Bluestar's Prophecy

Bluefur followed, too shocked by her dream to speak, the memory of drowning seared in her thoughts. She let her whiskers touch Pinestar’s tail and followed his paw steps up the black, ice-smooth tunnel, until at last moonlight washed her paws and she felt the wind brush her fur.

“We’ll rest here till dawn.” Pinestar was already curling into the smooth shelter of a boulder just beyond the mouth of the tunnel. It was chilly underpaw, but Bluefur was glad to be out in the open. Silverpelt sparkled above them. Moonflower. The milk-scent of her mother seemed to enfold her, comforting her. She stopped shivering, but her mind still swirled. Had she just tasted the truth of the prophecy? Was she really going to drown, to be destroyed by water as Goosefeather had told her?

The rising sun woke her. It felt as if she had hardly slept at all, but her dream had faded and she could no longer taste water in her mouth. Bluefur blinked open her eyes and gazed at the milky horizon, watching the pink sun lap the distant moorland.

As she stood and stretched, Pinestar woke beside her and yawned. He stared wearily across the valley. “I suppose we’d better go back.”

Bluefur couldn’t wait to be home, back in the ravine among her Clanmates. She paced the rock, sniffing hopefully for prey, while Pinestar stretched and washed and finally set off down the slope.

They skirted the Twoleg nests, and when they reached WindClan territory they skirted the edge of that, too. Bluefur felt like a thief, skulking in the shadows beyond the scent markers. Pinestar hardly spoke. Bluefur decided that if she were leader she would not be bullied by WindClan patrols. The warrior code gave them permission to pass over the moors. No cat had the right to stop a leader from sharing with StarClan.

Then she remembered the hostility in Reedfeather’s eyes. Did she really want to face that after such a long journey? Her paws felt too heavy to fight and her mind too sleepy to argue.

“Will they hate us forever?” she wondered out loud.

Pinestar glanced at her. “WindClan?” He sighed, his breath whipped away by the breeze. “They’ll forgive us for the attack, then hate us for some other reason. Just as the other Clans will. The four Clans will be enemies until the end.” He trudged onward, tail down. Though he spoke, he hardly seemed to be talking to Bluefur at all. “And yet we all want the same things: prey to hunt, a safe territory to raise our kits, and peace to share dreams with our ancestors. Why must we hate one another over such simple desires?”

Bluefur stared at the tawny haunches of her Clan leader. Was this really how he saw Clan life? There was more to it than hatred and rivalry! The warrior code told them to protect their Clanmates and fight for what was theirs. Did that mean nothing more than hating every cat beyond their borders? She gazed across the bristling moorland, searching for the dip where the WindClan camp nestled and where her mother had been slaughtered. Maybe that was all it meant. She would hate WindClan forever. She would hate any Clan that harmed those she loved, and from what she had seen, the other Clans meant nothing but harm.

They reached the ravine at last and stumbled down on tired paws. Afternoon sun spilled into the camp, lighting the clearing so that Bluefur could see it flashing through the treetops. The familiar scents of home warmed her paws.

“Go rest in your den,” Pinestar ordered as they padded through the gorse tunnel. His tone was brisk; he sounded once more like ThunderClan’s leader, and the weariness she had heard on the moors seemed to have lifted.

Relieved to be back where things felt normal, Bluefur felt her belly rumble. They hadn’t stopped to hunt, and she was starving. But exhaustion reached down into her bones. Sleep first, then food. She scuffed the ground as she stumbled toward the warriors’ den and pushed her way in. Someone had added bracken to her nest and lined it with fresh moss. Gratefully, she sank down into it and closed her eyes.

“You’re back!”

A mouse thudded in front of her nose. Snowfur was circling her nest. “What was it like? Was it big? Did Pinestar dream? Did you dream? What happened?”

Bluefur lifted her head and blinked at her sister. “It was big and shiny, and Pinestar dreamed.”

“What about?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Is it really far? Did you see any Twolegs? How big are Highstones? Sparrowpelt says they’re the biggest things in the world.”

“They’re higher than the moorland. And we avoided the Twolegs. And we walked all day.” Bluefur sniffed the mouse. Her mouth watered at the smell, but she was too tired to chew. “Thanks for cleaning my nest,” she murmured, eyes half closed.

“That wasn’t me.” Snowfur sounded surprised. “That was Thrushpelt. He said you’d be tired when you got back.”

Bluefur closed her eyes, too tired to comment, and felt Snowfur’s warm muzzle press her head.

“Sleep well, sister.”