Warriors Fire And Ice Quotes

Silverstream: You idiot!!! What are you doing in my territory??? Graystripe:...Drowning? Silverstream: Can't you do that in your own territory? Graystripe: Ah, but who would rescue me there?

behind the mask of ice that people wear, there beats a heart of fire.

Every man should lose a battle in his youth, so he does not lose a war when he is old.

[Fireheart]mewed,"It's not my place to judge you." Greystripe looked up as Fireheart went on." Greystripe, whatever you decide to do, I will always be your friend.

(He) felt lost and alone without his old friend, though he barely recognized him anymore. He wondered if they could ever be friends again.

You idiot!" She spat, flattening her ears. "What are you doing in my territory?" "Drowning?" Replied Graystripe.

Two Windclan apprentices were wandering toward them. Fireheart twitched his ears to warn his friends they had an audience. "Oh, yes," meowed Ravenpaw, raising his voice. "We loners eat Clan apprentices whenever we can catch one.

I thought that I was the Warrior and Cersei was the Maid, but all the time she was the Stranger, hiding her true face from my gaze. "Pray for me, if you like," he told his cousin. "I forgotten all the words.

WindClan has traveled a long time. It's nearly a moon since ShadowClan drove us from our home. The weather is turning colder, and leaf-bare will be here soon. We have no choice but to stay.

I can kill with a single word. I can hurl a ball of fire into the midst of my enemies. I rule a squadron of skeletal warriors, who can destroy by touch alone. I can raise a wall of ice to protect those I serve. The invisible is discernible to my eyes. Ordinary magic spells crumble in my presence... But I bow in the presence of a master. -- Lord Soth to Raistlin Majere

I close my eyes, back straight, face impassive. When I look, I will see someone capable and composed, a warrior and a leader all in one.

You idiot!" She spat, flattening her ears. "What are you doing in my territory?" "Drowning?" Replied Graystripe. "Can't you do that in your own territory?" "Ah, but who would rescue me there?

She had a warrior's heart, but the gods in their blind malice had given her the feeble body of a woman.

If I pray nicely, will the Father give me a new hand? No. But the Warrior will give you courage, the Smith will lend you strength, and the Crone will give you wisdom. It's a hand I need.

Tyrion: Careful now, Shagga, you've cut him. Shagga: Dolf fathered warriors, not barbers.

He is not intimidated by silence, indifference, or rejection. He knows that behind the mask of ice that people wear, there beats a heart of fire.

Graystripe, whatever you decide to do, I will always be your friend.

Lady Brienne is a warrior maid,” confided Septon Meribald, “hunting for the Hound.” “Aye?” Narbert seemed taken aback. “To what end?” Brienne touched Oathkeeper’s hilt. “His,” she said.

Then you do not belong here. Death holds no sweetness in this house. We are not warriors, nor soldiers, nor swaggering bravos puffed up with pride. We do not kill to serve some lord, to fatten our purses, to stroke our vanity. We never give the gift to please ourselves. Nor do we choose the ones we kill. We are but servants of the God of Many Faces." "Valar dohaeris." All men must serve. "You know the words, but you are too proud to serve. A servant must be humble and obedient." "I obey. I can be humbler than anyone." That made him chuckle. "You will be the very goddess of humility, I am sure. But can you pay the price?" "What price?" "The price is you. The price is all you have and all you ever hope to have. We took your eyes and gave them back. Next we will take your ears, and you will walk in silence. You will give us your legs and crawl. You will be no one's daughter, no one's wife, no one's mother. Your name will be a lie, and the very face you wear will not be your own.

It is night in your Seven Kingdoms now,' the red woman went on, 'but soon the sun will rise again. The war continues, Davos Seaworth, and some will soon learn that even an ember in the ashes can still ignite a great blaze. The old maester looked at Stannis and saw only a man. You see a king. You are both wrong. He is the Lord's chosen, the warrior of fire. I have seen him leading the fight against the dark, I have seen it in the flames. The flames do not lie, else you would not be here. It is written in prophecy as well. When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone.

In the Old Way, women might decorate themselves with ornaments bought with coin, but a warrior wore only the jewelry he took off the corpses of enemies slain by his own hand. Paying the iron price, it was called.

A warrior who cannot sleep soon has no strength to fight.

The sound of their voices mingled with the whicker of horses, the clank of steel, and the groaning hinges of the great bronze gates to make a strange and fearful music. In the sept they sing for the Mother's mercy but on the walls it's the Warrior they pray to, and all in silence.

The Father was bearded, as ever. The Mother smiled, loving and protective. The Warrior had his sword sketched in beneath his face, the Smith his hammer. The Maid was beautiful, the Crone wizened and wise. And the seventh face … the Stranger was neither male nor female, yet both, ever the outcast, the wanderer from far places, less and more than human, unknown and unknowable.

He wanted to be a great warrior and a good mentor more than anything else, but it seemed painfully clear that Tigerclaw was just waiting for him to fail. CHAPTER 9 Fireheart woke to find Graystripe sitting beside him, hunched on his belly like a rabbit, his shoulders stiff and his fur fluffed out.

Careful now, Shagga, you’ve cut him.” Shagga growled. “Dolf fathered warriors, not barbers.

Mother could be fiercer than the Warrior when her children are in danger.

Excuse me,” Winter objected. “Dragons my age are seasoned warriors where I come from. We guard the queen all the time in the Ice Kingdom.

Ahead of them, the tunnel was lit by a narrow hole in the ceiling that led to the wasteland above. Fireheart could see many cats huddled together in the gray light—warriors and elders, queens and kits, all pitifully thin. A cold breeze blew relentlessly through the hole in the roof, stirring the thin fur on the skinny bodies. Fireheart shuddered, for the breeze carried to him the stench of sickness and crowfood.

In the field, he would sleep in the saddle oft as not, he claimed, so as to be well rested should he come upon a battle. Sun or storm, it made no matter. “A warrior who cannot sleep soon has no strength to fight,

Then by the powers of StarClan I give you your warrior names: Sandpaw, from this moment you will be known as Sandstorm. StarClan honors your courage and your spirit, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan.

Hamish Alexander-Harrington knew his wife as only two humans who had both been adopted by a pair of mated treecats ever could. He'd seen her deal with joy and with sorrow, with happiness and with fury, with fear, and even with despair. Yet in all the years since their very first meeting at Yeltsin's Star, he suddenly realized, he had never actually met the woman the newsies called "the Salamander." It wasn't his fault, a corner of his brain told him, because he'd never been in the right place to meet her. Never at the right time. He'd never had the chance to stand by her side as she took a wounded heavy cruiser on an unflinching deathride into the broadside of the battlecruiser waiting to kill it, sailing to her own death, and her crew's, to protect a planet full of strangers while the rich beauty of Hammerwell's "Salute to Spring" spilled from her ship's com system. He hadn't stood beside her on the dew-soaked grass of the Landing City duelling grounds, with a pistol in her hand and vengeance in her heart as she faced the man who'd bought the murder of her first great love. Just as he hadn't stood on the floor of Steadholders' Hall when she faced a man with thirty times her fencing experience across the razor-edged steel of their swords, with the ghosts of Reverend Julius Hanks, the butchered children of Mueller Steading, and her own murdered steaders at her back. But now, as he looked into the unyielding flint of his wife's beloved, almond eyes, he knew he'd met the Salamander at last. And he recognized her as only another warrior could. Yet he also knew in that moment that for all his own imposing record of victory in battle, he was not and never had been her equal. As a tactician and a strategist, yes. Even as a fleet commander. But not as the very embodiment of devastation. Not as the Salamander. Because for all the compassion and gentleness which were so much a part of her, there was something else inside Honor Alexander-Harrington, as well. Something he himself had never had. She'd told him, once, that her own temper frightened her. That she sometimes thought she could have been a monster under the wrong set of circumstances. And now, as he realized he'd finally met the monster, his heart twisted with sympathy and love, for at last he understood what she'd been trying to tell him. Understood why she'd bound it with the chains of duty, and love, of compassion and honor, of pity, because, in a way, she'd been right. Under the wrong circumstances, she could have been the most terrifying person he had ever met. In fact, at this moment, she was . It was a merciless something, her "monster"—something that went far beyond military talent, or skills, or even courage. Those things, he knew without conceit, he, too, possessed in plenty. But not that deeply personal something at the core of her, as unstoppable as Juggernaut, merciless and colder than space itself, that no sane human being would ever willingly rouse. In that instant her husband knew, with an icy shiver which somehow, perversely, only made him love her even more deeply, that as he gazed into those agate-hard eyes, he looked into the gates of Hell itself. And whatever anyone else might think, he knew now that there was no fire in Hell. There was only the handmaiden of death, and ice, and purpose, and a determination which would not— couldnot—relent or rest. "I'll miss them," she told him again, still with that dreadful softness, "but I won't forget. I'll never forget, and one day— oneday, Hamish—we're going to find the people who did this, you and I. And when we do, the only thing I'll ask of God is that He let them live long enough to know who's killing them.

For the warrior there is no such thing as an impossible love. He is not intimidated by silence, indifference or rejection. He knows that, behind the mask of ice that people wear, there beats a heart of fire. This is why the warrior takes more risks than other people. He is constantly seeking the love of someone, even if that means often having to hear the word ‘No’, returning home defeated and feeling rejected in body and soul. A warrior never gives in to fear when he is searching for what he needs. Without love, he is nothing.

As the western sky turned the color of a blood bruise, she heard the sound of approaching horses. Dany rose, wiped her hands on her ragged undertunic, and went to stand beside her dragon. That was how Khal Jhaqo found her, when half a hundred mounted warriors emerged from the drifting smoke.

A humble god! You might as well have a toothless wolf! The gods are the gods, ruling thunder and commanding storms, they are the lords of night and day, of fire and ice, the givers of disaster and of triumph. To this day I do not understand why folk become Christians unless it’s simply that the other gods enjoy a joke. I have often suspected that Loki, the trickster god, invented Christianity because it has his wicked stench all over it. I can imagine the gods sitting in Asgard one night, all of them bored and probably drunk, and Loki amuses them with a typical piece of his nonsense, "Let’s invent a carpenter," he suggests, "and tell the fools that he was the son of the only god, that he died and came back to life, that he cured blindness with lumps of clay, and that he walked on water!" Who would believe that nonsense? But the trouble with Loki is that he always takes his jests too far.

I need to see Inej," she said, eager to have him gone. He didn't leave. Instead he said, "Did you think of me at all, Nina? Did I trouble your sleep?" She shrugged. "A Corporalnik can sleep whenever she likes." Though she couldn't control her dreams. "Sleep is a luxury at Hellgate. It's a danger. But when I slept, I dreamed of you." Her head snapped up. "That's right," he said. "Every time I closed my eyes." "What happened in the dreams?" she asked, eager for an answer, but fearing it, too. "Horrible things. The worst kinds of torture. You drowned me slowly. You burned my heart from my chest. You blinded me." "I was a monster." "A monster, a maiden, a sylph of the ice. You kissed me, whispered stories in my ear. You sang to me and held me as I slept. Your laugh chased me into waking." "You always hated my laugh." "I loved your laugh, Nina. And your fierce warrior's heart. I might have loved you, too." Might have. Once. Before she had betrayed him. Those words carved an ache into her chest. She knew she shouldn't speak, but she couldn't help herself. "And what did you do, Matthias? What did you do to me in your dreams?" The ship listed gently. The lanterns swayed. His eyes were fire blue. "Everything," he said, as he turned to go. "Everything.

Fireheart watched her quietly as she shook her head. “I’m never going to be a warrior, am I?” Fireheart couldn’t lie to her. “No,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.” He stretched his muzzle toward her and licked her head. After a few moments, she gave a long sigh and lay down again. “I knew it really,” she mewed. “It’s just that sometimes I dream about being in the forest, hunting with Brackenpaw, and then I wake up and the pain in my leg reminds me I’ll never hunt again. It feels too much to bear. I have to pretend that maybe, one day, I’ll be able to hunt.” Fireheart couldn’t bear to see her in such low spirits. “I’ll take you out into

I have never known a boy who did not love the Warrior. I am old, though, and being old, I love the Smith. Without his labor, what would the Warrior defend? Every town has a smith, and every castle. They make the plows we need to plant our crops, the nails we use to build our ships, iron shoes to save the hooves of our faithful horses, the bright swords of our lords. No one could doubt the value of a smith, and so we name one of the Seven in his honor, but we might as easily have called him the Farmer or the Fisherman, the Carpenter or the Cobbler. What he works at makes no matter. What matters is, he works. The Father rules, the Warrior fights, the Smith labors, and together they perform all that is rightful for a man. Just as the Smith is one aspect of the godhead, the Cobbler is one aspect of the Smith. It was he who heard my prayer and healed my feet.

I shouted over the music, 'I don't need a keeper"' I wanted to spin and spin and spin. 'No, you don't,' Tamlin said, never once stumbling over his playing. How his bow did dance upon the strings, his fingers sturdy and strong, no sign of those claws that I had come to stop fearing... 'Dance, Feyre,' he whispered. So I did. I was loosened, a top whirling around and around, and I didn't know who I danced with or what they looked like, only that I had become the music and the fire and the night, and there was nothing that could slow me down. Through it all, Tamlin and his musicians played such joyous music that I didn't think the world could contain it all. I sashayed over to him, my faerie lord, my protector and warrior, my friend, and danced before him. He grinned at me, and I didn't break my dancing as he rose from his seat and knelt before me in the grass, offering up a solo on his fiddle to me. Music just for me- a gift. He played on, his fingers fast and hard upon the strings of his fiddle. My body slithering like a snake, I tipped my head back to the heavens and let Tamlin's music fill all of me. There was a pressure at my waist and I was swept away in someone's arms as they whisked me back into the ring of dancing. I laughed so hard I thought I'd combust, and when I opened my eyes, I found Tamlin there, spinning me round and round. Everything became a blur of colour and sound, and he was the only object in it, tethering me to sanity, to my body, which glowed and burned in every place he touched. I was filled with sunshine. It was like I'd never experienced summer before, like I'd never known who was waiting to emerge from that forest of ice and snow. I didn't want it to end- I never wanted to leave this hilltop.

8 THE JOURNEY TO Skoda took three days, for the company traveled warily. Acuas told Decado that following the slaying of the soldiers, the Delnoch fortress commander had sent patrols throughout Skultik and the surrounding countryside, while to the south legion riders scouted the lands for rebels. Tenaka took time to speak with the leaders of the Thirty, for despite the many legends, he knew little of their order. According to the stories, the Thirty were semigods with awesome powers who chose to die in wars against evil. The last time they had appeared had been at Dros Delnoch, when the albino Serbitar had stood beside the Earl of Bronze and defied the hordes of Ulric, the greatest Nadir warlord of all time. But though Tenaka questioned the leaders, he learned little. They were courteous and polite—even distantly friendly—but their answers floated above his head like clouds beyond the grasp of common men. Decado was no different; he would merely smile and change the subject. Tenaka was not a religious man, yet he felt ill at ease among these warrior-priests and his mind constantly returned to the words of the blind seeker. “Of gold and ice and shadow …” The man had predicted that the trio would come together. And they had. He had also foreseen the danger of the Templars. On the first night of their journey Tenaka approached the elderly Abaddon, and the two walked away from the fire together. “I saw you in Skultik,” said Tenaka. “You were being attacked by a Joining.” “Yes. I apologize for the deceit.” “What was the reason for it?” “It was a test, my son. But not merely of you—of ourselves.” “I do not understand,” said Tenaka. “It is not necessary that you should. Do not fear us, Tenaka. We are here to help you in whatever way we can.” “Why?” “Because it serves the Source.” “Can you not answer me without religious riddles? You are men. What do you gain from this war?” “Nothing in this world.” “You know why I came here?” “Yes, my son. To purge your mind of guilt and grief, to drown it in Ceska’s blood.” “And now?” “Now you are caught up in forces beyond your control. Your grief is assuaged by your love for Renya, but the guilt remains. You did not obey the call—you left your friends to be butchered by the Joinings of Ceska. You ask yourself if it would have been different had you come. Could you have defeated the Joinings? You torment yourself thus.” “Could I have defeated the Joinings?” “No,

Other men might be fathers, sons, husbands, but never Jaime Lannister, whose sword was as golden as his hair. He was a warrior, and that was all he would ever be.

For the Warrior there is no such thing as an impossible love. He is not intimidated by silence, indifference, or rejection. He knows that behind the mask of ice that people wear, there beats a heart of fire.

THE PROPHECIES BEGIN Book One: Into the Wild Book Two: Fire and Ice Book Three: Forest of Secrets Book Four: Rising Storm Book Five: A Dangerous Path Book Six: The Darkest Hour THE NEW PROPHECY Book One: Midnight Book Two: Moonrise Book Three: Dawn Book Four: Starlight Book Five: Twilight Book Six: Sunset POWER OF THREE Book One: The Sight Book Two: Dark River Book Three: Outcast Book Four: Eclipse Book Five: Long Shadows Book Six: Sunrise OMEN OF THE STARS Book One: The Fourth Apprentice Book Two: Fading Echoes Book Three: Night Whispers Book Four: Sign of the Moon Book Five: The Forgotten Warrior Book Six: The Last Hope DAWN OF THE CLANS Book One: The Sun Trail Book Two: Thunder Rising Book Three: The First Battle Book Four: The Blazing Star Book Five: A Forest Divided Warriors Super Edition: Firestar’s Quest Warriors Super Edition: Bluestar’s Prophecy Warriors Super Edition: SkyClan’s Destiny Warriors Super Edition: Crookedstar’s Promise Warriors Super Edition: Yellowfang’s Secret Warriors Super Edition: Tallstar’s Revenge Warriors Super Edition: Bramblestar’s Storm Warriors Field Guide: Secrets of the Clans Warriors: Cats of the Clans Warriors: Code of the Clans Warriors: Battles of the Clans Warriors: Enter the Clans Warriors: The Ultimate Guide Warriors: The Untold Stories Warriors: Tales from the Clans MANGA The Lost Warrior Warrior’s Refuge Warrior’s Return The Rise of Scourge Tigerstar and Sasha #1: Into the Woods Tigerstar and Sasha #2: Escape from the Forest Tigerstar and Sasha #3: Return to the Clans Ravenpaw’s Path #1: Shattered Peace Ravenpaw’s Path #2: A Clan in Need Ravenpaw’s Path #3: The Heart of a Warrior SkyClan and the Stranger #1: The Rescue SkyClan and the Stranger #2: Beyond the Code SkyClan and the Stranger #3: After the Flood NOVELLAS Hollyleaf’s Story Mistystar’s Omen Cloudstar’s Journey Tigerclaw’s

Fireheart looked around at the rest of the Clan. Every cat seemed to be nodding approvingly. Then his eyes found Tigerclaw. From the edge of the clearing, the deputy’s amber gaze seemed to mock him. Fireheart looked hastily down at Cinderpaw, who was staring at him with undisguised pride. Fireheart’s fur suddenly began to prickle. He wanted to be a great warrior and a good mentor more than anything else, but it seemed painfully clear that Tigerclaw was just waiting for him to fail.

What he works at makes no matter. What matters is, he works. The Father rules, the Warrior fights, the Smith labors, and together they perform all that is rightful for a man.

Tan clenched his fists. There isn’t time— Asboel snorted. Time? I have spent a millennia trapped beneath the ice. There is always time.

wanted to be a great warrior and a good mentor more than anything else, but it seemed painfully clear that Tigerclaw was just waiting for him to fail.

Tigerclaw emerged from behind the kitten, holding the moss ball between his teeth. He carried the ball over to the kit and dropped it by Cloudkit’s fluffy white paws. “Be careful,” he growled. “You wouldn’t want to lose such a precious plaything.” As he spoke, the dark warrior stared at Fireheart over Cloudkit’s head. Fireheart shivered. What did Tigerclaw mean by that? He seemed to be talking about the moss ball—but did he really mean that Cloudkit was a plaything?

raced after him, past Fourtrees to the steep slope that led to the uplands. They bounded up, their paws made noiseless by the snow. When they reached the top, Fireheart was battered by a howling wind that turned his ears inside out. The WindClan hunting grounds looked more barren than ever, the gorse hidden by a layer of snow. “Fireheart! You know the way to the WindClan camp!” yowled Tigerclaw above the wind. “Lead us there.” He slowed to let Fireheart pass. Fireheart wondered if the deputy didn’t trust Onewhisker enough to let the WindClan warrior guide them. He looked back at Graystripe, hoping for some help, but the gray warrior had his head bowed low and his shoulders hunched miserably as the wind buffeted his thick fur. There would be little help there. Fireheart turned his eyes to StarClan and sent up a prayer for guidance. He was surprised to find that he recognized the shape of the land even beneath the snow. There was the badger set and the rock Graystripe had climbed to get a better view. He followed the contours he remembered from his journey with Graystripe until he reached the dip in the land that marked the WindClan camp. Fireheart paused at the rim of the hollow. “Down there!” he yowled. For a heartbeat the wind dropped,

You don’t need him,” Hailstorm said, ignoring his brother. “He’s completely useless. Queen Glacier won’t trade any prisoners for him — nobody back in the Ice Kingdom would care whether they ever saw him again. And he wouldn’t even be interesting in your queen’s arena. He can barely fight. He’d be dead in two heartbeats.” Winter looked as though the world was crumbling beneath his talons. “Is that true?” he whispered. “Hailstorm, is that really what you think?” “If he’s so useless,” the SkyWing asked, “why do you care if we let him go?” Hailstorm lifted and settled his wings again. “Call me sentimental. He’s my little brother and I quite like him, even if I wouldn’t want him beside me in a battle. Besides, I know I’m worth trading, whereas he’ll be bones in your arena sands before the month is up.” “Ouch,” said the SkyWing, giving Winter an amused, pitying look. “I think I’d probably rather die in battle than listen to my brother talk about me that way.” “I’m not useless,” Winter said furiously. “Fight me and you’ll see!” “Oh, go home,” Hailstorm said, swatting Winter’s wing. “You want to be useful? Fine. Get out of here. Go tell our parents where I am.” “I’m not leaving you,” Winter protested in a half-choked voice. “I’m not going to hand you over to them without even trying to save you —” “Yes, you are,” Hailstorm said. “This is the real war, little brother. Go away and let the true warriors fight it. Nobody wants to watch you pathetically flail around and then die pointlessly.” “Oh, my, I can’t even listen to this anymore,” said the SkyWing. “IceWing, I’m going to be more merciful than your heartless brother and let you go. You can tell Queen Glacier that Queen Scarlet

What’s the matter?” Cinderpaw prompted gently. Fireheart shrugged. “I’m just sick of the way some of the other cats look at him, like he’s stupid or worthless.” “Does Cloudkit notice these looks?” Fireheart shook his head. “Well, don’t worry then,” Cinderpaw mewed. “But Cloudkit doesn’t even know he was born a kittypet. I think he just assumes he’s from a different Clan. But if they keep giving him these dirty looks, he’s going to realize there’s something wrong with him.” Fireheart looked at his paws fretfully. “Something wrong with him?” echoed Cinderpaw in wonder. “You were born a kittypet and there’s nothing wrong with you! Look, by the time Cloudkit works out where he comes from, he’ll be able to start proving that a kittypet can be as good as any Clanborn warrior. Just like you’ve done.” “What if someone tells him before he’s ready?” “If he’s anything like you, he was born ready!” “When did you get so smart?” Fireheart meowed, rather surprised by his apprentice’s sharpness. Cinderpaw rolled onto her back with a dramatic moan. “Suffering can do that to a cat!” Fireheart prodded her stomach with a paw, and Cinderpaw squeaked before scrambling back onto her side. “No, really,” she mewed. “Look who I’ve been hanging out with lately!” Fireheart tipped his head on one side questioningly. “Yellowfang, you dope,” Cinderpaw scoffed. “She’s one sharp old cat. I’m learning a lot.

battle is coming, Fireheart. Beware a warrior you cannot trust.

Lord Randyll couldn't make Sam a warrior, and Ser Alliser won't eithe. You can't hammer tin into iron, no matter how hard you beat it, but that doesn't mean tin is useless.

He knew only too well which warrior had been detected in Crookedstar’s territory. Would any of the RiverClan warriors recognize his scent tonight? Graystripe sat motionless, not taking his eyes off the leaders on the Great Rock. Tigerclaw’s deep growl sounded from the crowd. “We have scented ShadowClan in our territory as well as RiverClan this past moon. And not just one warrior, but a whole patrol, always the same cats.” The ShadowClan leader’s eyes flashed indignantly. “ShadowClan has not been in your territory

A battle is coming, Fireheart. Beware a warrior you cannot trust.

EXCERPT FROM WARRIORS #2: FIRE AND ICE

apprentices from the other Clans—their fur looked kit-soft, their faces round, and their paws plump and clumsy. Two warriors approached Graystripe and Fireheart. A small brown apprentice tagged after them. Fireheart recognized the gray tabby tom from ShadowClan, but not the smoky black tom who walked with him. “Hi!” meowed the gray tom. “Hello, Wetfoot,” replied Fireheart. He glanced at the dark brown cat. Wetfoot meowed, “This is Blackclaw of RiverClan.” Graystripe and Fireheart nodded their greeting. The apprentice stepped timidly forward. “And this is my apprentice, Oakpaw,” added Wetfoot. Oakpaw looked up at Fireheart with wide, anxious eyes. “H-hi, Fireheart,” he mewed. Fireheart nodded his head in greeting.