Bluestar's Prophecy

by Erin Hunter

  Snowfur looked as if Tigerkit had suggested taking her son out to play in a fox burrow. Shaking her head, she wrapped her tail protectively around Whitekit.

  “You made me go out the moment I opened my eyes,” Bluefur reminded her.

  Whitekit gazed around the den, his blue eyes misty but his tufty ears pricked. His stubby paws kneaded the bedding, and his tail stuck straight out like a twig.

  Snowfur sighed. “If he wants to go out, then he can.” She wrapped her tail tighter and glared at Tigerkit. “But no farther than the clearing.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on them,” Bluefur promised. “You just rest.”

  Snowfur still looked exhausted, hardly able to do more than lap at the moss Thistleclaw kept bringing. “Thank you,” she breathed.

  Tigerkit was already out of his nest and balancing on the edge of Snowfur’s. “Come on!” he called to Whitekit. “There’s loads to see.”

  Whitekit turned slowly and focused on his little tabby denmate.

  “We’re going to be warriors,” Tigerkit told him. “We might as well start now.”

  Whitekit blinked away the fuzziness in his gaze. “Okay,” he mewed. He scrambled up the side of the nest and teetered beside Tigerkit.

  “This way.” Tigerkit led him to the entrance. Whitekit followed on unsteady legs.

  “Don’t take your eyes off him for an instant,” Snowfur called as Bluefur followed the two kits from the den.

  “I won’t,” Bluefur replied over her shoulder.

  Whitekit looked even smaller outside the nursery. The clearing that stretched away ahead of him might as well have been the valley to Highstones. Bluefur felt the sharp memory of her first time out, how big everything seemed, especially the warriors.

  Stonepelt limped past. “Is that our new warrior?” he meowed.

  Bluefur nodded.

  A purr rumbled in Stonepelt’s throat. “Well, show him the warriors’ den and tell him to stay out. He’ll get there soon enough.” Amusement lit his eyes. Was he recalling the time she’d wandered into his den?

  She nodded, whiskers twitching. “I will.” She didn’t want Whitekit to grow up for a long time yet. Let him play peacefully and chase nothingfiercer than a ball of moss for as many moons as he can.

  A half-moon later, Frostkit and Brindlekit were born. Robinwing sat up proudly in her nest when Bluefur came in to visit them. They weren’t her first kits, and they had been born as easily as a beechnut slipping out of its shell.

  “The nursery hasn’t been this full since we were kits,” Snowfur observed.

  “It’s too busy,” Tigerkit complained. “There’s no room for proper games now.”

  “Why don’t you go out and play?” Leopardfoot suggested. “You could show Frostkit and Brindlekit the camp.”

  Robinwing’s kits started to bounce with excitement at the prospect of seeing their new home.

  “Yes, please!”

  “I’ll help!” Whitekit squeaked, trying to beat Tigerkit to the entrance.

  Snowfur’s son had grown well, but he was still no match for his older denmate, in either breadth of shoulder or stubbornness. Tigerkit pushed easily ahead of him and led all three kits out of the nursery.

  Robinwing sighed. “Will they be okay? I don’t want them to pester the older cats.”

  “Do you want me to watch them?” Bluefur asked.

  “That would be great, thanks.” Robinwing settled down in her nest.

  Leopardfoot stood up, stretching each leg in turn. “I’ll come, too, and get prey from the pile.” The black queen was finally looking fit and strong again. She padded from her nest and followed Bluefur out of the nursery.

  The four kits were already hurtling across the clearing.

  “Not so fast!” Bluefur called. “Don’t forget, it’s Frostkit’s and Brindlekit’s first time out.”

  “Kits always grow faster when they’ve got denmates to keep up with,” Leopardfoot commented as the kits disappeared into the fern tunnel that led to the medicine cats’ den.

  “I’d better see what they’re getting up to,” Bluefur meowed. She didn’t want them getting into Goosefeather’s supplies. Leaving Leopardfoot to take her pick from the fresh-kill pile, she hurried across the clearing to the medicine den.

  So much had changed in the last few moons, and all for the better. It seemed as if the shadow that had rested over the Clan had been lifted. Pinestar’s departure had shocked all the Clans, but Sunstar had been resolute at the next Gathering and refused to allow any blame to be put on ThunderClan because of the actions of one cat. Sunstar made it clear that Pinestar’s leaving signaled a new, stronger ThunderClan and that kittypets would be shunned like their Twoleg owners from now on. As Pinestar predicted, the warrior code had been extended, to reject the life of a kittypet and stay loyal to the freedom and honor of being a Clan cat.

  Now ThunderClan faced the coming leaf-fall well fed, with a nursery bustling with healthy kits and warriors confident in their new leader’s power.

  Bluefur felt warm with satisfaction as she padded down the fern tunnel to see what her charges were up to.

  “Get away, you vermin!”

  A vicious yowl echoing from the clearing set her fur on end. She raced forward and burst out of the ferns. The kits were crouched, trembling, on the flattened grass while Goosefeather stood at the entrance to his den in the rock, hissing and spitting as though faced with a horde of ShadowClan warriors.

  Bluefur shot between him and the kits. “What are you doing?” she burst out.

  Goosefeather didn’t seem to notice her. Wild-eyed and bristling, he twitched his matted tail toward Tigerkit. “Get that creature out of my den!” he snarled.

  “I’m not in your den!” Tigerkit protested. To Bluefur’s relief, he didn’t seem to be frightened by Goosefeather’s absurd behavior, just indignant.

  “Get him out of my clearing!” Goosefeather repeated.

  Bluefur wrinkled her nose. The medicine cat stank. His clotted pelt looked as though it hadn’t been washed in a moon. And now he was cursing at kits! Had he gone completely mad?

  Bluefur swept the kits back toward the fern tunnel with her tail, without taking her eyes off Goosefeather. “Off you go, little ones,” she called, trying to sound cheerful.

  “What’s the matter?” Featherwhisker hurried into the clearing, dropping the bile-soaked moss he’d been carrying.

  “It’s Goosefeather,” Bluefur hissed out of the corner of her mouth. “He’s frightening the kits.”

  Featherwhisker took a step closer to his mentor, letting the foul pelt brush his own smooth fur. “Sorry,” he apologized to Bluefur. “He’s been having nightmares. They must have woken him while he was in the middle of a bad one.”

  “Nightmares?” Goosefeather growled. “Only when I open my eyes and see that!” He bared his yellow teeth at Tigerkit.

  “I’ll settle him down,” Featherwhisker soothed. “You take the kits back to the nursery.”

  The kits had made it as far as the fern tunnel but were standing in the shade, staring back in confusion. Bluefur turned and shooed them away.

  “What did we do wrong?” Frostkit was bristling with terror.

  “Nothing,” Bluefur promised. “Goosefeather’s just old, and sometimes he imagines things.”

  “I’m not imagining that!” spat the elderly cat from behind them.

  Bluefur glanced back to see Goosefeather pointing a hooked claw at Tigerkit.

  Drool hung from the medicine cat’s jaws, and his ears were flattened against his head. “Keep that creature away from me!”

  CHAPTER 26

  The sun was mellower now that the lush greens of the forest were fading to orange. Newly fallen leaves littered the forest floor, crunching beneath Bluefur’s paws and giving up their musty scent. Birds chattered in the branches, and squirrels were busy collecting for their leaf-bare stores.

  Bluefur had no interest in prey. The fresh-kill pile was full, the borders secure. After the clam
or of the nursery, she wanted only the peace of the forest. She’d noticed Snowfur sighing after her as she’d left the tumbling chaos of the bramble den. However much she loved Whitekit, Snowfur missed being a warrior; Bluefur could tell by the way she watched the patrols leave and return, staring wistfully at the gorse tunnel, just as she’d done as a kit.

  “How come Thistleclaw gets to hunt and patrol?” she had asked Bluefur the previous day. “It’s his kit, too.”

  “He can’t give Whitekit milk,” Bluefur had reminded her. She’d nudged her sister gently. “Whitekit’ll be eating mouse soon, and then you’ll be able to leave him with Robinwing or Leopardfoot for a while and join a hunting patrol.”

  Snowfur had sighed. “Yes, but then I’d miss the little fur-ball.”

  Bluefur had swallowed a flash of frustration. You wanted a kit!

  “Well done, Goldenpaw!” Thrushpelt’s mew sounded from over a rise, snapping Bluefur’s thoughts back to the forest.

  A branch shook overhead.

  “Look, Bluefur!” Goldenpaw was peering down from the leaves. “I’m going to climb to the top!”

  “Be careful,” Bluefur warned. Goldenpaw seemed more adventurous with each passing day, so that she nearly rivaled her brother in courage and strength.

  “Concentrate on what you’re doing!” Thrushpelt yowled from the bottom of the trunk.

  “Where’s Dappletail?” Bluefur asked, wondering why Goldenpaw wasn’t being watched by her mentor.

  Thrushpelt didn’t take his eyes off the pale ginger shape scrabbling through the leaves. “She had to see Featherwhisker about a seed that got stuck in her eye.”

  “I’m going to ask Sunstar if Thrushpelt can be my mentor forever!” came a squeal from above them. “Dappletail would never have let me climb this high!”

  Thrushpelt flashed Bluefur a guilty look. “Oops,” he meowed. “Goldenpaw seemed so sure she could do it, I assumed it wasn’t the first time….”

  Bluefur purred. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Dappletail!”

  Thrushpelt flicked his tail lightly across her flank. “Thanks! And I’ll make sure Goldenpaw gets back to the camp in one piece!”

  Heading away from Goldenpaw’s tree, Bluefur wandered through a grassy glade and pushed her way past a wall of ferns. She was thirsty, and the river was burbling nearby. The bushes there were still lush; this part of the forest was sheltered from chilly nights and cool breezes. The river had risen since the height of greenleaf, splashing over stones and lapping at the shore, its chatter harmonizing with the soft rustle of the forest. Bluefur peered through a bush and down the leaf-strewn bank.

  A reddish-brown pelt moved in the shallows.

  Fox?

  She tasted the air warily. Stiffening, she recognized the tang of RiverClan. She stared in astonishment as Oakheart padded out on the ThunderClan side of the river, barely three tail-lengths from Bluefur. He shook himself like a dog, then stretched out on a smooth stone sloping up from the water. The sun glistened on his sleek pelt, which clung darkly to his well-muscled frame. He was going to sleep! On ThunderClan territory!

  Bluefur tensed, ready to spring out and confront the trespasser. Then she paused. He looked so peaceful. Caught in the moment, she found herself watching his flank rising and falling.

  What am I doing?

  She plunged through the bushes and skidded to a halt behind him, sending small stones rattling down to the water. “Get out!”

  Oakheart lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder. “Bluefur!”

  He could at least act guilty! She’d caught him on ThunderClan territory.

  “Just because you took Sunningrocks,” she hissed, “doesn’t mean you can help yourself to any piece of territory you want.” Her pelt sparked with fury.

  “Sorry.” Oakheart got to his paws. “I couldn’t resist such a sunny spot.”

  “You couldn’t resist?” Rage choked her. “You arrogant fur-ball!” Without thinking, she launched herself at him, claws swiping at his face.

  He ducked and she missed.

  Bluefur stopped with her paws dug into the stones to stop her from falling over. Were his whiskers twitching? I’ll teach him! She twisted and sharply nipped his hind leg.

  “Ow!” Oakheart hopped out of the way and swung his broad head toward her, catching her shoulder as she reared for another lunge.

  While she was scrabbling at the air, Bluefur’s hind paws skidded out of the stones. She lost her balance and flopped ungracefully into the river. As the water drenched her pelt, panic shot through her. I’m drowning!

  “Help me!”

  But Oakheart stayed on the bank, his eyes bright with amusement. “Try standing up,” he suggested calmly.

  Bluefur thrust her paws downward, expecting to vanish underwater. Instead, her feet stubbed against the round stones on the bottom of the river. She stood up, surprised to find the water barely lapping at her belly fur. Hot with embarrassment, she stalked onto the bank and shook herself, making sure Oakheart felt the spray.

  “How was I supposed to know it was that shallow?” she snapped. “ThunderClan cats don’t have to get wet to catch our prey.”

  Oakheart shrugged. “Sorry you got a bit damp.” His gaze flitted over her pelt. “I was just defending myself.”

  His feeble apology only made Bluefur angrier. “Why don’t you shut up and get off my territory?”

  He tipped his head to one side. “It seems a shame to leave at the start of such a promising friendship.”

  Friendship! This RiverClan cat was cheekier than the most upstart kit! “You’d better leave now, or I’ll give you a scar you won’t forget,” Bluefur growled.

  Oakheart dipped his head, his gaze holding hers for an instant, then padded into the shallows and swam sleekly across the river. Bluefur watched him slip onto the bank at the other side, water dripping from his thick pelt. Before he disappeared into the trees he looked back at her, his eyes gleaming.

  “I won’t forget you, scar or no scar,” he called.

  Bluefur didn’t dignify his dumb comment with a reply. Mouse-brain! Wet and cross, she stamped up the bank and headed into the trees. When she reached the top of the ravine, she was still pricking with anger. How dare Oakheart be so brazen when he was on ThunderClan territory? Did he think StarClan had given him the whole forest?

  She was so lost in thought, Rosetail made her jump when she bounded over the top of the cliff.

  “You’re wet!” Rosetail glanced at the sky, puzzled. “It hasn’t been raining, has it?”

  Bluefur glanced at her paws. “It was…er…I slipped and fell…the bank was…” How could she possibly say that a RiverClan warrior had thrown her in the river?

  Rosetail’s whisker’s twitched. “Not looking where you were going?”

  “It was slippery!”

  Rosetail’s eyes flashed with curiosity. “You look different.”

  Bluefur shifted her paws. “How?”

  “You look moony. Like Snowfur when she’s talking about Thistleclaw.”

  “Don’t be silly!”

  “Who is it?” Rosetail’s ears were twitching.

  “No one!”

  “Thrushpelt?” Rosetail pressed.

  What? Bluefur bristled. Why would she moon over Thrushpelt? “Of course not!” she replied hotly.

  Rosetail tipped her head to one side. “Too bad,” she mewed. “He spends enough time mooning over you.”

  “Me?” The thought shocked Bluefur. Thrushpelt was just a denmate, and she wasn’t going to end up like Snowfur: stuck in the nursery with a bunch of mewling kits clambering over her. She was going to be the best warrior ThunderClan had ever seen. Better than Thistleclaw. Good enough to be leader one day.

  Rosetail rolled her eyes. “Hadn’t you noticed him watching you?”

  “No!” Bluefur snapped with such ferocity that Rosetail took a step back.

  “Okay.” The red-tailed warrior changed the subject. “I’m just off to get some fresh moss for Snowfur
and Whitekit.”

  At the mention of her kin, Bluefur softened, her damp pelt smoothing. “How is Whitekit?”

  “He’s been chasing Snowfur’s tail all morning. She’s ready to box his ears, but she won’t. He does it so sweetly.”

  “I can imagine.” Bluefur pictured Whitekit’s round, blue eyes gazing innocently up while he batted his mother’s fluffy tail.

  “I just hope Tigerkit isn’t a bad influence,” Rosetail fretted. “When I left, he was trying to persuade Whitekit to flick burrs into Frostkit’s pelt while she was sleeping.”

  “Didn’t Leopardfoot stop them?”

  “You know Leopardfoot.” Rosetail sighed. “She thinks Tigerkit can do no wrong.”

  “I’ll go visit the nursery,” Bluefur offered.

  “Snowfur would appreciate it,” Rosetail meowed. “I think she’s got den fever. She’s almost shredded her nest. She needs some fresh air.”

  As Rosetail padded into the trees, Bluefur noticed a tuft of dog hair caught in the grass. There was barely any scent clinging to it—it must have been blown there, rather than left by a passing dog—but it might keep Whitekit busy for a while. She plucked it up with her claws and carried it down to the nursery.

  Snowfur was looking hot and harassed when Bluefur squeezed into the bramble den. Frostkit and Brindlekit were tumbling over Robinwing, their tails flicking in Snowfur’s face at every turn. Whitekit was fast asleep, splayed on Snowfur’s flank so that she couldn’t move. Tigerkit was nagging his mother.

  “Why can’t I go out?”

  “You’ve just come in.”

  “But it’s a sunny day.”

  “You need a nap.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “You will be later.”

  “I’ll sleep then.”

  “But you’ll be grumpy all afternoon if you don’t nap now.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Yes, you will.”

  Snowfur rolled her eyes at Bluefur.

  “Here.” Bluefur dropped the tuft at the edge of her sister’s nest. Rosetail was right. The bracken was in shreds. “Whitekit can play with it when he wakes up.”