Firestar’s Quest

Shorty led them back across the gardens. They crossed a small Thunderpath, quiet but lit by the glare of orange

Twoleg lights, and padded down yet another passage between two Twoleg nests.

“Not far now,” Shorty announced cheerfully.

At the end of the gardens the passage came out into a rough grassy space. Firestar lifted his muzzle as the scent of the river washed over him. He could hear the soft rush of water in the distance.

“Thank you,” he meowed to Shorty. “Thank you for everything. I’d never have found Sandstorm without your help.”

Sandstorm dipped her head. “Thanks for scaring off those Twoleg kits, too.”

The brown tabby gave his chest fur a few licks to hide his embarrassment. “Good luck.” His eyes narrowed. “I reckon you’re up to something where you might need all the luck you can get.”

“You’re right; we do,” Sandstorm agreed.

“I hope we might see you again someday,” Shorty meowed.

“I hope so too,” Firestar replied.

Shorty waved the stump of his tail in farewell. He stood watching at the mouth of the passage while Firestar and Sandstorm padded side by side across the tussocky grass and down to the river.

Chapter 14

Throughout the night, Firestar and Sandstorm traveled slowly upstream beneath a claw scratch of moon. They left behind the familiar stretch of river with the Twolegplace standing forlornly in a sea of mud, and the path that led to the deserted Twolegplace. The river shrank and flowed more swiftly, chattering over stones; a thick hedge bordered it, leaving only a narrow path for the cats to pass.

Firestar didn’t feel the need to talk; it was enough to have Sandstorm back with him, padding alongside him.

At last the first traces of dawn appeared on the horizon.

The sky grew milky pale, and one by one the warriors of StarClan winked out.

“Do you think we should eat now?” Firestar suggested. He didn’t want Sandstorm to think he was making all the decisions. “Then we could rest for a bit.”

“What?” Sandstorm’s green eyes flew wide with shock.

“Rest? Eat? Are you completely mouse-brained? We should keep going.”

Firestar stared at her. “Well, if that’s what you want…”

Amusement glimmered in Sandstorm’s eyes, and she let 1 7 3

out a tiny snort of laughter. “No, you daft furball, I’m only joking. Eating’s a great idea, and as for resting, I’m practically asleep on my paws!”

Flicking her ear with his tail tip, Firestar halted and stretched his jaws wide to taste the air. There was a strong scent of vole. Sandstorm angled her ears forward. “There,” she murmured.

Firestar caught sight of the creature pulling itself out of the water a couple of tail lengths farther up the bank. “If we’re not careful, it’ll go straight back into the river.”

“Stay there,” Sandstorm breathed.

Slinking up the side of the hedge, she passed the vole and started creeping back toward it. When she was close to it, she leaped to the edge of the river, the water splashing up around her paws. Startled, the vole dashed up the bank, straight into Firestar’s paws. He killed it with a swift bite to the neck.

“That was brilliant!” he exclaimed as Sandstorm joined him, shaking her wet paws.

“Don’t expect me to make a habit of it,” she replied, flicking a droplet of water crossly from her nose. “I’m not a RiverClan cat.”

As they shared the vole, the daylight grew stronger and the sun came up. The sky was blue, with only a few faint traces of cloud, high and misty. Firestar felt the warmth of the sun soaking into his fur.

“Let’s find a comfortable place to sleep,” he suggested when he had finished the last mouthful of vole.

Sandstorm’s only reply was a yawn.

Not much farther along the path, they discovered a soft patch of moss among the hedge roots. Sunlight shone through the branches, dappling their pelts as they curled up together. Feeling Sandstorm’s tongue rasping along his neck, Firestar relaxed for what felt like the first time in days. He bent his head to his mate’s, sharing tongues until sleep drifted over them both.

Firestar stood on the riverbank. It looked like the place where he had fallen asleep, but the hedge wasn’t so tall and bushy, and there was no sign of Sandstorm. Panic clawed at him for a moment. Then he realized that he was standing at the edge of a large group of cats. Some of them were sitting at the water’s edge, while others lay stretched out as if they were exhausted.

Sound gradually faded up around him, the fretful mewling of kits and wails of distress from older cats.

“How much farther?” a tabby kit was asking his mother.

“My paws are sore!” a little tortoiseshell added.

Their mother, a beautiful gray-furred queen, bent to give them both a comforting lick. “Not far now,” she promised them. “And then we’ll find a nice new home.”

“I don’t want a new home,” the tortoiseshell kit protested.

“I want to go back to our camp.”

Her mother gave her ears a gentle lick. “Our camp is gone,” she mewed. “Twolegs have taken it. But we’ll find a better one; you’ll see.”