Warriors 04 - Rising Storm by Erin Hunter Page A

their border.” Mews of approval rippled through the other cats. Littlecloud stared at Fireheart, pleading with his eyes. Fireheart forced himself to look away. “Go back to your dens,” he told his Clanmates.
    The other cats slipped noiselessly into the undergrowth atthe edge of the clearing, until only Cinderpelt lingered next to Fireheart and Sandstorm. Whitethroat started to cough, his body racked with painful spasms.
    â€œPlease let me help them,” begged Cinderpelt.
    Fireheart shook his head helplessly as Yellowfang called from her tunnel, “Cinderpelt! Come here. You must wash their sickness from your muzzle.”
    Cinderpelt stared at Fireheart.
    â€œCome now!” spat Yellowfang. “Unless you want me to add a few nettle leaves to the mixture!”
    Cinderpelt backed away with a last reproachful glance at Fireheart. But there was nothing he could do. Bluestar had given him an order, and the Clan had agreed.
    Fireheart glanced at Sandstorm and was relieved to find her eyes filled with sympathy. He knew she would understand his struggle between compassion for the sick cats and the desire to protect his Clan from the illness.
    â€œLet’s go,” Sandstorm meowed softly. “The sooner they get back to their own camp, the better.”
    â€œOkay,” Fireheart answered. He looked at Littlecloud, forcing himself to ignore the desperation on the small cat’s face. “The Thunderpath is busy. There are always more monsters about in greenleaf. We’ll help you cross.”
    â€œNo need,” whispered Littlecloud. “We can cross it ourselves.”
    â€œWe’ll take you there anyway,” Fireheart told him. “Come on.”
    The ShadowClan warriors heaved themselves to theirpaws and padded unsteadily to the camp entrance. Sandstorm and Fireheart followed without speaking, although Fireheart drew in his breath sharply as he watched the sick cats haul themselves painfully up the ravine.
    As they made their way into the forest, a mouse scuttled across the path in front of them. The ShadowClan warriors’ ears twitched but they were too weak to give chase. Without stopping to think, Fireheart shot ahead of Sandstorm and tracked the scent of the mouse into the undergrowth. He killed it and carried it back to the sickly ShadowClan cats, dropping it at Littlecloud’s paws. As if they felt too ill to be grateful, they said nothing but crouched and nibbled at the fresh-kill.
    Fireheart saw Sandstorm looking on doubtfully. “They can’t spread sickness by eating,” he pointed out. “And they’ll need their strength to return to their camp.”
    â€œLooks like they don’t have much appetite anyway,” Sandstorm commented as Littlecloud and Whitethroat suddenly got up and stumbled away from the half-eaten mouse into the undergrowth. A moment later Fireheart heard them retching.
    â€œA waste of prey,” Sandstorm muttered, scraping dust over the remains of the mouse.
    â€œI guess,” answered Fireheart, disappointed. He waited till the two cats reappeared, then led Sandstorm after them.
    Fireheart could smell the acrid fumes of the Thunderpath a few moments before the rumbling of the monsters reached them through the leaf-laden trees. Sandstorm meowed to theShadowClan cats, “I know you don’t want our help, but we’ll see you across the Thunderpath.” Fireheart nodded in agreement. He was more concerned about their safety than suspicious that the cats would not leave ThunderClan territory.
    â€œWe’ll cross alone,” insisted Littlecloud. “Just leave us here.”
    Fireheart looked sharply at him, suddenly wondering if he should be less trusting. But he still found it hard to believe that these sick warriors posed any threat to his Clan. “Okay,” he conceded. Sandstorm flashed him a questioning glance, but Fireheart gave a small signal with his tail and the orange she-cat sat