Bluestar's Prophecy (23 page)

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!”

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.

“Where’s Dappletail?” Bluefur asked, wondering why Goldenpaw wasn’t being watched by her mentor.

Thrushpelt didn’t take his eyes off the pale ginger shape scrabbling through the leaves. “She had to see Featherwhisker about a seed that got stuck in her eye.”

“I’m going to ask Sunstar if Thrushpelt can be my mentor
forever
!” came a squeal from above them. “Dappletail would never have let me climb this high!”

Thrushpelt flashed Bluefur a guilty look. “Oops,” he meowed. “Goldenpaw seemed so sure she could do it, I assumed it wasn’t the first time….”

Bluefur purred. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Dappletail!”

Thrushpelt flicked his tail lightly across her flank. “Thanks! And I’ll make sure Goldenpaw gets back to the camp in one piece!”

Heading away from Goldenpaw’s tree, Bluefur wandered through a grassy glade and pushed her way past a wall of ferns.
She was thirsty, and the river was burbling nearby. The bushes there were still lush; this part of the forest was sheltered from chilly nights and cool breezes. The river had risen since the height of greenleaf, splashing over stones and lapping at the shore, its chatter harmonizing with the soft rustle of the forest. Bluefur peered through a bush and down the leaf-strewn bank.

A reddish-brown pelt moved in the shallows.

Fox?

She tasted the air warily. Stiffening, she recognized the tang of RiverClan. She stared in astonishment as Oakheart padded out on the ThunderClan side of the river, barely three tail-lengths from Bluefur. He shook himself like a dog, then stretched out on a smooth stone sloping up from the water. The sun glistened on his sleek pelt, which clung darkly to his well-muscled frame. He was going to sleep! On ThunderClan territory!

Bluefur tensed, ready to spring out and confront the trespasser. Then she paused. He looked so peaceful. Caught in the moment, she found herself watching his flank rising and falling.

What am I doing?

She plunged through the bushes and skidded to a halt behind him, sending small stones rattling down to the water. “Get out!”

Oakheart lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder. “Bluefur!”

He could at least act guilty! She’d caught him on ThunderClan territory.

“Just because you took Sunningrocks,” she hissed, “doesn’t mean you can help yourself to any piece of territory you want.” Her pelt sparked with fury.

“Sorry.” Oakheart got to his paws. “I couldn’t resist such a sunny spot.”

“You couldn’t resist?” Rage choked her. “You arrogant fur-ball!” Without thinking, she launched herself at him, claws swiping at his face.

He ducked and she missed.

Bluefur stopped with her paws dug into the stones to stop her from falling over. Were his whiskers twitching?
I’ll teach him!
She twisted and sharply nipped his hind leg.

“Ow!” Oakheart hopped out of the way and swung his broad head toward her, catching her shoulder as she reared for another lunge.

While she was scrabbling at the air, Bluefur’s hind paws skidded out of the stones. She lost her balance and flopped ungracefully into the river. As the water drenched her pelt, panic shot through her.
I’m drowning!

“Help me!”

But Oakheart stayed on the bank, his eyes bright with amusement. “Try standing up,” he suggested calmly.

Bluefur thrust her paws downward, expecting to vanish underwater. Instead, her feet stubbed against the round stones on the bottom of the river. She stood up, surprised to find the water barely lapping at her belly fur. Hot with embarrassment, she stalked onto the bank and shook herself, making sure Oakheart felt the spray.

“How was I supposed to know it was that shallow?” she snapped. “ThunderClan cats don’t have to get wet to catch
our
prey.”

Oakheart shrugged. “Sorry you got a bit damp.” His gaze flitted over her pelt. “I was just defending myself.”

His feeble apology only made Bluefur angrier. “Why don’t you shut up and get off my territory?”

He tipped his head to one side. “It seems a shame to leave at the start of such a promising friendship.”

Friendship!
This RiverClan cat was cheekier than the most upstart kit! “You’d better leave now, or I’ll give you a scar you won’t forget,” Bluefur growled.

Oakheart dipped his head, his gaze holding hers for an instant, then padded into the shallows and swam sleekly across the river. Bluefur watched him slip onto the bank at the other side, water dripping from his thick pelt. Before he disappeared into the trees he looked back at her, his eyes gleaming.

“I won’t forget you, scar or no scar,” he called.

Bluefur didn’t dignify his dumb comment with a reply.
Mouse-brain!
Wet and cross, she stamped up the bank and headed into the trees. When she reached the top of the ravine, she was still pricking with anger. How dare Oakheart be so brazen when he was on ThunderClan territory? Did he think StarClan had given him the whole forest?

She was so lost in thought, Rosetail made her jump when she bounded over the top of the cliff.

“You’re wet!” Rosetail glanced at the sky, puzzled. “It hasn’t been raining, has it?”

Bluefur glanced at her paws. “It was…er…I slipped and fell…the bank was…” How could she possibly say that a RiverClan warrior had thrown her in the river?

Rosetail’s whisker’s twitched. “Not looking where you were going?”

“It was slippery!”

Rosetail’s eyes flashed with curiosity. “You look different.”

Bluefur shifted her paws. “How?”

“You look moony. Like Snowfur when she’s talking about Thistleclaw.”

“Don’t be silly!”

“Who is it?” Rosetail’s ears were twitching.

“No one!”

“Thrushpelt?” Rosetail pressed.

What?
Bluefur bristled. Why would she moon over Thrushpelt? “Of course not!” she replied hotly.

Rosetail tipped her head to one side. “Too bad,” she mewed. “He spends enough time mooning over you.”

“Me?” The thought shocked Bluefur. Thrushpelt was just a denmate, and she wasn’t going to end up like Snowfur: stuck in the nursery with a bunch of mewling kits clambering over her. She was going to be the best warrior ThunderClan had ever seen. Better than Thistleclaw. Good enough to be leader one day.

Rosetail rolled her eyes. “Hadn’t you noticed him watching you?”

“No!” Bluefur snapped with such ferocity that Rosetail took a step back.

“Okay.” The red-tailed warrior changed the subject. “I’m just off to get some fresh moss for Snowfur and Whitekit.”

At the mention of her kin, Bluefur softened, her damp pelt smoothing. “How is Whitekit?”

“He’s been chasing Snowfur’s tail all morning. She’s ready to box his ears, but she won’t. He does it so sweetly.”

“I can imagine.” Bluefur pictured Whitekit’s round, blue eyes gazing innocently up while he batted his mother’s fluffy tail.

“I just hope Tigerkit isn’t a bad influence,” Rosetail fretted. “When I left, he was trying to persuade Whitekit to flick burrs into Frostkit’s pelt while she was sleeping.”

“Didn’t Leopardfoot stop them?”

“You know Leopardfoot.” Rosetail sighed. “She thinks Tigerkit can do no wrong.”

“I’ll go visit the nursery,” Bluefur offered.

“Snowfur would appreciate it,” Rosetail meowed. “I think she’s got den fever. She’s almost shredded her nest. She needs some fresh air.”

As Rosetail padded into the trees, Bluefur noticed a tuft of dog hair caught in the grass. There was barely any scent clinging to it—it must have been blown there, rather than left by a passing dog—but it might keep Whitekit busy for a while. She plucked it up with her claws and carried it down to the nursery.

Snowfur was looking hot and harassed when Bluefur squeezed into the bramble den. Frostkit and Brindlekit were tumbling over Robinwing, their tails flicking in Snowfur’s
face at every turn. Whitekit was fast asleep, splayed on Snowfur’s flank so that she couldn’t move. Tigerkit was nagging his mother.

“Why can’t I go out?”

“You’ve just come in.”

“But it’s a sunny day.”

“You need a nap.”

“I’m not tired.”

“You will be later.”

“I’ll sleep then.”

“But you’ll be grumpy all afternoon if you don’t nap now.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

Snowfur rolled her eyes at Bluefur.

“Here.” Bluefur dropped the tuft at the edge of her sister’s nest. Rosetail was right. The bracken was in shreds. “Whitekit can play with it when he wakes up.”

Snowfur groaned, trying to adjust her position without disturbing her kit.

“What’s that?” Tigerkit was already leaping for the dog fur.

“It’s for White—”

Tigerkit hooked it up before Bluefur could finish her sentence and started chasing it around the nursery. “Look!” he squealed. “I’m Thistleclaw, attacking that mangy dog!”

“Keep your voice down,” Snowfur pleaded.

Tigerkit paused, his claws pinning the dog fur to the den floor. “I hate the nursery,” he complained. “It’s too full of
kits. I’m never allowed to play anymore. I should be in the apprentices’ den with Lionpaw. I bet
he
doesn’t have to take afternoon naps.”

Bluefur purred, “Maybe not, but he wishes he could.”

Whitekit lifted his head sleepily. “What’s going on?”

“You’ve woken him up!” Snowfur puffed.

“Good,” Tigerkit mewed. “Now he can play, too.”

Whitekit looked around. “Play what?”

“My new game; it’s called Kill the Dog,” Tigerkit told him. He flung the tuft of fur over Whitekit’s head. Whitekit scrabbled up to catch it, making Snowfur grunt as the kit’s hind claws dug into her pelt.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Bluefur suggested.

Snowfur blinked.

“Whitekit’s happy playing with Tigerkit,” Bluefur reasoned. “I’m sure he could spare you for a while.” She looked at the snowy kit bundling around the nests after Tigerkit. “You’ll be okay if Snowfur comes for a walk with me, won’t you?”

Whitekit didn’t even glance at her. “Of course.”

“We’ll keep an eye on him,” Robinwing promised.

Snowfur’s eyes brightened. “Well, I suppose I could go out for a while.”

“It’ll do you good,” Bluefur promised.

“Are you sure he’ll be okay?” Snowfur fretted.

“He’ll be fine,” Robinwing told her. “Now, go on. I’m sick of listening to you sigh.”

“I don’t sigh!” Snowfur objected.

Leopardfoot flicked her tail. “You’ve been snorting like a badger all morning!”

“Okay, okay!” Reluctantly Snowfur climbed out of her nest.

“Don’t come back till your paws ache!” Robinwing called as Snowfur followed Bluefur out of the nursery.

“Hurry up!”

Snowfur was dragging her paws as Bluefur led her to the entrance. “But what if he gets hungry?”

“He won’t starve.”

“What if he gets anxious without me?”

“He’s got a whole Clan looking out for him.” Bluefur nudged her sister into the gorse tunnel. “I think he’ll be okay.”
Great StarClan, if this is what it’s like to have kits, I’m glad I don’t have any!

She shooed Snowfur up the ravine, shaking her head when Snowfur halted at the top and peered wistfully down at the camp.

“Look,” Bluefur huffed. “It’s a lovely day. Whitekit will be fine. It’s not like we’re going to Highstones. You’ll see him again before the sun’s moved a mouse-length.”