Bluestar's Prophecy

“Tigerkit!” Swiftbreeze hopped out of the nursery. “What are you doing out here?”

“I wanted to know why everyone was awake,” Tigerkit replied.

Swiftbreeze licked his head. “I can see you’re going to be the inquisitive one.” She glanced at Sunfall. “He was the weakest of the litter, and now he’s the strongest.”

“I was never the weakest,” Tigerkit protested, opening his tiny pink mouth wide in indignation.

“Of course not, little one.” Swiftbreeze scooped him up by the scruff and carried him, paws churning, back into the nursery.

Goosefeather padded from the fern tunnel. “What’s going on?”

Poppydawn flashed him a reproachful look. “Sweetpaw’s dead.”

Goosefeather sighed. “When StarClan calls, even the best medicine cat cannot heal.”

Featherwhisker appeared from the nursery. “Goosefeather’s right,” he mewed. “We did all we could.”

“We’re lucky to have you, Featherwhisker,” Dappletail meowed. No cat spoke up for Goosefeather.

With a cold feeling deep inside her fur, Bluefur realized that the Clan seemed to have lost all faith in its old medicine cat. When White-eye had a thorn in her pad, it had been Featherwhisker she’d sought out, and Swiftbreeze now consulted with the apprentice medicine cat about Leopardfoot and her kits whenever she was worried.

Bluefur glanced at Goosefeather. He didn’t seem to have noticed Dappletail’s slanted comment; his eyes were unfocused, as though something else was crowding his thoughts. If no cat trusted Goosefeather anymore, was Bluefur foolish to believe his prophecy?

Dappletail pressed against Poppydawn. “I’ll help you prepare Sweetpaw for the vigil,” she murmured.

Poppydawn blinked. “Yes.” She stood up. “I’ll get rosemary.”

Bluefur turned away. She could not bear to see anther cat prepared for their journey to StarClan. She felt Sunfall’s muzzle brush her shoulder.

“Come with me,” he ordered. “I’m taking the dawn patrol.” He nodded to Lionpaw. “You can come, too.”

Rosepaw stepped forward. “Can I?”

“Of course.” Sunfall brushed his tail along the flank of the grieving apprentice.

“Tawnyspots?” He signaled to Rosepaw’s mentor. “Call Swiftbreeze and join us.”

Bluefur’s paws were heavy as she padded through the tunnel behind the Clan deputy and the rest of the patrol, but she was relieved to leave her mourning Clanmates behind. Once they’d reached the top of the ravine and headed into the forest, Sunfall fell in beside her.

“I know Sweetpaw’s death is sad,” he meowed quietly. “But the Clan must carry on. The borders must be guarded and the fresh-kill pile must remain stocked.”

Bluefur felt heavy inside, as if her belly were filled with stones. But Sunfall was right. She had to protect her Clan, however much pain she was in. The other cats were suffering, too.

The patrol moved slowly through the trees, with Swiftbreeze pressing close to Rosepaw. No one spoke as they neared the border with Sunningrocks. The sun had lifted over the horizon, and its pale light filtered through the trees. Birds were stirring, their calls filling the forest with song. Bluefur wished they’d shut up. Don’t be mouse-brained! she told herself. How are they supposed to know or care that Sweetpaw is dead?

“Wait!” Sunfall’s hiss surprised her, and she froze with one front paw still in the air.

The ThunderClan deputy was sniffing the breeze, the fur lifting along his spine. “RiverClan!”

Bluefur scanned the trees along the edge of the forest and saw Sunningrocks glowing in the dawn light. RiverClan scent was drifting over the border, stronger than before.

“Look!” Swiftbreeze had dropped into a crouch. Her eyes were fixed on a leafy rise, sloping beyond a swath of brambles. “They’ve crossed the border!”

Bluefur bristled when she spotted the tip of a sleek, oily tail, then another. The tang of fish bathed her tongue. Branches swished as a RiverClan patrol moved stealthily through the undergrowth.

“I knew it!” Sunfall growled. Keeping low so that his orange pelt was hidden by ferns, he signaled to Lionpaw. “Go back to the camp and tell Pinestar we’re being invaded! Those RiverClan warriors have deliberately crossed the border. We can’t let them get away with it. Pinestar needs to send a fighting patrol here at once.”

Lionpaw nodded and whipped around. He squeezed past Bluefur and Tawnyspots and pelted back along the trail that led to the ravine.

“Get back!” Sunfall ordered the rest of his patrol, keeping his mew low. He scooted into thick ferns and the patrol followed, crouching among the fronds. Anger raged in Bluefur’s belly. Why should they have to hide in their own territory?

“We’ll attack as soon as the backup patrol gets here,” Sunfall breathed.

The RiverClan patrol was moving more clumsily now that they’d reached the brambles. Bluefur heard one cat curse and imagined the thorns dragging at the thick RiverClan pelts. They weren’t used to this dense scrub, or to forest thorns.