Disclaimer: I do not own Warriors. Note: Sorry for not updating, I was busy. But I'm baaack!

"SPARKFUR!"

A reddish tabby whipped around to look at the fiery-eyed cat approaching, or as she knew him, her father. "Uh-oh," said her friend, Blackfoot, in a singsong voice. "Here comes Redstripe. I'd better go." The gray, black-footed cat darted off, waving her tail in the air.

"Hey!" Sparkfur shouted after him. She turned back to look at Redstripe, who was nearly in speaking range. "So much for loyal," she muttered under her breath. Redstripe finally got close enough, and spoke in low tones. "Sparkfur, didn't I tell you to go hunt at sunhigh?"

"Um…" She shifted uncomfortably, twitching her whiskers. "Maybe…wait! Is that a trick question?" Redstripe gave an exasperated sigh and boxed her across the ears, knocking her over.

"Honestly! It's almost sundown. I'm not raising you to play around. I'm the deputy—for that matter, I'm your father—and I expect you to do something when I ask you to do it! Now, go hunt."

"But—" Sparkfur protested.

"No buts! And you can't eat till I tell you to. We have a Clan to feed." Redstripe turned away.

"Okay." The scarlet she-cat looked at the setting sun and sighed, then turned toward the edge of camp.

"Where are you going, Sparkfur?" a voice called. Normally she would have whipped around and snapped rudely, but it was Firestar. The aging tom padded up and smiled. His orange fur was graying, but she could almost feel all his adventures pulsing in her veins. She understood his strong, powerful face. She knew what it was like to be rejected at first. She knew.

"I'm going hunting, because I didn't earlier." She waited for a quick scolding, and got only a laugh.

"Well, is there room for one more on your hunt?" Firestar asked, studying her face. She looked up, surprised.

"Really? You'd come with me?" A smile crossed her face. He laughed again and meowed, "Well, why not? I've got nothing better to do, and"—he lowered his voice—"I've been itching for a good, plump vole." Sparkfur giggled, and they ran off, she matching his strides perfectly.

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"Firestar, no!" Sparkfur yowled in horror. The tom turned too late. A pointy-nosed fox jumped upon him.

"You get off my leader, you mangy dog!" she shrieked, leaping for the fox. Her claws scored down its flank as she struggled atop it. The animal stopped momentarily and bucked its hind legs, yelping in pain. Sparkfur clung fast and sank her teeth into its neck. The fox wobbled, gurgled a cry, and toppled. She ripped away, blood and fur filling her mouth.

Spitting out the contents of her jaws, she turned to Firestar. His side was bloody and unrecognizable. One of his legs had barely any foot left. "Firestar," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry." He was unconscious, because he didn't answer. Sparkfur took a deep breath and began shrugging the injured cat onto her back. When her back was bending from his weight, she raced back to the camp.

"Help! Help! Leafpool!" Every cat looked up. The elder, Graystripe, gasped and darted over to her with a small limp. Although retired from warrior duties, he could be strong if he had to. He shrugged half the bloody orange load onto his back, and they took Firestar to Leafpool's den.

The tabby looked shocked to see her grandfather like that. She hissed in her breath. "Come, come, quickly. Be gentle when you set him down." They laid him softly onto the moss bed, and Leafpool began to slowly lick the blood off his fur. Graystripe clung to the edge of the den, looking worried and sorrowful.

"How did this happen?" Leafpool asked, pausing for a moment. Jaypaw came out of the back, looking about. His crystal blue eyes were of no use.

"A fox attacked him," Sparkfur whispered, wistful. She looked away.

"What? A fox? Are you hurt? I must tell Redstripe—" Leafpool rushed into a jumbled mess of words.

"No. I'm not hurt. I killed it."

All the cats stared at her in awe. Jaypaw, however, looked somewhere above her left shoulder.

"Um…thanks. Go get some rest."

Sparkfur padded away, feeling responsible for the leader's injuries. She hoped he would be alright. Quietly she settled her nest next to Blackfoot and went to sleep.

Flames crackled and burned. They reached for the skies, smoke plumes billowing out from the fire.

Then it rained. It was a full-blown downpour, and Sparkfur ran for cover. She hid beneath a weeping willow beside a river, shivering. She was cold and wet, and hurried out when the rain stopped. Interested in a bright thing in the charred remains of the fire, she trotted up to it. It was a rock with five glowing sparks on it. She blew on them, but they didn't move.

A tortoiseshell appeared. She smiled. "Hello, Sparkfur. My name is Spottedleaf. That is flint, and you probably know those are sparks."

"Yes, but—"

"When the fire dies, spark and flint alone can harness the power to bring it back to life," she murmured.

"What? What do you mean?" Sparkfur asked, confused. Spottedleaf ran away, across the burnt field. "Spottedleaf! Wait!"

The tortoiseshell looked back. She gave her a small smile. "Good luck!" She flicked her tail, and flames hissed up once more.