Bluestar's Prophecy

Chapter 25

“Quick! Get Featherwhisker!” Bluefur gasped. Goosefeather still hadn’t formally retired, but it was becoming more and more acknowledged among his Clanmates that Featherwhisker was in charge of the medicine cat duties.

On the other side of the nursery, Robinwing sleepily lifted her head. “Are the kits coming?”

“What else would it be?” Thistleclaw snapped. The warrior had stopped by the nursery to visit his mate when Snowfur’s pains had suddenly begun. Bluefur was glad she had been there, too.

Robinwing heaved herself to her paws. “I’ll get him,” she offered. She squeezed out of the den, puffing. A half-moon from kitting, the small, energetic warrior had become as cumbersome as a badger.

Thistleclaw plucked nervously at the edge of Snowfur’s nest as his mate writhed in the bracken. Bluefur licked Snowfur between the ears. “It’ll be over soon,” she promised. She tried not to think of Leopardfoot’s long kitting. Or the death of her she-kits before they’d reached one moon. That had seemed particularly cruel, so soon after Leopardfoot had lost her mate to the life of a kittypet. At least Tigerkit’s strong and healthy, Bluefur reminded herself. He was scrabbling out of Leopardfoot’s nest now, stretching up to see what was happening.

Leopardfoot tugged him back by the tail. “You’re as nosy as a squirrel,” she scolded gently. “Why don’t you go outside and see if you can find Lionpaw?”

“Okay,” Tigerkit chirped. He squirmed out of the nursery just as Featherwhisker pushed his way in.

“Watch out! Coming through!” Tigerkit yowled as he scooted straight under the medicine cat’s belly.

“That kit gets bossier by the day,” Featherwhisker observed lightly, dropping a bundle of leaves by Snowfur’s nest. “I know he’s the only kit in the Clan, but I wish everyone would stop indulging him. He’s starting to act like a little leader.”

Bluefur flicked her tail. “Snowfur’s kits will give them someone else to fuss over.”

“How are you doing, little one?” Featherwhisker bent down to sniff the white queen’s head.

“I’m thirsty,” Snowfur whimpered. “Can I have some wet moss?”

“Good idea,” Featherwhisker mewed. “Thistleclaw, please could you get some?”

Thistleclaw stopped shredding the bracken at the edge of the nest and looked at his mate. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“We’ll take care of her,” Featherwhisker promised.

As soon as he was gone, Snowfur sighed. “Thanks for getting rid of him before he pulled my nest to pieces.”

Bluefur’s whiskers twitched. It looked like her sister hadn’t lost her sense of humor yet. Then Snowfur gasped, and her eyes stretched until the whites showed around them.

Featherwhisker pressed his paw on her belly. “Pain?”

Snowfur nodded, holding her breath.

“Try breathing more, not less,” Featherwhisker suggested.

Bluefur didn’t think she could watch her sister being in agony. “Can you give her poppy seeds for the pain?”

Featherwhisker shook his head. “She needs to be able to feel it, so we know when the kits are coming.”

Snowfur breathed out slowly. “Will it be long?” she croaked.

“A while yet.”

“Wait there.” Bluefur squeezed out of the nursery.

Robinwing had settled on the dry earth outside. “I thought I’d give you some peace,” she meowed as Bluefur trotted past.

“Thanks,” Bluefur called over her shoulder. She scanned the edge of the camp, looking for something. The ferns were starting to appear tired now, their tips turning brown. The faint scent of leaf-fall tainted the breeze. Bluefur quickly saw what she was after: a short, stumpy stick, not too splintery, but tough. She picked it up in her jaws and hurried back to the nursery.

“What’s that?” Leopardfoot was peering out of her nest.

“I thought Snowfur could bite down on it when the pains came.” Bluefur pushed the stick under Snowfur’s muzzle.

Leopardfoot shuddered, clearly remembering her own ordeal. “I wish I’d had one of those.”

“Thank you,” Snowfur panted. Her belly quivered and she grasped the stick between her teeth.

The brambles shook as Thistleclaw scrambled through the entrance and dropped the moss he was carrying. “Is she all right?”

“She’s fine,” Featherwhisker reported. “But she’ll need more moss. Gather it from the stream outside camp. The water will be fresher there.”

Thistleclaw nodded, turned tail, and left. Bluefur wondered if he couldn’t bear to see Snowfur in pain either.

“Thanks,” Snowfur muttered to Featherwhisker.

Bluefur was aware of the sun moving slowly overhead, sending shifting shafts of light into the nursery. Snowfur was getting more and more tired, and she kept closing her eyes for long stretches. “It can’t be long now, can it?” Bluefur whispered to Featherwhisker.

“Not long.” He had just given Snowfur a mouthful of leaves to chew. Bluefur recognized the shape from when Leopardfoot was kitting: raspberry. She hoped they’d be more effective this time.

Snowfur groaned as another spasm shook her.

“Here!” Bluefur pushed the stick toward her muzzle.

“No!” Snowfur shrieked, pushing it away.

“The first one’s coming,” Featherwhisker meowed from where he crouched by Snowfur’s haunches.

Snowfur trembled as a small white bundle slid out into the nest. Featherwhisker bent down and lapped at the sack encasing it, until it split open and a tiny white kit tumbled out, paws churning.

Snowfur turned and sniffed at the damp scrap of fur. “He’s beautiful,” she gasped. She grasped its scruff and hauled it to her belly.

It began suckling at once, kneading Snowfur with fierce paws.

“He’s a strong one,” Featherwhisker purred.

Bluefur felt a flood of relief. “How many more?” she asked.

Featherwhisker pressed Snowfur’s flank. “That’s it.”

Leopardfoot sat up. “Only one?”

“A tough little tom,” Featherwhisker told her. “You can’t ask more than that.”

Tigerkit scrabbled into the den. “Is it over?” he squeaked, peeking into the nest. He blinked at the white tom. “Where are the other kits?”

“That’s the only one,” Leopardfoot told him.

Tigerkit cocked his head. “That’s all?” he mewed. “But it’s white. It’ll never be able to hunt with a pelt that color. The prey’ll see him coming tree-lengths away.”

Leopardfoot climbed out of her nest and nosed Tigerkit away. “He’ll be a fine hunter, like his mother,” she told him.

“Not as good as me,” Tigerkit mewed.

Thistleclaw appeared in the entrance again, this time his jaws stretched with the biggest wad of dripping moss Bluefur had ever seen.

“You’ll drown the nursery with that,” she teased.

Thistleclaw’s gaze reached his son. He flung the moss aside and crossed the nursery in one leap. “He’s beautiful!”

Bluefur watched his gaze soften, all arrogance gone in a flood of affection. He licked Snowfur between the ears. “Well done,” he murmured. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Can we call him Whitekit?” Snowfur whispered.

Thistleclaw nodded. “We can call him whatever you want.”

He leaned forward and licked Whitekit. The kit mewled in protest, then went back to suckling. Thistleclaw stared down at his son, his eyes brimming with emotion. For the first time ever, Bluefur almost felt fond of her sister’s mate.

Thistleclaw straightened up. “I’ll go get you the tastiest piece of prey I can find,” he promised Snowfur.

Featherwhisker shook his head. “She won’t eat for a while,” he warned. “But that moss will be useful.” He plucked a piece and placed it where Snowfur could lap at it. She did so, thirstily, her eyes half-closed with exhaustion.

“Will she be all right?” Bluefur whispered.

“She just needs rest,” Featherwhisker promised. “She’ll be fine.”

Relieved, Bluefur sat back and watched Whitekit suckle, amazed that he knew what to do already. Welcome to ThunderClan, little one. May StarClan light your path, always.

“Look!” Snowfur’s soft mew woke Bluefur the next morning. “He’s opened his eyes already!”

“Great!” Tigerkit’s head shot up over the edge of Leopardfoot’s nest. “Can I take him out to explore?”

Snowfur looked as if Tigerkit had suggested taking her son out to play in a fox burrow. Shaking her head, she wrapped her tail protectively around Whitekit.

“You made me go out the moment I opened my eyes,” Bluefur reminded her.

Whitekit gazed around the den, his blue eyes misty but his tufty ears pricked. His stubby paws kneaded the bedding, and his tail stuck straight out like a twig.

Snowfur sighed. “If he wants to go out, then he can.” She wrapped her tail tighter and glared at Tigerkit. “But no farther than the clearing.”

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Bluefur promised. “You just rest.”

Snowfur still looked exhausted, hardly able to do more than lap at the moss Thistleclaw kept bringing. “Thank you,” she breathed.

Tigerkit was already out of his nest and balancing on the edge of Snowfur’s. “Come on!” he called to Whitekit. “There’s loads to see.”

Whitekit turned slowly and focused on his little tabby denmate.

“We’re going to be warriors,” Tigerkit told him. “We might as well start now.”

Whitekit blinked away the fuzziness in his gaze. “Okay,” he mewed. He scrambled up the side of the nest and teetered beside Tigerkit.

“This way.” Tigerkit led him to the entrance. Whitekit followed on unsteady legs.

“Don’t take your eyes off him for an instant,” Snowfur called as Bluefur followed the two kits from the den.

“I won’t,” Bluefur replied over her shoulder.

Whitekit looked even smaller outside the nursery. The clearing that stretched away ahead of him might as well have been the valley to Highstones. Bluefur felt the sharp memory of her first time out, how big everything seemed, especially the warriors.

Stonepelt limped past. “Is that our new warrior?” he meowed.

Bluefur nodded.

A purr rumbled in Stonepelt’s throat. “Well, show him the warriors’ den and tell him to stay out. He’ll get there soon enough.” Amusement lit his eyes. Was he recalling the time she’d wandered into his den?

She nodded, whiskers twitching. “I will.” She didn’t want Whitekit to grow up for a long time yet. Let him play peacefully and chase nothingfiercer than a ball of moss for as many moons as he can.

A half-moon later, Frostkit and Brindlekit were born. Robinwing sat up proudly in her nest when Bluefur came in to visit them. They weren’t her first kits, and they had been born as easily as a beechnut slipping out of its shell.

“The nursery hasn’t been this full since we were kits,” Snowfur observed.

“It’s too busy,” Tigerkit complained. “There’s no room for proper games now.”

“Why don’t you go out and play?” Leopardfoot suggested. “You could show Frostkit and Brindlekit the camp.”

Robinwing’s kits started to bounce with excitement at the prospect of seeing their new home.

“Yes, please!”

“I’ll help!” Whitekit squeaked, trying to beat Tigerkit to the entrance.

Snowfur’s son had grown well, but he was still no match for his older denmate, in either breadth of shoulder or stubbornness. Tigerkit pushed easily ahead of him and led all three kits out of the nursery.

Robinwing sighed. “Will they be okay? I don’t want them to pester the older cats.”

“Do you want me to watch them?” Bluefur asked.

“That would be great, thanks.” Robinwing settled down in her nest.

Leopardfoot stood up, stretching each leg in turn. “I’ll come, too, and get prey from the pile.” The black queen was finally looking fit and strong again. She padded from her nest and followed Bluefur out of the nursery.

The four kits were already hurtling across the clearing.

“Not so fast!” Bluefur called. “Don’t forget, it’s Frostkit’s and Brindlekit’s first time out.”

“Kits always grow faster when they’ve got denmates to keep up with,” Leopardfoot commented as the kits disappeared into the fern tunnel that led to the medicine cats’ den.

“I’d better see what they’re getting up to,” Bluefur meowed. She didn’t want them getting into Goosefeather’s supplies. Leaving Leopardfoot to take her pick from the fresh-kill pile, she hurried across the clearing to the medicine den.

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!”