Bluestar's Prophecy

Catching her breath, Bluekit glanced down the ravine. The camp was hardly visible beneath the treetops, and the clearing appeared as a pale splash beyond the auburn leaves. She twisted her head to look into the forest. Bushes crowded the edges, and trees stretched away into shadows. Branches creaked and shuddered in the wind. An excited shiver ran down her pelt.

“Is that where the patrols hunt every day?” she whispered.

Sunfall nodded. “You’ll be going with them soon.”

I want to go with them now!

Sunfall tensed suddenly. He was staring into the trees, eyes round. A moment later, they heard the echo of paw steps pounding eerily from deep within the forest. They drew closer, setting the undergrowth rustling, until Bluekit could make out the shadowy shapes of cats hurtling toward them.

She edged nearer Sunfall. “Who is it?”

“Dawn patrol.” Sunfall’s mew was taut. “There’s something wrong.”

Sparrowpelt exploded from a wall of ferns, his yellow eyes burning through the predawn light. He skidded to a halt at the edge of the ravine. Adderfang, Windflight, and Thrushpelt stopped hard on his heels.

“What’s wrong?” Sunfall demanded.

“WindClan has been stealing our prey!” Sparrowpelt hissed. “We must tell Pinestar.” He plunged over the edge of the ravine with the rest of his patrol close behind.

“Let’s get back to camp.” Sunfall turned and disappeared over the edge after his Clanmates.

Bluekit was trembling. Did this mean battle?

As she slid her front paws over the rim of the cliff, she paused. The sun was cracking the distant horizon, spilling over the forest and turning the treetops pink. Pride and excitement welled unexpectedly in her belly. This was her territory, and her Clan was in trouble. She knew with a certainty as hard as rock that she would risk anything to help her Clanmates. She half slid, half fell down the steep tumble of rocks, scrabbled down the face of the giant boulder, and raced along the path to the rocky slope at the bottom. She was determined not to be left behind.

The other warriors had disappeared into the camp by the time she reached the bottom, and she pelted through the gorse tunnel, praying she hadn’t missed anything.

In the clearing, Sparrowpelt was already sharing his story with Pinestar. The rest of the Clan cats, pelts bristling, were gathering around them. Stonepelt and Stormtail padded, gray as shadows, from beside the nettle patch. Branches trembled around the fallen tree as Weedwhisker pushed his way out from the elders’ den with Larksong and Mumblefoot. Robinwing paced in front of the nursery, her ears pricked up straight.

Dappletail—a warrior for only one moon, but already acting like she was deputy—pushed past Patchpaw, who was padding blearily from the apprentices’ den.

“Get out of the way! This is important!” she snapped. “Come on, White-eye!”

Whitepaw had been given her warrior name at the same time as Dapplepaw. Bluekit thought it was cruel of Pinestar to name her after the blind, cloudy eye that marred her pretty face, but White-eye had never seemed bothered by it, and she followed her denmate now with her usual unruffled air, shrugging apologetically as she passed Patchpaw.

“Bluekit!” Moonflower called from the fern tunnel. She emerged from the shadows, her eyes round with worry. “I’ve been looking for you! Have you been outside?” Her mew was sharp. “You know you’re not supposed to leave the camp!”

Bluekit wanted to explain that Sunfall had taken her, but Goosefeather and Featherwhisker weaved past the silver-gray queen, blocking her view as they hurried from the medicine clearing.

Tail twitching, Swiftbreeze swept in front of Bluekit. “Are you coming?”

Bluekit nodded and followed. She’d talk to Moonflower later.

Pinestar’s eyes narrowed as he spoke with the warriors from the patrol. “You say there was blood inside our border?”

Sparrowpelt nodded. “Squirrel blood. And it was fresh.”

Bluekit sat down beside Swiftbreeze. “Will there be a battle?” she whispered.

Swiftbreeze twitched the tip of her tail. “I hope not.”

Snowkit skidded to a halt beside them, her fur fluffed with excitement. “Imagine if there was!”

Adderfang was pacing in front of the ThunderClan leader. “WindClan cats must have killed it this morning and carried it back through Fourtrees to their own territory,” he growled.

“Are you sure it was killed by WindClan?” Swiftbreeze called.

“WindClan scent was everywhere!” Thrushpelt reported. The young warrior looked terrified, his fur sticking on end. “We were choking on it.”

Windflight tipped his head to one side. “There was no scent on the bushes,” he meowed slowly. “It may have just drifted down from the moorland.”

“Drifted?” Sparrowpelt scoffed.

“Too much of a coincidence!” Adderfang snapped. “Squirrel blood and Clan-scent together? They crossed our border and killed ThunderClan prey!”

“Could anything else have killed the squirrel?” Pinestar queried. “Was there any sign of a fox?”

“Nothing fresh,” Adderfang meowed.