Bluestar's Prophecy

Bluefur forced her fur to lie flat. There was so much arrogance in Thistleclaw’s amber stare. What kind of warrior would he make? He was brave, he had proved that, but wariness pricked her belly. Pride had no place in a warrior’s heart. Overconfidence could be dangerous, to his Clanmates as well as himself.

Sunfall padded to the fresh-kill pile and began tossing pieces of prey to his Clanmates. “If this doesn’t call for a feast, nothing does,” he meowed, flinging the rabbit at Weedwhisker’s paws.

The elder’s eyes sparkled.

Larksong nudged him aside. “I hope you’re going to share that!”

Swiftbreeze took a blackbird to the nursery for Leopardfoot, slipping out a moment later to join Adderfang and Dappletail. The Clan shared the fresh-kill and listened to the elders’ stories till the moon was high overhead. Eventually Pinestar yawned and got to his paws.

The Clan cats fell silent as their leader gazed around the clearing.

“I could not be more proud of my Clan,” he began.

Bluefur narrowed her eyes. Thistleclaw’s warrior ceremony was over, and it was unlike Pinestar to make unnecessary speeches.

“Thank you, all of you.” Dipping his head, he ducked away and disappeared into his den.

It almost sounds as though he was saying good-bye. She’d overheard Larksong telling Mumblefoot that Pinestar was on his last life. Perhaps that’s why the Clan leader had sounded so somber. Each battle could be his last.

Bluefur got to her paws, her neck aching again, and headed for her den. Snowfur was already there, circling into her nest. Thistleclaw was curled on the ground beside her. He’d have to build himself a nest tomorrow, and Bluefur guessed with a snort where he’d build it. She shivered, missing the comfort of her sister’s pelt. Snowfur used to press against Bluefur, keeping her warm with her fluffy white fur, but tonight she was curled as near to Thistleclaw as the bracken would allow. Bluefur sighed. Now that he’d moved into the warriors’ den, there would be no getting away from the conceited young tom. If Snowfur had to find a mate, why couldn’t she pick a cat that Bluefur actually liked?

Chapter 22

“She won’t wake up! She won’t wake up!”

Poppydawn’s terrified mew rang around the sleeping camp.

Bluefur shot out of her nest.

Sweetpaw!

She knew instinctively the moment she reached the clearing and saw Poppydawn’s wild eyes that the tortoiseshell apprentice was dead.

“I’ve licked and shaken her and she won’t open her eyes!” the queen cried out in anguish.

The Clan cats were hurrying from their dens, blinking in the predawn light, as Bluefur pushed her way into the apprentices’ den and crouched beside Sweetpaw’s nest. She pressed her muzzle into her former denmate’s fur. The strange still-ness of her body and the coldness of her pelt pierced Bluefur’s heart. She had been beside a cat like this before—and all the wishing in the world hadn’t brought Moonflower back.

“Sweetpaw,” she whispered, knowing the apprentice couldn’t hear her. “Sweetpaw.” Grief blurring her gaze, she rested her chin on Sweetpaw’s flank.

The ferns rustled, and Featherwhisker slid into the den. Bluefur lifted her head and stared at the apprentice medicine cat. “She’s dead.”

“She’ll be with StarClan now,” Featherwhisker murmured. He pressed his muzzle to Bluefur’s head as though guessing her thoughts. “Moonflower will look after her.”

She blinked. “But Sweetpaw’s not a warrior,” she breathed. “Will she be allowed to join StarClan?”

“Of course,” Featherwhisker mewed. “She was born a Clan cat. StarClan will welcome her.”

But we’ll never hunt together.

Featherwhisker nudged her gently. “Wait outside, please,” he mewed.

Bluefur pushed through the ferns and saw the eyes of her Clan flashing in the half-light.

Poppydawn stared at her and spoke in a dull voice. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

Rosepaw was sitting at her mother’s side. She pressed harder against Poppydawn as Bluefur nodded.

Thistleclaw joined them, his tail trailing. “Can I see her?” he asked.

Poppydawn touched the top of his head lightly with her tail. “Of course, little one. Wish your sister well on her journey to our ancestors.”

As Thistleclaw disappeared into the den, Rosepaw looked at her mother. “Were you with her when…?”

“I was asleep.” Poppydawn choked with grief. “I woke up and she smelled”—she seemed to search for the word—“different.”

Bluefur understood. She remembered the scent of her mother’s body, a scent of death that even lavender and rosemary could not disguise.

A tiny mew sounded outside the nursery. Bluefur peered past the pelts of her Clanmates and saw a tiny tabby tom sitting at the edge of the clearing.

Sunfall padded forward to greet him. “Hey, there! Are you Tigerkit?”

The kit stared straight past him at the somber gathering of cats. “What’s going on?” he squeaked.

“Sweetpaw’s dead,” Sunfall told him gravely.

Tigerkit tipped his head on one side. “Was she a warrior?”