Bluestar's Prophecy

“He looks pretty mouse-brained.” Bluefur felt power surge through her paws, but she pressed down the urge to attack. This warrior was outnumbered; they could easily beat him.

Which means we should let him escape.

She flashed a warning glance at her Clanmates, hoping they understood. Snowfur nodded and stepped aside, leaving a gap in their ranks. Without hesitating, the RiverClan warrior pelted through it and fled toward the border.

As Bluefur slid back through the brambles, she saw Sunfall kick out with his hind legs and send a RiverClan warrior reeling. Bluefur dived out of the way just in time as the RiverClan warrior tumbled past her.

“Retreat!” Shellheart yelped, and the remaining RiverClan warriors turned and fled. Their deputy paused, his eyes gleaming. “The rocks are still ours!”

“But never the trees,” Sunfall snarled in return.

Exhilarated, Bluefur chased the retreating warriors to the border.

“We’ll have the rocks back, too, one day!” Thistleclaw yowled as RiverClan splashed across the river, made shallow by greenleaf.

Sunfall lifted his muzzle. One of his ears was torn, and blood dripped onto his cheek. “Well fought.” He gazed around at his Clanmates. “Any serious injuries?”

Bluefur remembered her wrenched claw, which was throbbing and swollen underneath. It hurt, but it could wait till she got back to camp.

“Just a few scratches,” Thrushpelt reported.

“Ottersplash bit me,” Patchpelt complained. “I’m going to smell of fish for days.”

Bluefur stiffened when she noticed Snowfur’s white pelt stained with blood. “Are you okay?” she gasped.

Snowfur looked at the streaks. “It’s not my blood.”

Relieved, Bluefur flicked her tail across Snowfur’s ears.

“They won’t be back in a hurry,” Thistleclaw crowed.

Stormtail was still watching the river, his eyes dark. “They shouldn’t have tried it in the first place,” he snarled. “They already have Sunningrocks.”

“Come on,” Sunfall meowed briskly. “Let’s report back to camp.”

Bluefur followed her sister into the trees. Ears pricked, she overheard Stormtail muttering to Sunfall. “They’ll be back,” he growled. “We lost their respect when we gave up Sunningrocks without a fight.”

“That was Pinestar’s decision,” Sunfall meowed evenly.

“Maybe,” Stormtail hissed, “but he should be around to back it up.”

“Yes, where is Pinestar?” Sunfall meowed, as if he’d only just noticed the Clan leader hadn’t taken part in the battle. “Why didn’t he lead your patrol?”

Stormtail shrugged. “You’d better ask Pinestar that, because no one else in ThunderClan seems to know where he is.”

Bluefur felt the familiar unsettling tingle in her paws. Something was wrong with Pinestar. Something was very wrong indeed.

Chapter 23

“We drove them off,” Sunfall announced to the waiting Clan as soon as the patrol filed into the camp through the gorse tunnel.

Adderfang padded forward. “No other RiverClan activity in the area,” he reported. “We’ve searched thoroughly.”

“Thank you.” Sunfall dipped his head.

Bluefur only half heard the exchange. Her eyes were drawn to Sweetpaw’s small, bony body lying in the center of the clearing. Poppydawn and Dappletail had smoothed her fur and arranged her paws under her, just as the Clan had done with Moonflower. The exhilaration of the battle was instantly swallowed up by grief. Bluefur stood and watched numbly as Rosepaw padded past and crouched beside her sister. Thistleclaw walked stiffly over and gave Sweetpaw a final lick between her ears. “I’ll help bury her after the vigil,” he murmured to Poppydawn.

Featherwhisker padded from the medicine den carrying a bundle of herbs. Goosefeather shambled behind him. Featherwhisker placed the herbs at Goosefeather’s paws. “Will you chew these into a pulp while I check for wounds?” He addressed his mentor gently, as if he were talking to a frail, troubled elder.

Goosefeather was staring at the nursery and didn’t seem to hear him.

Featherwhisker pushed the herbs a little closer. “We’ll need lots of comfrey pulp,” he prompted. He glanced at the returning patrol. “It looks like there were plenty of scratches.”

Goosefeather blinked. “Comfrey?” he echoed.

Featherwhisker nodded, tapping the herbs with his paw. Goosefeather blinked; then, bending down, he began to chew at the leaves. Featherwhisker strolled briskly among the wounded. He inspected Thistleclaw first. “That’s a deep scratch.”

“It’s nothing.” Thistleclaw shrugged. “I don’t feel pain.”

“You’ll feel it if it gets infected.” He turned to Goosefeather. “Did we bring tansy?”

Goosefeather sniffed through the leaves and nodded.

“Go to Goosefeather,” Featherwhisker told Thistleclaw. “Ask him to rub some tansy in your wound.” When Thistleclaw hesitated, Featherwhisker glanced down at Sweetpaw’s body. “You’ll need it treated if you want to be able to help bury your sister.”

Thistleclaw dipped his head and padded over to the medicine cat.