Graystripe drops Speckletail's kit Whitestorm's paws and turns to face the clan. "It's shallow enough to wade most of the way," he yowls, "Much shallower than usual. There's a place in the middle where you'll have to swim, but you will make it." The cats look at him with horrified eyes. "You have to trust me!" he urges the clan.
Whitestorm meets his gaze for a long heartbeat then nods calmly. Picking up Speckletail's kit the white warrior wades into the river until he stands up to his belly in the dark water. The white tom turns, and flicks his tail for the others to follow.
He feels a familiar scent in his nostril, and a soft ginger pelt brushes against his shoulder. He looks down into Sandstorm's bright green gaze.
"You think it's safe?" she murmurs, pointing with her nose to the fast-flowing river.
"Yes I promise." Graystripe replies hoping that it's true. It's shallow and his clanmates will only have to swim for a little bit. He wishes they are both away from the flame-threatened shore, but he has to make sure all his clanmates get across. Frostfur, Brindleface, and Dappletail help Goldenflower get his and her kits to the shore on the other side. He blinks slowly at the steadfast warrior beside him, trying to comfort her with his gaze, even though he really just wants this nightmare to be over and bury his muzzle in her fur for comfort.
Sandstorm nods as if she can read his mind. Then she races through the shallows and plunges into the deep central channel just as lighting lights up the rippling water. His chest tightens as the she-cat loses her footing and disappears under the surface. He feels his heart stop beating and his ears roar like thunder as he waits for her to reappear.
The pale-ginger she-cat reappears above the surface, coughing and thrashing with her paws swimming steadily towards the far shore, relief flooding through him. She struggles out on the other side, her coat dark with water and clinging to her body. "Just keep your paws moving, you'll be okay!"
His chest aches with pride at the ginger warrior. Staring at the lithe shape, silhouetted against the trees on the other shore, he could hardly stop himself from leaping into the water and swimming to the other side. But he has to see that the rest of the Clan makes it across first and he watches as the rest of his clanmates plunge into the river.
Dustpelt and Cloudpaw drag Patchpelt's body to the water's edge. Dustpelt looks down at it, then gazes across the river, his expression bleak at the impossibility of carrying the dead elder to the other side when it will be difficult enough to swim alone.
Padding to the warriors side he mews, "Leave him here." The prospect of leaving another cat behind tears at his heart, but they have to leave for the safety of the far-shore before the flames get to them. "We can come back and bury him once the fire has passed."
Dustpelt nods and wades into the river with Cloudpaw. His apprentice is almost unrecognizable under the smoke stains, and he passes he touches his nose to the young cat's flank, proud of his silent courage.
When Graystripe lifts his head, he notices Smallear hesitating on the bank. On the far-side Sandstorm is standing belly-deep in the water, helping the last of their clanmates across as they struggle to the shore. She calls encouragingly to the old gray tom, but Smallear backs away as another bolt of lighting lights up the sky. Dashing to the trembling elder, he grabs him by the scruff and plunges into the river. Smallear wails and flounders in his grip as Graystripe struggles to keep his head afloat because of him struggling. He's used to swimming on his own, but Smallear's movements make it hard to swim with the elder.
The water feels icy cold after the heat of the flames, and he finds himself gasping for breath. He plows on remembering how he easily swam this channel moons ago while meeting Silverstream.
Suddenly a swift current pulls them off course. Failing with his paws, feeling the panic rise in his chest as he sees the gently sloping bank slip past and a steep wall of mud loom in its place. How will he climb out of here? Especially with Smallear's scruff in his jaws. The old tom has stopped struggling now, and hangs like a deadweight in his jaws, making getting to the shore a little easier. Only the rasping in the elders breath tells him they will both survive the journey.
Without warning a mottled head reaches down the bank and grabs Smallear from him. It's Leopardfur, the deputy of Riverclan! Scrabbling in the mud for a pawhold, she drags Smallear out, dropping the elder on the ground reaching out again for Graystripe. Which surprises him, as he had accidentally killed a warrior she seemed fond of, Whiteclaw. He feels her teeth sharp in his scruff as she hauls him up the slippery bank. He feels a wave of relief as his paws sink into the dry ground.
"Is that everyone?" Leopardfur demands.
He looks around him. Riverclan cats are weaving among the Thunderclan cats as they crouch, drenched and shocked on the pebbles. Mistyfoot is one of them.
"I-I think so." he stammers. He can see Bluestar lying under some trailing willow branches. She looks small and frail with her soaked fur flattened against her scrawny flanks.
"What about that one?" Leopardfur points with her nose to the unmoving black and white shape on the river on the far shore.
Turning to look, the ferns on the other are burning now, spending sparks flying into the river and illuminating the trees with flickering light. "He's dead." he whispers, pain once again twisting in his heart at the loss of the elder.
Without a word, Leopardfur slips into the river and swims to the other side. Wither her golden fur flickering in the light of the flames, she snatches Patchpelt's body and paddles strongly back, her front paws churning through the black water. A clap of thunder explodes overhead, making Graystripe flinch, but the riverclan deputy doesn't stop swimming.
"Graystripe!" Mistyfoot races over to him, pressing herself against her friend, her flank warm and soft. "Are you okay? What about the kits?"
He nods dazed, as Leopardfur hauls Patchpelt's body onto the shore. She lays in at Graystripe paws and mews, "Come on, we'll bury him back at camp."
"The…the Riverclan camp?"
"Unless you'd prefer to return to your own." Leopard answers coldly. She turns and leads the way up the slope away from the river and the flames. As Thunderclan heave themselves to their paws and begin to follow, heavy drops of rain begin to fall through the canopy of leaves.
Graystripe twitches his war, has the rain come soon enough for the burning forest? More exhausted than he can ever remember being, he watches as Mistyfoot lifts Patchpelt's drenched body with her strong jaws. The rain begins to fall more heavily, pounding the forest as he falls in behind the others, his paws stumbling over the smooth pebbles. Sandstorm joins him, and he leans on her, the exhaustion in him making it hard to walk.
The Riverclan deputy leads the blackened, bedraggled group through the reed beds beside the bank, an island appearing ahead. In any other season it would be surrounded by water, but now the path merely glistens in the fresh rainfall.
He recognizes this place. It had been ringed with ice the first time he had been here. Reeds poked sharply through the frozen water then; now they sway in great swathes, and silvery willow trees grow among the rustling stems. The rain cascades down their delicate, trailing branches onto the sandy ground below.
Leopardfur follows the narrow passage through the rushes and onto the island. There is a lingering smell of smoke here, but the roar of flames have faded and he can hear the merciful sound of raindrops splashing down into the water beyond the reeds.
Crookedstar stands in a clearing in the center of the island, his fur bristling on his shoulders. Graystripe notices that the Riverclan leader glances suspiciously at them as the Thunderclan cats limp into the camp, but Leopardfur pads over to the light brown tabby explaining, "They were fleeing from the fire."
"Is Riverclan safe?"
"The fire won't cross the river," replies Leopardfur," Especially now that the wind has changed."
Sniffing the air, Leopardfur is right; the wind has changed. The storm has been carried in on a wind much fresher than any he has smelled for a while. It ripples through his sodden fur, and he feels his mind begin to clear. Water drips from his whiskers as he swings his head around to see where Bluestar is. He knows she should greet Crookedstar formally, but she is huddled among her clan, her head low and her eyes half closed.
Anxiety clenches his belly. Thunderclan can not afford to let Riverclan know how weak their leader is. Leaving Sandstorm he mews, "I need to go and greet Crookedstar, I'll be back." Sandstorm nods in understanding, he takes Bluestar's place by stepping towards the Riverclan leader.
"Leopardfur and her patrol showed great kindness and courage in helping us flee the fire," he mews, dipping his head low. Above him lightning still flickers across the cloudy sky and thunder rumbles in the distance, rolling away from the forest.
"Leopardfur was right to help you. All clans fear fire." replies Crookedstar.
"Our camp has been burned and our territory is on fire. We have nowhere else to go." He knows he has no choice but to throw himself on the mercy of the Riverclan leader.
Crookedstar narrows his eyes and pauses. His pelt grows hot with frustration. Surely the Riverclan leader didn't think Thunderclan, while they are exhausted from fleeing the fire, would pose any threat? The Riverclan leader meows, "You are welcome to stay until it is safe for you to return."
Relief flows through him. "Thank you," he mews, blinking gratefully at the old leader.
"Would you like us to bury your elder?" Leopard offers.
"You are very generous, but Patchpelt should be buried by his own clan." He answers. It is sad enough the old tom would not be laid to rest in his own territory and he knows that his denmates would like to send him on his final journey to Starclan.
"Very well," meows Leopardfur. "I'll have his body moved outside of the camp so that your elders may sit vigil with him in peace." He nods his thanks as Leopardfur continues, "I'll ask Mudufr to help your Medicine cat."
The mottled she-cat scans the drenched and shivering cats. Her eyes narrow as her gaze falls upon the huddled shape of the Thunderclan leader. "Is Bluestar injured?"
"The smoke was very bad," Graystripe mews carefully. "She was among the last to leave the camp. Now if you excuse me, I must tend to my clanmates." He stands up and pads over to where Cloudpaw and Smallear sit, side by side. "Are you fit enough to bury Patchpelt?" he asks.
"I am." Cloudpaw mews, "But I think Smallear is….."
"I'm well enough to bury an old denmate," rasps Smallear, his voice scratched by smoke.
"I'll ask Dustpelt to help you." he tells them.
A brown tom is following Cinderpelt among the Thunderclan cats. He carries a bundle of herbs in his mouth, which he places on the damp ground when Cinderpelt pauses by Willowpelt and her kits. The tiny cats are wailing pitfully, but refuse to drink when Willowpelt presses them to her belly.
Hurrying over he asks, "Are they okay?"
Cinderpelt nods, "Mudfur suggested we give them honey to soothe their throats. They'll be fine, but it's done them no good to breathe in the smoke."
The brown cat at her side meows to Willowpelt, "Do you think they can manage a little honey?" The gray queen nods and watches gratefully as the Riverclan Medicine cat holds out a wad of miss dripping with sticky, golden liquid. She purrs as her tiny kits lick at it, tentatively at first, then greedily as the soothing sweetness enters their mouths.
Padding away, Cinderpelt has everything under control. Finding a sheltered corner at the edge of the clearing, next to the sleeping bodies of Sandstorm and Longtail. He purrs at the peacefulness they exhibit that is in sharp contrast to the events that happened today. Settling down as quietly as he can beside them, he begins to wash his gray pelt. His singed pelt tastes foul as he brushes his tongue along it. His body aches with tiredness but he continues to lick his thick pelt. He wants to wash away all traces of the smoke before he rests.
When he finishes he glances around the camp. The Riverclan cats have fled the rain into their dens, leaving the Thunderclan cats to huddle in groups at the edge of the clearing beneath the whispering wall of reeds, seeking any protection from the rain. Cinderpelt has finished tending to the cats and is curled up, exhausted beside Ashpaw. Goldenflower, Tawnykit, Bramblekit, Featherkit and Storm kit are nestled together all sleeping soundly, making him purr at the sight. Bluestar is asleep beside Whitestorm.
Resting his muzzle on his forepaws, listening to the beating of the rain on the muddy clearing, he eventually falls asleep. The unbearable image of Yellowfang's terrified face bursts into his mind. His heart begins to pound, but exhaustion ultimately takes over, and he retreats again into the refuge of sleep.