Bluestar's Prophecy

Sun sparkled on the snow piled at the edge of the camp. Frost had turned the trees and bushes white, and their branches looked like cobwebs against the clear blue sky.

Bluepaw blinked against the brightness, her head fuzzy with sleep.

“You missed the fresh-kill,” Weedwhisker called. The elder was sitting in the morning sunshine outside his den with Stonepelt, Tawnyspots, and Speckletail.

Stonepelt was lapping gently at the long scar on his shoulder. He paused and glanced up. “The dawn patrol found a gang of starlings and brought some home.”

Bluepaw stared wistfully at the feathers dotting the space where the fresh-kill had been. Her belly growled.

Stormtail and Dappletail were clearing last night’s snowfall from the entrance, pushing snow into heaps and piling it against the gorse barrier. Goldenpaw and Swiftbreeze worked alongside them, their breath billowing and their pelts clumped into snow-powdered ridges. Bluepaw shivered.

“A thaw’s coming,” Speckletail promised. “The wind smells less of ShadowClan pines and more of RiverClan. It’ll bring rain before long.”

Weedwhisker tucked his tail more tightly over his paws. “Once the snow begins melting, our nests will be soaked,” he grumbled.

Bluepaw jumped as a bundle of fur tumbled toward her and skidded to a clumsy halt at her paws.

Sweetpaw.

The tortoiseshell apprentice straightened up, her fur ruffled, as Smallear and Rosepaw caught up to her.

Rosepaw’s whiskers were twitching. “Nice battle move,” she teased.

Bluepaw looked up sharply as she heard paw steps beyond the gorse tunnel. Adderfang and Sparrowpelt trotted into the clearing, with Thistlepaw and Patchpelt at their heels. Their heads were high and their eyes bright; each cat held two small but plump mice in his jaw.

Prey!

Bluepaw’s belly growled again.

Thistlepaw dropped his catch. “Adderfang uncovered a whole nest!”

The nursery rattled as Snowpaw slid out. Old pieces of bracken and moss were piled at the entrance and more clung to her fur.

“That’s clean enough.” Her eyes brightened when she spotted Thistlepaw, and then the fresh-kill. “I haven’t seen this many mice in a moon!” She raced across the clearing and nuzzled Thistlepaw’s cheek.

Thistlepaw fluffed out his chest. “I caught three of them.”

Snowpaw’s eyes glowed.

Bluepaw looked away. Couldn’t her sister see how arrogant he was?

Goosefeather wandered from the fern tunnel, nose twitching. “I smell mice.” He picked one from the pile and gobbled it down.

Bluepaw lashed her tail and pawed angrily at the snow. Goosefeather cared only about himself! Maybe if he cared more about his Clanmates, he wouldn’t have sent them into such a dangerous battle.

“It wasn’t his fault.”

Sunfall’s mew made Bluepaw jump. “What wasn’t?”

Sunfall blinked. “Moonflower’s death.”

“I never said it was!”

“But you think it.”

Bluepaw looked away, unable to meet his gaze.

“Eat something,” he meowed. “I’ll take you out later for training.”

She picked up a sparrow from the fresh-kill pile and carried it over to the nettle patch. Huddling in a crouch, she took a bite. It was so frozen that she had to warm it in her mouth before she could chew. As she sat and waited for the flavors to seep over her tongue, she heard her sister’s mew from the other side of the nettles.

“Get off!” Snowpaw was purring with amusement. “It tickles!”

Bluepaw pricked her ears.

A muted reply answered Snowpaw. “What do you expect if you sit on burrs?”

“I didn’t sit on any burrs!”

Bluepaw swallowed her mouthful, stood up, and started to creep around the side of the nettles.

“Well, how come your pelt’s full of them?”

“It’s not!”

“Sit still while I pull this one out.” The other mew was hard to recognize, muffled by something.

“Ow!” Snowpaw squeaked.

“Got it!” The muffled mew broke into a purr. “Now you look ready to go on patrol.”

Bluepaw sprang around the corner, knocking frost from the quivering nettles. Snowpaw spun to face her, her eyes wide and very blue.

“Oh…hi!”

Bluepaw narrowed her eyes. Thistlepaw was sitting close to her sister with a tuft of white fur caught in his whiskers.

“Thistlepaw was helping me groom my pelt,” Snowpaw explained.

Prickly anger surged into Bluepaw’s belly. “Have you forgotten how to do it yourself?”

Thistlepaw shrugged. “How was she supposed to reach the burr stuck on her back?” He sat back, relaxed, chin high.

Arrogant toad! “I could have gotten that,” Bluepaw snapped.

Thistlepaw flicked the burr into the nettles. “You weren’t around.”

Snowpaw shifted her paws. “Why don’t you check to see if the queens need you to gather some fresh moss?” she suggested to Thistlepaw. They exchanged a knowing look that made Bluepaw want to box their ears.

The moment Thistlepaw had left, she glared at Snowpaw. “What’s going on with you and him?”

“He makes me purr,” Snowpaw mewed.

“I can see that,” Bluepaw growled.

Snowpaw’s eyes flashed. “He was only being helpful!”

“A little too helpful by the look of it!”