Twilight was thickening the shadows under the trees by the time Sandstar and Cinderpelt slipped down the ravine toward the camp entrance. They had slept in the barn with Raven and Patchpaw until the sun was well above the horizon, and feasted again on plump mice before they set off for their own territory. Though Sandstar was tired, some of the horror of his dream was fading, and he was looking forward to seeing his Clanmates again.
At first the new leader emerged unnoticed from the gorse tunnel with Cinderpelt. Brindleface and Sorreltail were sitting together near the nettle patch, finishing off some fresh-kill, while three apprentices wrestled playfully outside their den. Sandstar picked out the dark ginger pelt of his own apprentice, Squirrelpaw, and reminded himself to get him back onto a strict training schedule as soon as he could. There was no reason why leadership duties should prevent him from mentoring the young cat—after all, Oakstar had been a diligent mentor to him.
He was padding over to Brindleface when he heard his name yowled loudly, and turned to see Ashpaw racing across the clearing from the elders' den. The apprentice's flecked pale gray fur was bristling with excitement. "Sandstorm—no, Sandstar! You're back!"
Her noisy greeting alerted the rest of the Clan and soon they were pressing around Sandstar, calling him by his new name and welcoming him home. Sandstar wanted to give himself up to the uncomplicated enjoyment of their warm fur pressed against his, but he could not ignore the awe in their eyes as they gazed at him. He felt a sharp pang in his heart as he was reminded yet again of the new distance between himself and the rest of his Clan.
"Did you really see Starclan?" asked Dustpaw, her eyes wide.
"I really did," Sandstar replied. "But I'm not allowed to say anything about the ceremony."
Dustpaw didn't look disappointed. Her eyes brimming with admiration, she turned to Ferncloud and meowed, "I bet he's going to be a great leader!"
"He'd better be," replied Ferncloud; his love for Dustpaw wouldn't let him argue with her, even though Sandstar was well aware that he had never been Ferncloud's favorite cat. But the flecked pale gray warrior gave him a nod of respect, and Sandstar knew that Ferncloud's loyalty to the warrior code would ensure his support.
"It's good to see you back," meowed Silverstream, shouldering through the warriors to reach Sandstar's side. At least he seemed to have recovered from the awe he'd felt when Oakstar had named Sandstar leader as she lay dying. Now his blue eyes were filled with friendship and sympathy. "You look like a fox that's been dead for a moon. Was it tough?"
"It was," Sandstar murmured, just for Silverstream's ears, but Brightheart caught what he had said.
"It's only your belief in ancient traditions that makes you think you can't be a leader without dragging all the way up to Highstones and back. As far as I'm concerned, you've already proved yourself to be the true leader of this Clan, Sandstar."
Sandstar gave his kin a hard stare; he was grateful for Brightheart's loyalty and respect, but felt as frustrated as ever that the younger cat did not share his beliefs. He wished he could tell the white and ginger warrior exactly what he had experienced, if only to shock him into respect for Starclan, but he knew that was impossible.
"Shh! The ancient traditions still matter." The quiet rebuke came from Lostface, who had come to join Brightheart. She licked his ear and added, "Starclan watch over us all."
Brightheart returned the lick, his tongue passing gently over the injured side of Lostface's face. Sandstar's annoyance faded. He couldn't help admiring Brightheart's unwavering devotion to Lostface in spite of her terrible injuries. His kin might be difficult and hotheaded, with little respect for the warrior code, but he had brought this young cat back from the brink of death and given her a reason to live.
As the welcoming cats began to disperse, Sandstar caught the eye of Brindleface, who had greeted him and then backed off a pace or two, waiting to speak.
"How are things in camp?" Sandstar asked. "Was there any trouble while I was away?"
"Not a thing," the senior warrior reported. "We've patrolled the whole territory, and there's no sign of dogs or of Shadowclan."
"Good," Sandstar mewed. Glancing at the well-stocked fresh-kill pile, he added, "I see some cats have been hunting."
Fireheart took a patrol out, and Mousefur and Sorreltail put the apprentices to work," replied Brindleface. "Squirrelpaw is a skillful hunter. I lost count of how much prey he brought in."
"Good," Sandstar repeated. His pleasure in hearing his apprentice praised was tempered by the uneasiness he always felt when Goldenstar's son was mentioned. Goldenstar had been a good hunter too, but that had not stopped him from becoming a murderer and a traitor.
Cinderpelt came up to him again. "I'm off to my den," he meowed. "Call me if you want anything. Have you remembered that you need to appoint a deputy before moonhigh?"
Sandstar nodded. Other duties have been more urgent, but now he needed to give this decision serious thought. Because she had been so shocked by Goldenstar's treachery and exile, Oakstar had made Sandstar's own appointment a day late, without the proper ceremony. The Clan had been terrified that Starclan would be angry, and that had made things very difficult for Sandstar. He was determined not to make the same mistake with his own deputy.
Watching Cinderpelt limping across the clearing to his den, Sandstar realized that so far two cats had not come to greet him. One was Darkstripe; that did not surprise him. The other was Fireheart, and that disturbed him. Had he done something to make her angry?
Then Sandstar spotted her a few tail-lengths away, watching him with an uncharacteristically diffident air. Her green eyes flickered toward him and away again as he padded over to her.
"Fireheart," he mewed. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Sandstar." She didn't meet his gaze, but looked down at her paws. "It's good to have you back."
Now Sandstar was certain something was wrong. He had been looking forward all the long journey home to lying beside Fireheart in the warriors' den, to sharing tongues with her and catching up on her news. But he would not be able to do that again. From now on he would sleep alone in Oakstar's old den—his den now—underneath the Highrock.
And with that realization came understanding of what was troubling Fireheart. For all her confidence when he left the camp, she was not at ease with him now. "Mouse-brain," he purred affectionately, pressing his muzzle against hers. "I'm still the same cat. Nothing has changed."
"Everything's changed!" Fireheart insisted. "You're Clan leader now."
"And you're still the best hunter and the most beautiful cat in the Clan," Sandstar assured her. "You'll always be special to me."
"But you... you're so far away," mewed Fireheart, unconsciously echoing Sandstar's own fears. "You're closer to Cinderpelt now than anyone else. You both know secrets about Starclan that ordinary warriors don't."
"Cinderpelt's our medicine cat," Sandstar replied. "And he's one of the best friends I have. But he's not you, Fireheart. I know things are difficult right now. There's so much I have to do to take over the Clan... especially after what Goldenstar tried to do with the pack of dogs. But in a few days we'll be able to go out on patrol together, just like we used to."
To his relief he felt Fireheart relax, and some of the uncertainty faded from her eyes. "You'll need an evening patrol," she mewed. Her voice was crisp. More like the old Fireheart, though Sandstar guessed she was covering up her unhappiness. "Shall I round up some cats and go?"
"Good idea." Sandstar tried to match her businesslike manner. "Go and have a sniff around Sunningrocks. Make sure Riverclan hasn't been up to its old tricks." It would be just like Leopardstar, the ambitious leader of Riverclan, to try to claim the long-disputed territory while Thunderclan was shaken by the loss of Oakstar.
"Right." Fireheart hurried off toward the nettle patch, where Sorreltail and Longtail were eating. Sorreltail called to his apprentice, Rowanpaw, and all four cats headed for the gorse tunnel.
Sandstar made his way toward the leader's den. He still couldn't think of it as his own, and he found himself missing his comfy patch of moss in the warriors' den even more sharply. Before he reached it, he heard his name being called and turned to see Silverstream hurrying after him.
"Sandstar, I wanted to tell you—" He broke off as if he was embarrassed.
"What's the problem?"
"Well..." Silverstream hesitated and then went on in a rush: "I don't know if you were thinking of choosing me to be your deputy, but I wanted to say that you don't have to. I know I haven't been back in the Clan long enough, and some cats still don't trust me. I won't be hurt if you pick another cat."
Sandstar felt a pang of regret. He would have chosen Silverstream above all other cats to hunt and fight by his side, and to give him the special support that a deputy gave the Clan leader. But it was true that he could not choose Silverstream so soon after his friend's return from Riverclan. Though Sandstar himself had no doubt of his friend's loyalty to Thunderclan, Silverstream still had to prove himself before the rest of the Clan would accept him.
Leaning forward, Sandstar touched noses with his friend. "Thank you, Silverstream," he mewed. "I'm glad you understand."
Silverstream shrugged, more embarrassed than ever. "I just wanted to say." He turned and vanished through the branches of the warrior's den.
Sandstar felt choked with emotion and shook himself briskly. Padding around the Highrock to the den entrance, he heard movement inside. Blossompaw, the oldest apprentice, whirled around as Sandstar went in.
"Oh Sandstar!" he exclaimed. "Brindleface told me to fetch you some new bedding—and some fresh-kill." He flicked his tail to the far side of the den, where a rabbit lay beside a thick pile of moss and heather.
"That looks great, Blossompaw," Sandstar meowed. "Thank you—and thank Brindleface for me."
The tortoiseshell and white apprentice dipped his head and started to leave, only to halt as Sandstar called him back.
"Remind Mousefur to have a word with me tomorrow," Sandstar mewed, naming Blossompaw's mentor. "It's about time we started thinking about your warrior ceremony." It's long overdue, he reflected. Blossompaw had proved himself an able apprentice, and would have been a warrior moons ago but for Oakstar's reluctance to trust any of her Clan. He was the only one left of the group that had included Swiftpaw and Lostface, neither of whom would ever experience a warrior ceremony.
Blossompaw's eyes lit up with excitement. "Yes, Sandstar! Thanks!" he meowed, and dashed off.
Sandstar settled himself in the mossy nest and took a few mouthfuls of the rabbit. It had been thoughtful of Brindleface to have the bedding changed, though Sandstar still felt that Oakstar's scent lingered in the very walls of the den. Perhaps it always would, and that was no bad thing. There was pain in his memories of her, but comfort too, when he thought of her wisdom and her courage in leading her Clan.
Shadows gathered around him as the last of the light died. Sandstar was acutely conscious of being completely alone for the first time since joining the Clan: no warmth of other cats sleeping close by, no soft meows and purrs as his friends shared tongues, no gentle snoring or the sound of cats shifting in their dreams. For a few heartbeats he felt lonelier than ever.
Then he told himself to stop being so mouse-brained. He had an important decision to make, and it was vital for Thunderclan that he got it right. His choice of deputy would affect the life of the Clan for seasons to come.
Settling deeper into the moss, he wondered whether he ought to sleep now, and ask Spottedleaf in a dream which cat would be the right deputy. He closed his eyes and almost at once he caught a trace of Spottedleaf's sweet scent. But no vision came; he could see only darkness.
Then he heard a whisper in his ear, filled with Spottedleaf's gentle teasing. "Oh, no, Sandstar. This is your decision."
Sighing, Sandstar opened his eyes again. "All right, Spottedleaf," he mewed aloud. "I'll decide."
The deputy could not be Silverstream, that was clear, and Sandstar was grateful to his friend for making that part of his choice easy for him. He let his mind drift over the other possible cats. The new deputy would have to be experienced, and a cat whose loyalty had never been questioned. Fireheart was brave and intelligent, and choosing her would reassure her more than anything else that Sandstar still valued her and wanted her at his side.
But that was not the right reason to choose a deputy. Besides, the warrior code dictated that no cat could be a deputy without having been a mentor first. Fireheart had never had an apprentice, so Sandstar could not choose her. With a prickle of shame, he recognized that that was his own fault, because he had given Rowanpaw to Sorreltail to mentor, even though Fireheart had been the obvious choice. He had done it to protect her, afraid that the mentors of Goldenstar's kits would be in danger from their bloodthirsty father. It had taken Fireheart a long time to forgive him, and Sandstar hoped she would never realize that his previous mistake had prevented her from being deputy now.
But was Fireheart really the right choice anyway? Surely there was on cat who towered over all the other possibilities? Brindleface was experienced, wise, and brave. When Sandstar had been made deputy, he had shown not a scrap of the resentment that a lesser cat might have felt. He had supported him from the beginning, and he was the cat Sandstar naturally turned to when he needed advice. He was old, yes, but still strong and active. There were a good few moons left before he would be joining the elders in their den.
Oakstar would approve, too, for the pale gray tabby warrior's friendship had meant a great deal to her in her last moons.
Yes, Sandstar thought. Brindleface will be the new deputy. He stretched in satisfaction. All that remained was to announce the decision to the Clan.
Sandstar waited for a while, finishing the rabbit, drowsing but not letting himself fall into deep sleep in case he missed moonhigh. Silver light seeped into the den as the moon rose. Eventually he got to his paws, shook the scraps of moss from his fur, and padded out into the clearing.
Several of the Clan were pacing among the ferns at the edge, obviously waiting for the announcement, Fireheart and the evening patrol had returned and were eating their share of the fresh-kill. Sandstar flicked his tail in greeting to the flame-colored she-cat, but did not go over to speak to her. Instead he sprang up onto the Highrock and yowled, "Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey join here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting."
His summons was still ringing in the air when more cats began to appear, slipping from the shelter of their dens or padding into the moonlight from the shadows around the edges of the camp. Sandstar saw Darkstripe stalk into the open and sit a few tail-lengths away from the rock, her tail wrapped around her paws and a scornful look in her eyes. Unobtrusively, Sorreltail followed her and took up a position close by.
Squirrelpaw emerged from the apprentices' den; Sandstar couldn't help wondering if he would go over to Darkstripe, but he stayed with his sister, Rowanpaw, near the edge of the gathering crowd. The eyes of both apprentices were watchful, flicking back and forth. As Mousefur walked past them he snapped at Rowanpaw, and the younger she-cat turned her head away sharply, as if she and Mousefur disagreed over something. Rowanpaw was bright and very confident, Sandstar reflected; he wouldn't be surprised if she offended the experienced warriors now and then.
Fireheart and Silverstream were sitting together near the rock, close to Brightheart and Lostface, and the elders all came out in a group and settled down in the center of the clearing.
Sandstar saw Brindleface strolling over from the nettle patch with Cinderpelt. There was no air of anticipation about him as he stopped for a quick word with Dustpaw and Ashpaw before taking his own place beside the Highrock.
Swallowing his nervousness, Sandstar began. "The time has come to appoint a new deputy." Pausing, he felt the presence of Oakstar very close to him as he remembered the ritual words she used to speak. "I say these words before Starclan," he continued, "that the spirits of our ancestors may hear and approve my choice."
By now all the cats had turned their faces up to him; he looked down at their eyes gleaming in the moonlight and could almost taste their excitement.
"Brindleface will be the new deputy of Thunderclan," he announced.
For a heartbeat there was silence. Brindleface was blinking up at Sandstar, a look of pleasure and surprise spreading over his face. Sandstar realized that the surprise was part of what he liked so much about the old warrior; Brindleface had never assumed that he would be the one chosen.
Slowly he rose to his paws. "Sandstar, cats of Thunderclan," he meowed, "I never expected to be given this honor. I swear by Starclan that I will do all I can to serve you."
As he finished speaking, sound gradually swelled from the assembled cats, a mixture of yowls and purrs and voices calling, "Brindleface!" All the Clan began to press around the pale gray tabby warrior, congratulating him. Sandstar knew that he had made a very popular choice.
For a few moments he remained on the Highrock and watched. A new feeling of optimism surged through his paws, filling him with confidence and warmth. He had his nine lives; he had the best deputy a cat could wish for; and he had a team of warriors who were ready to face anything. The threat of the pack was over: Sandstar had to believe that soon they would be able to drive Goldenstar out of the forest for good.
Then, just as he was poised to leap down and offer his own good wishes to Brindleface, he caught sight of Darkstripe. She alone of all the cats had not moved or spoken. She was staring up at Sandstar, and her eyes burned with cold fire.
Sandstar was instantly reminded of the dreadful vision in the ceremony, the hill of bones, and the tide of blood that had flowed from it. Oakstar's words rang in his ears again: Four will become two. Lion and tiger will meet in battle, and blood will rule the forest.
Sandstar still did not know what the prophecy meant, but the words were laden with doom. There would be battle and bloodshed. And in Darkstripe's malignant stare, Sandstar seemed to see the first cloud that would eventually unleash the storm of war.