The icy wind whirled snow into Fireheart's face as he struggled down the ravine toward the ThunderClan camp, the mouse he had just killed gripped firmly in his jaws. The flakes were falling so thickly that he could scarcely see where he was going.

His mouth watered as the prey-scent of mouse filled his nostrils. He hadn't eaten since the previous night, a grim sign of how scarce prey was in leaf-bare. Hunger clawed at his belly, but Fireheart would not break the warrior code: The Clan must be fed first.

A glow of pride briefly drove off the chill from the snow that matted his flame-colored coat, as Fireheart remembered the battle that had taken place only three days before. He had joined the other ThunderClan warriors to help support WindClan when the moorland cats were attacked by the other two Clans in the forest. Many cats had been injured in that battle, so it was even more important for those who could still hunt to bring home prey.

As Fireheart pushed his way through the gorse tunnel leading into the camp, he dislodged snow from the spiky branches above, and he flicked his ears as the cold lumps fell on his head. The thorn trees around the camp gave some shelter from the wind, but the clearing in the center of the camp was deserted; all the cats preferred to stay in their dens to keep warm when the snow lay this thick. Broken tree stumps and the branches of a fallen tree poked above the covering of snow. A single line of pawprints crossed from the apprentices' den to the bramble thicket where the kits were cared for. Seeing the trail, Fireheart could not help remembering that he was without an apprentice now, since Cinderpaw had been injured beside the Thunderpath.

Trotting across the snow into the heart of the camp, Fireheart dropped his mouse on the pile of fresh-kill near the bush where the warriors slept. The pile was pitifully small. Such prey as could be found was thin and scrawny, hardly a mouthful for a famished warrior. There would be no more plump mice until newleaf, and that was many moons away.

Fireheart was turning away, ready to go back on hunting duty, when a loud meow sounded behind him. He whirled around.

Shouldering his way out of the warriors' den was the Clan deputy, Tigerclaw. "Fireheart!"

Fireheart padded through the snow toward him, respectfully lowering his head, but conscious that the huge tabby's amber eyes burned into him. All his misgivings about Tigerclaw flooded through him again. The deputy was strong, respected, and an outstanding fighter, but Fireheart knew there was darkness in his heart.

"You don't need to go out hunting again tonight," Tigerclaw growled as Fireheart approached. "Bluestar has chosen you and Graystripe to go to the Gathering."

Fireheart's ears twitched with excitement. It was an honor to accompany the Clan leader to the Gathering, where all four Clans met in peace at full moon.

"You had better eat now," added the dark-coated deputy. "We leave at moonrise." He began to stalk across the clearing toward the Highrock, where Bluestar, the Clan leader, had her den; then he paused and swiveled his massive head to look back at Fireheart. "Just make sure you remember which Clan you belong to at the Gathering," he hissed.

Fireheart felt his fur bristle as anger flared inside him. "What makes you say that?" he demanded boldly. "Do you think I would be disloyal to my own Clan?"

Tigerclaw turned to face him, and Fireheart tried hard not to flinch at the menace in the cat's tensed shoulders. "I saw you in the last battle." The deputy's voice was a low growl, and his ears were flattened against his head as he spat, "I saw you let that RiverClan warrior escape."

Fireheart winced, his mind flashing back to...