Sandstorm padded into camp, a squirrel dangling from her jaws. Her pawsteps were gentle and quiet, and she looked around cautiously as she stepped through the gorse tunnel. No sign of Thistlestar. She let out a soft sigh through her nose. Good.

ThunderClan had been tense and quiet since Thistlestar's wild outburst and attack on Bluefur and Dustpelt. It had been nearly a quarter moon since, but no one had let their guard down. When Thistlestar did make an appearance, it was to quickly snatch up a piece of fresh-kill and return to his den.

Sandstorm headed for the fresh-kill pile, eager to drop off her squirrel and then retreat to the Warriors' Den for a midday nap. She was tired, and she resisted the urge to yawn as she approached the pile. She dropped the squirrel on top of the pile and examined it for a moment. It wasn't as full as it had been a few moons ago—aside from her squirrel, there were a pair of small birds, a few mice, and a shrew. Hopefully a patrol brings back more. Now that Leafbare was setting in, the pile was bound to become even smaller.

Sandstorm turned away, but she had only gotten one paw-step closer to the den when she heard Tigerclaw's voice.

"Sandstorm!" he called. "Come here."

She glanced towards him, holding back a sigh. She had spent the morning looking for that squirrel, after a night of little sleep—though the lack of sleep was entirely her own fault. "Coming, sir."

Sandstorm cursed herself for staying up late as she padded towards her deputy. Every night for the last quarter moon, she had been going to the willow on the border to meet Fireheart. Not tonight! she told herself, silently rebuking the stupid kittypet for convincing her to keep coming. The thought was half-hearted, though. Truth be told, Sandstorm strangely enjoyed their nightly meetings, and she was finding it harder and harder to be truly annoyed with the RiverClanner.

"Did you need me for something?" Sandstorm asked, silently praying Tigerclaw was only going to ask her a question or promise a patrol later in the day.

"Yes," Tigerclaw replied. He was sitting alone in the center of camp, his expression hard to read. "I'm assessing all warriors over the next few days—nothing personal about your work, Sandstorm."

"Assessing?" Sandstorm asked. She frowned in displeasure. "Why?"

Tigerclaw's eyes glittered. "Questioning your deputy?" he shot back, and for a moment Sandstorm felt nervous. A heartbeat later, though, he gave a rare smile. "A fair question. Come, we can discuss it on the way."

Sandstorm nodded silently, despite her sinking feeling of disappointment. Guess I won't be getting a nap today, she thought.

Tigerclaw rose and headed for the gorse tunnel, flicking his tail for her to follow. Sandstorm padded after him, glancing around curiously. "Just the two of us?"

"That's right," Tigerclaw replied. "Come along."

Sandstorm twitched her whiskers curiously as they padded through the gorse tunnel and back out into the woods. What's this all about? she wondered. Is Thistlestar planning another attack of some kind? It was strange to be assessing all warriors like this—in Sandstorm's memory, it had never happened before.

"Let's head to Sunningrocks," Tigerclaw suggested. "See if we can pick up some prey along the way."

Sandstorm's pelt lifted in alarm. Wait—does he know I've been meeting with Fireheart? Is he trying to get me to give it away? They had avoided Sunningrocks entirely when they met, but… Sandstorm felt unease creep up her spine by the thought.

"How have you been doing?" Tigerclaw abruptly asked, glancing towards Sandstorm. "I know the Clan has been tense these past few moons."

Sandstorm eyes him carefully. Tigerclaw's amber gaze betrayed nothing, only showing a calm interest. She flicked her tail, unsure of how to respond. Well, I can't say things have been great, she thought. Thistlestar's thirst for battle has cost us a good warrior, and everyone is afraid he's going to rip out their throat if they look at him wrong. Carefully, she replied, "It… has been tense. But I'm getting on fine."

Tigerclaw twitched his whiskers. "Hm." A moment later, he asked, "And how is Dustpelt doing? You two are close."

"We're friends," Sandstorm pointedly meowed. "He's been alright, all things considered." She was still unsure of Tigerclaw's intentions. What's he trying to get at? Does he want me to admit that I don't trust Thistlestar? Her eyes widened slightly as another thought struck her. Or… is it that he doesn't trust him anymore either? She felt uncertain. It was always hard to tell what Tigerclaw was thinking when he wasn't outwardly saying it—what was he hoping to get out of her?

Tigerclaw nodded slowly. "That's good to hear," he meowed. "You two are fine young warriors—it would be a shame if Thistlestar's… outburst were to throw him off."

Sandstorm glanced sidelong at her deputy. Why is he being so dodgy? Annoyance came over her, and despite her caution, she blurted, "What do you think about that?"

Tigerclaw blinked, clearly surprised she had asked. "I…"

Sandstorm's irritation got the best of her, and she snapped, "I know you're trying to get me to tell you something. Just come out and say it already!"

Tigerclaw narrowed his eyes in anger, and Sandstorm swallowed. She quickly bowed her head. "I—I'm sorry, sir," she hastily meowed. "I forgot my place."

Tigerclaw was silent for a moment, and he stopped walking to stare at her through slanted eyes. "I'll forget your slight this time," he growled. He flattened his fur and sighed. "Though I suppose I would be annoyed if I was in your paws as well."

"Thank you, sir," Sandstorm meowed, ears flat in apology.

"Be thankful I am not Thistlestar," Tigerclaw grumbled. "Or you would likely be missing an ear."

Sandstorm pricked her ears at that. There it is! Tigerclaw's tone was not approving, and she leaned closer. "So you do think he's been too aggressive."

"Aggressive?" Tigerclaw snorted. "No." He flicked his tail and sat down. "A good leader should be aggressive. Intimidation is the first defense—if your enemy fears you, they will be less willing to attack. Aggression keeps our borders and Clan safe."

Sandstorm sat down, facing him. "But?"

"But…" Tigerclaw furrowed his brow. "Thistlestar has gone beyond simple aggression. I have always admired his readiness to fight for his Clan, to never hold back in battle… but he has taken certain actions lately that put our Clan at risk." Tigerclaw looked towards Sandstorm and caught her gaze. "A good leader must balance aggression with strategy."

Sandstorm watched him, still cautious. Tigerclaw had been at Thistlestar's side long before she was born—she still couldn't be sure this wasn't a ploy of some sort. Thistlestar was going mad. Who could be sure he hadn't sent his deputy to interrogate each and every warrior to see where their loyalties lay?

"Do you think Thistlestar hasn't been strategic?" Sandstorm asked.

"Do you?" Tigerclaw shot back. His expression was still guarded.

The two warriors eyed each other for a long time, each unsure of where the other stood. They were playing a risky game with one another—a wrong word could spell danger for either if they were secretly in disagreement with the other. Sandstorm flicked an ear and took the risk. "No. Turning his claws against his Clanmates was too far."

Tigerclaw's expression did not shift. He stared back impassively, then nodded slightly. "I see." He stood up and stretched. "You may return to camp."

Sandstorm frowned. Return to camp? "But weren't we—"

"Are you questioning your deputy?" Tigerclaw meowed, smiling in the slightest.

"No… sir," Sandstorm replied. Confusion rose up in her as she backed away. She bowed her head briefly to him before she turned around and began to head back towards camp.

What was all that? she wondered. I still don't know if he was there for Thistlestar… or against him. Sandstorm disliked not knowing—it made her nervous. For all she knew, Tigerclaw was planning on returning to Thistlestar and reporting her for treason.

Oh, Sandstorm… she rebuked herself silently. Why couldn't you keep your mouth shut?

Fireheart chewed slowly on his mouthful of carp, only half-listening as his companions chattered with one another. He was sitting with his group of former apprentices, Minktuft, Grasspelt, Shadefang, Mossfrost, Silverthorn, and Beechflower, plus Silverstream, who was nearly pressed against Beechflower's side.

"Fireheart!"

The ginger tom blinked and glanced at Minktuft. "Sorry. What?"

Minktuft rolled her eyes. "Dafter than a dove, you are," she meowed, her voice fond.

Fireheart's were warm with embarrassment. He had been staring out at the reed wall, picturing the river on the other side. And Sandstorm. "What did you say?"

"We're talking about kits," Grasspelt meowed. "Do you think you'll ever have any?"

Fireheart frowned thoughtfully. Kits? He'd never really given the matter thought. Sandstorm flashed in his mind, and his heart thumped. Well, I can't have kits with her! She's from another Clan! He gave his chest a self-conscious lick. But… it is nice to be on friendly terms. "I don't know," he replied. "I don't really know anything about being a parent."

"I'd like to have kits," Silverstream quietly meowed, casting a coy look at Beechflower. "With the right tom, of course."

Beechflower's eyes widened, and he choked on his mouthful of fresh-kill and spent a few moments coughing. Fireheart and his companions burst out in laughter.

Shadefang flicked her tail. "I don't think I will," she meowed. "Unless my mate really wanted them. I've got my eye on deputyship, you know—kits would be distracting."

Minktuft suddenly became very interested in her own paws. "And I suppose a mate would be, too?"

Shadefang pricked her ears, and for a moment, the stoic molly looked embarrassed. "Oh! No, no I don't mean—"

Mossfrost snickered and shouldered her sister. "Uh oh," she teased. "In trouble again?"

Shadefang swiped at Mossfrost. "Shut up!" she whispered.

Silverthorn was the only one who seemed uninterested in the conversation. "Mollies!" he exclaimed. "All you can ever talk about is romance. I for one want to get some actual hunting done before it starts snowing again."

Grasspelt stuck out her tongue at him. "You're just mad because you don't have anyone padding after you," she meowed.

Silverthorn bristled, his ears reddening. "Am not!" he retorted. "It's not like you have anyone padding after you, either!"

Grasspelt shrugged. She reached out and patted Silverthorn sympathetically on the shoulder. "No, but I still hold out hope, unlike Silvergrump here."

Silverthorn ducked away, growling in annoyance. Fireheart chuckled quietly at the tom's clear embarrassment.

Silverthorn sat up and fluffed out his short pelt. "Well, I'm going fishing. Is anyone coming, or are you going to keep gossiping like elders?"

Petalstream, who was padding by, overheard this and glanced towards Silverthorn. "Fishing season is over," she called. "It's too cold. Try looking for some birds."

"Birds?" Silverthorn snorted. "I'm going fishing! A little cold water isn't going to stop me. Who's with me?"

Everyone else stared blankly at him.

"Um…" Silverstream glanced at Beechflower. "I still have fresh-kill left…"

"Yeah," Beechflower agreed, inching closer to Silverstream. "Lots of food to eat."

"It is a bit cold for fishing…" Shadefang grumbled.

"All the fish will be moving deeper in the water," Minktuft meowed. "You won't have much luck."

"Sorry, Silverthorn," Mossfrost meowed.

Grasspelt flicked her tail. "Maybe next time."

Silverthorn rolled his eyes. "What a bunch of minnows," he growled. Fireheart, who had said nothing, watched him for a moment, and he caught a flash of hurt in the silver tom's eyes as he began to turn away.

He just doesn't want to go hunting alone, Fireheart realized. He let out a sigh. "I'll come, Silverthorn."

Silverthorn blinked. "Really? I mean—whatever. Do what you want." He turned and hurried towards the gap in the reeds.

It was Fireheart's turn to roll his eyes. What a grateful cat. He pushed his fish towards the rest of the group. "Someone else can finish this."

Beechflower swiped his tongue across his lips. "Don't mind if I do!"

"Now hold on!" Grasspelt protested.

"Yeah, who says you get it?" Mossfrost playfully growled. "That could be the last fish of the season!"

Fireheart laughed and padded away, leaving his companions to fight over the remnants of his meal. Silverthorn eyed him wordlessly from the reeds before he padded out of camp. Fireheart quickly followed.

He shivered as a breeze ruffled his pelt. It had continued to snow over the last quarter moon, and the snow was slowly beginning to blanket the ground. The river still ran, but the water was far colder now, and most cats had abandoned fishing for other prey.

Snow crunched beneath Fireheart's paws as he padded upstream with Silverthorn. The silver tom stopped near a wide part of the river and sat down, gazing intently into the water. Fireheart found himself a place to sit and waited.

It seemed to be destined to be the longest wait of Fireheart's life. Twice he thought he saw a fish, only to realize it was a rock or a floating stick. Occasionally he glanced towards Silverthorn.

I wonder why he wanted to hunt so badly, he wondered. The fresh-kill pile is still full, even with the snow. Fireheart shifted his legs. Maybe he just thinks he has to keep impressing the Clan. He glanced at him once more. He's got kittypet blood, too. Mossfrost and Shadefang might be his siblings, but they don't have that same burden.

Without thinking, Fireheart blurted, "Have you ever thought about looking for your father?"

Silverthorn bristled and looked sharply at him. "What?"

Fireheart swallowed. "You know… looking in the town for him."

Silverthorn let out a furious hiss. "What would I want from him?" he snapped. He glared down into the water, eyes blazing. A few moments passed, and his shoulders slumped softly. "So what if I have?" he grumbled. "Finding him wouldn't do anything for me."

Fireheart looked back into the water. "Maybe he would have answers for you," he meowed. "About what happened to your mother."

"I know what happened to my mother!" Silverthorn growled. "That kittypet killed her." A heartbeat later, he sighed. "Maybe I've thought about it. But it's not like I'd ever leave RiverClan to go hunt him down."

Fireheart didn't reply, unsure of what else to say. Maybe that was a stupid question.

Silverthorn coughed awkwardly, then glared accusingly at the water. "We've been waiting all morning for the fish, and there's nothing!" he exclaimed. "Where've they all gone?"

Fireheart shook his head, relieved that Silverthorn seemed to not have taken offense. "Beats me," he grumbled. "I thought we could catch something, but I haven't even seen a minnow!"

The reeds rustled behind them, and Leopardfur emerged, looking strangely amused. "I was wondering when you two would realize there aren't any fish."

Silverthorn and Fireheart whipped their heads around to face the Clan deputy. "Leopardfur!" Silverthorn blurted. "Wait a minute - have you been watching us like apprentices?"

"No," Leopardfur replied. "But I may have been keeping an ear out for you. Petalstream told the other senior warriors about your hunting and the rest of them have been laughing their tails off. They're all warm in their nests."

"Laughing?" Fireheart demanded. "Warm nests?"

"That's right," Leopardfur snorted. "Any cat who's lived through a winter knows the fish go down to the bottom of the river once the snow comes."

"Well, no cat told us!" Silverthorn growled.

Leopardfur flicked her tail. "You aren't the first cats the senior warriors have had a laugh at," she meowed, her eyes still glittering with rare amusement. "If you want to catch fish, you'll have to dive in, and it's colder in there than it is here. Though I'm sure Blackclaw and Beetlewhisker wouldn't be laughing at either of you again if you came back with fresh-kill."

With that, she turned away and headed back into the reeds. Silverthorn was scowling with displeasure. "Well!" he snapped. "I'm going to catch a fish and hit Blackclaw with it!" He stood up and glanced at Fireheart. "Are you in or not?"

Fireheart swallowed at the thought. He didn't have to stick a paw in to know the water would be icy-cold. But with a glance at his companion, he saw fierce determination in Silverthorn's eyes. The tom was stubborn, and Fireheart knew he wasn't going to walk away with his mind set on it.

And if I say no, it's back to 'Drypaw' this and 'scaredy-mouse' that. Fireheart narrowed his eyes. "Fine! Let's do it."

Silverthorn looked surprised, and perhaps a little impressed. The tom stood up and took a step back. "Alright then… last one to catch a fish is a slow-slug." With that, he took a running start and leaped into the water.

Not to be outdone, Fireheart pounced forward. He landed in the water with a great splash, and immediately felt all the air rush from his lungs as the cold pierced through him. His head broke the surface, and he gasped. I can't go back now! He thought, and so he turned and dove back under the water again.

He opened his eyes. The cold water was almost painful against them. He stared into the clear water, and down below, in the middle of the river, he saw fish tucked as far down as they could be, hiding between rocks. He swam down, paddling as quickly as he could. The fish seemed to not notice him coming - they seemed to be moving very little, as though all asleep. He sank his teeth into the first he came across, sending the nearest fish into a brief panic and flurry of fins. He pushed his paws against the bottom of the riverbed, propelling himself towards the surface.

Fireheart's head broke the surface once more, this time a large fish clasped victoriously in his jaws. Half a heartbeat later, Silverthorn burst from the water, holding another. Both toms desperately struck out towards the shore, neither wanting to stay a moment longer in the river.

They reached the beach at the same time, and dropped their fish. Both toms panted and gasped, wet fur matted. Fireheart felt himself trembling violently, feeling as though his very bones had been frozen.

"H-h-a…" Silverthorn stammered, his teeth chattering together. "Ha…. ha… th-that… th-that'll sh-sh-show th-those m-m-m-minnows…"

Fireheart shivered as he stepped completely out of the water. "G-guess th-the f-f-fish a-are still th-there after all…"

Silverthorn made some sort of noise that sounded like an attempt at laughter, but it was muffled by his gasping and clattering teeth. "L-Let's g-go b-b-back and th-throw this in their f-f-faces!" Despite his chill, the tom seemed uncharacteristically excited. Even Fireheart found himself grinning in amusement, surprised to find that he had enjoyed Silverthorn's company.

The two toms, still shivering like newborn kits, stumbled away from the river, their prizes held tightly in their jaws. They returned to camp as quickly as they could, still dripping freezing water. Side by side, they padded through the reed barrier and into camp.

Blackclaw and Beetleclaw were seated in the center of camp, with Voleclaw, Skyheart, and Reedtail. Voleclaw nudged Blackclaw as he spotted Fireheart and Silverthorn padding into camp.

Blackclaw stood up and faced them, smirking in amusement. "Well, well!" he crowed. "The hunters have returned. How was the fishing?"

Silverthorn, without a moment's hesitation, headed straight for him and threw the fish at Blackclaw's paws. The wet creature slapped against one paw, and Blackclaw yelped and stepped back. "It was fantastic!" Silverthorn proclaimed, loudly enough for any cat sitting in camp to hear. "We figured we'd come right to you and let you know what a great time we had freezing our tails off for your meal, seeing as you thought it was just hilarious that two of the most inexperienced warriors are the only cats out providing for the Clan!"

Blackclaw's amused expression instantly twisted into irritation. Before he could say anything, Silverthorn shook out his wet pelt, showering the black tom with cold water. "I sure hope you were able to rest those old bones while we got food for the elders and queens!"

Fireheart dropped his catch and nodded, feigning sympathy. Normally, he would be too nervous to even look Blackclaw in the eye, but it felt impossible not to join in Silverthorn's brash taunting of the rude warrior. "It must be hard, being one of the most senior warriors in RiverClan," Fireheart meowed. "At least you can rest easy knowing us youngsters are doing the hard work."

Blackclaw straightened up, his eyes blazing with outrage. "Remember who you're speaking to!" he snarled.

"Oh, I certainly do, old-timer," Silverthorn retorted, his eyes gleaming. He gave a mocking bow of his head. "Don't worry yourself too much if you can't bear to rise out of your nest tomorrow, either! Graypool's told me plenty about how hard it is to live with aching bones."

Fireheart continued his sage nodding. "Oh, yes," he said. "No need to worry about braving the snow when we can do all the work for you!"

"Shall we fetch Yellowfang for you?" Silverthorn added. "I can only assume a brave soul like yourself would be lounging about if your bones are troubling you."

Blackclaw let out a wordless snarl of rage, and for a moment, Fireheart thought he might actually strike one of the younger toms. Instead, he whipped around and bounded towards Crookedstar's den.

The other senior warriors watched him go. Beetleclaw's eyes were narrowed in disapproval, but every other cat burst out in laughter.

Silverthorn started to laugh with them. "Hah! Did you see his face? He won't think about laughing at us again!"

Fireheart briefly grinned. It did feel pretty good to show up Blackclaw. He frowned as he watched the black tom race into Crookedstar's den. "But he's gone off to Crookedstar to complain."

Silverthorn snorted and shrugged. "What's he going to do? Punish us for being the only cats hunting? Blackclaw's just going to make a bigger fool of himself."

"Bah!" Yellowfang's harsh voice rang out, and both toms jumped. "Bigger fool than you imbeciles? Unlikely!" The ragged gray molly was hurrying towards them from the Medicine Cats' Den. "Look at you! Soaked to the bone! Did you forget it was winter? Lizard-brains, both of you!"

Fireheart winced as Yellowfang stopped before him, her eyes narrowed to my slits. "My den, now, both of you!" she snapped. "You'll be lucky if you don't catch Greencough!"

Silverthorn parted his jaws to reply, but a shudder ran through him and his teeth clipped together. Yellowfang stared pointedly at him. "Exactly what I'm talking about!" she hissed. "Now, move your pelts!"

Fireheart and Silverthorn shared a glance, both looking somewhere between frightened and amused. Together they stumbled off towards the Medicine Cats' Den, hounded by a furious Yellowfang.