Bluestar's Prophecy (27 page)

Bluefur curled her lip. “I’d like
to see you try,” she growled. Without waiting for his answer, she spun around and raced back through the forest. Thistleclaw could finish the patrol on his own!

“Back so soon?” Sunstar was scrambling to the top of the ravine when she reached it.

Bluefur hadn’t prepared an excuse. She looked at him with her mouth half-open.

“No prey?” Sunstar pressed.

How could she tell him about Thistleclaw’s threat? Who would believe that a loyal warrior would say such a thing to his Clanmate? She hardly believed it herself.

“Prey was poor, so I came back early to spend time with Whitekit.” A lame excuse, but at least it was partly true.

Sunstar tipped his head to one side. “I’m glad,” he meowed. “You’ll be good for him.” He paused. “You seem more like your old self today.”

Do I
? She stared at him, hoping it was true.

“Go and see Whitekit,” he told her briskly. “I reckon by the time he makes apprentice, you’ll be ready for an apprentice of
your own. Helping raise Whitekit will give you some worthwhile practice.”

“Th-thanks.” Bluefur was caught off guard by the ThunderClan leader’s warmth. She was afraid that she’d done nothing to earn it. She slid her paws over the edge of the ravine and jumped down.

“Next time, though, don’t give up on the prey!” Sunstar called after her.

“I won’t!” she promised.

Whitekit was fast asleep when she squeezed into the nursery.

“He was tired after his feed,” Robinwing apologized. “I think Thistleclaw wore him out.”

Bluefur nuzzled him gently and he rolled in his sleep and rested his small paw against her muzzle. It was as soft as a rabbit tail. Bluefur breathed in the scent of him—so like her sister—and backed out of the nursery.

“How’s the prey running?” Thrushpelt’s mew surprised her.

“Not so good.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Tallpines.”

Thrushpelt glanced past her shoulder at the nursery. “How’s Whitekit?”

“Fine.”

“He’s lucky to have you to watch out for him.”

“I don’t know.” Bluefur looked at her paws. “I’ve not done too great so far.”

“You’ve had a lot to deal with.” His gaze grew soft. “I think you’d make a great mother.”

Bluefur opened her mouth, searching for words, her ears hot. Thrushpelt shifted his paws as though he was regretting what he’d said.

“There’s Rosetail!” Relieved to see her denmate padding past with a vole in her jaws, Bluefur bounded away and fell in beside her.

Rosetail dropped the vole on the fresh-kill pile. “You and Thrushpelt make such a great couple.”

Bluefur backed away. She’d been hoping to escape embarrassment, not make it worse. “He—he’s a good friend,” she blurted. “But we’re not a couple.”

“Really?”

“I’m too busy with Whitekit to worry about stuff like that,” Bluefur mumbled.

“But you must have time to look for a mate, and Thrushpelt is obviously interested in you.”

“Snowfur’s kit is more important,” Bluefur insisted. “Now that he’s got no mother, it’s up to me to look after him.” There was no way she was going to let Thistleclaw be the greatest influence in his life. There was more to being a Clan cat than fighting and chasing off trespassers. That’s what had killed Snowfur.

Rosetail was still chatting. “I’ve just seen Tawnyspots,” she reported. “He’s in the medicine den. Says he’s too sick to eat. Maybe he’ll stop being Clan deputy.”

“What?” Bluefur snapped from her thoughts.

“Sunstar will have to appoint someone else.”

Bluefur blinked. “Stormtail?” The gray warrior would be pleased.

“Or Adderfang?” Rosetail suggested.

Bluefur narrowed her eyes. The deputy needed to have wisdom as well as courage. Not that Adderfang was mouse-brained, but he saw only as far as the battle and never beyond.

“Maybe Thistleclaw.”

Rosetail’s new suggestion made Bluefur gasp. “He’s too young!”

“He says he’s going to be the youngest deputy the Clans have ever seen.”

“No way.”

“He talks about it all the time,” Rosetail meowed. “Deputy!” She snorted. “As if Sunstar would give him the chance to lead us all into battle at the flick of a tail!”

Rigidly keeping her encounter with Thrushpelt out of her mind, Bluefur rummaged through Mumblefoot’s nest and plucked out the last ragged scrap of moss. With no apprentices in the Clan, the younger warriors were taking turns cleaning out the elders’ den. Since Bluefur had returned early from her morning patrol, she had volunteered to see to the elders by herself.

“Lionheart’s going to bring fresh bracken later,” she told him.

“Well, I hope it’s not too much later,” Weedwhisker
complained. “You’ve hardly left me anything to rest on.”

Larksong purred. “You’ve got plenty of padding to keep you comfortable till then.”

It was true; after a prey-rich greenleaf, Weedwhisker was fatter than ever.

“I promised Featherwhisker I’d check you for ticks as well,” Bluefur meowed.

Stonepelt shook his broad head. “We can do that ourselves,” he assured her.

“But what if—”

“If we find any, I’ll go to Featherwhisker for the bile myself.”

“Thanks.” Bluefur was grateful. She wanted to be out in the forest patrolling and hunting for her Clan. She had a lot of catching up to do.

Just then, however, Sunstar called from outside the fallen tree, “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather beneath Highrock.”

Bluefur wondered why he still used Pinestar’s traditional call to the Clan; everyone knew Frostkit, Brindlekit, Spottedkit, Willowkit, and Redkit would be bundling out of the nursery to find out what was going on, even though they weren’t old enough to recognize prey, let alone catch it.

Tigerkit was already in the middle of the clearing, gazing up at Sunstar, when Bluefur pushed her way from the tangle of branches. Swiftbreeze and Robinwing were squeezing out of the nursery, their kits wriggling out beside them, eyes bright with excitement. Fuzzypelt and White-eye were on their paws
beside the nettle patch. Lionheart and Goldenflower were dragging a bundle of bracken through the camp entrance; they abandoned it beside the barrier of gorse and hurried to join their Clanmates. Adderfang had been stretched outside the warriors’ den, and Poppydawn and Speckletail had been chatting with Windflight and Dappletail at the edge of the clearing. They all came to join Featherwhisker and Goosefeather, who sat beside Sparrowpelt with their tails wrapped neatly over their paws.

As Bluefur settled beside Rosetail, she noticed Tawnyspots, thin and trembling, crouched in the fern tunnel, shadows dappling his dull pelt.

The Clan stared up expectantly at the ThunderClan leader.

“Clanmates, it’s time to welcome a new apprentice.” Sunstar, his eyes fixed on Tigerkit, leaped down from Highrock and beckoned the young tom forward. Leopardfoot quivered with pride as the ThunderClan leader went on.

“Tigerkit is six moons old and more than ready to begin his training. From this day, until he earns his warrior name, he shall be known as Tigerpaw.”

Bluefur leaned forward, eager to know who his mentor would be. Only that morning, Sunstar had hinted that Bluefur was nearly ready for her own apprentice.

“Thistleclaw will be his mentor.”

The spiky warrior padded forward, tail high, and pressed his broad muzzle to Tigerpaw’s head.

“Tigerpaw! Tigerpaw!” As the Clan cheered his name,
Bluefur tried to push away a pang of disappointment. Why had Sunstar chosen Thistleclaw over her? He hadn’t been a warrior as long, and didn’t Sunstar see how dangerous he could be?

Rosetail leaned closer, her breath warm in Bluefur’s ear. “Now he’s going to be even more convinced he’ll be the next deputy,” she whispered.

A shiver ran down Bluefur’s spine and she unsheathed her claws, feeling an odd twinge, as though she were about to go into battle.

Something small brushed behind her. She turned to see Whitekit, who had crept away from his denmates. “I’m glad he didn’t make Tigerpaw your apprentice,” he mewed. “I want you to be
my
mentor.”

Bluefur glanced at Sunstar. He was watching, eyes narrow. He nodded very slightly as though agreeing with the little white kit. She would be a mentor soon. But would it be soon enough to let her become the next Clan deputy? Her belly tightened when she saw Tawnyspots padding unsteadily back down the fern tunnel.

Poppydawn padded forward as Sunstar went on. “I have one more announcement,” the ThunderClan leader meowed. “Poppydawn has decided to move into the elders’ den.”

Bluefur blinked. She hadn’t realized Poppydawn was so old, though now that she thought about it, she realized the dark brown she-cat often trailed at the back of the patrols and brought home smaller and weaker fresh-kill than her Clanmates did. For the first time she noticed flecks of gray
around the warrior’s muzzle.

Poppydawn dipped her head. “I am grateful to my Clan for giving me the chance to serve them this long, and for the peaceful life I will have as an elder,” she meowed formally.

Her Clanmates streamed around her, brushing muzzles, flicking tails.

Tigerpaw shouldered his way through the crowd and touched his nose to Poppydawn’s. “I’ll take better care of you than any other apprentice!” he promised.

“That won’t be hard,” Rosetail whispered. “Considering he’s the only one.”

Bluefur’s whiskers twitched in amusement, but she couldn’t help admiring the young tom’s eagerness, remembering how much she’d resented the dull chores like clearing out dens. Tigerpaw was certainly determined to live by the warrior code. She just prayed Thistleclaw didn’t teach him that fighting was more important than caring for his Clanmates.

“Finally”—Sunstar had one more announcement—“while Tawnyspots is ill, Adderfang will stand in as deputy.”

Stormtail nodded to his denmate as Adderfang puffed out his chest.

“Tawnyspots will return to his duties once he’s recovered,” Sunstar added.

Uneasy glances flashed between Stormtail, Fuzzypelt, and Adderfang. Clearly the senior warriors weren’t as certain of Tawnyspots’s recovery as their leader was.

Goosefeather stepped forward. “I need help gathering herbs,” he announced. The Clan stared at him. Bluefur
guessed they were as surprised as she was that the medicine cat was acting like a medicine cat again.

“Bluefur?” Goosefeather tipped his head to one side. “Would you come?”

Bluefur glanced at Sunstar, waiting for permission. The ThunderClan leader nodded. Anxiety fluttered in her belly. Why had Goosefeather picked her? She felt less than comfortable as she followed the shambling tom into the forest. Did he want to talk about the prophecy? She’d assumed he’d forgotten—and was beginning to think that it had just been one of his wild predictions that came to nothing. If not the prophecy, perhaps StarClan had told him about her meeting with Oakheart, and the feelings he’d stirred in her that she had been trying so hard to ignore. StarClan, after all, saw everything. Why
wouldn’t
they share it with the Clan’s medicine cat?

“I see you’ve taken an interest in Whitekit,” Goosefeather observed as they climbed a leafy slope.

“He’s my kin,” she mewed.

“So am I,” he reminded her, “but you don’t visit me.”

That’s because you’re madder than a hare.

She pushed away the thought, suddenly frightened that he could read her mind.

“I’m glad you’re watching out for him,” Goosefeather went on. “He’s got a good heart, but young kits are easily influenced.”

Was he warning her about Thistleclaw again? She wanted to ask him straight out, but didn’t dare. After all, Thistleclaw was a loyal warrior who’d done nothing but protect and feed his Clan. Her worries might sound weird.

“Have you thought about the prophecy?” he asked.

So he
had
remembered!

She nodded.

“Good.” Goosefeather stopped beside a small, leafy plant that smelled zesty. Bluefur wrinkled her nose as he began to tear off leaves with his paws. “Harvest it like this,” he ordered. “Don’t use your teeth, or your tongue will be numb for days.”

Bluefur nodded and began to pluck the leaves. They were surprisingly strong for such lush-looking leaves, and she found herself having to tug hard to pull them up. Goosefeather padded to a smooth silver birch and started tearing off strips of the bark with deft claws. The strips curled in a pile beside him.

“Have you thought of becoming the next Clan deputy?” he asked, without looking around.

Bluefur hesitated. Should she admit her ambition? She was still young. Would he think she was greedy?

“So you have,” Goosefeather concluded. “That’s good.”

“But I don’t even have an apprentice yet,” Bluefur pointed out. “There’s no way Sunstar will make me deputy. I’m too young.”

“Tawnyspots won’t die yet,” Goosefeather rasped. “There’s still time. But you’re going to have to work for it.”

Bluefur wasn’t convinced. “There are so many warriors more experienced than me. Adderfang, for example.”

“Sunstar wants a cat with youth and energy to serve beside him.” Goosefeather peeled off another curl of silver bark. “If he wants advice, he can go to the senior warriors any time he likes. He doesn’t have to make them deputy for that. His deputy must be a cat he feels he can train—a cat who is not set in
old ways, a cat who is open to new ideas.”

“Someone like Thistleclaw?” Bluefur ventured.

Goosefeather growled. “That young warrior is the reason you
must
become deputy. Blood lies in his path. Fire lies in yours.”

Bluefur stopped pulling leaves as she felt the medicine cat’s gaze burn her fur. He was staring at her, his eyes ablaze. “You must concentrate on
nothing else
!” he hissed. “What could be better in this time of bitter frost than a blazing fire? Your Clan needs you. Don’t let
anything
distract you!”

Did he mean Whitekit? Surely not! He had only just encouraged her to help raise the young tom. But what else could he mean?
Oakheart?

“Take these herbs back.” Goosefeather pushed his curls of bark onto Bluefur’s pile of leaves. “And leave me in peace.”