by Erin Hunter
“I enjoy it!” She tossed the moss ball into the air and watched the kits scramble for it.
It was easier to play with Whitekit now that Thistleclaw was out with Tigerpaw so much. He was working his apprentice hard, waking him before dawn and drilling him in the sandy hollow any time they weren’t patrolling or hunting. Tigerpaw had grown so quickly that he looked like a warrior after only a moon of training. Bluefur just wished he didn’t have to show off his battle skills in the camp quite so much.
“Teach me a battle move!” Whitekit begged her daily.
“You’re not old enough,” she would tell him. She was going to make sure he made it to warrior without any serious injuries. She owed it to him and to Snowfur.
“Throw it again! Throw it again!” Frostkit came bouncing back, the moss ball jiggling from her jaws. She dropped it at Bluefur’s paws and looked up pleadingly. “Please.”
Bluefur scooped it up and dangled it from a claw, her whiskers twitching as she watched the kits stare intently at the jerking clump of moss. Then she tossed it to the other side of the clearing and the kits hared away, kicking up dust.
“Bluefur?” Sunstar was padding toward her. “I want you to find Thistleclaw and Tigerpaw in the sandy hollow.” He glanced at the sun, rising high into the milky blue sky.
Bluefur cocked her head. “Why?”
Sunstar looked solemn. “I’ve been getting reports of kittypets crossing the border, and I want you to go with them to investigate.”
Bluefur knew exactly who’d made the reports. Thistleclaw had been spoiling for a fight with a kittypet for moons. Even more so since he’d become Tigerpaw’s mentor, as if he wanted to make sure Tigerpaw understood that kittypets were their enemies. Was he concerned that the young tom would follow in his father’s paw steps?
Bluefur dipped her head to the ThunderClan leader and headed toward the camp entrance.
Whitekit pounded after her. “Where are you going?”
“Just to check the border,” she explained.
“Is RiverClan invading again? Or ShadowClan?” Whitekit reared onto his hind legs and swiped at the air. Bluefur wondered whether he had learned that battle move from Tigerpaw.
“Just some kittypets sniffing around.”
“Are you going to shred them to pieces?”
“They’re just kittypets,” Bluefur told him. “A hiss should be enough to send them running.”
Whitekit sighed. “I wish I could come with you.”
“Another few moons and you will,” Bluefur promised. “Now run back and play with your denmates so Robinwing and Swiftbreeze can rest.”
Whitekit charged away, and Bluefur headed for the training hollow.
“Now lunge at me,” Thistleclaw commanded.
Bluefur could see the pair through the bushes just ahead of her.
Baring his teeth, Tigerpaw rushed at Thistleclaw, slamming into his flank. Thistleclaw turned and flung his apprentice away with a hefty blow that left Tigerpaw staggering.
“Mouse-brain!” Thistleclaw growled. “You should have seen that coming.”
Tigerpaw shook his head, looking dazed. “Let me try it again,” he begged.
Bluefur hurried forward to interrupt. She couldn’t watch such brutal training. She was sure Leopardfoot had no idea that Tigerpaw’s mentor was so rough with her kit. Should she warn the ThunderClan leader what was going on?
She shivered, thankful that Thistleclaw wouldn’t be able to train Whitekit.
“Thistleclaw!” she called before Tigerpaw could take another lunge at his mentor.
Both cats swung around, their eyes narrowing when they saw her.
“What is it?” Thistleclaw demanded.
“Sunstar wants us to check the border for kittypets,” she told him.
His dark gaze brightened. “At last!” He bounded into the trees. “Come on, Tigerpaw,” he called over his shoulder. “Let’s try out some of those battle moves for real.”
Paws heavy, Bluefur followed.
As they neared Twolegplace, Thistleclaw signaled to Tigerpaw. “Run up ahead and check for scents,” he ordered.
Tigerpaw rushed off, leaving Thistleclaw and Bluefur alone.
“I know what you’re doing,” Thistleclaw growled.
Bluefur was alarmed by the ferocity of his mew. “What?”
“Playing with Whitekit every time my tail’s turned.”
“He’s my kin!” she snapped, anger surging in her paws.
“He’s my kit!” he retorted. “Just remember that! I can stop your dumb games anytime I want.”
“How?” Bluefur challenged.
Thistleclaw flashed her a menacing look. “Right now, I’m letting you play with him. But the moment I think you’re turning him soft, the games will stop, get it?” Bluefur glared at him, but Thistleclaw went on. “He’s my son, not yours!”
Stung, Bluefur opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought about his kit-rearing methods.
“Kittypet scent!” Tigerpaw came tearing back. “Come on!”
The dark young tabby led them to a sparse strip of woodland not far from a row of bright red Twoleg nests. Light filtered through the bare branches, striping the forest floor.
Tigerpaw started sniffing tufts of grass. “The trail leads this way.”
Bluefur could smell a faint trace of kittypet. Not strong enough to belong to a full-grown cat. “It’s just a kit,” she meowed. “Not worth following.”
“I forgot you had a soft spot for kittypets,” Thistleclaw growled. He followed his apprentice along the scent trail as it led through long grass at the edge of Twolegplace.
They pushed through the grass and emerged in a sunny patch of scrub beside a fence. A tiny black kittypet was snuffling at the ground. As the three Clan cats advanced, he spun around, eyes wide.
“Hello.” He blinked happily, tail high.
Tigerpaw bristled, and Thistleclaw had already unsheathed his claws.
Bluefur tensed, willing the tiny tom to run. The fence wasn’t far. There was a chance it might escape.
A growl rumbled in Thistleclaw’s throat. “What are you doing here? This is ThunderClan territory!”
“Thistleclaw, he’s only a kit. He’s no threat,” Bluefur pleaded.
“An intruder is an intruder, Bluefur! You’ve always been too soft on them.”
Bluefur felt sick as Thistleclaw turned to his apprentice. “Here, let’s put it to my apprentice. What do you think, Tigerpaw? How should we handle this?”
“I think the kittypet should be taught a lesson,” Tigerpaw hissed. “One it’ll remember.”
Bluefur stepped forward. “Now, hold on, there’s no need for this—”
Thistleclaw turned on her, arching his back. “Shut up!”
Tigerpaw lunged at the kit, sending it flying like a piece of prey. The kit skidded across the rough earth and landed, gasping for breath.
Get up!
Tail bushed in terror, the kit tried to scramble to its paws. But Tigerpaw pounced again. The tabby apprentice pinned the kit to the ground. With claws unsheathed, he swiped at its muzzle, then raked its flank. The kit squealed in agony.
“Show it your teeth, Tigerpaw,” Thistleclaw goaded.
Tigerpaw sunk his teeth into the kit’s shoulder and hauled it to its paws. The kit yowled and struggled, its paws scrabbling helplessly on the ground until Tigerpaw, his eyes gleaming, flung him away.
No!
Blood welling scarlet along his wounds, the kit pressed his belly to the ground as though he wished he could just vanish. Tigerpaw padded grimly toward it.
“Stop, Tigerpaw!” Bluefur pelted past him and stood in front of the kit. “That’s enough!” She bared her teeth, prepared to fight. Tigerpaw would kill this kit if she let him carry on. It was no bigger than Whitekit. The thought wrenched her heart. “Warriors don’t need to kill to win a battle, remember?”
Tigerpaw halted and glared at her. “I was just defending our territory.”
; “And you’ve done that,” Bluefur reasoned. “This kit has learned its lesson.”
The kit stood up on shaking paws and gazed at Tigerpaw with terror in its eyes.
“Yeah,” Tigerpaw agreed. He leered at the kit. “You’ll never forget me!”
Bluefur held her ground while the kit scuttled away. “If I ever see you do something like that again”—her eyes flashed from mentor to apprentice—“I’ll report you to Sunstar!”
“We were only defending ThunderClan territory from invaders,” Thistleclaw snarled.
“That so-called invader was a kit!”
Thistleclaw shrugged. “That’s his problem.” He turned and stalked away between the trees, his spiky pelt soon swallowed in shadow. Tigerpaw trotted after him with his tail up, proud of his brave victory.
Rage throbbed in Bluefur’s paws as she stared after them.
I’ll never let you take power in this Clan, Thistleclaw!
CHAPTER 33
“StarClan honors you for your wisdom and your loyalty. I name you Whitestorm.”
As Sunstar pressed his muzzle to the white warrior’s head, the Clan broke into cheers. “Whitestorm! Whitestorm!”
Bluefur closed her eyes, relief washing over her like rain. I kept my promise, Snowfur. I kept him safe.
Bluefur hadn’t been Whitestorm’s mentor after all. Sunstar had told her that he didn’t think kin were the best mentors for kin, especially as Bluefur had basically mothered Whitestorm since Snowfur’s death. Instead he had given Bluefur Frostpaw as an apprentice a few moons later, and Patchpelt had trained Whitestorm, a choice Bluefur approved of. Whitestorm had trained alongside Tigerclaw, and Bluefur was pleased to have a wise and gentle mentor around to temper Thistleclaw’s brutal practices. She had involved herself whenever she could in Whitestorm’s training, which hadn’t been easy with Thistleclaw glowering at her whenever she tried to guide the young tom.
She opened her eyes, basking in the warmth of the cheers that welcomed Whitestorm to the Clan. He had grown strong and handsome, and he stood now with his chin high and his eyes bright, thick snowy fur dazzling in the leaf-fall sun. It had rained in the night, and the forest sparkled with silvery drops, reflecting rainbows through the trees.
Four seasons had passed since Bluefur had promised her sister in her dream of the gorge that she’d help raise the young tom, seasons that had brought change to the whole Clan. Redpaw, Willowpaw, and Spottedpaw had moved to the apprentices’ den, though Spottedpaw spent every spare moment shadowing Featherwhisker, fascinated by how much he knew about cures and herbs. Mumblefoot and Weedwhisker had died peacefully, and were still missed by their Clanmates. Fuzzypelt and Windflight had joined Stonepelt, Larksong, and Poppydawn in the elders’ den. White-eye had moved to the nursery, expecting her first kits. She was anxious about raising a litter through leaf-bare, but the Clan was strong and hopeful, and Bluefur knew that they would protect the kits however harsh the season.
Thistleclaw had established himself as a senior warrior, taking a nest near the center of the warriors’ den. Tigerclaw had been a warrior for four moons and had already claimed a nest close to Thistleclaw’s, shunning the outer den. No warrior had challenged him, though Bluefur wasn’t sure whether that was because his denmates respected the fierce, dark tabby and his former mentor—or feared them. Thistleclaw had become like a father to the dark tabby in Pinestar’s absence; he had trained him to win at any cost, defending his methods as part of the warrior code, though Bluefur saw no honor in the way Thistleclaw fought for his Clan.
Tigerclaw watched Whitestorm now; the new warrior’s eyes glittered as he padded over to Bluefur and dipped his head to her.
“Thank you.” The white tom’s mew had grown deep. “You have given me so much.”
Bluefur’s heart swelled. I won’t let anything hurt you, ever.
“Your mother would be proud of you,” Bluefur murmured, her mew catching in her throat.
“I know,” Whitestorm purred. “She’d be proud of you, too.”
Bluefur’s gaze clouded as she reached up and licked a stray tuft of fur on the warrior’s shoulder. She noticed with a pang the scar behind his ear. Tigerclaw had done that when he unsheathed his claws during a training session, when both cats were still apprentices. Bluefur had blamed Thistleclaw.
“If you taught Tigerclaw respect for his Clanmates, it would never have happened,” she had told him.
Thistleclaw had curled his lip. “His Clanmates must earn his respect.”
“But Whitestorm will be scarred for life!”
“It’ll teach him to react more quickly next time.”
Bluefur had stalked away fuming. She was furious at the way Thistleclaw had seemed to pitch the apprentices against one another, again and again. Seeing the scar now, she still had to push away a bolt of anger. What’s done is done, she told herself. Perhaps Thistleclaw’s ruthlessness had made Whitestorm a better fighter.
“Whitestorm!” Lionheart and Goldenflower were calling to him.
Whitestorm pressed his muzzle to Bluefur’s cheek and hurried away.
Larksong! Bluefur remembered that she’d promised to tell the old she-cat about the naming ceremony. She had been too frail to leave her nest. Padding to the fresh-kill pile, she picked a juicy mouse from the top and pushed through the branches of the fallen tree.
Larksong was curled in her nest with her nose on her paws and her eyes closed. Her tortoiseshell pelt, once so pretty, was now dull and ragged, but the old she-cat never lost her humor, even after her denmates Weedwhisker and Mumblefoot had died.
“At least I’ll get a few moons’ peace from their bickering before I join them in StarClan,” she had joked.
Not wanting to wake her, Bluefur laid the mouse beside her nest and began to creep out of the den.
Larksong lifted her head. “Did it go well?”
Bluefur turned. “Wonderfully. Whitestorm is a warrior now.”
“A good name for a strong warrior,” Larksong commented. She sniffed at the mouse and sat up, stretching. “You’ll miss him.”
“What?” Bluefur was unnerved by the solemn look in the old she-cat’s eyes.
“Whitestorm.”
“He’s not going anywhere. In fact he’ll be closer now that we’ll be sharing the same den.”
“But he won’t need you as much.”
Bluefur felt a pang. It was true. “I still have Frostpaw to train,” she pointed out.
“Training an apprentice is not the same as raising a kit.”
Bluefur blinked as Larksong went on. “You gave up everything for Snowfur’s kit. Look around you: Your Clanmates have mates, kits—lives of their own, beyond being a mentor.”
“There’s nothing more important than training warriors!” Bluefur protested.
Larksong gazed at her. “Really?”
Bluefur shifted her paws.
“You’ve fulfilled your promise to Snowfur,” Larksong mewed softly. “You need to live your own life now, Bluefur, before you wake up and realize that you’re as empty as a beech husk.”
Is that how the old she-cat really saw life? Surely there were things to offer the Clan other than kits! Bluefur was proud of what she’d done for Whitestorm, what she was doing with Frostpaw. Her apprentice was going to make a fine warrior. My life isn’t empty! She started to back out of the den. Was this really how her Clanmates saw her?
Larksong prodded the mouse and, without looking up, rasped, “Maybe Thrushpelt has waited long enough.”
Bluefur scooted from the den without replying. Was Larksong telling her to take Thrushpelt as a mate? She shook her head, baffled.
“Bluefur!” Tawnyspots was calling her from beneath Highrock. “You can join Lionheart’s hunting patrol!”
Lionheart and Goldenflower were pacing the clearing, while Thrushpelt sat nearby, plucking absently at the ground. Bluefur nodded to Tawnyspots. The ThunderClan deputy was growing thin again, his eyes tired. The sickness that had dogged him last leaf-bare seemed
to be returning. The Clan cats might need a new deputy sooner than they thought.
And if that happens, I need to be ready. Having a mate would only distract me, take away my focus. It’s for the sake of my Clan!
“Ready?” Lionheart was staring at her, his yellow eyes bright.
Bluefur nodded and followed the golden warrior as he led Goldenflower and Thrushpelt out of the camp. They headed for the river, the ground turning wet underpaw as they neared the shore. Wet ferns draped themselves over Bluefur’s pelt. The rain made prey-scent harder to detect.
“We should split up.” Lionheart halted and looked over his patrol. “We’ll have more chance of picking up scents if we cover a wider area.”
Bluefur nodded. As her Clanmates headed in different directions, she chose a path through the undergrowth onto wetter ground. Mud squelched between her claws as she picked up the scent of squirrel. With her heart quickening, she followed the trail, pulling up when Thrushpelt’s scent tainted the bushes. She didn’t want to steal his prey, so she doubled back, heading closer to the river.
Something hopped between the clumps of marsh grass. Pricking her ears, Bluefur dropped into a crouch. A small moorhen was flitting low along the ground, stopping to peck at roots and snuffle for food in the mud. Water seeped up and soaked her belly as Bluefur crept forward. The bird hadn’t seen her. It was too busy rooting around in the marsh grass.
Bluefur sprang and grasped it with unsheathed claws. It fluttered for a moment in her paws, then fell still as she nipped its neck. It would make a tasty treat for White-eye.
“Good catch!”
A deep mew made her jump. Someone had called from the other side of the river. She spun around, the moorhen dangling from her jaws.
Oakheart!
The RiverClan tom was watching her from the far shore.
Bluefur dropped her catch and glared at him. “Are you spying on me?”
“No.” Oakheart looked mildly amused. “I’m allowed to patrol my own territory, you know.”
Lionheart’s call sounded from farther up the bank. “Bluefur!”
