“I need to speak with Onestar,” Firestar explained. “May we visit your camp?”

Tornear hesitated, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, then gave a brusque nod. “Very well, but we’ll escort you. And you’d better not start anything.”

“We only want to talk,” Firestar promised.

Taking the lead, Tornear headed farther up the hill in the direction of the WindClan camp. Crowfeather and Whitetail flanked the ThunderClan patrol on either side, while Heathertail brought up the rear. Lionblaze was acutely conscious of her, padding just behind him, and felt her gaze pierce him like a thorn.

At last Tornear led them up the long slope toward the circle of gorse bushes that surrounded the WindClan camp. Pushing through the thorns, Lionblaze paused to look down. It was a bleak place: a wide hollow of rough moorland grass where stones poked up through the thin soil. Twisted thornbushes gave the only shelter, except for the disused badgers’ set that was now the elders’ den.

Lionblaze spotted Onestar sitting near the middle of the hollow, talking to Barkface, the WindClan medicine cat. A few other WindClan cats—including the deputy, Ashfoot, and Crowfeather’s son, Breezepelt—stood around listening.

Lionblaze’s paws pricked with curiosity as he recognized the urgency in Barkface’s stance and expression; Lionblaze couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it looked as though he was sharing grave news with his Clan leader.

What’s all that about? Lionblaze wondered. They can’t know anything about Ashfur!

Onestar glanced up as Tornear raced down the slope to announce the visitors. Seeing Firestar and the others, he hesitated for a few heartbeats, then spoke quickly to Barkface. The medicine cat nodded, and at last Onestar signaled with his tail to let Firestar bring his warriors down into the camp.

“Greetings, Onestar.” Firestar halted in front of the WindClan leader and bowed his head. “Thank you for allowing us to talk to you.”

The look Onestar gave to Firestar showed none of their old friendship. “Say what you have to say,” he mewed cautiously.

His edgy tone made Lionblaze wonder if all was well in WindClan. Maybe there’s something he doesn’t want us to know about. Glancing around, he saw that all the WindClan cats looked skinny and underfed, but that was just as usual for WindClan.

“I’d like to speak to you in private,” Firestar began.

Onestar’s neck fur rose and he shook his head. “Anything you have to say can be said in front of my Clanmates.”

While he was speaking, Ashfoot padded up and stood by her leader’s side. She said nothing, just surveyed the ThunderClan cats with calm, clear eyes.

“Well?” Onestar prompted.

“If that’s how you want it.” Lionblaze’s belly churned as Firestar continued: “On the night of the Gathering, we found Ashfur’s body in the stream that marks our border. There was a gash in his throat; we think a cat killed him.”

Instantly the WindClan warriors began to bristle, and Breezepelt let out an indignant yowl.

Onestar lashed his tail and dug his claws hard into the ground. His eyes blazed with anger. “How dare you assume we had anything to do with it?” he hissed. “We have nothing to gain from killing one of your warriors.”