Bluestar's Prophecy

Chapter 7

“What’s happening?” Pinestar was at the medicine cat’s side in an instant, Sunfall at his heels.

Adderfang and Stormfur, sharing a thrush beneath Highrock, swung their broad heads to stare at Goosefeather. Speckletail slipped from the nursery entrance, her gaze darting anxiously around the clearing till it rested on the kits. Thistlekit was charging toward the fresh-kill pile with his denmates clustered behind. Fuzzypelt and Robinwing slid out from the warriors’ den and hurried after Stonepelt and Dappletail.

“Look at the vole’s fur,” Goosefeather breathed, his eyes still fixed on the small scrap of prey.

Bluepaw, suddenly crowded out by her Clanmates, slipped between legs and under bellies to see the vole. Goosefeather was running a paw across its flank.

“Look,” the medicine cat hissed. “See how the fur’s parted along here.” With a claw he pointed to the distinct line that ran from the vole’s shoulder to its belly. On one side of the line, the fur bristled toward the ear; on the other, it splayed smooth toward the tail. “See how it appears flattened here?” Goosefeather paused and looked around at his audience.

Adderfang and Stormtail padded closer.

“I can’t see!” Thistlekit bobbed up and down behind Speckletail.

“Hush!” Speckletail ordered, sweeping him back with her tail.

“But what does it mean?” Pinestar demanded.

“It’s like a forest flattened by wind,” Goosefeather growled. “This is how we will be crushed by WindClan.”

Speckletail backed away and folded her tail around Lionkit and Goldenkit, but Lionkit wriggled free and padded boldly toward the vole. “How can a dumb bit of fresh-kill tell you all that?”

“Yes.” Smallear leaned forward. “How can you be sure?”

“He’s a medicine cat!” Adderfang snapped. “He shares tongues with StarClan!”

“The prey-stealing was just the beginning,” Goosefeather went on. “This sign was sent from StarClan as a warning. Like a storm, WindClan will rage through the forest. They will destroy us, tear up our camp, and make ThunderClan territory a wasteland. We will be clawed down like grass in a meadow.”

Moonflower nosed in beside Bluepaw. “That’s impossible!” she meowed.

For all the defiance in her mew, Bluepaw could feel her mother trembling. Around the clearing, she could see some of her Clanmates exchanging doubtful glances, and behind her she heard Swiftbreeze whisper, “We’re not going to take this seriously, are we?”

Why not? Bluepaw wondered. Has Goosefeather been wrong before?

Goosefeather dipped his head. “StarClan has spoken.”

Pinestar was staring at the vole. “When?” he rasped.

Goosefeather blinked. “I can’t tell. But the sign has been sent now to give us time to prepare.”

“Then we must prepare!” Stormtail yowled, lashing his tail.

“There’s no time!” Sparrowpelt barged forward and hooked the vole up with one claw, holding it for all the Clan to see. “We must attack first!”

Adderfang and Stormtail yowled in agreement.

Dappletail clawed the ground. “WindClan doesn’t know we’ve been warned. We have the advantage. We must use it!”

Pinestar took the vole from Sparrowpelt and laid it back on the ground. “There are cold moons ahead,” he meowed slowly, “and kits to be fed.” He gazed around at his Clan. “Can we really risk fighting and injury when we should be strengthening the Clan for leaf-bare?”

“Can we risk not fighting?” Sparrowpelt hissed. “StarClan has warned us that there may be no Clan to strengthen if we don’t act!”

Robinwing padded forward, her dusky brown pelt bristling. “Should we really attack on nothing more than a lingering scent and some flattened fur?”

There was a gasp from some of her Clanmates. Thrushpelt whispered, “You can’t challenge the medicine cat like that!”

Bluepaw glanced at him; she wasn’t sure if he’d meant anyone to hear.

Pinestar eyed the vole, then stared at Goosefeather. “Are you sure?” he demanded.

Goosefeather held his gaze. “Have you ever seen such markings on a piece of fresh-kill?”

Adderfang’s tail quivered. “Is it Goosefeather you doubt, or StarClan?” he challenged.

“If we can’t trust StarClan, then we are lost,” Dappletail muttered.

Bluepaw saw anguish darken Pinestar’s gaze. She had a sudden, painful understanding of the decision that lay in his paws. Attack WindClan and risk death and injury to his Clan. Delay, and risk being wiped out. And all hung on the meaning in a dead vole’s pelt and Pinestar’s faith in Goosefeather.

Stormtail began to pace. “Why are you hesitating? The decision is easy! You are choosing between survival and destruction!”

Sunfall paced in front of his leader. “But who knows which action will cause destruction and which survival?”

“I think StarClan has made that clear,” Sparrowpelt growled.

Bluepaw could see Pinestar’s gaze darting around his Clan, glittering with unease. Adderfang and Stormtail had wanted to fight from the start. And now they had the backing of StarClan. How could Pinestar refuse? What would happen if he did? How could he lead ThunderClan without the respect of his warriors?

Pinestar dipped his head. “We’ll attack WindClan at dawn.”

Murmurs of approval swept through the warriors closest to the leader; at the edge of the clearing, elders and she-cats muttered darkly.

Speckletail stared in dismay at the vole, pressing Goldenkit against her. “It’s okay,” she whispered, pressing her muzzle against her daughter’s soft head. “You’ll be safe in the nursery.” Her gaze lifted to meet Smallear’s, and a flash of fear passed between them that made Bluepaw’s pelt bristle.

Moonflower tensed beside her. “Will all the apprentices have to fight?”

Bluepaw’s heart quickened. Would this be her first battle?

“All must fight when we face this much danger!” Adderfang meowed.

Pinestar turned to Robinwing. “Is Leopardpaw ready for battle?”

Robinwing nodded reluctantly.

“Then she will be part of the battle party.” Pinestar’s gaze flicked to Fuzzypelt. “You and Patchpaw will remain behind with Windflight and Tawnyspots to defend the camp in case WindClan counterattacks.”

Patchpaw began to object. “But I want to—”

“We’ll defend the camp with our lives if necessary,” Fuzzypelt cut him off.

“What about Snowpaw and Bluepaw?” Moonflower demanded, a tremor in her mew.

Pinestar blinked. “I would never send an apprentice into battle with so little training,” he assured her.

“I want to fight!” Snowpaw slid out from the crowd, her ears pricked.

“No, Snowpaw.” Pinestar shook his head. “You won’t fight. But you will have a taste of battle.”

Snowpaw’s eyes lit up.

Bluepaw felt her mother stiffen as the ThunderClan leader went on. “You and Bluepaw will go with the raiding party, but not to fight. You’ll wait where it’s safe, ready to carry messages or help with the wounded.”

“Is that all?” Snowpaw’s tail drooped.

“That’s plenty!” Bluepaw nosed her way to her sister’s side. “We’ll do our best,” she promised Pinestar. “Even if we can’t fight.”

Murmurs of approval rippled through the Clan.

“Imagine! Such a big message from a small scrap of fur.” Snowpaw shook her head. “Goosefeather must be so clever to see it.”

Goosefeather had picked up the vole and was carrying it away through the fern tunnel. As Bluepaw watched the shadows swallow him, the wind plucked her fur and she shivered. I hope he’s right, for all our sakes.

Wind buffeted the camp as evening fell. The dusk patrol went out as usual, just as hunting parties had come and gone during the afternoon, restocking the fresh-kill pile as though nothing had changed. Yet a solemn quietness had fallen over the camp.

Bluepaw washed her paws beside the nursery. They were sore after an afternoon helping Robinwing and Stonepelt reinforce the walls, weaving extra brambles into the tangle of stems and branches. She glanced at the sky. Why hadn’t the rain come? The clouds were as gray as a squirrel’s pelt, but they seemed reluctant to give up their load.

Yet Featherwhisker had promised rain, and Bluepaw couldn’t help but believe the young medicine cat apprentice. He’d been busy all afternoon, slipping in and out of camp, returning each time with a new bundle of herbs. He was padding across the clearing now, his silver pelt sleek in the twilight.

She hurried to meet him, catching up to him as he reached the fern tunnel. “Where’s the rain?”

He dropped his bundle and turned his bright amber gaze on her. “It’ll come when it’s ready,” he told her.

“Before the battle?”

“I don’t know.” He bent down, ready to pick up his herbs.

“What are they for?” Bluepaw was reluctant to let him go, reassured by his calm presence.

“These will give our warriors strength,” he told her. “Each cat will eat some before the battle.”

“Do you have anything for bravery?”

Featherwhisker brushed his tail along her spine. “Bravery will come from your heart,” he promised. “You were born a warrior, and StarClan will be with you.”

He was right! She would be brave.

“Have you eaten?” Featherwhisker asked. Around the clearing, the Clan were settling down in knots, sharing prey and tongues.

“I’m not hungry,” Bluepaw answered.

“Eat anyway,” Featherwhisker advised. “Your Clan needs you to be strong.”

“Okay.” Bluepaw nodded, and she turned toward the fresh-kill pile. She chose a sparrow and carried it to where her denmates lay beside the mossy tree stump.

Leopardpaw and Patchpaw were absorbed in eating. Snowpaw was staring blankly at a mouse, newly caught and still soft and fragrant.

“Not hungry?” Bluepaw mewed.

“Not very.” Snowpaw looked up, trying to look bright but failing miserably.

“Neither am I.” Bluepaw tossed her sparrow onto the ground and sat down. “But Featherwhisker says we need to eat so we are strong.”

Behind them, the den of ferns swished in the wind.

Leopardpaw looked up, her mouth full. “I don’t know what you’re worrying about,” she mumbled. “You won’t even be fighting.”

Bluepaw stared at her, round-eyed. “Aren’t you scared?”

“I know every battle move there is,” the black apprentice boasted. “No WindClan cat’s going to beat me.”

Patchpaw looked less sure. “I’ve been practicing my attack moves all day,” he mewed. “I just hope I can remember my defensive ones as well.”

“You’ll remember,” Leopardpaw reassured him. “Besides, we won’t let WindClan make it as far as here. The most trouble you’ll have is keeping Thistlekit quiet.” She purred. “That might take a battle move or two.”

Bluepaw was suddenly very aware that she knew no battle moves at all. Perhaps she should learn one, just in case. She watched Stormtail on the far side of the clearing showing Dappletail how to roll and then jump with her forepaws extended in a vicious attack.

“Remember,” he was telling her, “keep your claws sheathed until the leap.”

Dappletail tried the move again, sitting up afterward and looking pleased.

“Good.” Stormtail nodded. “But you need to be faster. We’re bigger and heavier than WindClan cats, but they are nimble and will take advantage of any slowness.”

I could ask Stormtail to teach me a few battle moves, just in case. But the gray warrior looked too busy with a real warrior. Bluepaw sighed and nudged her sparrow with her nose, working herself up to take a bite even though she wasn’t sure she’d be able to swallow it.

“Not hungry?”

Pinestar’s mew made her jump.

He stood at the tree stump and looked over the apprentices. “A good meal tonight will mean a good battle tomorrow.”

Bluepaw lowered her gaze. What kind of warrior was too scared to eat on the eve of a battle?

Pinestar’s eyes glowed in the half-light. “I remember my first battle,” he meowed. “Sweetbriar insisted I eat a shrew, but I hid it when her back was turned and then told her it was delicious.”

“Really?” Bluepaw couldn’t decide what startled her more: that the ThunderClan leader had ever been afraid or that he had lied to his mother.

“Really,” he purred. “She didn’t believe me, of course. All cats fear their first battle.”

“Does that mean we don’t have to eat?” Bluepaw mewed hopefully.

“Not if you don’t want to.” Pinestar flicked his tail. “It’s natural to be nervous. Only a mouse-brain would rush into battle without fear.” Was he glancing at Adderfang as he spoke? “But remember: You are ThunderClan cats, natural-born warriors. Trust your instincts. And we’ll be fighting Clan cats, not loners or rogues. They won’t go out of their way to harm youngsters like you.”

Snowpaw stood up, fluffing out her fur. “We don’t need special treatment.”

Pinestar’s whiskers twitched. “And you won’t get any,” he assured her. “I’m relying on you two to stay alert and do exactly as you’re told, as soon as you’re told. Lives may depend on how quickly you act.”

Bluepaw’s heart began to pound again.

“But,” Pinestar went on, “I know you’ll do your best and StarClan will guide your paws.” He glanced at Leopardpaw and Patchpaw. “All of you.”

Before they could answer he padded away, stopping beside Speckletail. The pale tabby sat hunched outside the nursery with Poppydawn while their kits tumbled around them. The Clan’s youngest members seemed to be the only cats unmoved by the looming battle. If anything, they were noisier than ever.

“If I were fighting tomorrow,” Thistlekit declared, “I’d get a WindClan warrior like this.” He hooked up the shrew he’d been eating. “And shred it.” He tossed the half-eaten fresh-kill to the ground and pounced on it, claws unsheathed.

“Don’t play with your food,” Poppydawn scolded. “It’s disrespectful. That shrew died so that we may live.”

Thistlekit sat up, looking annoyed. “You just don’t want me to become a warrior! You want to make me stay a kit forever!”

Pinestar cuffed him playfully around the ear. “I doubt she’d be able to,” he purred.

Thistlekit looked up at the ThunderClan leader. “Can I come to the battle?”

Pinestar shook his head. “I need you to stay here and help defend the nursery.”

Thistlekit puffed out his chest. “No WindClan cat’ll make it past me.”

“I believe you.” Pinestar sounded calm.

As Bluepaw watched him reassure his Clanmates, she realized that all trace of the doubt she’d seen in him earlier was gone. He stood with his broad head high and his powerful shoulders stiff, as though already primed for battle.

She wondered how many lives he had left. Perhaps that’s what gave him confidence. Why did only leaders get to have nine lives? Wouldn’t it be more useful if StarClan granted every cat nine lives?

Moonflower padded from the fern tunnel, her yellow eyes glowing in the half-light. “You two should get to sleep early tonight.” She reached Bluepaw and Snowpaw and touched each in turn lightly with her muzzle. Bluepaw could smell fear on her pelt, but her mew was unchanged. “I haven’t seen your nests yet. Are they comfortable?”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit more moss,” Snowpaw mewed. “The bracken keeps poking through.”

“I’ll get some from mine.” Moonflower padded quickly away toward the warriors’ den.

“Are you going to eat that?” Leopardpaw was eyeing Bluepaw’s mouse.

Bluepaw shook her head and tossed it over to the black apprentice.

“You might as well have mine, too,” Snowpaw added, flinging her shrew after.

Leopardpaw licked her lips. “If you insist,” she mewed. “I just hope the sound of your bellies rumbling doesn’t wake me up in the night.”

Bluepaw stood and stretched till her legs trembled. The wind was growing chillier, and it rippled right through her pelt. She nosed her way through the ferns into the shelter of the den and began to paw at her nest, trying to plump up the bracken so that it would keep out the cold.

Snowpaw followed her in. “Are you tired?”

Bluepaw shook her head. “I just don’t like waiting for tomorrow. I wish it was morning already.” She gave her paws a lick. The scent of the nursery was still on them, and she wished for a moment that she was safely back there with Moonflower and Poppydawn and the kits. She had never felt less ready to become a warrior. As she pushed the thought away and straightened her shoulders, the ferns rustled and Moonflower slid into the den, moss tucked under her chin and dangling from her jaws.

She dropped half in Snowpaw’s nest and the other half in Bluepaw’s. Quietly she smoothed out each pile until both nests were soft with it.

Bluepaw watched her work, feeling hollow. “Moonflower?”

“What is it, my dear?”

“How many battles have you fought in?”

Moonflower thought for a moment. “Too many to count, though they were really just border fights—driving out intruders. This will be the first time I’ve ever been in an attack on another Clan’s territory.”

“Are you nervous?”

Snowpaw snorted. “Of course she’s not nervous! She’s a ThunderClan warrior.”

Moonflower licked Snowpaw affectionately between the ears. “All warriors are nervous before battle—if not for themselves, then for their denmates and their whole Clan. It makes their senses sharper and their claws fiercer, and it gives them hunger for victory.”

Bluepaw sighed, feeling some of the tension unknot from her belly. She wasn’t just a scaredy-mouse after all. Suddenly tired, she settled down in her nest and yawned. “Thanks for the moss, Moonflower.”

Snowpaw was circling in hers. “It’s so soft.”

“It should keep you warm,” Moonflower meowed. “After the battle, we’ll go out and collect more and make sure both your nests are as soft as feathers.”

Bluepaw closed her eyes. She imagined herself padding through the woods beside Snowpaw and Moonflower, the battle far behind and nothing to worry about but where to find the softest moss. The thought soothed her.

“I’ll just lie down between you while you go to sleep.” Moonflower settled on her belly between the two nests. Bluepaw could hear Snowpaw’s breath slowing as Moonflower purred gently. Rolling toward the warmth of her mother, she felt Moonflower’s soft belly fur brush her pelt and smelled the familiar scent that reminded her of the moons spent in the nursery.

Happily she drifted into sleep.

Half waking, she felt Moonflower stir. Blinking in the moonlight, she saw Leopardpaw and Patchpaw asleep in their nests. It must be late.

Moonflower got to her paws. “Sleep well, little one.” The queen’s breath stirred Bluepaw’s ear fur. “I will always be with you.”

The ferns rustled and Moonflower was gone.