Bluestar's Prophecy

Leopardpaw licked her lips. “If you insist,” she mewed. “I just hope the sound of your bellies rumbling doesn’t wake me up in the night.”

Bluepaw stood and stretched till her legs trembled. The wind was growing chillier, and it rippled right through her pelt. She nosed her way through the ferns into the shelter of the den and began to paw at her nest, trying to plump up the bracken so that it would keep out the cold.

Snowpaw followed her in. “Are you tired?”

Bluepaw shook her head. “I just don’t like waiting for tomorrow. I wish it was morning already.” She gave her paws a lick. The scent of the nursery was still on them, and she wished for a moment that she was safely back there with Moonflower and Poppydawn and the kits. She had never felt less ready to become a warrior. As she pushed the thought away and straightened her shoulders, the ferns rustled and Moonflower slid into the den, moss tucked under her chin and dangling from her jaws.

She dropped half in Snowpaw’s nest and the other half in Bluepaw’s. Quietly she smoothed out each pile until both nests were soft with it.

Bluepaw watched her work, feeling hollow. “Moonflower?”

“What is it, my dear?”

“How many battles have you fought in?”

Moonflower thought for a moment. “Too many to count, though they were really just border fights—driving out intruders. This will be the first time I’ve ever been in an attack on another Clan’s territory.”

“Are you nervous?”

Snowpaw snorted. “Of course she’s not nervous! She’s a ThunderClan warrior.”

Moonflower licked Snowpaw affectionately between the ears. “All warriors are nervous before battle—if not for themselves, then for their denmates and their whole Clan. It makes their senses sharper and their claws fiercer, and it gives them hunger for victory.”

Bluepaw sighed, feeling some of the tension unknot from her belly. She wasn’t just a scaredy-mouse after all. Suddenly tired, she settled down in her nest and yawned. “Thanks for the moss, Moonflower.”

Snowpaw was circling in hers. “It’s so soft.”

“It should keep you warm,” Moonflower meowed. “After the battle, we’ll go out and collect more and make sure both your nests are as soft as feathers.”

Bluepaw closed her eyes. She imagined herself padding through the woods beside Snowpaw and Moonflower, the battle far behind and nothing to worry about but where to find the softest moss. The thought soothed her.

“I’ll just lie down between you while you go to sleep.” Moonflower settled on her belly between the two nests. Bluepaw could hear Snowpaw’s breath slowing as Moonflower purred gently. Rolling toward the warmth of her mother, she felt Moonflower’s soft belly fur brush her pelt and smelled the familiar scent that reminded her of the moons spent in the nursery.

Happily she drifted into sleep.

Half waking, she felt Moonflower stir. Blinking in the moonlight, she saw Leopardpaw and Patchpaw asleep in their nests. It must be late.

Moonflower got to her paws. “Sleep well, little one.” The queen’s breath stirred Bluepaw’s ear fur. “I will always be with you.”

The ferns rustled and Moonflower was gone.

Chapter 8

Bluepaw woke with a jolt.

The battle!

She jumped to her paws and glanced around the den. The fern walls rippled and swayed in the wind as though tugged by invisible paws. Dawn had not yet come, but Leopardpaw and Patchpaw were already sitting up and washing.

Snowpaw stretched in her nest, her eyes shining in the gloom. “What is it?”

“Sparrowpelt wants us in the clearing,” Leopardpaw mewed.

The wind roared above the camp and as Bluepaw pushed her way out of the den, a grit-filled gust hit her face and made her wince. The trees around the camp strained against the angry air, and clouds swept overhead as dark and threatening as crows.

Stonepelt was waiting outside the den, his fur flattened and his eyes half-closed against the swirling leaves and dust. “Not good weather for a battle.”

“Clanmates!” Pinestar’s call was sharp. He stood in the center of the clearing with Goosefeather at his side as his warriors swarmed around him, lashing their tails. The fur along Adderfang’s spine stood as sharp as thorns. Dappletail tore up clawfuls of earth while Sparrowpelt and Stormtail paced the edge of the clearing, muscles rippling across their broad shoulders.

Featherwhisker was moving from one cat to another, dropping small flurries of herbs at the paws of each.

Those must be the strengthening herbs, Bluepaw guessed.

Outside the nursery, Moonflower was sharing tongues with Poppydawn. They paused as Thistlekit and Lionkit tumbled out from the brambles, fluffing up their pelts and trying to look big. Poppydawn gave Moonflower a final lick between the ears before scooping both kits, complaining, back into the nursery.