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Fire and Blood PDF had mixed tests from experts. Hugo Rif most of The Times described it as a “sad, liberating puzzle. Roisin O’Connor of The Independent blamed the book for its dry tone and noted that processing it sounds like” shared something fun, but always repetitive, homework. “Weekly Distributors “pointed out that” Martin’s narrative style that is reminiscent of and present with an entertaining story is a major part of the lost in this dry history”
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Centuries before the times of A Game of Thrones, House Targaryen – the core group of astronomers who endured the Doom of Valyria – settled in Dragonstone. Fire And Blood Epub begin their story with the legendary Aegon the Conqu Empering, the maker of the Iron Throne, and goes on to relate the years of the Targaryens who fought to hold that landmark, as much as possible until the general war that nearly obliterated their culture.
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George Raymond Richard Martin (conceived George Raymond Martin; September 20, 1948), otherwise known as GRRM, is an American writer and short story writer on a dream, hastiness, and sci-fi genres, screenwriter, and TV maker. He is designing a comic book adaptation of Song of Ice and Fire, which was adapted for HBO Game of Thrones (2011-2019).
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The once-beautiful queen, Dappletail, spoke up in a voice cracked with age. “At the Gathering, some of the RiverClan elders spoke of Twolegs taking over part of their river.”
“That’s right,” added Frostfur. “They say Twolegs have been living in shelters beside the river, disturbing the fish. The RiverClan cats have had to hide in the bushes and watch them with empty stomachs!”
Bluestar looked thoughtful. “For now, we must be careful to do nothing that may bring ShadowClan and RiverClan closer together. Go and rest now. Runningwind and Dustpaw, you will take the dawn patrol.”
A cold breeze rattled the dying leaves in the trees overhead. The cats, still murmuring amongst themselves, went to their dens.
For the second night in a row, Fireheart dreamed. He was standing in the dark. The roar and the stench of a Thunderpath was very close by. Fireheart felt himself buffeted and blinded by the monsters that roared up and down with glaring eyes. Suddenly, through the din, Fireheart heard the pitiful cry of a young cat. The desperate wail sliced through the thundering of the monsters.
Fireheart awoke with a start. For a moment he thought that the cry had woken him. But the only noise was the muffled snores of warriors sleeping beside him. A growl came from somewhere near the middle of the den. It sounded like Tigerclaw. Fireheart felt too unsettled to go back to sleep, so he crept silently out of the den.
It was dark outside, and the stars dotting the black sky told him dawn was still far off. With the wail of the young cat echoing in his mind, Fireheart padded over to the nursery, his ears pricked. He could hear pawsteps beyond the camp wall. He sniffed the air. It was just Darkstripe and Longtail. Fireheart picked up their scents as they guarded ThunderClan’s territory.
The calm of the sleeping camp soothed Fireheart. Every cat must have nightmares about the Thunderpath, he told himself. He crept back into the den and circled comfortably back into his nest. Graystripe purred briefly in his sleep as Fireheart settled beside him and closed his eyes.
Graystripe’s nose woke him, prodding his side. “Leave me alone,” Fireheart grumbled.
“Wake up!” Graystripe hissed.
“Why? We’re not on patrol!” Fireheart complained.
“Bluestar wants to see us in her den, now.”
Fuzzy-headed, Fireheart scrambled to his paws and followed Graystripe out of the den. The sun was beginning to turn the sky pink, and there was frost on the trees around the camp.
The two cats bounded across the clearing to Bluestar’s den and announced their arrival with hushed mews.
“Enter!” It was Tigerclaw’s voice that answered from behind the draped lichen. Alarm swept through Fireheart as he remembered his conversation with Bluestar on the way to the Gathering. Had she told Tigerclaw about his accusations? Graystripe pushed his way into Bluestar’s den. Fireheart followed him uneasily.
Bluestar was sitting in her nest, her head up and her eyes bright. Tigerclaw stood in the middle of the smooth sandstone floor. Fireheart tried to read his expression, but the great tabby’s eyes were as cold and steady as always.
Bluestar began at once. “Fireheart, Graystripe, I have an important mission for you.”
“A mission?” Fireheart echoed. Relief and excitement swept away his anxiety.
“I want you to find WindClan and bring them back to their territory,” announced Bluestar.
“Before you get too excited, bear in mind this could be very dangerous,” Tigerclaw growled. “We don’t know where WindClan has gone, so you will have to follow what is left of their scent–probably into hostile territory.”
“But you’ve been through WindClan territory, when you traveled with me to the Moonstone,” Bluestar pointed out. “Their scent will be familiar, as will the Twoleg territory beyond the uplands.”
“Will it just be us?” asked Fireheart.
“Our other warriors are needed here,” meowed Tigerclaw. “Leaf-bare is coming, and we need to gather as much fresh-kill as possible. Many prey-poor moons lie ahead.”
Bluestar nodded. “Tigerclaw will help you prepare for the journey.” Fireheart’s paws prickled with unease. Bluestar had as much faith in her deputy as ever. Why was Fireheart the only cat in ThunderClan who didn’t trust Tigerclaw?
“You must leave as soon as possible,” Bluestar continued. “Good luck.”
“We’ll find them,” Graystripe promised.
Dragging his thoughts back to the journey ahead, Fireheart nodded.
Tigerclaw followed them out of Bluestar’s den. “Do you remember how to get to WindClan territory?”
“Oh, yes, Tigerclaw, we were there only—”
Fireheart interrupted Graystripe’s eager reply, “Only a few moons ago,” he meowed quickly. He flashed a warning glare at his friend. Graystripe had almost given away their journey several nights earlier with Ravenpaw.
Tigerclaw hesitated. Fireheart held his breath. Had he noticed Graystripe’s mistake?
“And can you recall WindClan’s scent?” the deputy meowed.
Fireheart sent silent thanks to StarClan.
The young warriors nodded, and Fireheart began to picture himself charging through the prickly gorse of the uplands in search of the lost Clan.
“You will need herbs for strength and to keep your hunger away. Fetch them from Yellowfang before you leave.” Tigerclaw paused. “And don’t forget that Nightpelt is planning to travel to the Moonstone tonight. Keep well out of his way.”
“Yes, Tigerclaw,” replied Fireheart.
“He’ll never know we’re out there,” Graystripe assured him.
“As I would expect,” meowed Tigerclaw. “Now, go!” Without another word, he turned and bounded away.
“He might have wished us good luck,” Graystripe complained.
“He probably thinks we don’t need it,” joked Fireheart as they crossed the clearing toward Yellowfang’s den. But at the same time, he reflected, Tigerclaw seemed to be treating them with as much respect as he would any warrior—was it possible that he wasn’t the traitor that Ravenpaw thought? It was still cold, despite the rising sun, but neither cat shivered—Fireheart could feel his fur beginning to thicken as the days grew shorter.
Yellowfang’s den lay at the end of a tunnel under ferns. A large split rock stood in a corner of a small shaded glade. Spottedleaf had lived here before Yellowfang. The memory of the gentle tortoiseshell medicine cat tugged at Fireheart’s heart. Spottedleaf had been killed by a ShadowClan warrior. He missed her desperately.
“Yellowfang!” Graystripe called. “We’ve come for traveling herbs!”
The two cats heard a hoarse mew from the shadow in the center of the rock, and Yellowfang squeezed out of the crack. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“We’ve got to find WindClan and bring them home,” Fireheart told her, unable to hide the pride in his voice.
“Your first warrior mission!” rasped Yellowfang. “Congratulations! I’ll fetch the herbs you will need.” She returned a few moments later carrying a small bundle of dried leaves in her mouth. “Enjoy!” she purred, laying them on the ground.
Fireheart and Graystripe chewed obediently on the unappetizing leaves. “Yuck!” spat Graystripe. “Just as bad as last time.” Fireheart nodded, screwing up his face. Spottedleaf had given them the same herbs when they’d journeyed with Bluestar to the Moonstone.
Graystripe swallowed the last mouthful and nudged Fireheart’s shoulder with his nose. “Come on, slow slug! Let’s get going! ’Bye,” he called to Yellowfang over his shoulder, as he sprinted out of the glade.
“Wait for me,” meowed Fireheart, chasing after his friend.
“Good-bye! Good luck, youngsters!” Yellowfang meowed after them.
As he raced through the tunnel, Fireheart heard the ferns rustling in the morning breeze. They seemed to be whispering, “Good luck! Travel safely!”
As they headed out of the camp, the two young warriors nearly crashed into Whitestorm, who was
leading Sandpaw and Runningwind into the forest for the dawn patrol.
“Sorry!” panted Fireheart. He stopped, and Graystripe skidded to a halt beside him.
Whitestorm dipped his head. “I hear you two are going on a mission,” he meowed.
“Yes,” Fireheart replied.
“Then may you have StarClan’s protection,” meowed Whitestorm gravely.
“What for?” Sandpaw sneered. “You off to catch voles?”
Runningwind, a lean tabby, turned and whispered something into Sandpaw’s ear. Her expression changed and the contempt in her green eyes switched to guarded curiosity.
The patrol stepped aside to let Fireheart and Graystripe pass. The pair raced on and scrambled up the side of the ravine.
Fireheart and Graystripe shared few words as they followed the route through the forest to Fourtrees, saving their breath for the long journey ahead. They paused at the top of the steep slope on the far side of the oak-shaded clearing, their sides heaving from the climb.
“Is it always windy up here?” grumbled Graystripe, fluffing out his thick fur against the blast of cold air that swept across the uplands.
“I suppose there aren’t any trees to block it,” Fireheart pointed out, screwing up his eyes. This was WindClan’s territory. As Fireheart sniffed the air, he detected a scent that all of his senses told him should not be there. “Do you smell RiverClan warriors?” he murmured uneasily.
Graystripe lifted his nose. “No. Do you think there might be some here?”
“Maybe. They might want to make the most of WindClan’s absence, especially since they know WindClan will be back soon,” Fireheart warned.
“Well, I can’t smell anything now,” whispered Graystripe.
The two friends padded watchfully along a frozen turf trail sheltered by heather.
A fresh scent stopped Fireheart in his tracks. “Can you smell that?” he hissed to Graystripe.
“Yes,” whispered Graystripe, flattening himself against the ground. “RiverClan!”
Fireheart dropped into a crouch, keeping his ears below the heather. Beside him, Graystripe lifted his dark gray head to peer over the bushes. “I can see them,” he murmured. “They’re hunting.”
Fireheart stretched up cautiously to look.
Four RiverClan warriors were chasing a rabbit through a patch of gorse. Fireheart recognized Blackclaw from the Gathering. The smoky-black warrior pounced, his claws unsheathed, but sat up again with nothing to show for the chase. The rabbit must have made it to the safety of her warren.
Fireheart and Graystripe dropped down again and pressed their bellies against the cold turf.
“They’re not good rabbit hunters,” Graystripe hissed scornfully.
“I guess RiverClan is more used to catching fish,” Fireheart whispered back. His nose twitched as he smelled the scent of a terrified rabbit coming nearer. With a pang of dread, Fireheart heard the pawsteps of the RiverClan warriors fast approaching after it. “They’re coming this way! We’ll have to hide!”
“Follow me,” whispered Graystripe. “I smell badgers this way.”
“Badgers?” Fireheart echoed. “Is that safe?” He’d heard the story of how Halftail had lost his tail in a fight with a bad-tempered old brock.
“Don’t worry. The scent is strong but stale,” Graystripe reassured him. “There must be an old set near here.”
Fireheart sniffed. His scent glands picked up a strong, almost foxlike scent. “Are you sure it’s abandoned?”
“We’ll know soon enough. Come on; we’ve got to get out of here,” replied Graystripe. He led the way quickly through the low bushes. The rustle of heather told Fireheart the RiverClan warriors were closing in.
“Here!” Graystripe shouldered aside a tuft of heather to reveal a sandy hole in the ground. “Get inside! The badger’s scent will disguise ours. We can wait till they’re gone.”
Fireheart slipped speedily into the dark hole, and Graystripe followed him. The stench of badger was overwhelming.
Pawsteps thudded on the ground overhead. Both cats held their breath as the steps halted and one of the RiverClan warriors yowled, “Badger set!” From the rasping mew, Fireheart knew it was Blackclaw.
A second voice answered: “Is it abandoned? The rabbit may be hiding inside.”
Fireheart felt Graystripe’s fur bristling beside him in the dark. He unsheathed his claws and stared at the entrance to the hole, ready to fight if the warriors came inside.
“Wait; the scent leads this way,” meowed Blackclaw. There was a scrabble of paws overhead as the RiverClan warriors charged away.
Graystripe slowly let out his breath. “D’you think they’re gone?”
“Perhaps we should wait a bit longer, make sure none of them stayed behind,” Fireheart suggested.
No more noises came from outside. Graystripe nudged Fireheart. “Come on,” he meowed.
Fireheart followed Graystripe cautiously out into the daylight. There was no sign of the RiverClan patrol. The fresh breeze cleared Fireheart’s scent glands of the badger stench. “We should look for the WindClan camp,” he meowed to Graystripe. “It’ll be the best place to pick up their scent.”
“Okay,” answered Graystripe.
They moved slowly through the heather, keeping their mouths slightly open to pick up the scent of any more RiverClan warriors. They stopped at the foot of a large flat rock that sloped up steeply, past the tops of the gorse bushes.
“I’ll climb up and have a look around,” offered Graystripe. “My pelt will blend better with the stone.”
“Okay,” Fireheart agreed. “But keep your head down.”
He watched his friend creep up the rock. Graystripe crouched at the top and gazed around the plateau, then skidded back down to Fireheart. “There’s a hollow over there, I think,” Graystripe puffed, signaling with his tail. “I can see a gap in the heather.”
“Let’s check it out,” meowed Fireheart. “It could be the camp.”
“That’s what I thought.” Graystripe nodded. “It’s probably the only place up here that’s sheltered from the wind.”
As they neared the hollow, Fireheart raced past Graystripe and gazed over the edge. It looked as if a StarClan warrior had reached down from the sky, scooped a pawful of peat from the plateau, and replaced it with a thick tangle of gorse that grew almost to the level of the ground on either side.
Fireheart sniffed. He could smell many scents, all WindClan, old and young, male and female, and, in the background, the faint odor of fresh-kill that had long since become crowfood. This had to be the abandoned camp.
Fireheart bounded down the slope and plunged into the bushes. The gorse tugged at his fur and scratched his nose, making his eyes water. He could hear Graystripe behind him, cursing as thorns snagged his ears. They pushed through into a sheltered clearing. The sandy ground had been trodden hard by generations of paws. At one end of the clearing stood a rock, worn smooth by many windblown moons.
“This is their camp, all right,” Fireheart murmured.
“I can’t believe Brokenstar managed to drive WindClan out of such a well-protected place!” meowed Graystripe, rubbing his sore nose with one paw.
“It looks like they put up a good fight,” Fireheart pointed out, realizing with a jolt how badly ravaged the camp was. Clumps of fur littered the ground, and dried blood stained the sand. Mossy nests had been dragged out of dens and torn apart. And everywhere, stale ShadowClan scents mingled with the smell of terrified WindClan cats.
Fireheart shuddered. “Let’s find the scent trail out of here,” he meowed. He began to sniff the air carefully and moved forward, following the strongest scent. Graystripe padded after him to a narrow gap in the gorse.
“WindClan cats must be even smaller than I remember!” grumbled Graystripe as he squeezed through after Fireheart.
Fireheart glanced at his friend, amused for a moment. The scent trail was quite clear now—definitely WindClan, but mixed and pungent, as if made by
many frightened cats. Fireheart looked down. Drops of dried blood dotted the ground. “We’re heading the right way,” he meowed darkly. Two moons of rain and wind had failed to wash away the signs of suffering. Fireheart could clearly picture the defeated and injured Clan fleeing from their home. With a surge of anger he bounded after his friend.
The trail led them to the far edge of the uplands, where they stopped to catch their breath. In front of them the ground sloped away to the Twoleg farmland. Far in the distance, where the sun was beginning to set, loomed the towering shapes of Highstones.
“I wonder if Nightpelt is there yet,” Fireheart murmured. In a tunnel below Highstones lay the sacred Moonstone, where the leaders of each Clan shared dreams with StarClan.
“Well, we don’t want to find him down there!” Graystripe flicked his tail at the wide expanse of Twoleg land. “It’ll be hard enough dodging Twolegs, rats, and dogs, without meeting the new ShadowClan leader as well!”
Fireheart nodded. He thought back to their last journey across this land, with Bluestar and Tigerclaw. They had almost been killed by an attack of rats, and only the arrival of Barley, the loner, had saved them. Even so, Bluestar had lost one of her lives; the memory of it stung Fireheart like a wood ant.
“Do you think we’ll find any trace of Ravenpaw down there?” Graystripe meowed, turning his broad face toward Fireheart.
“I hope so,” Fireheart replied solemnly. The last he had seen of Ravenpaw had been the white tip of his tail disappearing into the storm on the uplands. Had the ThunderClan apprentice made it safely to Barley’s territory?
The two warriors started down the slope, carefully sniffing each clump of grass to make sure they stayed on the WindClan trail.
“It doesn’t look as if they were heading for Highstones,” Graystripe remarked. The trail took them sideways into a wide grassy field. They skirted the edge, staying near the hedgerow as WindClan had done. The scent led them out of the field and onto a Twoleg path through a small copse of trees.
“Look!” Graystripe meowed. Sun-bleached piles of prey bones lay scattered in the undergrowth. Mossy bedding had been gathered beneath the thickest patches of brambles.