Bluestar's Prophecy

Bluekit flicked her ears. Now they knew where the apprentices’ den was, and the warriors’. They had wanted to explore the camp, hadn’t they? She gazed across the clearing, waiting for her eyes to stop being blurry. She hadn’t tried to see this far away yet. As the rock at the opposite end of the clearing came into focus, she noticed scuffed earth around the base. Paw prints led into the shadows and disappeared where a patch of lichen hung at one side. Where did they lead?

Forgetting that she was cross with Snowkit, Bluekit meowed, “Follow me!” She ran over to the lichen, then reached out and prodded it with her paw. It swung under her touch and then gave way. Her paw sank through the brush and into empty space.

“There’s a gap!” Excited, Bluekit pushed her way through and found herself in a quiet cove. Its floor and walls were smooth and, although no cat was there, a nest of moss lay at one side. “It’s a den,” she hissed back through the lichen to Snowkit.

“It’s Pinestar’s den,” replied a voice that wasn’t her sister’s.

Bluekit froze for a moment, then backed cautiously out of the cave. Was she in trouble again?

A pale silver tom with bright amber eyes was sitting beside Snowkit.

“Hello, Bluekit.”

Bluekit tilted her head. “How do you know my name?” she asked.

“I was at your kitting,” the tom told her. “I’m Featherwhisker, the medicine cat’s apprentice.” He nodded toward Pinestar’s den. “You shouldn’t go in there unless you’ve been invited.” His mew was soft but grave.

“I didn’t realize it was his den. I just wondered what was behind the lichen.” Bluekit looked down at her paws. “Are you going to tell Pinestar?”

“Yes.”

Bluekit’s heart lurched.

“It’s better that I tell him. He’ll smell your scent anyway,” Featherwhisker explained.

Bluekit looked up at him anxiously. Would Pinestar say she couldn’t be a warrior now?

“Don’t worry,” Featherwhisker reassured her. “He won’t be angry. He’ll probably admire your curiosity.”

“Can I go and look too, then?” Snowkit mewed.

Featherwhisker purred. “One kit’s scent will smell like curiosity,” he told her. “Two kits’ scents will smell like nosiness.”

Snowkit’s tail drooped.

“I’m sure you’ll get a chance to see inside one day,” Featherwhisker promised. “Why don’t I take you to meet the elders instead? They like meeting the new kits.”

Again they were to be shown around! Annoyance prickled in Bluekit’s pelt, but she reminded herself what Stonepelt had said: A good warrior learns from her Clanmates.

Featherwhisker led them to the fallen tree and squeezed under a jutting branch. Bluekit trotted after, Snowkit at her heels.

Grass, ferns, and moss sprouted from every crevice in the tangle of wood, turning the decaying bark green with newleaf freshness. Bluekit followed Featherwhisker as he weaved his way through a maze of twigs until he reached an open space among the tangled branches.

A mangy brown tom was lying with his back to the fallen trunk, while a tortoiseshell she-cat groomed his ears with her tongue. A second tom, his orange pelt flecked with white, was eating a mouse at the other end of the den.

The tortoiseshell looked up as Featherwhisker entered. “Have you brought mouse bile?” She looked hopeful. “Mumblefoot’s got another tick.”

“He insists on hunting every day,” the orange tom commented. “He’s bound to get ticks.”

“The day I stop hunting, Weedwhisker, is the day you can sit vigil for me,” meowed Mumblefoot.

Weedwhisker took another bite of his mouse. “I’ll never stop hunting, either,” he muttered with his mouth full. “There aren’t enough apprentices to keep us fed these days.”

“Patchkit and Leopardkit will be starting their training soon,” Featherwhisker reminded them. “And we’ve got another pair on the way to becoming apprentices.” He stepped aside, revealing Bluekit and Snowkit.

Weedwhisker looked up from his mouse. Mumblefoot sat up, pricking his ears.

“Kits!” The tortoiseshell she-cat’s eyes brightened, and she hurried forward and gave Bluekit a soggy lick on her cheek. Bluekit ducked away, rubbing her wet face with her paw, then stifled a purr as Snowkit received the same welcome.

“It’s their first time out of the nursery, Larksong,” Featherwhisker explained. “I caught them trying to make a nest in Pinestar’s den.”

“We were not—” Bluekit started to object.

“Don’t take any notice of Featherwhisker,” Larksong interrupted. “He teases all the cats. It’s one of the privileges of being medicine cat.”

“Medicine cat apprentice,” Featherwhisker corrected her.

“Huh!” Mumblefoot wrapped his tail over his paws. “Which means you do all of Goosefeather’s duties while that lazy old badger pretends to look for herbs.”

“Hush!” Larksong looked sternly at her denmate. “Goosefeather does his best.”

Mumblefoot snorted. “What herb was he supposedly collecting this morning?” he asked Featherwhisker.

The medicine cat apprentice twitched his ears. “Comfrey.”