Bluestar's Prophecy

“Well?” Snowpaw danced around Bluepaw, who padded wearily toward the apprentices’ den. Her paws ached from the journey. The warriors had run so fast, taking no account of her size, and she’d had to scramble over fallen trees and through ditches that they took in one stride.

“Who was there?”

“I don’t know!” Irritation pricked Bluepaw’s pelt. “Lots of cats.” She didn’t want to admit that she’d stuck so close to Moonflower, she’d hardly looked at the other Clans. Even when Stonepelt had introduced her to a RiverClan cat, she’d been so tongue-tied that thinking of it now made her pelt burn with embarrassment. The Gathering had been big and noisy, crowded with strange scents and a babble of chatter and too many eyes studying her curiously. She couldn’t even remember what Fourtrees looked like—all she had seen were cats of every shape and color, jostling around her. There had been a huge rock, even bigger than Highrock, where the leaders had stood to address the Clans, but with furry flanks pressed on either side of her it had been almost impossible to hear them.

“Did Pinestar mention the stealing? How did WindClan react?” Snowpaw bobbed up and down in front of her.

Bluepaw stared at her, exhausted. She just wanted to curl up in her nest and sleep. “Yes, he said something, but I don’t know how WindClan reacted because I don’t know who the WindClan cats were!” she snapped. “Satisfied?”

Snowpaw gazed at her, eyes darkening with worry. “Didn’t you enjoy it at all?”

Bluepaw sighed. “Two days ago, I was a kit. I might still be a kit if Pinestar hadn’t suddenly decided to make us apprentices.” She felt a pricking in her heart, like a nagging voice she couldn’t quite hear. “Everything seems to be happening so fast. I wouldn’t even be able to find my way back to Fourtrees in daylight.” She realized that Snowpaw was staring at her in dismay. Bluepaw felt a stab of guilt—it had been an honor to be taken to the Gathering, and she shouldn’t be complaining.

“It’ll be much more fun when you come, too,” she told Snowpaw. “Ask Sparrowpelt if you can come next moon.” Feeling her eyes start to close, Bluepaw padded past her sister and pushed through the ferns into the den. She curled into her nest, sighing with relief to feel the softness of moss against her tired limbs.

The sound of bracken crunching beside her ear woke Bluepaw. Snowpaw was stirring in her nest.

“What is it?” Bluepaw yawned.

“Go back to sleep,” Snowpaw whispered. “Sparrowpelt’s taking me hunting again so I can practice my stalking. Stonepelt said you could sleep for as long as you like.”

Bluepaw felt torn. She wanted to hunt, too, but her eyes still felt heavy with sleep. She closed them as Snowpaw crept out of the den.

When she opened her eyes again, the den was brighter; daylight sent a green glow through the fern walls. A nagging wind buffeted the fronds, and when Bluepaw stretched and slid out of the den, it tugged at her ears and whiskers. Leaves were skidding and tumbling across the clearing, fetching up in drifts against the gorse barrier. A thick cloud covering hid the sky. Shivering, Bluepaw padded toward the fresh-kill pile. Her squirrel was gone, and she felt a warm glow of satisfaction that she had helped feed her Clan.

Stonepelt was sheltering beside the nettle patch with Featherwhisker and Goosefeather, hunched against the wind.

“Am I supposed to hunt before I eat?” Bluepaw called to him.

Stonepelt shook his head. “You must be hungry after last night. Eat first, and then clear out the nursery.”

Bluepaw nodded and took a vole from the pile, carrying it to the mossy tree stump. There was no sign of Leopardpaw or Patchpaw; they must be out training. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of clearing out the kits’ stinky bedding, then pushed the thought from her mind so she could enjoy her meal.

As she swallowed the last mouthful, Featherwhisker padded toward her. “I’ve got some fresh bedding stored in the medicine clearing,” he told her. He sniffed the air. “There’s rain coming, so I collected some while it was still dry. Help yourself when you need to refill the nests in the nursery.”

“Thank you.” Bluepaw ran a wet paw over her muzzle and got to her paws. “I’ll clear out the old stuff and then come get it.”

“Don’t worry,” Featherwhisker mewed. “I’ll bring it over.”

Bluepaw nodded gratefully and padded to the nursery. She hadn’t been back there since she’d moved to the apprentices’ den, and it felt familiar yet strange to be squeezing in through the entrance.

Speckletail was curled in her nest with Lionkit and Goldenkit, offering them a morsel of mouse.

“It’s chewy,” Goldenkit complained.

“I’ll eat your bit,” Lionkit offered.

“You’ve had plenty,” Speckletail chided. “If you want more, you can go out to the fresh-kill pile.”

“Really?” Lionkit’s ears pricked. “Can I choose anything I want?”

“Yes,” Speckletail answered, “but nothing too big.”

“I’ll go with him,” Thistlekit offered.