Rusty had made his decision. It had been made the moment he had had his first dream, back when he still had Nutmeg and Princess and Jake. He remembered curling up with them, and realised he wanted that now. The only thing he wanted more—was to be free. He wanted his freedom.
But would he appreciate it if the Clan cats were all like Graypaw? Yes, he supposed he would. And that was a scary thought, to want something so much.
He had forgotten he was leaning on Smudge. His friend’s sturdy build was supporting his painful one. He was aching, inside and out. Graypaw had done some serious damage.
“Glad that’s over,” Smudge muttered for the ninth time as he took in the sun.
Rusty wished he could agree. “I think I’m gonna go.”
“Where?” he asked, and Rusty realised Smudge didn’t understand the significance of his recent “confession.”
Rusty shifted uncomfortable, taking on his own weight. “To the Clans. I think… I think I’m gonna join them.”
Smudge jerked to face him, shock and loss in his eyes, and Rusty wished he could take it back. But he knew he couldn’t, not without being utterly unhappy and regretting it forever—well, almost.
“Are you nuts? You’re nuts! Are you nuts? You must be nuts! Only a wacko would go back there. Trust me, Smudge, they just want prey. You go, they kill you first chance they get.”
“If they wanted to kill me, wouldn’t they have done that already?”
“I was there before,” Smudge protested.
“So?”
“I’m a bigger challenge, aren’t I? They want an easy target.”
Rusty ruffled his fur and stretched his legs, pacing back and forth. “You just stood there, Smudge. I was the one that fought.”
“You’re smaller.”
“I was the one that fought!”
And that was the last thing Rusty ever said to Smudge. He regretted it. He so regretted it. He wanted nothing more than to go and make things right, but no—Smudge would not forgive him, remember him, or speak to him if he did. Too much had changed.

The journey through the forest was long, hard, and way out of Rusty’s league. He didn’t like it and if this was what Clan life was like every day, he would regret it the way he had thought he’d regret giving up the chance to live like this.
It was all so confusing.
Lionheart had met him, just as promised.
The camp was large and grand and the first thing Rusty saw he immediately wanted to forget—Graypaw. He was talking excitedly to a big, white tom who was visibly chuckling by the way his body quivered jollily.
“Firepaw!” a voice Rusty recognised as Bluestar’s called. “Everybody! This orange cat you see before you went by the name of Rusty. But now, he will be Firepaw.”
One tabby tom settled himself down in the crowd and Rusty found his gaze drawn to this one cat, for whatever reason. “Are you joking, Bluestar? He’s still got a collar, he’s a kittypet.”
“I am serious, Longtail,” the leader replied. “But this cat is Firepaw, fifth apprentice of ThunderClan. Any objections, voice them to me.”
“Bluestar!” a new voice called.
“What is it, Mousefur?” Bluestar’s voice was annoyed, she wanted them all to agree in accepting “Firepaw.” The name would take some getting used to.
“Mousefur” was bleeding, panting, and like a walking corpse, she was in such bad shape. “Redtail—dead.”
The words clearly had an impact on the Clan before Mousefur passed out.