“None of us had any quarrel with Ashfur,” Whitetail put in.

“This Clan is loyal to the warrior code,” Crowfeather growled, his lip curling in a snarl.

Lionblaze braced himself, ready for the fight he was sure would break out at any moment. But Firestar remained calm; not even his tail-tip twitched.

“No cat is accusing you,” he insisted. “We came to ask if you saw anything on the border that night.”

“What, like one of my warriors killing Ashfur?” Onestar’s fur was still fluffed up with anger. “Look to your own Clanmates first, Firestar. Question their loyalty to the warrior code, not ours.”

Lionblaze felt the fur rising on his neck and shoulders; Brackenfur and Sorreltail were bristling, too, while Brambleclaw flexed his claws in and out at the veiled insult. So what if there are cats of mixed blood in ThunderClan? Lionblaze thought fiercely. We’re all loyal. He pictured Ashfur’s body again, soaked and limp. All except one.

He spotted Heathertail standing off to one side, her gaze fixed on him. She seemed to be daring him to strike out so that she would have an excuse to jump on him and sink her claws into his fur. Breezepelt had padded so close to her that their pelts were brushing, and he met Lionblaze’s stare with a challenge in his eyes. Heathertail is mine now, he seemed to be saying.

You’re welcome to her, Lionblaze glared back.

“Then you saw nothing?” Firestar pressed; his voice had hardened, insisting on an answer.

“Nothing.” Onestar spat out the word like a piece of crow-food. “Now get out of our territory. Ashfoot, take a couple of warriors and escort them to the border.”

His deputy gave him a brisk nod and waved her tail to beckon Tornear and Breezepelt, who padded up to the ThunderClan patrol with truculent stares.

Firestar dipped his head toward the WindClan leader. “Thank you, Onestar. If you learn anything more, will you please send us a message?”

Onestar didn’t reply. Following Firestar’s lead, Lionblaze tried to stay dignified as he and the others were herded up the side of the hollow and through the barrier of gorse bushes onto the open moor.

None of the WindClan cats spoke as they conducted Firestar’s patrol back to the border. Ashfoot set a brisk pace, but Lionblaze would have liked to go racing ahead, to return to the woods, away from the cold eyes of these hostile cats. Yet there was no safety in the woods, either—nowhere he could hide from the death of Ashfur and all it meant for his Clan.

On the hillside above the stream, Ashfoot halted. “You can go back to the camp,” she ordered Breezepelt and Tornear. “I’ll see them the rest of the way.”

“Why?” Breezepelt demanded.

“You’re needed for a hunting patrol,” the WindClan deputy replied. “Or do you think the rabbits will come running into the camp on their own?”

Breezepelt let out an annoyed hiss, and Tornear looked uneasy, stopping once to glance back as both cats climbed to the top of the hill and vanished over it in the direction of the camp.