Chapter 24

                                    

                                          
Sandstorm leaped from one stepping stone to the next across the swiftly flowing river. The floodwater had retreated and the stones were clearly visible again. It was the day after Graystripe had died; the sky was gray with a thin drizzle of rain, as if Starclan were mourning her too.
Sandstorm was on his way to take the news of Graystripe's death into Riverclan, although he had not sought Oakstar's permission first. He had slipped away without telling any cat because he thought Graystripe's Clan had the right to know what happened to her. And he suspected that not every cat in Thunderclan would agree with him.
Reaching the opposite bank, Sandstorm stood with his head raised, tasting the air for fresh scents. He caught one almost at once, and a heartbeat later a small tabby she-cat appeared from the ferns above the path.
She hesitated, looking startled, before sidling down the bank to confront Sandstorm. "You're Sandstorm, aren't you?" she meowed. "I recognize you from the last Gathering. What are you doing on our side of the river?"
She was trying to sound confident, but Sandstorm could detect nervousness in her voice. She was a very young cat—an apprentice, Sandstorm guessed, anxious at being away from the camp without her mentor.
"I'm not here to fight, or to spy," Sandstorm promised. "I need to talk to Blackclaw. Will you fetch her for me?"
The apprentice hesitated again, as if she would have liked to protest. Then the habit of obeying warriors' orders won over, and she padded along the riverside in the direction of the Riverclan camp. Sandstorm watched her go and scrambled up the bank to a spot where he could lie concealed in the bracken until Blackclaw appeared.
It was a long time before she came, but at last Sandstorm caught sight of her familiar black shape trotting rapidly toward him. Familiar because of Oakstar, he realized with a jolt. His leader's daughter was practically her double, except for the pelt colors. To his relief she was alone. As she paused to sniff the air, he called out softly to her, "Blackclaw! Up here!"
Blackclaw's ears twitched; moments later she was pushing her way into the ferns beside him. "What is it?" she meowed, looking worried. "Is it about Graystripe? I haven't seen her since yesterday."
Sandstorm felt as if a bone were lodged in his throat. He swallowed uncomfortably. "Blackclaw," he mewed, "it's bad news. I'm so sorry... Graystripe is dead."
Blackclaw fixed him with wide orange eyes full of disbelief. "Dead?" she echoed. "She can't be!" Before Sandstorm could respond, she added more harshly, "Did some of your Thunderclan warriors catch her over there?"
"No, no," Sandstorm replied quickly. "She was at the Sunningrocks with Silverstream, and the kits started to come. Something was wrong... there was a lot of blood. We did everything we could, but... oh, Blackclaw, I'm so sorry."
Pain flooded into Blackclaw's eyes as he explained. She let out a long, low wailing sound, her head flung back and her claws digging into the ground. Sandstorm moved closer to try to comfort her, and felt every muscle in her body rigid with tension. There were no words he could say that would do any good.
At last the terrible wailing died away and Blackclaw relaxed a little. "I knew no good could come of it," she murmured. There was no anger or accusation in her voice, only a weary sadness. "I told her not to meet Silverstream, but would she listen? And now... I can't believe I'll never see her again."
"Silverstream buried her by the Sunningrocks," Sandstorm told her. "If you'll meet me there one day, I'll show you the place."
Blackclaw nodded. "I'd like that, Sandstorm."
"Her kits are alive," Sandstorm added, in an attempt to ease some of the queen's grief.
"Her kits?" Blackclaw sat up, alert again.