Bluestar's Prophecy

Bluefur bent over her kits once more and began lapping at their damp pelts. If only Oakheart could see them. She recognized the shape of the RiverClan warrior’s head in Stonekit’s and felt his sleek fur as she washed Mosskit. I’ll love you enough for both of us, she promised.

Hugging them closer, she closed her eyes and drifted into sleep.

Snow still lay heavy in the camp half a moon later. Bluefur was worried that her kits would get too cold as she sat near the nursery entrance and watched them batting at the drifting flakes, squeaking with excitement.

“Should I take them inside?” she asked White-eye.

“Kits are tougher than they look,” White-eye soothed. “If you see their noses turning pale, then it’s time to take them in.”

Bluefur peered at the three kits’ noses; they were as pink as berries as the kits hopped through the snow, chasing one another’s tails. Runningkit and Mousekit, three moons older, were teasing them by flicking lumps of snow at them and then looking innocent when the kits skidded to a halt to complain.

Adderfang was clearing snow from the entrance tunnel, helped by Windflight and Swiftbreeze. Thistleclaw was demonstrating fighting moves to Redpaw and Willowpaw next to the snow-crushed nettle patch. Willowpaw’s pale pelt was hardly visible against the whiteness. Sunstar and Stormtail were digging through the snow where the fresh-kill pile used to be.

“Nothing left.” Sunstar sat back on his haunches, disappointed.

Stormtail sighed. “We’ll just have to keep sending out hunting patrols until someone catches something.” He glanced toward the nursery, his eyes dark with worry. “Even the queens are starting to look thin.”

Featherwhisker was carrying a bundle of herbs to the elders’ den.

“Is everything okay?” Sunstar called to him.

“Yes,” Featherwhisker mumbled through his jawful of leaves. “I’m just trying to make sure it stays that way.” He nodded to Goosefeather, who was squeezing out through the branches of the fallen tree. “Settled in now?”

“What?” Goosefeather looked distracted.

“Is your nest comfortable?” Featherwhisker pressed.

“Yes, fine.” Goosefeather padded across the clearing as Featherwhisker disappeared into the elders’ den.

Bluefur watched the old medicine cat approach. He had a fierce, glazed look in his eyes that made her pelt tingle. What was he going to say this time? She glanced at her kits, who were now tumbling down the snow that had drifted against the warriors’ den. “Don’t disturb Smallear!” she warned. “He’s trying to get some rest.”

“We won’t,” Stonekit promised, clambering up the pile again and bundling back down. He sat up at the bottom, scattering snow when he shook his ears.

Bluefur shook her head fondly.

A shadow fell across her. “This was not part of the prophecy,” Goosefeather hissed. “Fire must burn without bonds.”

Bluefur stood up and faced him. She may have doubted once that fire burned inside her, but she was sure now that it did. She felt it scorching beneath her pelt, giving her the strength of a lion to protect her kits. “The prophecy can wait,” she growled. “My kits need me now.”

“What about your Clan?” Goosefeather turned and looked at Thistleclaw on the other side of the clearing. The warrior’s coat was ridged with snow as he tried to coax Redpaw to reach higher with his swiping forepaws.

“Stretch your claws!” he snapped. “You won’t be fighting mice.”

Bluefur sighed. What could she do?

“Watch this!” Mistykit called as she flung herself headfirst down the snow pile.

The yew bush shook as Smallear stormed out. “Can’t you kits play anywhere else?” he grumbled.

Bluefur called, “I’m sorry, Smallear. I warned them.”

Smallear’s gaze softened as Mosskit tumbled toward him, squealing, “Look at meeeeeee!”

“I suppose they’re not kits for long,” the warrior sighed, padding toward the fallen tree. “Perhaps Stonepelt will let me squeeze in with him for a nap.”

Goosefeather turned back to Bluefur, and his blue eyes were as empty as the sky. “If Thistleclaw becomes deputy, it will be the end of ThunderClan.”

Bluefur narrowed her eyes. “My kits need me,” she repeated.

“They’re not just your kits,” Goosefeather told her. “They have a father who would raise them.”

Bluefur’s heart lurched. “What do you mean?”

“I saw you,” Goosefeather murmured. “With Oakheart, near Fourtrees.”

Bluefur flinched as if he’d struck her. He knows!

“I do not stand in judgment, Bluefur,” Goosefeather mewed gently. “You never set out to betray your Clan. But these kits will drown in blood with the rest of their Clanmates unless you act. You are still the fire that will scorch a different path for ThunderClan.”

“Bluefur!” Stonekit’s panicked squeak made her spin around. Mosskit had tumbled into a drift up to her ears. Bluefur hurried over and plucked her out by the scruff, shaking the snow from the tiny bundle of fur and placing her on a firmer patch.