by Erin Hunter
CHAPTER 20
It was still dark when stabbing pains woke Bluefur, clutching her stomach like talons. She staggered to the dirtplace, almost too wrapped in pain to notice the tiny mewling coming from within the nursery. But when she returned, she heard soft voices murmuring and soothing the cries. By the sound of it, Featherwhisker and Swiftbreeze were still with Leopardfoot.
A shadow moved at the edge of the clearing. Rosepaw was creeping out of the apprentices’ den.
“Hey!” Bluefur hissed.
Rosepaw stopped and turned, her eyes flashing in the darkness. Her fur was ruffled, and she looked as wretched as Bluefur felt. “Got to get to the dirtplace,” she croaked.
“Bad belly?” Bluefur asked.
Rosepaw nodded. “Sweetpaw, too.”
It must have been the mouse they’d shared. Bluefur crept back to her nest and settled down. Sleep came, but fitfully. Pain haunted her dreams.
“Get off!” Snowfur pushed her away. “You’ve been kicking me all night!”
“Sorry,” Bluefur groaned. “Bellyache.”
Snowfur sat up and blinked sleepily. “Should I get Goosefeather?”
Bluefur shook her head. Her belly was so cramped and sore, she found herself panting between words. “He’ll be too busy with the kits.”
Snowfur yawned and curled back down in her nest. “Tell me if you change your mind.”
Bluefur lay blinking in the darkness awhile longer, trying not to fidget. Eventually the urge to use the dirtplace again was too much for her. She crawled out of the den and padded across the clearing. Dawn drew a milky haze over the horizon as it began to push back the night sky. The air was clear and cold, refreshing although it made Bluefur shiver. She paused by the nursery, her ears pricked up. A tiny mew shrilled, then another. Thank StarClan! At least two of the kits had survived the night.
Feeling weak, Bluefur returned from the dirtplace, breathing hard as she padded from the tunnel. Was that Lionpaw creeping out of the camp through the gorse? It was early for an apprentice to be heading into the forest alone. She padded after him, stopping when she reached the barrier. Pinestar’s scent was fresh on the prickly branches. He must have been taking Lionpaw out.
Bluefur turned from the barrier and headed for her den. It seemed odd for Pinestar to take Lionpaw out today. Wouldn’t he want to stay in the camp and see how his kits were? Perhaps it was an urgent mission. She paused in the clearing, still queasy but struggling to understand. If the mission was urgent, why not take an experienced warrior instead of Lionpaw? She shook her head, trying to clear it, but the movement only made it spin more. Unsteadily she crept back to her nest and gave in to the drowsiness dragging at her bones.
Aware in her sleep of the warriors moving around her, she half lifted her head. Her belly was sore, but the cramping had stopped.
“Go back to sleep,” Snowfur was whispering in her ear. “I’ll explain to Sunfall that you’re sick.”
Too tired to argue, Bluefur rested her muzzle on her paws. Then she remembered with a start. “Leopardfoot?”
“I think she’s okay,” Snowfur murmured.
Bluefur closed her eyes.
It was hot in the den when she woke. Greenleaf sunshine beat down on the dark leaves, baking the nests. Panting, Bluefur crawled outside and breathed the cooler air that wafted across the clearing. The sun shone high in the sky, and the clearing was empty apart from Weedwhisker picking through the fresh-kill pile and Poppydawn pacing outside the apprentices’ den. Bluefur’s belly felt as though she’d swallowed thistles, but her head was clearer.
She looked toward the nursery, wondering how Leopardfoot and her kits were doing. As she watched, Featherwhisker slid out. His pelt was unkempt and his eyes dull.
Bluefur hurried across the clearing. “How are they?” Her voice rasped in her throat. He looked at her, surprised.
“Are you okay?”
“Bad belly.”
He sighed. “Sweetpaw and Rosepaw, too.” He stopped to greet Poppydawn. “You wanted me to look at them?”
Poppydawn glanced apologetically at her paws. “I know you’ve been busy, but I’m worried. Sweetpaw can hardly stand.”
Featherwhisker nodded and pushed his way into the apprentices’ den.
“What about the kits?” Bluefur called after him.
“Alive.” His reply was flat. “For now, at least.”
Bluefur glanced at Poppydawn. “He doesn’t sound hopeful.”
Poppydawn was gazing anxiously after the apprentice medicine cat, clearly more worried about her own kits than Leopardfoot’s.
“I had the same bellyache,” Bluefur told her, “and I’m feeling better.”
Poppydawn jerked her head around. “Did you?”
“We shared a mouse,” Bluefur explained. “It must have been bad.”
Poppydawn shook her head. “Rosepaw’s pretty ill, but Sweetpaw…” The warrior’s voice trailed away.
“She’ll recover,” Bluefur reassured her.
“I’ve never seen her so sick.”
The ferns rustled as Featherwhisker nosed his way out of the apprentices’ den. “Herbs would be pointless until they stop being sick. Just make sure they have plenty of water to drink. Find some moss and soak it in the freshest water you can find.”
Poppydawn nodded and headed for the gorse tunnel.
“How are you?” Featherwhisker asked Bluefur.
Bluefur shrugged. “Just sore and tired.”
“Go and ask Goosefeather for herbs to soothe your belly.” Featherwhisker glanced at the nursery. His eyes glittered with worry.
“Do the kits have names?” Bluefur asked.
“The she-kits are Mistkit and Nightkit, and the tom is Tigerkit.”
“Tigerkit?” Leopardfoot had chosen a fierce name.
“He’s the weakest of the three,” Featherwhisker mewed bleakly. “I suppose she hopes he’s a fighter from the start.” His eyes darkened. “He’ll need to be.”
“Will Leopardfoot be okay?”
“She’s lost blood, but there’s no sign of infection,” Featherwhisker reported. “She’ll recover with rest.” He looked weary.
“Have you slept at all?” Bluefur asked.
He shook his head.
“Why don’t you rest now?” Bluefur suggested. “The camp’s quiet, and Poppydawn’s taking care of Sweetpaw and Rosepaw.”
Featherwhisker nodded. “Go and get those herbs from Goosefeather,” he reminded her. “Then I’ll have one less cat to worry about.” He padded to the shade of Highrock and lay down.
Bluefur headed along the fern tunnel. Why wasn’t Goosefeather helping more? Why did ThunderClan seem to have the laziest, dumbest medicine cat? As she reached the end of the tunnel, she stopped. The medicine clearing was cool and green and empty.
“Goosefeather!” Bluefur guessed he was sleeping in his den.
Two eyes peered from the crack in the rock. Bluefur tensed. They were round and wild, and for a moment she thought a fox had got in.
“Goosefeather?” she ventured shakily.
The medicine cat padded out, his pelt ruffled. His eyes were still wild, but less startling in the daylight. “What is it?”
“Featherwhisker sent me for herbs for my belly. I shared a bad mouse with Sweetpaw and Rosepaw last night.”
“You as well?” He rolled his eyes.
Bluefur nodded.
“Evil omens everywhere.”
Bluefur wondered if she’d heard the medicine cat correctly. He was muttering as he turned back into his den and still muttering as he came out and shoved a pawful of shredded leaves in front of her.
“It was just a bad mouse,” she meowed, wondering why he was so upset.
He leaned toward her, his breath stinky in her face. “Just a bad mouse?” he echoed. “Another warning, that’s what it was! I should have seen it coming. I should have noticed.”
“How?” Bluefur backed away. “It didn’t taste bad.” She realized that his pelt wasn
’t ruffled from sleep, but simply ungroomed. It clung to his frame as though the season were leaf-bare and he hadn’t eaten properly for a moon. She took another pace back. “It was just a bad mouse,” she repeated.
He turned a disbelieving look on her. “How can you—you of all cats—ignore the signs?” he spat.
“Me?” What did he mean?
“You have a prophecy hanging over your head like a hawk. You’re fire, and only water can destroy you! You can’t ignore the signs.”
“B-but…I’m just a warrior.” Was she supposed to have the insight of a medicine cat? That wasn’t fair. He should be giving her answers, not taunting her with the promise of a destiny she didn’t understand. She had wondered when Goosefeather would again speak to her about the prophecy, but now he was making even less sense than before.
“Just a warrior?” His whiskers trembled. “Too many omens. Three cats poisoned, two only whiskers from StarClan, Leopardfoot nearly dead, her three kits hanging on to life like rabbits in a fox den.” He stared through her, seeming to forget she was there. “Why such a difficult birth for the Clan leader’s mate? The kits may not make it through another night. The tom is too weak to mew, let alone feed. I should help them, and yet how can I when the signs are clear?”
What in the name of StarClan was he talking about? Forgetting the herbs, Bluefur backed out of the den. Only whiskers from StarClan. She dashed to the apprentices’ den. Were Sweetpaw and Rosepaw that ill?
Pushing through the cool green ferns, she saw the two sisters curled in their nests, pelts damp.
Rosepaw raised her head. “Hello, Bluefur.”
Sweetpaw didn’t stir.
Bluefur padded to Rosepaw’s nest and licked the top of her head. “How are you?”
“I’ve felt better,” she croaked.
“Has Poppydawn brought you water yet?”
Rosepaw shook her head. “Featherwhisker said you were sick, too.”
Bluefur nodded. “I’m feeling better now and so will you.” She glanced at Sweetpaw. The tortoiseshell had begun to writhe and groan, her eyes still closed. “You both will,” she promised, hoping it was true.
The fern wall shivered as Poppydawn pushed through. Dripping moss dangled from her jaws. She placed a wad beside Rosepaw and another beside Sweetpaw. Rosepaw lapped gratefully, but Sweetpaw still didn’t budge.
Poppydawn licked Sweetpaw fiercely. “Come on, Sweet,” she encouraged. “Wake up and wet your tongue.”
Sweetpaw struggled to open her eyes. Sniffing at the moss, she lapped at it feebly, then gagged, unable even to keep water down.
“I’ll get Featherwhisker,” Bluefur offered.
Poppydawn shook her head. “He’s sleeping.” She stroked Sweetpaw with her tail as the young cat closed her eyes once more. “I’ll watch over these two.” She glanced at Bluefur. “You should get some fresh air,” she suggested. “Outside the ravine.”
The stench of the sick apprentices’ den was making Bluefur’s uneasy belly churn. “Okay.” She nosed her way through the ferns, relieved to feel clean air on her face. The forest air would be even fresher. She headed out of the camp, glancing at Featherwhisker where he slept in the shadow of Highrock.
The climb up the ravine left her breathless and hot. She was thankful for the cool breeze wafting through the forest, and she wandered among the trees feeling glad to be away from the sickness and worry of camp. Birds called to one another, their song echoing through the trees. Insects buzzed above the lush undergrowth. Leaves brushed Bluefur’s pelt as she padded along familiar tracks with fallen leaves from a long-ago season soft underpaw. The shadows darkening her thoughts began to fade. StarClan would protect them.
A butterfly fluttered a few tail-lengths ahead, buffeted by the breeze. Suddenly the ferns trembled, and a bulky golden shape exploded from the green stalks.
“Got you!” Lionpaw leaped for the butterfly, paws flailing, but the insect jerked upward out of his reach. “Mouse dung.” He dropped onto all four paws and watched the butterfly disappear through the branches. His eyes were sparkling, and he clawed excitedly at the grass, muttering to himself, “I’ll get the next one!” Then he spotted Bluefur. “Hi!” he mewed cheerfully.
Where’s Pinestar? Bluefur tasted the air: no sign of the ThunderClan leader. She narrowed her eyes. He and Lionpaw had left the camp together. “What are you doing?” Had Pinestar sent him hunting? Wouldn’t Swiftbreeze be wondering where her apprentice was?
Lionpaw stared at her, blinking. “Doing?” There was an awkwardness in his mew, as if he was suddenly on the defensive. “Nothing really. I just missed that butterfly.”
“Where’s Pinestar?” she prompted.
Lionpaw opened and closed his mouth. “Pinestar?”
“You know, Pinestar.” Bluefur tried to ease the awkwardness by joking. “Red-brown tom cat? Clan leader? You went out with him this morning.”
“Did I?” Lionpaw shifted his paws. “I mean, you saw us go?”
Bluefur didn’t want Lionpaw to think she’d been spying. “I smelled your scents while I was going to the dirtplace. It just seemed odd that you went out before the dawn patrol.”
Lionpaw’s gaze flitted around the forest, resting on anything but Bluefur. “Well, Pinestar wanted an early start. Training.”
“Oh.” Bluefur wasn’t convinced. Training you to catch butterflies? She resisted the question. “Did it go well?”
“Fine!” Lionpaw circled restlessly. “More than fine. Great. Pinestar’s great. He’s brilliant.”
Bluefur tipped her head on one side. “So where is he now?”
“He’s on his way back. I…he…he said I couldn’t tell any cat what he’d done.” Lionpaw shut his mouth, eyes round with dismay. “I mean, where we were.” He looked at his paws. “Sorry. Secret.” He scampered past Bluefur, and she felt his pelt pricking up as it brushed hers. She let him escape into the trees without trying to stop him.
Then a scent touched her tongue. A familiar scent. She thought for a moment. What was it?
Catmint! Lionpaw’s pelt smelled of catmint.
Had they been to Twolegplace? Was that the “secret”? Her paws prickled. Had they seen Jake? Surely Pinestar wasn’t encouraging the apprentices to mingle with kittypets? She dashed after Lionpaw. She had to know more. Pinestar’s despairing words echoed in her head: The Clans will be enemies forever. Was the ThunderClan leader so disillusioned with Clan life that he’d rather be among kittypets? How could he break the warrior code like that?
Lionpaw was already halfway down the ravine. She scrabbled down the rocks after him.
“Hey!” Stormtail’s yowl sounded below. “Stop throwing rocks!”
She skidded to a halt, realizing that her paws were sending showers of stones down the slope. “Sorry!” she called. She waited while Stormtail led his patrol up the trail past her.
“Be more careful next time,” Stormtail scolded. Bluefur hung her head as White-eye, Robinwing, and Thrushpelt filed after him.
“Don’t worry,” Thrushpelt whispered. “We’ve all done it.”
As soon as they’d gone, Bluefur scrambled down the ravine, more carefully this time. She headed into the clearing and saw Lionpaw settling down with a piece of prey. At least he was alone. She would ask him straight out: Had Pinestar been getting him to talk to kittypets?
The gorse tunnel quivered, and Pinestar padded into camp.
Fox dung!
The ThunderClan leader looked calm, his pelt smooth and smelling strongly of bracken as if he had been rolling in fresh ferns.
Why?
It was obvious.
To get rid of the scent of catmint and Twolegs!
How could he? He was their leader, for StarClan’s sake!
Pinestar headed straight for the nursery.
Featherwhisker slid out as he approached. “Leopardfoot’s sleeping,” he told the ThunderClan leader. “The kits, too, since they’ve had some milk at last.”
Pinestar twitched the tip of
his tail. “Can I see them?”
Featherwhisker stood aside. “The tom’s the weakest,” he warned as Pinestar squeezed into the brambles.
Poppydawn padded over to join Swiftbreeze. “About time, too,” she meowed, not bothering to keep her voice quiet. “If his kits had died in the night, they’d have gone to StarClan without ever meeting their father.”
Swiftbreeze shook her head. “Poor Leopardfoot. She kept asking for him. What must she think?”
Bluefur glanced at her paws. She wasn’t the only cat in ThunderClan questioning Pinestar’s loyalty. But she suspected she was the only one who knew just how far from the warrior code he was straying.
CHAPTER 21
A few sunrises later Bluefur approached Sunfall, who was washing below Highrock. “I’ll go on the sunhigh patrol,” she offered, relieved to catch him before he called the Clan together to assign duties for the day.
The ThunderClan deputy blinked. “You’ve been volunteering for a lot of patrols lately. Have you forgotten how to hunt?”
Bluefur paused. She was hoping he hadn’t noticed that she’d been tagging on to any border patrol she could. She wanted to check Twolegplace for any scent of Pinestar. She’d watched the ThunderClan leader closely, wondering every time he left the camp where he was going and whether to follow. There had been no scent of him on the Twoleg border so far, and she was beginning to wonder if she’d let her imagination run away with her.
“I just like patrolling,” she told Sunfall lamely. “But I’ll hunt instead, if you like.”
“Perhaps you might find it a little more interesting if you led a hunting patrol,” Sunfall suggested.
Bluefur pricked her ears. “Yes, please!”
“Good.” Sunfall signaled with his tail.
As the Clan gathered, worry fluttered in Bluefur’s belly. She’d never led a patrol before. Would she know what to do? Would she have to decide where to hunt, what prey to chase, how much to catch?
