by Erin Hunter
“You’ve had much grief for one cat,” Sunstar admitted. “But life goes on. Whitekit will become an apprentice and then a warrior, and you can choose to help him with that or to let him work it out for himself.” The ThunderClan leader glanced at her as they crossed a glade flooded with gray moonlight. “I have high hopes for you, Bluefur. You were my apprentice once, and I will always feel like your mentor. I want you to strive to become the best warrior you can be, because I believe one day ThunderClan will have need of your gifts.”
Bluefur slowed to a stop and allowed Sunstar to continue on without her. Does he know about the prophecy? Surely not, or he would have said something. Besides, blazing through the forest at the head of her Clan didn’t seem so exciting now that Snowfur and Moonflower couldn’t share her success. Had she really believed Goosefeather’s vague prophecy once? Snowfur had said it was nonsense, just the rambling of a cranky old medicine cat. Maybe she’d been right all along.
As her Clanmates thronged around her at the top of the ravine, Bluefur gazed across the valley with Goosefeather’s words echoing in her head.
You are fire, and you will blaze through the forest. But beware: Even the most powerful flames can be destroyed by water.
CHAPTER 30
When sleep came, it came furiously, chaotic with images and sounds. Bluefur dreamed of stars swirling above a wind-tossed forest. The gale tugged her fur as it swept from the moorland to the edge of the gorge where she teetered, staring down into the foaming torrent far below. A blotch of white pelt was spinning in the crashing waters, flung downstream by the raging current.
“Snowfur!” Bluefur’s panicked screech was whipped away by the wind. Below, her sister disappeared, sucked down by the water, then thrown up again just long enough to shriek, “Whitekit!”
Horror clutched Bluefur’s heart as she saw a smaller scrap spun in the current farther downstream.
“My son!” Snowfur’s yowl echoed from the towering walls of rock that channeled the water into a seething fury.
“No!” Bluefur raced along the edge of the gorge, scrabbling over boulders, leaping ledges, heading downstream to where she knew the gorge opened into calmer waters. She could reach Snowfur and Whitekit there, if the jagged rocks jutting midstream did not batter them to death first.
She felt their terror, sensed their paws churning helplessly against the massive flood as the water wrenched them down, filling their ears and eyes and noses. She felt their aching lungs gasp for breath as they struggled to reach air. She felt their fragile bodies slam past rocks and be dragged over grazing stone, buffeted by boulder after boulder as the current swept them mercilessly on.
Where the gorge ended and the water flowed out past gently sloping shores, Bluefur waded into the shallows and peered upstream, searching for Snowfur and Whitekit. The water drenched her pelt, tried to pull her away from the cliffs, but she dug in her claws, gripping the riverbed and praying to StarClan.
It should be me drowning, not them. That is my destiny, not theirs.
Snowfur appeared first, flung out of the canyon with her head barely above water. “Save my son!” Her terrified shriek was choked by the waves as the river sucked her under again.
“Snowfur!” Hysterical, Bluefur tried to wade toward her sister, but the torrent pushed her back.
A scrap of white fur bobbed toward her.
Whitekit.
She could save him. The tiny shape hurtled toward her, his paws flailing, his squeals piercing the air.
I won’t let you die.
Plunging in up to her chin, Bluefur lunged for him as he passed, grabbing his scruff in her teeth and pulling him close. She churned her paws until she felt the riverbed beneath them, then dragged him, limp, onto the bank.
“You’re safe now,” she gasped, coughing water. “It’s all right.” Her mew grew fierce as she willed him to open his eyes. “I won’t let anything hurt you, ever!”
But Whitekit lay still, water bubbling at his lips and streaming from his pelt.
Bluefur fought down a wave of panic. Wake up! I saved you! She shivered as she felt the chill of water running in rivulets down her neck.
“Mouse dung!” came Fuzzypelt’s complaint. “The roof’s leaking again.”
Bluefur sat bolt upright. Rain was running into the den, trickling from the yew branches overhead and soaking into her pelt. She leaped out of her nest and bolted from the den.
“Whitekit!” she called as she scrambled into the night-shadowed nursery. Eyes flashed in the darkness, round with alarm.
“Bluefur?” Robinwing’s frightened mew sounded from the darkness. “What’s wrong?”
Bluefur scanned the den, searching for Whitekit’s snowy pelt. “Where is he?” she demanded.
Oh, StarClan, I can’t lose him as well!
“Bluefur!” A delighted mew sounded from Robinwing’s nest and Bluefur saw Whitekit’s pelt glowing in the darkness. “What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night!”
She raced to him, curling herself around his small body, wrapping him to her and closing her eyes gratefully. Thank StarClan, it was only a dream.
“Oof, you’re squashing me!” Whitekit protested. He wriggled, then yawned and relaxed against Bluefur’s flank. Hardly daring to breathe, Bluefur watched him sleep until the dawn light began to filter through the brambles.
He woke with a start, his eyes wide. “I thought I dreamed you’d come to see me,” he chirped. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you.” He stretched up to lick her cheek and Bluefur felt a stab of guilt. How could she have wanted to abandon him? He was all she had left to remind her of Snowfur.
“Look what I’ve learned.” Whitekit scrambled away from her and crouched on the den floor, his tail straight and his belly pressed on the soft earth in a perfect hunting crouch.
“That’s great,” Bluefur purred. “Who taught you that?”
“Lionheart,” Whitekit mewed proudly. He blinked at her, his round blue eyes so much like his mother’s. “Will you teach me some battle moves?”
“When you’re a little older.”
Spottedkit was struggling out of Swiftbreeze’s nest. The white splashes on her tortoiseshell pelt gleamed in the pale dawn. Whitekit scrambled over to her. “Do you want me to show you the hunter’s crouch?” he mewed. She nodded and hunkered down while Whitekit steadied her tail. “You have to keep it really still,” he muttered through the mouthful of fur.
“Thank you for looking after him so well,” Bluefur mewed to Robinwing.
The small brown queen lifted her head. Frostkit and Brindlekit stirred against her belly with mews of protest. “He’s a lovely kit,” Robinwing purred.
Bluefur felt a stone lodge in her throat. “I wish I’d visited more often.”
Robinwing touched the tip of her tail to Bluefur’s shoulder. “Kits are very forgiving,” she murmured. “He won’t remember what you didn’t do, only what you did. You can change everything if you want to.”
Bluefur gazed into her amber eyes. “I do.”
“Attack!” Whitekit gave a warning yowl and launched himself at Bluefur. His tiny claws pricked her pelt as he dangled from her fur. Growling like a badger, she stomped around the den, pretending to try to throw him off while he squealed with delight.
Fur scraped at the entrance.
“Thistleclaw!” Whitekit greeted his father with a happy mew as the tom squeezed into the nursery.
Thistleclaw looked over his son’s head and scowled at Bluefur. “What are you doing here?”
“Visiting Whitekit.” Bluefur stood her ground as Thistleclaw glared at her.
“Sunstar wants you on patrol,” Thistleclaw told her. “You should go.” He narrowed his eyes. “The sooner, the better.”
He turned to Whitekit, and tumbled him out of the nursery with a hefty paw. “Now, young warrior, are you ready to practice those battle moves I showed you?” He pushed his way out after his kit. “You never know when some mangy RiverClan furball is go
ing to steal into camp.”
Bluefur followed, her ears twitching. Whitekit was too young for battle training. “He might get hurt!” she protested.
Thistleclaw was already urging the young kit to rear up on his stubby hind legs. “Come on, my little warrior. See if you can duck this.” He swiped a paw close to Whitekit’s ear.
Bluefur caught up to them. “Stop! He’s not ready!”
Thistleclaw curled his lip. “How would you know?” he challenged. “You’ve hardly looked at him in the last moon.”
Bluefur flinched.
“I’m all he has now,” Thistleclaw went on. “And I’ll bring him up to be a warrior the Clan can be proud of.”
“He has me, too!” Bluefur argued.
But Thistleclaw was already shooing Whitekit away. Bluefur watched them go, feeling hollow.
Goosefeather’s stinky breath stirred her ear fur. “A thistle has thorns sharp as claws,” he whispered. “Don’t let Whitekit get hurt by them.”
Bluefur turned, but the medicine cat was already shambling away, mumbling to himself as though he wasn’t even aware that he’d spoken to her. Frustration surged through her paws. Why did Goosefeather always have to talk in riddles? Was he warning her about Thistleclaw? Surely Whitekit was safe with his father? Snowfur had trusted him, and because of that Bluefur had tried to believe the spiky warrior was strong and loyal.
She looked back at him with distrust pricking in her pelt.
He was instructing Whitekit again. “Now when you dive, try twisting at the last moment.”
Was the young kit really ready for such an advanced battle move?
“There you are, Bluefur!” Sunstar called to her from below Highrock. “I’m organizing the patrols.” Fuzzypelt, Dappletail, Adderfang, and Poppydawn were gathered around him. Goldenflower and Lionheart paced back and forth.
Shaking her whiskers to clear her thoughts, Bluefur padded over to join them. “Where’s Tawnyspots?” The ThunderClan deputy usually managed the patrols.
“He’s sick,” Sunstar told her.
“Haven’t you noticed how thin he’s been looking lately?” Goldenflower commented.
Bluefur realized that for too long she hadn’t noticed much apart from her own grief. “Is Featherwhisker treating him?”
Sunstar nodded. “He says he can make him more comfortable.”
“Does he know what’s wrong?”
Sunstar’s eyes darkened. “No, but he says this bout should pass in a few days, like the others.”
Tawnyspots has suffered other bouts of sickness?
Bluefur suddenly felt anxious. Leaf-bare lay ahead like a lion waiting in ambush. It was no time to be ill. “Thistleclaw told me you wanted me for patrol,” she mewed to Sunstar.
“The dawn patrol’s left now.”
“Sorry.” Bluefur’s tail drooped. “I’ll go with the next one.”
Sunstar shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I was glad to hear you were visiting Whitekit.” He glanced over at the snowy kit, still training with his father. “You can go hunting with Thistleclaw instead.”
Bluefur’s heart sank.
At least it would get Thistleclaw away from his son for a while. Not that she wanted to separate Whitekit from his father, but Thistleclaw was urging him to do more and more complex battle moves even though the young tom was starting to look tired. Whitekit had not even eaten yet, and the sun was lifting over the trees.
I hope you’re right about him, Snowfur.
The treecutplace monster growled in the distance as Bluefur followed Thistleclaw through the pines. At this time of year, when the undergrowth elsewhere in ThunderClan’s territory was brittle and flattened by rain, the bare forest around Tallpines was as good a place as any to try to track prey.
“Of course, Sunstar will have to make a move on Sunningrocks soon.” Thistleclaw had been proclaiming that their new leader should run RiverClan all the way from the ravine, and Bluefur was tired of listening.
“The other Clans are expecting it,” he went on. “They’ll think we’re weak if we let those fish-faces hold on to our territory through leaf-bare.”
Bluefur halted as Thistleclaw disappeared behind a neatly piled stack of wood. She scented squirrel. She crouched with her ears pricked and heard the scampering of tiny paws. She spotted its gray pelt bobbing over the needle-strewn forest floor. Hardly big enough to feed the elders, but the sooner she caught something, the sooner they could return to camp. Only StarClan knew why Sunstar had sent them out alone. Was he hoping Whitekit’s kin might bond while they hunted?
She scowled at the thought and turned her attention to the squirrel.
“Invaders!” Thistleclaw’s yowl sent the squirrel scooting up a tree.
Mouse dung!
Crossly Bluefur bounded onto the pile of cut wood. “What is it?” She peered down at Thistleclaw, who was scanning the woods with his hackles up. When she tasted the air, she could scent nothing but the sour tang of Twolegplace and the kittypet stench that went with it.
Thistleclaw dropped to his belly. “Kittypet invasion,” he hissed. “Follow me.”
Annoyed by his bossiness, Bluefur bounded down the log pile and followed. There was only a slight scent of kittypet—not exactly an invasion. She didn’t see why Thistleclaw was making such a fuss.
“It smells like a kit,” she pointed out.
“Kits turn into cats,” Thistleclaw growled.
“Not in one afternoon.”
He turned on her. “Do you want to share our prey with those spoiled fatties?”
“That’s not what I said,” Bluefur huffed. She sat up. “Let’s get back to hunting.”
But Thistleclaw had already crossed the border and was darting toward a Twoleg fence. He climbed up it and stalked along the top.
“Come back!” Bluefur hissed. “That’s not our territory!”
“There are no kittypet scent markers warning me to keep out,” Thistleclaw spat.
She scooted after him. “Keep your voice down!”
“Are you scared of them?”
“I just don’t see why you need to start a fight!”
Thistleclaw leaped down and faced her. “You know what your problem is, Bluefur? You’re soft. Soft on warriors from other Clans and soft on kittypets. I saw you talking to Oakheart at the Gathering. Do you care about your Clan at all?”
“Of course I do!” Bluefur hissed. How dare he make her defend her loyalty? “And I wasn’t exactly having a friendly chat with Oakheart!”
“Well, I need more proof before I let you near Whitekit.” Thistleclaw headed back into the trees.
Bluefur hurried after. “He’s my kin, too!”
“You weren’t there when he needed you,” Thistleclaw snarled. “I was. Just keep away from him…or I’ll make you.”
CHAPTER 31
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 of
f 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.