by Erin Hunter
“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.
Thistlek
it 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.
CHAPTER 8
Bluepaw woke with a jolt.
The battle!
She jumped to her paws and glanced around the den. The fern walls rippled and swayed in the wind as though tugged by invisible paws. Dawn had not yet come, but Leopardpaw and Patchpaw were already sitting up and washing.
Snowpaw stretched in her nest, her eyes shining in the gloom. “What is it?”
“Sparrowpelt wants us in the clearing,” Leopardpaw mewed.
The wind roared above the camp and as Bluepaw pushed her way out of the den, a grit-filled gust hit her face and made her wince. The trees around the camp strained against the angry air, and clouds swept overhead as dark and threatening as crows.
Stonepelt was waiting outside the den, his fur flattened and his eyes half-closed against the swirling leaves and dust. “Not good weather for a battle.”
“Clanmates!” Pinestar’s call was sharp. He stood in the center of the clearing with Goosefeather at his side as his warriors swarmed around him, lashing their tails. The fur along Adderfang’s spine stood as sharp as thorns. Dappletail tore up clawfuls of earth while Sparrowpelt and Stormtail paced the edge of the clearing, muscles rippling across their broad shoulders.
Featherwhisker was moving from one cat to another, dropping small flurries of herbs at the paws of each.
Those must be the strengthening herbs, Bluepaw guessed.
Outside the nursery, Moonflower was sharing tongues with Poppydawn. They paused as Thistlekit and Lionkit tumbled out from the brambles, fluffing up their pelts and trying to look big. Poppydawn gave Moonflower a final lick between the ears before scooping both kits, complaining, back into the nursery.
Moonflower’s eyes glittered hard as amber as she crossed the clearing. With her ears flat and her pelt slicked by the wind, Bluepaw hardly recognized her mother. She straightened her back and lifted her chin, vowing to be as much like Moonflower as she could.
Featherwhisker dropped a few herbs at her paws. “You look like a warrior already.”
Bluepaw looked at him in surprise. “Do I?”
Stonepelt narrowed his eyes. “Don’t forget, stay out of the fighting.”
Snowpaw scampered over from the apprentices’ den. “Can you teach us a battle move, just in case?”
Moonflower reached them. “You won’t need any. You won’t be fighting,” she meowed firmly.
Snowpaw bristled, but before she could answer, Featherwhisker pawed some herbs toward her. “Eat these,” he ordered. “They’ll give you strength.”
Bluepaw sniffed at her herbs and wrinkled her nose.
“They’re bitter,” he warned. “But the taste won’t last long.”
Bluepaw stuck out her tongue and lapped up the leaves as Snowpaw ate hers. She gagged when the dark, sour flavor hit the back of her throat, then closed her eyes and forced herself to swallow.
“Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!” Snowpaw was circling frantically, flicking her tongue like an adder, when Bluepaw opened her eyes.
Pinestar’s yowl made her halt: “Goosefeather has more news.”
Moonflower’s eyes widened. “Another omen?”
Goosefeather nodded. “I examined the vole in the medicine clearing and found a shred of catmint on its other flank.”
“Is he sure it didn’t come from the floor of his den
?” Stonepelt muttered under his breath. “It’s not exactly spotless in there.”
Bluepaw looked at him curiously. Surely her mentor didn’t doubt the medicine cat as well?
Goosefeather went on. “Yesterday you wanted more guidance from StarClan. Now you have it. Our warrior ancestors are telling us how we can fight WindClan’s aggression.”
“With a shred of catmint?” Moonflower’s eyes were round.
“We must take the battle all the way into their camp,” Goosefeather announced.
“Their camp?” Stonepelt flattened his ears. “Do you know how dangerous that will be?”
“This is StarClan’s advice, not mine,” Goosefeather countered. “The catmint tells me that the only way to defeat WindClan is to destroy its medicine supply.”
Sunfall stepped forward, pelt bristling. “But that would endanger kits and elders. Every Clan depends on its medicine supply, especially with leaf-bare approaching. If we destroy that, we are attacking innocents as well as warriors.” Outrage filled his mew.
Tawnyspots nodded. “What kind of warriors would we be to pull such a fox-hearted trick?”
Goosefeather lifted his chin. “We’d be alive.”
Pinestar took a heavy step forward. “I agree that it seems harsh, but StarClan has warned us that we face destruction unless we act against WindClan aggression before it’s too late. If we attack their medicine supply, they’ll be weakened for moons. ThunderClan will be safe.”
“But what if WindClan suffers an outbreak of whitecough?” Featherwhisker ventured. “How will Hawkheart treat the sick? The kits and elders would be defenseless.”
Adderfang lashed his tail. “Would you sacrifice our own kits and elders to save theirs?” he demanded. “If we don’t attack now, ThunderClan will be destroyed. Is it not worth risking a few WindClan lives to save all of ours?”
Pinestar sighed. “Adderfang is right,” he meowed. “We must follow StarClan’s advice if we are to save ourselves.”
“So we’re attacking the camp?” Stonepelt growled.
“Our target is the medicine den. No kit or elder is to be harmed.” Pinestar narrowed his eyes. “But their medicine supplies must be destroyed.”