Bluestar's Prophecy

A moon passed, and the Clan began to recover from its defeat. At last newleaf was pushing away the leaf-bare chill. The forest was starting to buzz with life, the trees a green haze, the undergrowth starting to crowd the forest floor once more.

Bluestar padded beside Whitestorm as they walked along the Twoleg border. “How much do you remember about Snowfur?” she asked. She’d often wondered if her kits remembered her. If they did, they never gave any clue of it at Gatherings.

“I remember her smell and the warmth of lying beside her,” Whitestorm replied. “Having you around kept her memory alive. You carried the same scent and sometimes, even now, I see my mother in the twitch of your whiskers or the flick of your tail.”

Touched, Bluestar purred. “Do you remember the way Tigerkit was always leading you into trouble, then letting you take the blame?”

Whitestorm flicked his tail. “We had fun, though.”

“And Brindlekit and Frostkit would do anything to get your attention. Brindlekit even convinced you once that there was a fox trapped in the dirtplace!”

Whitestorm glanced at her. “Why all this nostalgia?” he asked.

Bluestar stared straight ahead. “Do you think I’ve made the right choices?”

“Only StarClan knows that for sure,” Whitestorm replied. “We can only do what we think is right at the time.”

“What if that isn’t enough?”

Whitestorm halted and stood in front of her, worry darkening his gaze. “Why are you questioning yourself like this?” He sat down and wrapped his tail over his paws. “I know we lost Sunningrocks, but we’ll win it back once the Clan is stronger. You are a good leader, strong and fair. The Clan respects you.”

“I should never have let the Clan grow weak.”

“It’s been a tough leaf-bare.” A blackbird fluttered onto a branch overhead and began its song. “But newleaf has come.”

Bluestar breathed in the fresh smell of new life. The air was laced with prey-scent. “I wish it could always be this way. Peaceful, with plenty of food.”

Whitestorm’s whiskers twitched. “If wishes were prey, we’d eat like lions come leaf-bare.” He stood up, preparing to move off. “But we’d die of boredom!” His mew grew more serious. “You know that’s not what the life of the Clans is like. The warrior code guides us through the dark times, the cold and the hunger. And the good times seem all the sweeter for it. Have faith, Bluestar. We’ll survive.”

He headed through the trees and, sighing, Bluestar followed. How had the tiny kit she’d helped raise become such a strong, wise warrior?

They weaved along the tree line at the edge of the forest, through air tainted with Twoleg smell. Bluestar gazed at the Twoleg nest beyond the sunny stretch of scrub, thinking as she always did of Pinestar. Now that he walked with StarClan, did he regret his decision to leave?

A flash of orange pelt caught her eye. A ginger kittypet tom was crouching on the fence. He stared into the forest with eyes green as holly leaves, flashing with interest.

“Wait.” Bluestar halted Whitestorm with a touch of her tail. “Keep still.” She didn’t want to frighten this kittypet. As she gazed at him, the sun caught his pelt, sparking like flame.

The kittypet lashed his tail as the blackbird flitted from the trees and swooped overhead. The tom reared up on his hind paws, reaching out with unsheathed claws and missing the swooping bird only by a whisker.

“Not bad,” Whitestorm conceded.

The kittypet had kept his balance, and now he crouched again, tail twitching with frustration, eyes eager for another bird.

“Are you worried he’ll be a threat to our prey?” Whitestorm whispered.

“Worried?” Bluestar echoed. Worry was the last thing on her mind.

Fire will save the Clan.

The kittypet twisted his head around to lap his fiery pelt. There was something about the spark in his eye and the sharp-ness of his movements, the restlessness betrayed in his ruffled pelt, that held Bluestar’s attention.

He was just like a Clan cat. Once the kittypet softness had been trained out of him…

No.

Bluestar shook her head. What was she thinking? The Clan did need new blood, new warriors to strengthen its ranks.

But a kittypet?

The flame-colored kittypet was still on Bluestar’s mind at dusk as she shared tongues with Lionheart and Brindleface. The Clan was content, well fed for the first time in moons, and warm.

“What’s wrong?” Brindleface mewed.

“What?” Bluestar was jolted from her thoughts.

“You’ve been staring into the trees ever since you came back with Whitestorm.”

“Oh, nothing important.” Bluestar got to her paws. Perhaps Spottedleaf might help, even if it was just to tell her not to be mouse-brained. She padded through the cool fern tunnel. Spottedleaf was shredding herbs in the grassy clearing, squinting in the half-light as she inspected the leaves under her paws.

“Have you eaten?” Bluestar asked.

“I’ll eat when I’ve finished this,” Spottedleaf promised. She didn’t look up from the leaves she was carefully ripping into strips and mixing into fragrant piles.