Bluestar's Prophecy

Boulders began to dot the hillside, jutting from the earth like rotten teeth. At the top of the rise, the wind whipped more viciously against Bluepaw’s pelt, and she felt the first sharp drops of rain. Pinestar had halted and was staring into the dip ahead. Bluepaw followed his gaze toward boulders and heather and gorse.

“WindClan’s camp,” Stonepelt breathed into her ear.

Bluepaw blinked. Where?

Pinestar was heading toward them. Featherwhisker fell in beside him and beckoned to Swiftbreeze to join them. “You see that rock over there?” the ThunderClan leader meowed, nodding toward a stone sticking out of the earth, nearly as big as Highrock. “That’s where you’ll wait.” His gaze flicked from Bluepaw to Snowpaw. “Do you understand?”

They both nodded.

“Featherwhisker and Swiftbreeze will wait with you.” Pinestar glanced back over his shoulder. “I’ll send a runner if we get into trouble. Follow his orders exactly and without question.”

Blood roared in Bluepaw’s ears, blocking the howling of the wind.

This was it.

The battle was about to begin.

She followed Swiftbreeze, her paws heavy as stones, to the boulder Pinestar had indicated. It was smooth at one end as though it had been rubbed away by the wind, but sharp as fox-teeth at the other.

Snowpaw padded alongside her. “Do you think he’ll send for us?”

Bluepaw shrugged. She wanted to help her Clan but hoped they wouldn’t need help. Perhaps StarClan would give them a bloodless victory.

Featherwhisker padded behind them, his jaws still clasping the bundle of herbs. He dropped them as they reached the jagged shelter of the rock. Bluepaw crouched down, relieved to be out of the battering wind. Then she remembered something. We didn’t wish good luck to Moonflower. She hadn’t even looked at her! Bluepaw darted from behind the rock, desperate to see her mother’s amber eyes once more, to know that everything would be fine, but the cats had disappeared over the rise.

“Get back here!” Swiftbreeze’s mew was fierce, and Bluepaw felt a tug on her tail.

“I just wanted to say—” Bluepaw tried to defend herself.

“This is a battle,” Swiftbreeze growled. “You follow orders.”

Bluepaw stared at her paws.

Swiftbreeze sighed, her tone softening as she spoke again. “It’s for your own safety and the safety of your Clan.”

They waited wordlessly as the air grew lighter. A bird lifted from the heather and struggled against the wind. Bluepaw glanced at Snowpaw, worried by the darkness that shadowed her sister’s gaze. The WindClan cats would be rising now, stirring from their nests, unaware of the fury about to be unleashed on them. She felt a stab of sympathy for them, but then she remembered Goosefeather’s prophecy. WindClan must be beaten if ThunderClan was to survive. This was a battle that had to be fought.

The thought roused her spirits, and she lifted her chin. Remembering what she’d learned while gathering moss, she took a few swipes at the air, imagining she was fighting a WindClan warrior.

Snowpaw broke into a purr. “You look like you’re gathering cobwebs!”

“See if you can do better!” Bluepaw challenged.

“Hush!” Swiftbreeze commanded, and Bluepaw sat down guiltily. The tabby-and-white warrior was straining hard to listen above the wind. The rain fell harder, cold and sharp as ice against Bluepaw’s soft pelt. How did WindClan bear to live up there without the shelter of the forest? She wished she were back there now, safe beneath the canopy while the storm raged high in the treetops.

A screech of warning suddenly ripped the air, and the moor seemed to explode with furious yowls and screams that rose above the wind. Bluepaw’s eyes widened as shock pulsed through her. She recognized the aggressive screech of Adderfang and the agonized wail of Dappletail. Looking at Featherwhisker, Bluepaw saw that the medicine cat apprentice had closed his eyes and was muttering to himself; words were tumbling fast from his mouth, whispered too quietly to hear.

Was he praying to StarClan? Bluepaw leaned close, straining to hear.

“Comfrey for bones, cobweb for bleeding, nettle for swelling, thyme for shock…”

He was reciting cures for battle injuries.

Reality hit her like a savage gust of wind. Down there in the camp, blood was flowing. Warrior fought warrior with claws unsheathed and teeth bared. Bluepaw stared at Snowpaw.

Her littermate’s fur was on end, her ears stretched to hear every sound. “Was that Sparrowpelt?” she breathed as a furious howl carried over the wind.

Another hideous screech came in reply.

Bluepaw began to shake. It sounded like Stonepelt. Was he attacking or trying to defend himself?

Screech after screech rent the stormy air until Bluepaw felt sick from the sound.

“Can’t we do anything?” she pleaded with Swiftbreeze.

“We must wait,” Swiftbreeze answered darkly. The warrior jerked her head around as paws pounded toward them. Bluepaw spun, expecting to see a WindClan patrol skid around the corner. She readied herself to face them, hackles raised.

But it was Robinwing.