Chapter 12 — Dawn of Unease

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Chapter 12
Dawn of Unease

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♣

The faint light of dawn began to filter through the branches of the camp when Cinderpelt returned to her den.

Her paws moved with determination, but her mind was far away. She still carried the scent of the forest, of damp moss and old roots. The nighttime walk with Bluestar still weighed on her mind, although she had already left it behind.

Upon entering, the first thing she did was scan the den with her gaze. The shadows of the night still curled among the corners of stone and the piles of herbs.

Mistyfoot slept peacefully, curled up, her breathing slow and steady. The beam of light entering through the upper crack barely brushed her silver back. Cinderpelt let out a contained sigh.

“Everything okay in my absence?” she murmured to herself, knowing Mistyfoot wouldn’t hear her.

She took a couple more steps, and something caught her attention. She frowned.

The yarrow leaves were scattered. A few crushed juniper berries decorated the ground as if someone had dropped them in a hurry. The cobwebs had also been moved from their place, and some of her supplies were less organized than she remembered leaving them.

Cinderpelt huffed softly.

“Who the hell got into my den?”

She checked each pile of herbs, rearranging them with precision. Her tail moved with irritation every time she noticed a speck out of place.

When she finally approached Mistyfoot, she looked down and noticed something else.

On her injured paw, still partially wrapped, there were fresh traces of an herb paste. A mixture of marigold and nettle… that wasn’t there when she had left.

Cinderpelt tilted her head and brought her muzzle closer, sniffing carefully.

The scent was clear. Familiar.

Brackenfur.

The medicine cat closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

“Brackenfur…” she murmured with a mix of resignation and frustrated affection. “Clumsy brother. What did I tell you about meddling in my affairs?”

She wasn’t really upset. Just surprised. He had done a decent job, although the mixture wasn’t as uniform as she would have liked. Fortunately, Mistyfoot didn’t seem uncomfortable. She slept well. Her breathing was clear. Her pulse, steady.

Cinderpelt adjusted her moss bed a little better, without waking her.

“You’re lucky there aren’t more sick cats in the Clan, Mistyfoot. Otherwise, I’d be too, too busy to tolerate these… improvised assistants,” she murmured as she finished organizing.

Outwardly, she behaved with her usual diligent calm.

But inside… the whirlwind was different.

As she moved among herbs and stones, her mind returned to the previous night.

To Bluestar.

And to what she had told her.

I would like to go back to sleep feeling the warmth of someone important to me by my side…

Cinderpelt felt how that phrase embedded itself again between her ribs. She couldn’t stop thinking about the tone in which Bluestar had said it. The way she looked at Fireheart. Her nervous smile. The suspicion that had hung in the air since then.

Would she really have dared? she wondered.

She shook her head firmly.

“No, of course not. Nothing happened. Not knowing the two of them.”

She gritted her teeth while arranging a valerian root.

Fireheart was too respectful. Bluestar, too restrained. Both so marked by their duties that not even in their most vulnerable moments did they allow themselves to cross the line.

Right?

Cinderpelt stopped moving for a second.

Her paws remained suspended over a bed of moss. Bluestar’s voice echoed like a slow drum in her head.

“I feel less alone when you’re with me.”

She closed her eyes.

And for a moment… she didn’t want to think anymore.

But she knew she couldn’t avoid it.

If Bluestar really took that step…

She didn’t finish the sentence in her mind.

She didn’t want to.

She looked back at the sleeping Mistyfoot, as if in her rest she could find a simpler answer. A reason to focus on something else. On medicine. On healing. On anything other than what was happening between her leader… and the cat she couldn’t have.

And so, as dawn made its way through the rock crevice, Cinderpelt forced herself to continue with her tasks.

With a calm face.

And a silent heart.

By that time, the early morning loomed silently over the ThunderClan camp.

The sky, covered by a thin layer of clouds, let through only a pale moonlight. The night wind slipped through the bushes, moving the leaves with a constant murmur, as if the forest were conversing softly with itself.

Inside the camp, most of the cats were asleep.

In the warriors’ den, curled-up bodies rested on their moss beds, breathing peacefully. Brackenfur slept with one paw hanging out of his bed.

Longtail snored softly, his body nestled against a rock warm from the day’s heat. Even Darkstripe, always so alert, emitted rough snores from his secluded corner, dreaming of things only he understood.

Cloudtail also slept.

His paws moved slightly, as if in his dreams he ran through the forest, or chased an echo of something he didn’t want to fully remember. The gesture of his muzzle was relaxed, but the tip of his tail twitched with each sigh.

Only three figures remained awake.

Sandstorm, sitting at the camp entrance, maintained a firm posture but with visible fatigue in her shoulders. She was on night watch, and although she knew her duty was vital, she couldn’t help but glance occasionally towards Fireheart’s den… or more precisely, towards the rock where Bluestar usually rested.

Something was changing.

She could feel it.

She didn’t know what, but the atmosphere among the cats had become denser. More silent. As if everyone were waiting for someone to speak first.

And meanwhile, deep in the leader’s den, two cats lay awake.

Bluestar lay in her bed, though not in the way she usually did.

Beside her, Fireheart tried to get comfortable with evident clumsiness. His body, normally agile, now seemed a tangle of long legs and measured movements. His fur was slightly bristled with tension, and his ears twitched with every sound coming from outside.

“Are you comfortable?” Bluestar whispered, her voice softer than usual.

“Yes,” Fireheart lied, although he couldn’t find a position that didn’t make him feel like he was crossing an invisible line.

Bluestar moved slightly, pushing some moss with her paw to make more space. Her movements were patient, almost careful, as if she feared breaking something fragile.

“We can make more space if you want,” she added, with a faint smile. “I don’t bite. Not without permission.”

Fireheart let out a nervous snort, which wasn’t exactly a purr, but not a protest either. His cheeks burned beneath his fur.

“It’s not that…” he murmured, looking away.

He didn’t know how to act.

Not with her like this. Not with his leader sharing a bed, whispers, and soft glances. Throughout his life as a warrior, he had seen Bluestar as an imposing figure. An immovable mountain. But now… she looked at him as a cat, not as a leader. As a companion, not as a boss.

And that disarmed him.

Bluestar, on the other hand, seemed to be learning to relax.

Her paws stretched out slowly as she adjusted her body against his. Not with all her weight, just a light touch. Enough to share the warmth. Enough to remind herself that she wasn’t alone.

“I’m used to sleeping alone,” she confessed. “Ever since I became leader… I don’t remember what this is like. Sharing a bed.”

Fireheart remained quiet.

But when she closed her eyes, he tilted his head, watching her.

“And… do you like it?” he asked softly.

Bluestar didn’t open her eyes.

But her soft purr answered for her.

“Yes.”

The silence between them became more comfortable.

Their breaths synchronized with the passage of time. The tension from the previous moment began to ease, not from forgetting, but from acceptance. Both knew they had crossed a threshold, and there was no going back. But on that silent night, amidst whispers of leaves and the distant murmur of the stream, they decided that for now… that was okay.

Bluestar thought it was okay.

Feeling the shared warmth, the touch of a nearby breath, the quiet murmur of someone sleeping beside you… it was more than she had allowed herself in many moons. She had forgotten that something so simple could bring so much peace.

But still…

It wasn’t enough.

Not when her body, out of habit, sought solitude… and her heart, out of necessity, longed for company.

Without thinking much, she stretched out a paw and gently passed it over Fireheart’s back, pulling him towards her in a warm and slow embrace. She felt him tense immediately.

“Mmph!” he let out, with a slight blushing squeak, trapped between the moss and his leader’s chest.

Bluestar couldn’t help but laugh very softly, her muzzle brushing one of his ears.

“You don’t like it?” she whispered. “You can say it. I won’t be offended.”

Fireheart blinked rapidly, nervous, his fur bristling on his back. It took him a moment to respond.

“I have no problem,” he murmured, still blushing. “It’s just that, well… it’s also the first time I’m sleeping with someone.”

Bluestar looked at him in silence for a few seconds. Then, tenderly, she let him adjust to his liking. Fireheart turned halfway, very slowly, until he was facing her. Their muzzles barely apart, their whiskers intertwining like branches under the same breeze.

Both inhaled.

And exhaled.

At the same time.

And that was more intimate than any previous gesture.

Their eyes met, and the silence became thick. An invisible thread seemed to connect their breaths, warm, mingling in the cold air of the early morning.

Fireheart blinked first, his cheeks still flushed. Bluestar, on the other hand, kept her gaze steady, until she lowered her muzzle and licked his neck, just below the jaw. A slow, long gesture that drew an involuntary sigh from him.

And then, Fireheart spoke.

“If you want to talk about something… you can.”

Bluestar narrowed her eyes, stroking her chin against his chest.

“What do you want to know?”

“I know there’s something worrying you,” he replied honestly. “Or… I don’t know. That you suddenly told me you like me, just like that. It makes me feel like there was something behind it. A reason. Something you’re not telling me.”

Bluestar froze.

The tension briefly returned to her body. Her breathing became slower, not from relaxation, but from restraint. Fireheart’s words weren’t accusatory. They were soft. But precise. Like trained claws seeking a root beneath the earth.

And Bluestar knew she had tangled roots. Many.

“You’re right,” she said at last, without beating around the bush.

Fireheart didn’t respond. He just waited.

“It hasn’t been easy for me,” Bluestar continued, lowering her voice. “Ever since Tigerclaw tried to kill me… ever since I stopped trusting my own cats… I’ve felt alone. Much lonelier than I would dare to confess in front of anyone.”

Her words weren’t weak.

They were… raw. As if she were only now giving herself permission to say them out loud.

“I thought I could handle everything. That leadership was enough. That fulfilling my duty was sufficient. But… it’s not true. Not for me.”

Fireheart nodded slowly, without looking away.

“And me?” he asked softly. “What am I in the middle of all this?”

Bluestar looked at him, with a mix of tenderness and sadness in her eyes.

“You’re the only one who makes me feel that I’m still a cat… and not just a leader. That I can still trust someone without thinking they’ll betray me. That I can close my eyes without fear that the Clan will crumble in my absence.”

Fireheart swallowed.

He understood the weight of those words.

All too well.

And for the first time that night, in that newly born intimacy, he lifted his head to press his muzzle against Bluestar’s. It wasn’t a kiss. Not this time.

It was understanding.

A silent promise.

“I’m here,” he whispered.

Bluestar closed her eyes.

The silence inside the leader’s den was thick, but not uncomfortable.

Their breathing slid into a slow, synchronized rhythm, as if their chests understood each other better than their words. Fireheart, still not quite knowing how to act, let his instincts guide his movements.

And those instincts led him to hug her.

Slowly, clumsily, but firmly. He pressed his chest against Bluestar’s and entwined a paw over her side. Bluestar tensed for a moment, out of habit, as if physical contact were a distant memory, something she hadn’t allowed herself for moons. But soon, her body relaxed, yielding under the warmth of the embrace.

Fireheart noticed the change.

He noticed how the muscles beneath her fur softened, how her breathing became lighter. He even felt the slight tremor of her muzzle as she exhaled near his neck. It was like holding someone who, at last, was letting go of a burden too long carried.

And that… made him feel good.

Not because he sought reciprocity. Not because he wanted something in return.

But because, for the first time, he understood that Bluestar—the great Bluestar, his leader, his figure of strength—needed someone.

And he could be that someone.

He didn’t know if he had deep feelings yet. He couldn’t call it love. Not yet. But the mere fact of knowing that his warmth soothed Bluestar, that his presence served as an anchor, a comfort, filled him with a strange warmth.

One he wanted to maintain.

Just out of curiosity, and with his heart beating faster, Fireheart lowered his muzzle and gave her a small kiss on the neck. Then another. And another.

They were soft, quick, almost playful.

Bluestar opened her eyes, surprised, and visibly blushed.

“What are you doing?” she asked, between a whisper and a trembling purr.

Fireheart lowered his gaze, somewhat embarrassed.

“If it bothers you… I can stop.”

Bluestar looked at him with a mix of tenderness and mild amusement. There was a sparkle in her face that hadn’t been seen in a long time, a timid spark that broke her solemn facade.

“That sounded very familiar…” she murmured.

Fireheart blinked.

“What do you mean?”

“What I told you before,” she reminded him, with a crooked smile. “You returned the question.”

And then, with a slow gesture, she lowered her muzzle and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Her tongue gently caressed the base of his ears, and then she pulled him closer with her tail, wrapping around him as if wanting to protect him from the rest of the world.

Both sighed almost at the same time.

Their warm breaths collided in the small space that separated them. Bluestar’s eyes narrowed, her chin brushing against his. Fireheart felt his pulse throb beneath his chest. Not just his own. Hers too. Slow, but intense.

They looked at each other once more.

Not with doubt.

Not with fear.

Just with that kind of silent understanding that grows when two weary hearts meet.

And then they pressed closer. Too close.

Too close for the moment not to turn into something inevitable.

Their muzzles sought each other, no longer clumsy. Their lips met in a slow, soft, almost sleepy kiss. There was no urgency. No tension.

Just the need to feel the other there. Real. Present.

It was a kiss between sighs, one that seemed to say, “For now, just stay.”

When they parted, their foreheads rested together. Fireheart noticed that Bluestar already had her eyes closed, a half-smile on her face.

He closed his too.

The stillness of the early morning seemed to envelop them completely, as if the forest itself had stopped breathing for a moment. The leader’s den, for the first time in a long time, was not marked by the coldness of the stone or the weight of loneliness, but by the soft murmur of two hearts learning to synchronize.

Fireheart didn’t know where this impulse came from.

He just knew he felt it.

With his eyes still closed, and his breathing uneven from the closeness, he let his muzzle slide gently over Bluestar’s. It wasn’t a clumsy or accidental caress. It was intentional. Calm. His tongue barely peeked out, licking the edge of her lip with a sweetness that carried no rush.

Bluestar trembled.

She felt the warmth rise to her face, coloring her cheeks beneath the fur with a blush she didn’t remember feeling since her days as a young warrior. Her eyes opened slightly, surprised by the tenderness… and by the sensation it awakened in her.

It wasn’t desire.

It was need.

It was… affection. Care. That kind of deep connection that can’t be faked, that isn’t formed with words, but with time and shared silences.

And then, when Fireheart licked her muzzle again, she responded.

She imitated him.

Slowly, with initial shyness, but without pulling away. Her tongue brushed against his, timidly at first, then with more determination. The contact was tender, experimental. But behind that shyness was a flame ignited by older memories. Memories that had slept in her chest for moons. Since before the leader’s rock fell on her emotions.

This is how Oakheart kissed, she thought for a moment.

But that image faded with Fireheart’s next sigh, so close, so alive, so warm.

And with that sigh, Bluestar felt something break.

Something she had been holding back for too long.

She passed a paw behind him, pulling him closer to her chest. Her body curved around his like a vine embracing an oak. Their muzzles didn’t part. They were no longer just kisses, but a language. A silent one, full of uneven breaths, of small caresses.

Bluestar didn’t tremble from insecurity.

She trembled because the warmth she felt now returned a part of herself that she had lost.

She allowed herself to be bold. But not reckless.

Their kisses became firmer, but not hurried. More intense, but not impulsive. Her tongue caressed Fireheart’s softly, seeking a response, which he gave without hesitation.

Both were purring now, one inside the other.

Their tails entwined.

Their bodies relaxed.

And their minds, for once, free from the weight of the Clan, the code, the expectations.

Bluestar lowered her muzzle and slowly kissed the base of Fireheart’s neck. He shuddered, letting out a small surprised gasp, but didn’t pull back. On the contrary, he settled better against her, letting himself be carried away.

He was no longer her deputy.

Not tonight.

He was just a warrior.

A companion.

Someone who, without seeking it, had given her back the ability to feel.

And Bluestar, for the first time in moons, felt… alive.

The early morning advanced slowly, with the slowness of a claw dragging across a damp rock. The sky, still covered in shadows, seemed to refuse to announce the dawn. In the heart of the camp, everything was calm.

Or almost everything.

Silence reigned in the warriors’ den. The bodies curled among the moss didn’t move, except for the occasional harsh snore or the sporadic twitch of a dreaming paw. Darkstripe continued snoring like a clogged badger, and Cloudtail murmured something under his breath as he turned with his tail covering his muzzle.

The only one who wasn’t asleep was Sandstorm.

Stationed by the camp entrance, her body remained firm but fatigue seeped through the corners of her eyes. Her eyelids were heavy, but her duty was clear: to watch. To ensure no intruder passed, no danger approached the clan.

The wind was gentle, and everything seemed under control.

Until something made her ear twitch.

A noise.

Faint, almost imperceptible, but not belonging to the natural murmur of the forest or the movement of the sleeping cats.

It came from Bluestar’s den.

Sandstorm narrowed her eyes, lifting her head with slight unease. She thought perhaps some mischievous kit had sneaked in, or maybe it was Fireheart consulting something important. Sometimes her leader called the deputy even in the early morning.

But then the sound came again.

It wasn’t a whisper. Nor a conversation.

It was… something more.

The slight rustle of moss. A persistent brushing. A stifled murmur. And then, more silence.

Sandstorm frowned. She didn’t want to imagine anything out of place, but her senses were trained. A warrior’s ear didn’t lie.

The noises continued.

No longer so faint.

Sometimes more intense, as if two bodies were moving too close. As if they were sharing something that shouldn’t be known. As if the air between them was too warm for such a cold night.

Sandstorm felt a blush rise to her ears.

“What the hell…?” she whispered to herself, her brow furrowed.

Annoyance ran through her from the nape of her neck to the tip of her tail. Not out of jealousy—or at least, that’s what she told herself—but from the discomfort of not knowing how to react to what she believed she was hearing.

Bluestar’s den had never emitted noises like these.

And if Fireheart was still there…

She growled, barely audible, as she looked up at the sky. She tried not to think too much. Tried to convince herself it wasn’t what it seemed. That perhaps Bluestar had moved. That Fireheart had just stumbled. That… it wasn’t her concern.

The noises continued for a while longer.

They weren’t loud. But they were constant. Cyclical.

And that was worse.

Sandstorm gritted her teeth. By StarClan, she just hoped they didn’t wake anyone. If any other warrior heard that, the whispers would spread like fire on dry leaves. There had been enough tension in the clan lately. They didn’t need more.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the sounds ceased.

The camp fell silent again.

Only the wind rustling through the branches could be heard.

Sandstorm let out a long sigh, rolling her eyes.

“Finally…” she murmured wearily, settling into her spot.

As the sky began to clear, the first rays filtering through the trees, Sandstorm noticed the subtle bustle of the clan waking up.

One ear perked up.

Then another.

Brackenfur stretched in his nest. Graystripe turned over with a yawn. Some apprentices emerged from the ferns, shaking the sleep from their whiskers. Daily life began, relentless as always.

Sandstorm rose from her guard post, stretching her paws with a short purr of relief.

“My shift is over.”

With her body tired but her duty fulfilled, she headed towards her bed.

Though she knew perfectly well that this morning… there would be more than one curious glance if Fireheart came out where he shouldn’t.

And she wasn’t sure she was ready to see that with her own eyes.

Sandstorm had barely reached her bed when the world around her began to dissolve into shadows and warmth. Her entire body loosened, her tail curled around her paws with a delicious heaviness, and every fiber of her being asked for one thing: rest.

The guard shift had been long. But not just because of the cold or the constant vigilance.

But because of the noises.

She sighed one last time, letting the warmth of the moss envelop her. She knew she needed hours to recover. Or better yet, a whole day. And if StarClan was just, no one would bother her.

She had no intention of getting up until the sun was high.

***

Or at least, that’s what she thought.

Just a few hours later—or so her body felt, though the sun was already shining high in the sky—a voice abruptly pulled her from her rest.

“Have you eaten yet?” someone asked in a calm tone, but clearly annoyed by her prolonged nap.

Sandstorm blinked, confused for a second. As she focused her gaze, she found a very familiar face in front of hers: Fireheart’s.

The Clan’s deputy. Her patrol companion.

And, after what she had heard the previous night, the last cat she wanted to talk to at that moment.

“I’ll do it later,” she grumbled, burying her muzzle in the moss with her eyes half-closed. “Let me sleep.”

Fireheart didn’t flinch.

“I need you for the southern patrol,” he insisted, his voice somewhat firmer now. “I want us to mark the stones well before WindClan does it for us.”

Sandstorm let out a long sigh, rolling onto her side.

The frustration was evident in her bristling fur.

“Go and do it with Bluestar,” she snapped without thinking.

Fireheart tilted his head, confused.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, turning over with her tail crossed over her face. “I’m just tired.”

But Fireheart wasn’t foolish. The slight tremor in her voice. The way she didn’t look directly at him. The tone just below the edge.

He had noticed.

“What did you mean by that?” he asked, lowering his voice, not accusatory, but clearly bewildered.

Sandstorm squeezed her eyes shut. She had spoken too much. Damn it.

The fatigue, the discomfort, the previous night… everything had mixed. And now there he was, looking at her with that direct, patient gaze she knew so well.

But she just wanted to sleep.

She wanted to forget.

And, above all, she didn’t want to think about the fact that she had heard it. She didn’t want to acknowledge what she had felt. The discomfort. The small sting of something akin to annoyance… or something else she didn’t want to name.

“I said I was tired,” she repeated, lower this time, without looking at him. “Don’t take it the wrong way.”

Fireheart took a slight step back, still with his ears perked up. He watched her figure in the bed for a moment longer. The slight tremor of her side as she breathed. Her body turned towards the wall.

He felt a pang of guilt.

But he didn’t say anything more.

“I’ll wait for you in the clearing. Ten minutes,” he simply said, turning to leave.

And Sandstorm, as soon as she heard him walk away, opened her eyes.

With a furrowed brow.

And her heart… a little more awake than she would have liked.

Sandstorm tossed in her bed with growing frustration. The discomfort wasn’t just physical, it was like a thorn lodged between her ribs, a dull ache that wouldn’t let her rest even though her body was exhausted. She growled softly and curled up more in the moss.

“Can you stop moving?” grumbled Darkstripe from a few nests away, his voice as rough as ever. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Sandstorm glared at him.

“And some have no idea how to shut up,” she snapped, burying her muzzle into her bed with a contained growl.

But the annoyance had already taken over her. With a sudden movement, she turned and, without measuring her strength, kicked Darkstripe in the face as she got up. The warrior let out an annoyed snort but said no more. Not because he didn’t want to, but because Sandstorm had already left the den, her heavy steps resonating with a dry rhythm on the camp’s ground.

The morning light hit her eyes, and she had to squint. Her paws ached. Every joint reminded her of the previous night, every muscle that couldn’t fully rest. However, what bothered her most wasn’t that.

It was seeing Fireheart, there in the middle of the clearing, chatting with the other warriors as if nothing had happened.

As if the previous night hadn’t occurred.

As if he hadn’t come out of Bluestar’s den just as most were still asleep.

Sandstorm stopped in her tracks, her eyes instinctively seeking the leader. She was always up early, whether to assign patrols or to greet the younger ones. But now… nothing. She wasn’t sitting on her usual rock, nor beside the pile of fresh meat, nor in the center giving instructions.

Her eyes turned, inevitably, towards the entrance of Bluestar’s den.

And that’s when she noticed it.

Fireheart, from the clearing, tensed.

Not much. Not obviously.

But enough.

Enough for her to see him look away too quickly. For his ears to move, hesitant. For, just for a brief second, the truth to become unnecessary.

She already felt it like a weight sinking in her chest.

“Hmpf,” she huffed under her breath.

She didn’t plan to argue about it.

She didn’t need answers.

Whatever had happened in there was already done. And she… she was no one to ask for explanations.

Just another warrior.

With her paws still heavy, she walked straight towards Fireheart.

The group of warriors he was talking to barely flinched until she, with a quick movement, bit the deputy’s ear. Not hard enough to hurt him, but with enough annoyance to make him step back with a muffled growl.

“Sandstorm! What are you doing?” Fireheart jumped, shaking his head.

The other warriors—Brackenfur, Mousefur, and Whitestorm—looked at them in silence, surprised.

“What happened?” murmured Mousefur, bewildered.

Sandstorm huffed, releasing him with a dry snap and without looking at them.

“I’ll patrol alone. I don’t need company today.”

Fireheart frowned, still with his ear tilted from the bite.

“Are you angry about something?”

“Take care of the rest yourself. I don’t want to see you all day. You stink,” she snapped in a low but sharp voice, turning around and walking away with her tail raised like a war flag.

Fireheart watched her with a perplexed look.

He didn’t understand.

Or perhaps he didn’t want to understand.

Mousefur looked at him with her head tilted.

“Lovers’ quarrel?” she murmured in a neutral tone.

“Since when are they a couple?” whispered Dustpelt, not knowing whether to laugh or worry.

Fireheart shook his head, running a paw over his face.

“Ignore her,” he said at last, somewhat tense. “She probably didn’t sleep well.”

None said anything more, but the looks said it all.

Fireheart tried to continue the conversation he had been having with the warriors, but now every word stuck in his throat. His thoughts were scattered.