Graystripe had left it. Fireheart held his breath as he squeezed through the boundary wall, angry with Graystripe for making him sneak around like this. His heart sank as they rounded the nursery to find Whitestorm approaching them.
“Graystripe, you should be resting, not hanging around here. That cough of yours has already begun to spread. We don’t want it getting into the nursery!” warned the warrior. Graystripe nodded and padded back toward the warriors’ den. “And you”—Fireheart’s ears flicked nervously as Whitestorm turned to him—“shouldn’t you be training your apprentices?”
“I came back to get something from Yellowfang for a bellyache,” Fireheart mumbled.
“Well, go and get it then,” replied Whitestorm. “And once you have, you can make yourself useful and find some fresh-kill. It’s leaf-bare—we can’t have young warriors hanging around the camp doing nothing!”
“Yes, Whitestorm,” meowed Fireheart. He turned away, relieved to escape any more questions, and ran toward Yellowfang’s den.
Yellowfang was busy mixing herbs. There were several heaps of leaves gathered in front of her. Fireheart stood and watched her for a moment without speaking. He felt sad, drained after the row with Graystripe. He couldn’t help wishing it were Spottedleaf here mixing herbs instead of Yellowfang.
Yellowfang glanced up at him. “My supplies are running low. I might need help to restock.”
Fireheart didn’t reply. He was just wondering if he should confide his worries about Graystripe when she interrupted his thoughts
.
“It looks like there’s whitecough in the camp,” she growled, prodding impatiently at a dried leaf. “Two cases this morning.”
“Swiftpaw?” asked Fireheart.
The old medicine cat shook her head. “Swiftpaw’s just got a cold. It’s Speckletail’s kit. And Patchpelt. Not serious at the moment, but we need to concentrate on getting the Clan strong. Leaf-bare always brings the threat of greencough.” Fireheart understood her concern. Greencough was a killer. Yellowfang looked up again. “What do you want?”
“Oh, nothing, just a bellyache, but it doesn’t matter if you’re busy.”
“Bad?” she meowed.
“No,” Fireheart admitted, unable to meet her gaze.
“Then come back when it is.” The medicine cat went back to her mixing. Fireheart turned to leave, but Yellowfang called him back. “Make sure Graystripe stays in his den, will you? He’s a strong young warrior. If he were resting, his cough would be better by now.”
Fireheart’s tail twitched nervously. Had she guessed that Graystripe had been slipping out of the camp? He waited, his heart thudding, in case she was going to say more, but Yellowfang was frowning at the herbs again, so he padded quietly away.
It was getting dark, and Fireheart knew he had only a short time left for hunting. He quickly caught a shrew, a chaffinch, and a mouse, but hesitated before returning to camp. His fears for Graystripe felt more important than anything Whitestorm might say if he didn’t add something to the fresh-kill pile in time. Fireheart came to a decision—if Graystripe wouldn’t listen to reason, maybe Silverstream would.
He stashed his catch beneath a tree root and covered it with leaves. For the second time that day, he turned toward Sunningrocks. The rain that had been threatening all day finally began to fall. It was drumming steadily on the bracken by the time Fireheart crept down the shadowy slope toward the river.
Even in the rain, Silverstream’s scent was easy to find. Fireheart followed the trail to the place where he had found Graystripe and Silverstream together. Hyper-alert, he padded onto the shore. The dark water rushed past relentlessly, sending a shiver down Fireheart’s spine. He had no desire to swim across. His fur did not have the oily protection from the water that that of the RiverClan cats had, and leaf-bare was no season to get a soaking.
Suddenly Fireheart froze. He smelled RiverClan warriors!
He dropped to a crouch and looked across the river to see Silverstream pushing her way through the trailing branches of a willow. Behind her came two of her Clan, one of them a warrior with massive shoulders and battle-torn ears. The warrior sniffed the air suspiciously and peered around.
Fireheart heard the blood roaring in his ears. Had the warrior picked up his scent?
CHAPTER 15
Very, very quietly, Fireheart backed into the bracken. The RiverClan warrior had stopped smelling the air, but he was still looking around.
Fireheart turned, still crouching, and began to creep away. He heard a small splash behind him. A cat had slipped into the river. Fireheart glanced over his shoulder, his heart pounding. Through the bracken he could see a silver head bobbing toward him. Silverstream! But where were the two other cats? He circled cautiously, tasting the air with an open mouth. No scent of them nearby. They must have moved on. He looked back at Silverstream, swimming determinedly across the river. For a moment Fireheart wondered if this was a trap, wondered if he should run, but his concern about Graystripe made him stay.
The silver tabby climbed onto the bank and hissed quietly, “Fireheart, I know you’re there. I can smell you! It’s okay, Stonefur and Shadepaw have gone.”
Fireheart didn’t move.
“Fireheart, I wouldn’t let anything happen to Graystripe’s closest friend!” She sounded impatient. “Believe me, for StarClan’s sake!”
Fireheart crept slowly from his hiding place.
Silverstream stared at him, her tail twitching. “What are you doing here?”
“I was looking for you,” he whispered, painfully aware he was in enemy territory.
Silverstream flicked her ears in alarm. “Is Graystripe okay? Has his cough gotten worse?”
Fireheart was irritated by her concern. He didn’t want to know how much this she-cat cared for his best friend. “He’s fine!” he growled, his caution swept away by anger. “But he won’t be if he carries on meeting you!”
Silverstream bristled. “I won’t let anything bad happen to Graystripe!”
“Oh, really?” Fireheart snorted. “And what could you do to protect him?”
“I am a Clan leader’s daughter,” meowed Silverstream.
“Does that give you the power to control your father’s warriors? You’re hardly more than an apprentice!”
“Like you!” she hissed indignantly.
“Yes, that’s true,” Fireheart admitted. “And that’s why I’m not sure I could protect Graystripe from the anger of his own Clan—or yours—if they find out you’re seeing each other.”
Silverstream tried to glare at him, but her eyes were clouded with emotion. “I can’t stop seeing him,” she meowed. Her voice softened to a whisper. “I love him.”
“But the tension between our Clans is bad enough already!” Fireheart was too angry to feel any sympathy. “We know RiverClan is hunting in our territory….”
The defiant gleam returned to Silverstream’s eyes. “If ThunderClan understood why, they wouldn’t begrudge what we catch there!”
“Why?” Fireheart flashed back at her.
“My Clan is hungry. Our kits cry because their mothers have no milk. The elders are dying for lack of decent prey.”
Fireheart stared, taken aback. “But you’ve got the river!” he protested. Every cat knew that RiverClan enjoyed the best hunting of all—fish from the river, as well as woodland prey in the fields beyond.
“It’s not enough. Twolegs have taken over our territory downstream. They built a camp there all greenleaf and stayed as long as the fish were plentiful. By the time they went, the fishing was scarce. And the damage they’ve done to the forest means that even woodland prey is harder to find.”
Fireheart felt a pang of pity in spite of his anger. He could guess how serious this must be for RiverClan. They were used to their rich diet of fish, and grew fat on it every greenleaf so that they could endure the harsh moons of leaf-bare. He stared at the she-cat with new eyes. She wasn’t slim, he realized—she was skinny. As her wet coat clung to her, he could see her ribs. Suddenly he understood Crookedstar’s hostility to Bluestar’s plan at the Gathering. “That’s why you didn’t want WindClan to come home!”
“Rabbits run on the moorlands all year round,” Silverstream explained. “They were our only hope of making it through leaf-bare without losing kits.” She shook her head slowly before lifting her gaze back to Fireheart.
“Does Graystripe know all this?” he asked.
Silverstream nodded. Fireheart looked at her, perplexed for a moment. But he couldn’t let these feelings get in the way of the warrior code—and neither could his friend. “Whatever problems your Clan has, you still have to stop seeing Graystripe.”
“No,” answered Silverstream, lifting her chin. Her eyes flashed. “How can our love do any harm?”
Fireheart returned her stare. Another shiver ran down his back as the cold rain seeped through his thick pelt.
Suddenly Silverstream hissed, making Fireheart jump. “You must leave, the patrol’s coming.”
Fireheart heard a faint rustle on the other side of the river. It would be pointless—and dangerous—to stay any longer. The rustling noise was growing closer. Without saying good-bye, he bounded back into the wet bracken and headed home.
He raced back toward the stash of fresh-kill he’d left beneath the oak tree. Halfway home, the scent of a fresh Twoleg trail stopped him in his tracks, reminding him of Princess. He wondered whether there was time to follow the trail back to Twolegplace. He wanted to know if she had kitted yet. But Princess would probably b
e safely tucked up in her Twoleg nest by now, and the Clan needed fresh-kill. With an uneasy twinge, Fireheart realized that Graystripe wasn’t the only one with divided loyalties.
Rain began to drip from the end of his whiskers. He shook the drops away and bounded on toward his horde of fresh-kill.
The camp was silent by the time he arrived, the cats sheltering in their dens. Fireheart crossed the muddy clearing and dropped his catch on the pile. Taking a piece for himself, he trotted toward the warriors’ den. There was no way he was eating outside tonight.
He pushed his head inside the den. Graystripe was dozing, to Fireheart’s relief. He might actually get better if he wasn’t charging through the forest, looking for Silverstream.
“Yellowfang hasn’t taken any fresh-kill yet.” Whitestorm’s meow sounded from the shadows. “She’s been too busy. I think she would appreciate that mouse you’re carrying.”
Fireheart nodded and backed out again. If Yellowfang was too busy to fetch food, it must mean the sickness in the camp was getting worse. Fireheart raced across the clearing, stopping only to pick up another mouse before hurrying through the fern tunnel.
A tabby kit lay in a nest of moss in the bracken at the edge of the clearing. Yellowfang crouched beside it, trying to persuade it to eat some herbs. The kit snuffled pitifully, blinking up at her with streaming eyes and nose. Fireheart realized this must be the kit with whitecough.
Yellowfang turned when she heard Fireheart arrive. “Is that for me?” she meowed, looking at the mice hanging from Fireheart’s mouth. He nodded and dropped them on the ground. “Thanks. Now that you’re here, why don’t you see if you can persuade this kit to take his medicine?” She padded over to the mice, moving stiffly from her old shoulder injury, and began to gnaw on one hungrily.
