Bluestar's Prophecy

Bluepaw sat back while Stonepelt demonstrated. “Arch your paw like this, and stretch your claws as far as they’ll go.” With swift, delicate precision he sliced a swath of moss from the tree, leaving the roots and dirt still clinging to the bark while a clean, neat piece of moss dangled from his paw. “Now you try.”

Bluepaw copied him, arching her paw, stretching her claws till they hurt, and sliced at the moss. The piece she cut was smaller and more ragged than Stonepelt’s, but she had managed to leave the roots and dirt behind.

“Very good!” Stonepelt purred. “Keep practicing.”

He sat and watched as Bluepaw sliced away at the moss, cutting piece after piece and dropping them into a growing pile beside her. Before long she felt rhythm in her movement and noticed the moss that she cut was thicker and less scrappy. Pausing, she looked at Stonepelt, hoping for his approval, and was pleased to see his eyes glowing.

“You’re a natural,” he told her. “And though you don’t know it, you’re practicing valuable battle and hunting skills.”

Bluepaw blinked. “How?”

“With each slice of your claw, you’re getting more and more controlled,” Stonepelt explained. “By the time you’ve mastered this, you’ll be able to rake your enemy’s muzzle with a flick of your paw, and to kill prey quickly and cleanly.”

Bluepaw purred, suddenly pleased with the pile of moss she had collected.

“And now,” Stonepelt went on, “we have to carry it home.”

Bluepaw instantly leaned down to grasp a bunch between her teeth.

“If we carry it like that, then we’re going to have to make several journeys,” Stonepelt warned. Bluepaw had managed to pick up only a few small scraps from the top of the pile.

“Squash it down like this.” Deftly Stonepelt pressed the moss beneath his paws, squeezing out the moisture. “Now, roll a bundle together and grasp it under your chin.” He gripped a large wad beneath his own chin and held it there while he went on. “That will leave your jaws free to carry more.”

Bluepaw stifled a purr of amusement. Stonepelt looked so funny with his chin clamped to his chest and moss spilling out from either side.

“Don’t twitch your whiskers at me!” he meowed sternly. “I know it looks odd, but would you rather climb the ravine twice?”

Bluepaw shook her head.

“I didn’t think so.” Stonepelt flicked his tail. “Imagine this was prey we were carrying home to a hungry Clan. The more we can carry, the sooner our Clan will be fed.”

Bluepaw shifted her paws. She hadn’t thought of it like that. She began pummeling the pile of moss, rolling a ball as Stonepelt had done, then leaned down to grasp it under her chin. It was harder to hold in place than she’d thought, especially when she picked up a second bundle between her jaws. She dropped each of the bundles twice before they reached the edge of the ravine. Each time, Stonepelt waited patiently while she picked it up. He didn’t offer more advice, just watched and nodded as she persevered.

At the top of the rocky slope, Bluepaw sniffed the air for any sign of Snowpaw. She didn’t want her sister to witness her awkward progress: chin squashed down, chest fur dripping from the wet moss.

Scrambling down the ravine was even less dignified; she couldn’t see her paws and had to feel for every clawhold. She was relieved that Stonepelt was a few steps ahead, breaking her fall every time she slipped until at last they reached the bottom. Even the gorse tunnel proved a problem. Half the bundle underneath her chin caught on the spiky walls and was yanked out of her grip.

“Mouse dung!” she cursed, wriggling around to retrieve it before hauling it into the clearing.

I must be the first cat to enter the camp backward! Her pelt was hot with embarrassment as she shuffled tailfirst from the tunnel, moss trailing from her chin.

Leopardpaw padded past. “Busy?” The apprentice gazed down her raven-black muzzle at Bluepaw.

Bluepaw dropped her moss and looked Leopardpaw in the eye. “I’ve learned how to use my claws properly and how to carry two bits of prey at once.”

“In other words, you’ve been gathering moss.” Leopardpaw sniffed.

Bluepaw whipped her tail crossly as Leopardpaw padded away toward the fresh-kill pile. Then she spotted Stonepelt watching from the fallen tree, moss piled at his paws, eyes sparkling with amusement. Growling under her breath, Bluepaw rebundled her moss and stamped across the clearing to join him.

“Is there something in the warrior code that says you’re allowed to put thistles in your denmate’s nest?” Bluepaw asked, spitting out her moss.

Stonepelt shook his head, his whiskers twitching. “I don’t think so, but I’m sure you wouldn’t be the first.” He gathered up his moss and pushed his way between the branches of the fallen tree.

Sighing, Bluepaw followed.

“Oh, good,” Larksong meowed as they entered the elders’ den. “I don’t think I could sleep another night in plain bracken. It’s too cold!”