Bluestar's Prophecy

by Erin Hunter

  Why wasn’t Goosefeather joining in with Sunstar’s welcome?

  The medicine cat sat at the base of Highrock, his eyes dark, searching the faces of his Clanmates. When his gaze reached her, cold and burning at the same time, Bluefur blinked and began cheering once more.

  Sunstar signaled with his tail to one of the cats below him. “Tawnyspots, I would like you to be my deputy.”

  The light gray tabby tom dipped his head. “I would be honored, Sunstar. I will serve you well and will always be loyal to my Clan above everything.”

  Rosepaw nudged her mentor, her eyes shining, while Stormtail nodded respectfully to the new ThunderClan deputy.

  “Congratulations.” Adderfang’s deep mew sounded across the clearing and was quickly echoed by his Clanmates.

  “There is one more duty I wish to perform today as the new ThunderClan leader.”

  The Clan looked up as Sunstar spoke.

  “Rosepaw fought bravely against RiverClan and has earned her warrior name.”

  The young tabby flicked her tail as Poppydawn hurried to her side and began smoothing her fur. Windflight gazed proudly at his daughter, though Bluefur could see sadness lingering in his gaze. Sweetpaw should have been a warrior today, too.

  Sunstar stayed on Highrock as Rosepaw padded into the center of the clearing. “Rosepaw, from this moment you will be known as Rosetail. StarClan honors your intelligence and loyalty, and we welcome you as a full warrior of ThunderClan. Serve your Clan well.”

  Rosetail dipped her head as her Clanmates called her name.

  Tawnyspots padded forward and pressed his muzzle between her ears. “I’m very proud of you,” he murmured.

  Sunstar spoke again. “ThunderClan has kits in the nursery, and the warriors’ den is full. We face troubles, it is true. RiverClan pushes at our borders, and kittypets threaten our prey. But the Clan is well fed, and the forest is rich in prey. I vow to make ThunderClan as powerful as the great Clans of old. Today’s ThunderClan will be remembered alongside TigerClan and LionClan. Our warriors are courageous and loyal and skilled in battle. There is no reason to feel besieged by our enemies. We have defeated them before and we will do so again. Let me carry you forward to a new era in which ThunderClan is so respected and feared that no cat will dare set paw on our lands.”

  When will he take back Sunningrocks? Bluefur pressed her claws into the earth. She wanted to see the look on Oakheart’s arrogant face as they drove those thieving fox-hearts back across the border.

  Tails swished and paws kneaded the ground. “Sunstar! Sunstar!” The cheer rose again from the excited Clan.

  Sunstar lifted his chin, his pelt gleaming in the moonlight, and let his Clan cheer until the trees seemed to tremble with the noise.

  Bluefur longed to be standing in his paw prints. He had lifted his Clan from anxiety to hope. Imagine being up there, looking down at his Clanmates—the power he must feel. Her mouth felt dry with sudden, raw hunger.

  Beside her, Thistleclaw leaned closer to Snowfur and whispered in her ear. Pricking her ears, Bluefur strained to hear.

  “I’m going to be up there one day,” hissed the young warrior, “addressing the Clan.”

  As Snowfur purred encouragingly, Bluefur felt the fur lift along her spine. Not if I get there first!

  “Thrushpelt!” Tawnyspots was organizing the patrols. Dawn had not yet broken, and the camp glowed in the half-light. “Take Speckletail, Fuzzypelt, White-eye, and Bluefur to patrol the RiverClan border. Stormtail, Robinwing, and Thistleclaw, patrol ShadowClan’s boundary.”

  Stormtail nodded and led his patrol toward the gorse barrier.

  Thrushpelt leaned toward Bluefur, his whiskers twitching. “I hope Snowfur can manage without Thistleclaw for a few heartbeats,” he mewed.

  Bluefur flicked him away with her tail. Was the whole Clan gossiping about Snowfur and Thistleclaw? Why did her sister have to be so obvious? Prickling with embarrassment, she headed for the ravine.

  “Sorry.” Thrushpelt caught up to her. “I thought you’d find it funny.”

  “Well, I don’t,” Bluefur snapped.

  Tail down, Thrushpelt led the patrol to the RiverClan border. Bluefur started to feel guilty for snapping at him. The sandy-gray warrior had just been teasing. But the sooner he learned he couldn’t tease her about her sister, the better!

  “No scents.” Thrushpelt stood at the border, tasting the air. “We’ll re-mark the border and head back.”

  A few battered brambles and scuffed flecks of blood were all that betrayed the battle that had taken place there not long ago.

  “Do you think they’ll try it again?” Speckletail ventured.

  Thrushpelt shook his head. “I think they learned their lesson, the mangy furballs. And once Sunstar takes back Sunningrocks, the border will be easier to patrol.”

  “Do you think he will?” Bluefur asked.

  “I hope so,” Thrushpelt replied. “Or we’ll never regain the respect of the Clans.”

  Bluefur only half heard him. She was gazing through the trees at the smooth rocks, pink in the dawn light. They were bare—no sign of RiverClan warriors, even in the shadows. Bluefur searched the far bank. No cats there, either. What had she expected? To see Crookedjaw or Oakheart skulking through the bushes, planning the next attack?

  Had the two warriors been disappointed about missing the battle? She could imagine Oakheart, as arrogant as Thistleclaw, boasting to his Clanmates that RiverClan would have won if he’d been fighting.

  “Bluefur?” Thrushpelt’s mew startled her out of her thoughts. “Are you coming?”

  The rest of the patrol was already heading away through the trees. Thrushpelt had stopped and was looking back at her.

  “Yes!” Bluefur hurried after them.

  Her belly was rumbling by the time they reached the camp. The fresh-kill pile was still stocked from yesterday’s hunting, and she was looking forward to a juicy vole.

  “Bluefur!” Snowfur called to her. The white warrior was hurrying across the clearing toward her, the morning sun dazzling off her freshly groomed pelt.

  Bluefur sighed. “Is it urgent? I was just going to eat.”

  “Come hunting with me,” Snowfur begged. “If you’ve already been on patrol, you can eat while we’re out.” Her eyes were round and hopeful, and Bluefur couldn’t refuse, despite her growling belly. At least forest prey will be warm. And if she didn’t go with Snowfur, Thistleclaw probably would.

  She followed her sister out of the camp, and by the time they’d reached the top of the ravine, she was looking forward to hunting. Leaves swished in the warm breeze, and the forest rustled with prey. Bluefur could barely remember the last time she’d been cold. She tried to imagine leaf-bare—shivering in snow, billowing clouds of breath—but it seemed too far away. Right now, it felt as though greenleaf would never end.

  “Where should we hunt?” she asked Snowfur.

  Snowfur shrugged.

  “I thought you wanted to hunt.”

  “I guess.”

  Bluefur snorted. Her sister was dreamier than ever. She pushed on into the forest, determined to bring Snowfur back to the real world. “Are you happy that Sunstar is our leader now?”

  “Of course,” Snowfur answered.

  “But it feels like everything’s changed,” Bluefur murmured. She ducked under a bramble and held it back with her tail while Snowfur joined her. “Pinestar’s gone, Goosefeather’s crazier than a fox, and Sweetpaw’s dead. She was younger than us!”

  Snowfur paused to nose a pale blue flower hanging over the path. “But there’s always new life,” she mewed softly.

  Bluefur blinked. “What do you mean?”

  Her sister lowered her muzzle and looked at her. Above her head, the blue flower nodded as if it were listening. “I’m expecting kits.”

  The ground seemed to dip under Bluefur’s paws. “Already?” she gasped. They were only just warriors! What did Snowfur want to bother with kits for?

  Snowfur�
��s eyes clouded. “Aren’t you pleased?”

  “Of…of course,” Bluefur mumbled. “I just didn’t expect—”

  Snowfur cut her off. “Thistleclaw’s overjoyed,” she mewed. “He says the Clan needs new warriors. There are only Lionpaw and Goldenpaw in the apprentices’ den.”

  Well, as long as Thistleclaw’s pleased, that’s all right, then. Bluefur bit back the cutting remark. She didn’t want to spoil her sister’s happiness. But something inside her felt cold as snow, filling her up and choking her from within. Snowfur suddenly seemed further away than ever. She’d be in the nursery soon, and then fussing over her kits with Thistleclaw. Is this the last time we’ll ever go hunting?

  “He’ll make a good father, you know.” Snowfur seemed to be trying to reassure her. “I mean, I know you don’t like him, but he is good and kind.”

  Bluefur stared at her sister, trying to imagine Thistleclaw being kind.

  “He’s a loyal mate, and I trust him,” Snowfur insisted.

  Bluefur sighed. Snowfur’s eyes were filled with worry. Bluefur couldn’t let her feel like this. “I’m thrilled for you, I really am,” she mewed. Absently she plucked up a wad of moss and let it drop from her claw. ThunderClan did need kits. The three young ones in Leopardfoot’s litter weren’t exactly strong, and Thistleclaw was right: ThunderClan needed more apprentices. And…Snowfur’s kits would be her kin. Bluefur glanced up at the sky, wondering what Moonflower thought about the new kits. She realized that her mother would be pleased that Snowfur was happy.

  Bluefur pressed her muzzle to her sister’s cheek.

  I’ll be happy, too. I promise.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Quick! Get Featherwhisker!” Bluefur gasped. Goosefeather still hadn’t formally retired, but it was becoming more and more acknowledged among his Clanmates that Featherwhisker was in charge of the medicine cat duties.

  On the other side of the nursery, Robinwing sleepily lifted her head. “Are the kits coming?”

  “What else would it be?” Thistleclaw snapped. The warrior had stopped by the nursery to visit his mate when Snowfur’s pains had suddenly begun. Bluefur was glad she had been there, too.

  Robinwing heaved herself to her paws. “I’ll get him,” she offered. She squeezed out of the den, puffing. A half-moon from kitting, the small, energetic warrior had become as cumbersome as a badger.

  Thistleclaw plucked nervously at the edge of Snowfur’s nest as his mate writhed in the bracken. Bluefur licked Snowfur between the ears. “It’ll be over soon,” she promised. She tried not to think of Leopardfoot’s long kitting. Or the death of her she-kits before they’d reached one moon. That had seemed particularly cruel, so soon after Leopardfoot had lost her mate to the life of a kittypet. At least Tigerkit’s strong and healthy, Bluefur reminded herself. He was scrabbling out of Leopardfoot’s nest now, stretching up to see what was happening.

  Leopardfoot tugged him back by the tail. “You’re as nosy as a squirrel,” she scolded gently. “Why don’t you go outside and see if you can find Lionpaw?”

  “Okay,” Tigerkit chirped. He squirmed out of the nursery just as Featherwhisker pushed his way in.

  “Watch out! Coming through!” Tigerkit yowled as he scooted straight under the medicine cat’s belly.

  “That kit gets bossier by the day,” Featherwhisker observed lightly, dropping a bundle of leaves by Snowfur’s nest. “I know he’s the only kit in the Clan, but I wish everyone would stop indulging him. He’s starting to act like a little leader.”

  Bluefur flicked her tail. “Snowfur’s kits will give them someone else to fuss over.”

  “How are you doing, little one?” Featherwhisker bent down to sniff the white queen’s head.

  “I’m thirsty,” Snowfur whimpered. “Can I have some wet moss?”

  “Good idea,” Featherwhisker mewed. “Thistleclaw, please could you get some?”

  Thistleclaw stopped shredding the bracken at the edge of the nest and looked at his mate. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “We’ll take care of her,” Featherwhisker promised.

  As soon as he was gone, Snowfur sighed. “Thanks for getting rid of him before he pulled my nest to pieces.”

  Bluefur’s whiskers twitched. It looked like her sister hadn’t lost her sense of humor yet. Then Snowfur gasped, and her eyes stretched until the whites showed around them.

  Featherwhisker pressed his paw on her belly. “Pain?”

  Snowfur nodded, holding her breath.

  “Try breathing more, not less,” Featherwhisker suggested.

  Bluefur didn’t think she could watch her sister being in agony. “Can you give her poppy seeds for the pain?”

  Featherwhisker shook his head. “She needs to be able to feel it, so we know when the kits are coming.”

  Snowfur breathed out slowly. “Will it be long?” she croaked.

  “A while yet.”

  “Wait there.” Bluefur squeezed out of the nursery.

  Robinwing had settled on the dry earth outside. “I thought I’d give you some peace,” she meowed as Bluefur trotted past.

  “Thanks,” Bluefur called over her shoulder. She scanned the edge of the camp, looking for something. The ferns were starting to appear tired now, their tips turning brown. The faint scent of leaf-fall tainted the breeze. Bluefur quickly saw what she was after: a short, stumpy stick, not too splintery, but tough. She picked it up in her jaws and hurried back to the nursery.

  “What’s that?” Leopardfoot was peering out of her nest.

  “I thought Snowfur could bite down on it when the pains came.” Bluefur pushed the stick under Snowfur’s muzzle.

  Leopardfoot shuddered, clearly remembering her own ordeal. “I wish I’d had one of those.”

  “Thank you,” Snowfur panted. Her belly quivered and she grasped the stick between her teeth.

  The brambles shook as Thistleclaw scrambled through the entrance and dropped the moss he was carrying. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine,” Featherwhisker reported. “But she’ll need more moss. Gather it from the stream outside camp. The water will be fresher there.”

  Thistleclaw nodded, turned tail, and left. Bluefur wondered if he couldn’t bear to see Snowfur in pain either.

  “Thanks,” Snowfur muttered to Featherwhisker.

  Bluefur was aware of the sun moving slowly overhead, sending shifting shafts of light into the nursery. Snowfur was getting more and more tired, and she kept closing her eyes for long stretches. “It can’t be long now, can it?” Bluefur whispered to Featherwhisker.

  “Not long.” He had just given Snowfur a mouthful of leaves to chew. Bluefur recognized the shape from when Leopardfoot was kitting: raspberry. She hoped they’d be more effective this time.

  Snowfur groaned as another spasm shook her.

  “Here!” Bluefur pushed the stick toward her muzzle.

  “No!” Snowfur shrieked, pushing it away.

  “The first one’s coming,” Featherwhisker meowed from where he crouched by Snowfur’s haunches.

  Snowfur trembled as a small white bundle slid out into the nest. Featherwhisker bent down and lapped at the sack encasing it, until it split open and a tiny white kit tumbled out, paws churning.

  Snowfur turned and sniffed at the damp scrap of fur. “He’s beautiful,” she gasped. She grasped its scruff and hauled it to her belly.

  It began suckling at once, kneading Snowfur with fierce paws.

  “He’s a strong one,” Featherwhisker purred.

  Bluefur felt a flood of relief. “How many more?” she asked.

  Featherwhisker pressed Snowfur’s flank. “That’s it.”

  Leopardfoot sat up. “Only one?”

  “A tough little tom,” Featherwhisker told her. “You can’t ask more than that.”

  Tigerkit scrabbled into the den. “Is it over?” he squeaked, peeking into the nest. He blinked at the white tom. “Where are the other kits?”

  “That’s the only one,” L
eopardfoot told him.

  Tigerkit cocked his head. “That’s all?” he mewed. “But it’s white. It’ll never be able to hunt with a pelt that color. The prey’ll see him coming tree-lengths away.”

  Leopardfoot climbed out of her nest and nosed Tigerkit away. “He’ll be a fine hunter, like his mother,” she told him.

  “Not as good as me,” Tigerkit mewed.

  Thistleclaw appeared in the entrance again, this time his jaws stretched with the biggest wad of dripping moss Bluefur had ever seen.

  “You’ll drown the nursery with that,” she teased.

  Thistleclaw’s gaze reached his son. He flung the moss aside and crossed the nursery in one leap. “He’s beautiful!”

  Bluefur watched his gaze soften, all arrogance gone in a flood of affection. He licked Snowfur between the ears. “Well done,” he murmured. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Can we call him Whitekit?” Snowfur whispered.

  Thistleclaw nodded. “We can call him whatever you want.”

  He leaned forward and licked Whitekit. The kit mewled in protest, then went back to suckling. Thistleclaw stared down at his son, his eyes brimming with emotion. For the first time ever, Bluefur almost felt fond of her sister’s mate.

  Thistleclaw straightened up. “I’ll go get you the tastiest piece of prey I can find,” he promised Snowfur.

  Featherwhisker shook his head. “She won’t eat for a while,” he warned. “But that moss will be useful.” He plucked a piece and placed it where Snowfur could lap at it. She did so, thirstily, her eyes half-closed with exhaustion.

  “Will she be all right?” Bluefur whispered.

  “She just needs rest,” Featherwhisker promised. “She’ll be fine.”

  Relieved, Bluefur sat back and watched Whitekit suckle, amazed that he knew what to do already. Welcome to ThunderClan, little one. May StarClan light your path, always.

  “Look!” Snowfur’s soft mew woke Bluefur the next morning. “He’s opened his eyes already!”

  “Great!” Tigerkit’s head shot up over the edge of Leopardfoot’s nest. “Can I take him out to explore?”