Warriors 04 - Rising Storm by Erin Hunter

too unsettled by Bluestar’s shifting, patternless moods.
    As Fireheart carried the vole back to his favorite eating place, a shiver ran along his spine. Instinctively he looked over his shoulder, and he felt a prickle of apprehension as he saw Bramblekit watching him. He recalled Cinderpelt’s words: He will never know his father. It will be the Clan that raises him. Fireheart forced himself to nod at the kit, then turned awayand padded to the clump of nettles to eat.
    When he’d finished his meal, Fireheart glanced around the clearing. The rest of the Clan was sharing tongues as night stretched out the shadows and brought a welcome coolness to the camp. The days had been so hot lately that Fireheart had found himself wishing more and more that he could swim like the RiverClan cats. He looked over at the apprentices’ den, wondering if Cloudpaw would remember that he wasn’t going to the Gathering because he had eaten while out hunting.
    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.
    â€œWhitestorm will be in charge of the camp while we’re away,” she announced.
    â€œBluestar,” 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.
    â€œI 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 upthe 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