Erin Hunter

“We have strong warriors now—”

“Who asked your opinion?”

mouse-brained idiot

“Er…good,” meowed Fireheart, padding away. He couldn’t believe that he’d had a whole conversation with Dustpelt without the warrior uttering a single barbed jibe.

Fireheart could not stop the words from tumbling out even though he knew the old medicine cat’s breathing had faded into everlasting silence. Yellowfang was dead.

nd with a cold shiver of dread, Fireheart realized that the new leader of ShadowClan was Tigerclaw.

And with a cold shiver of dread, Fireheart realized that the new leader of ShadowClan was Tigerclaw.

“I can’t stay. I just wanted to talk to Cloudkit. Yellowfang says he’s been bringing in damp bedding.”

Dappletail let out a snort. “What nonsense!”

“She’s been listening to Smallear,” meowed Patchpelt. “He’d complain if StarClan descended from Silverpelt themselves to bring his bedding.”

Hunger roused Fireheart from sleep. Peering through the dim light in the warriors’ den, he saw that Graystripe had left his nest already. Oh, no! Fireheart thought irritably. He’s gone off to meet Silverstream again! Then he remembered.

Two dawns had passed since Silverstream’s death.

Even blind, the former ShadowClan leader possessed a terrifying power that seemed driven by something more than mortal.

Fireheart summoned every scrap of skill and strength he possessed. He knew Tigerclaw could kill him, but in spite of that he felt strangely free. The lies and the need for deceit were over. The secrets—Bluestar’s and Tigerclaw’s—were all out in the open. There was only the clean danger of battle.