The Darkest Hour by Erin Hunter Page B

Sorrelkit, Firestar wasn’t sorry that Darkstripe had shown his true self in a way that no cat could ignore. Although he had hoped to keep the dark warrior in the Clan, where he could watch him for signs of treachery, now he knew that Darkstripe would never beloyal, to him or to ThunderClan, and there could be no place for a cat who would poison a defenseless kit. Let him go to Tigerstar, where he belongs , Firestar thought.
    â€œCarry on guarding Darkstripe,” he went on to Brackenfur. “You can let him know you’re doing it now. Tell him from me he’s not to leave camp until Sorrelkit can tell her story.”
    Brackenfur gave a tense nod and hurried across to the nettle patch, where he crouched beside Darkstripe and spoke to him. The warrior snarled something in reply and went back to tearing apart his piece of fresh-kill.
    As Firestar watched, a pawstep sounded behind him and he turned to see Sandstorm; the ginger she-cat pressed her muzzle against his, a purr deep in her throat. Firestar drew in her scent, comforted for a moment just by being close to her.
    â€œAre you coming to eat?” she asked. “I waited for you. Graystripe told me what happened,” she continued as they padded together over to the nettle patch. “I said I’d relieve him later, to guard Cinderpelt’s den.”
    â€œThanks,” Firestar mewed.
    He shot a glance at the black-striped warrior as they walked past him to the pile of fresh-kill. Darkstripe had finished his meal; he rose to his paws and stalked toward the warriors’ den without acknowledging Firestar’s presence. Brackenfur followed with a determined look on his face.
    Dustpelt emerged from the den just as Darkstripe reached it; Firestar couldn’t help noticing that the brown tabby veered sharply away as he went to join Fernpaw outside the apprentices’ den. The cats of ThunderClan were making their feelingsvery clear. Dustpelt had been Darkstripe’s apprentice, and now he didn’t even want to speak to his former mentor.
    Firestar picked out a magpie from the fresh-kill pile and took it over to the nettle patch.
    â€œHey, Firestar,” meowed Mousefur as he approached. “Thornpaw said you were going to have a word with me about his warrior ceremony. It’s about time.”
    â€œIt certainly is,” Firestar agreed. Bluestar’s refusal to make the three oldest apprentices into warriors had led to Swiftpaw’s death and Lostface’s injuries, and there wouldn’t be a cat in the Clan who didn’t remember that when Thornpaw finally received his warrior name. “Why don’t the three of us take the dawn patrol tomorrow? That should give me a chance to see how he’s shaping up—not that I have any doubts,” he added hastily.
    â€œI should think not!” Mousefur mewed. “Will you tell Thornpaw about the patrol or shall I?”
    â€œI will,” Firestar replied, taking a quick bite of his magpie. “I want a word with Fernpaw and Ashpaw, too.”
    When he and Sandstorm had finished eating, the ginger she-cat went off to Cinderpelt’s den, while Firestar padded over toward the tree stump where the apprentices ate. Dustpelt and Fernpaw were already there with Thornpaw and Ashpaw, and Cloudtail was just strolling over from the elders’ den, Lostface close beside him.
    â€œThornpaw.” Firestar gave the apprentice a nod as he settled down beside him. “Are your claws sharp? All your warrior skills ready?”
    Thornpaw sat up straight, his eyes suddenly gleaming. “Yes, Firestar!”
    â€œDawn patrol tomorrow, then,” Firestar told him. “If it goes well, we’ll hold your ceremony at sunhigh.”
    Thornpaw’s ears quivered with anticipation, but then the light in his eyes slowly died and he looked away.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” Firestar asked.
    â€œSwiftpaw…and Lostface.” Thornpaw spoke in a