Bluestar's Prophecy

So much had changed in the last few moons, and all for the better. It seemed as if the shadow that had rested over the Clan had been lifted. Pinestar’s departure had shocked all the Clans, but Sunstar had been resolute at the next Gathering and refused to allow any blame to be put on ThunderClan because of the actions of one cat. Sunstar made it clear that Pinestar’s leaving signaled a new, stronger ThunderClan and that kittypets would be shunned like their Twoleg owners from now on. As Pinestar predicted, the warrior code had been extended, to reject the life of a kittypet and stay loyal to the freedom and honor of being a Clan cat.

Now ThunderClan faced the coming leaf-fall well fed, with a nursery bustling with healthy kits and warriors confident in their new leader’s power.

Bluefur felt warm with satisfaction as she padded down the fern tunnel to see what her charges were up to.

“Get away, you vermin!”

A vicious yowl echoing from the clearing set her fur on end. She raced forward and burst out of the ferns. The kits were crouched, trembling, on the flattened grass while Goosefeather stood at the entrance to his den in the rock, hissing and spitting as though faced with a horde of ShadowClan warriors.

Bluefur shot between him and the kits. “What are you doing?” she burst out.

Goosefeather didn’t seem to notice her. Wild-eyed and bristling, he twitched his matted tail toward Tigerkit. “Get that creature out of my den!” he snarled.

“I’m not in your den!” Tigerkit protested. To Bluefur’s relief, he didn’t seem to be frightened by Goosefeather’s absurd behavior, just indignant.

“Get him out of my clearing!” Goosefeather repeated.

Bluefur wrinkled her nose. The medicine cat stank. His clotted pelt looked as though it hadn’t been washed in a moon. And now he was cursing at kits! Had he gone completely mad?

Bluefur swept the kits back toward the fern tunnel with her tail, without taking her eyes off Goosefeather. “Off you go, little ones,” she called, trying to sound cheerful.

“What’s the matter?” Featherwhisker hurried into the clearing, dropping the bile-soaked moss he’d been carrying.

“It’s Goosefeather,” Bluefur hissed out of the corner of her mouth. “He’s frightening the kits.”

Featherwhisker took a step closer to his mentor, letting the foul pelt brush his own smooth fur. “Sorry,” he apologized to Bluefur. “He’s been having nightmares. They must have woken him while he was in the middle of a bad one.”

“Nightmares?” Goosefeather growled. “Only when I open my eyes and see that!” He bared his yellow teeth at Tigerkit.

“I’ll settle him down,” Featherwhisker soothed. “You take the kits back to the nursery.”

The kits had made it as far as the fern tunnel but were standing in the shade, staring back in confusion. Bluefur turned and shooed them away.

“What did we do wrong?” Frostkit was bristling with terror.

“Nothing,” Bluefur promised. “Goosefeather’s just old, and sometimes he imagines things.”

“I’m not imagining that!” spat the elderly cat from behind them.

Bluefur glanced back to see Goosefeather pointing a hooked claw at Tigerkit.

Drool hung from the medicine cat’s jaws, and his ears were flattened against his head. “Keep that creature away from me!”

Chapter 26

The sun was mellower now that the lush greens of the forest were fading to orange. Newly fallen leaves littered the forest floor, crunching beneath Bluefur’s paws and giving up their musty scent. Birds chattered in the branches, and squirrels were busy collecting for their leaf-bare stores.

Bluefur had no interest in prey. The fresh-kill pile was full, the borders secure. After the clamor of the nursery, she wanted only the peace of the forest. She’d noticed Snowfur sighing after her as she’d left the tumbling chaos of the bramble den. However much she loved Whitekit, Snowfur missed being a warrior; Bluefur could tell by the way she watched the patrols leave and return, staring wistfully at the gorse tunnel, just as she’d done as a kit.

“How come Thistleclaw gets to hunt and patrol?” she had asked Bluefur the previous day. “It’s his kit, too.”

“He can’t give Whitekit milk,” Bluefur had reminded her. She’d nudged her sister gently. “Whitekit’ll be eating mouse soon, and then you’ll be able to leave him with Robinwing or Leopardfoot for a while and join a hunting patrol.”

Snowfur had sighed. “Yes, but then I’d miss the little fur-ball.”

Bluefur had swallowed a flash of frustration. You wanted a kit!

“Well done, Goldenpaw!” Thrushpelt’s mew sounded from over a rise, snapping Bluefur’s thoughts back to the forest.

A branch shook overhead.

“Look, Bluefur!” Goldenpaw was peering down from the leaves. “I’m going to climb to the top!”

“Be careful,” Bluefur warned. Goldenpaw seemed more adventurous with each passing day, so that she nearly rivaled her brother in courage and strength.

“Concentrate on what you’re doing!” Thrushpelt yowled from the bottom of the trunk.