Bluefur’s heart lurched. “Where?”
“Only pretend,” Mistykit purred.
Sighing, Bluefur scooped her up and tackled the first tumble of rocks. Leaving the little gray kit at the top, she went back for Stonekit.
She was panting by the time she had collected the last kit. She left Mosskit until last because she was the smallest. She didn’t wriggle when Bluefur picked her up, but she still felt heavier than a rock.
“My scruff hurts,” Stonekit complained. “I bet I could have climbed some of it myself.”
“There wasn’t time.” Bluefur glanced at the moon rising in the sky. Oakheart would be on his way.
Stonekit stared into the forest, where moon shadows darkened the snow. “I’m going first.” He scampered ahead of his littermates, glancing over his shoulder. “Come on, you two.”
Bluefur nosed Mistykit and Mosskit forward. Even under cover of the trees, the snow was so deep that they had to struggle with every step, leaping out of one drift and sinking into the next. She scooped them along, relieved that Stonekit seemed to be able to manage by himself.
He glanced back at her. “Does the forest go on forever?”
Bluefur had wondered the same thing, all those seasons ago. She shook her head. “But ThunderClan has a lot of territory. That’s what feeds us and makes us strong.”
“It’s not feeding the Clan much at the moment,” Mosskit grumbled.
“You should see it in greenleaf.” Bluefur’s heart twisted. They’d never see it in greenleaf. They’d be RiverClan. Suddenly she wanted them to know everything about their birth Clan, and what it was to be a forest cat. “There are squirrels and birds and mice. All good hunting, once you’ve learned the techniques.”
Stonekit squashed himself to the snowy ground. “Redpaw’s already told me how to do a hunting crouch,” he mewed.
“That’s wonderful, darling.” Bluefur felt a surge of pride as she saw his tail sticking out straight and still, keeping his haunches low while managing to lift his belly off the ground. He was a natural.
“You try it,” she urged Mosskit and Mistykit. She wanted them to keep some memory of how ThunderClan hunted.
The two kits crouched awkwardly.
“The snow’s too cold,” Mistykit protested, fidgeting.
What am I doing? The forest was freezing. They needed to keep moving. Bluefur shook the snow from her whiskers. “Come on,” she urged. “We can practice hunting another day.”
They were halfway to Sunningrocks when the kits began to tire. Mistykit was shivering, and Mosskit’s eyes were glazed with exhaustion.
“Can we go home now?” she whimpered. “It’s cold and I’m tired.”
“We have to keep moving,” Bluefur insisted, fishing Stonekit out of a drift. Snow had clumped to his fur and slowed him down.
“I don’t want to play this game anymore!” Mistykit wailed.
Stonekit didn’t try to change her mind. He just crouched beside her, shivering so much that Bluefur could hear his teeth rattling. Bluefur realized how tiny they were out there beneath the trees, how thin their pelts were. They should be snuggling beside the warmth of her belly, not trekking through the forest on a journey that no warrior would try in this weather.
“Just a bit farther,” she urged.
Stonekit sat down and stared at her. “I can’t feel my paws,” he announced. “How can I walk if I don’t know where my paws are?”
Mosskit and Mistykit huddled together. They looked as if they couldn’t even feel their noses.
She had to get them to Sunningrocks! ThunderClan depended on it.
An owl hooted. Bluefur stiffened, scanning the treetops as she gathered her kits closer. They’d be nothing more than a mouthful of tasty prey to a hungry owl.
“I’ve got an idea,” she told them. Digging with her ice-numb paws, she scooped a hole in the snow underneath some ferns. “In you go,” she encouraged. The kits stumbled in and clustered into a small, shivering clump. At least they were out of the wind now.
“I’ll be back for you in a moment.” Bluefur bounded a tree-length away and dug another hole, then hurried back to her kits.
“Where did you go?” Mistykit wailed.
Mosskit’s eyes were wide with fear. “We thought you weren’t coming back!”
Bluefur’s heart twisted. “Oh, my precious kits,” she murmured. “I’ll always come back.” The words froze in her throat. How could she make a promise like that? Forgive me, StarClan!
Swallowing her grief, she carried her kits one at a time to the next snow-hole, and pushed on alone to dig another.
Little by little, snow-hole by snow-hole, they drew nearer Sunningrocks. Each time she carried them, her kits complained less, struggled less, until they were hanging like limp, curled leaves when she tucked them into the final snow-hole.
“Can we go home now?” Stonekit whimpered.
“There’s someone we need to meet first.” Bluefur forced herself to sound bright.
“Who?” Mistykit’s mew was dull, as though she didn’t really care what happened.
Bluefur glanced through the trees toward Sunningrocks. There was no sign of Oakheart. “Let’s all rest here for a bit,” she suggested. She squeezed into the snow-hole and wrapped herself around her kits.
They were colder than the snow, and their pelts crunched with frost.
“Can we go home yet?” Mosskit’s mew was little more than a whimper.
“You can sleep for a while here,” Bluefur told her.
Mosskit’s eyes were already closed. Mistykit snuggled closer.
“It’s been a good adventure.” Stonekit yawned and tucked his nose beneath his paw. “Did we win?”
Bluefur bent down and pressed her muzzle against the top of his head. “Oh, yes, little one. You won.”
Curling her tail around them, she pulled them tight into her belly. They were too tired to feed. She doubted she had any milk left for them anyway.
I will love you forever, my precious kits. Thank you for spending this moon with me.
She began to lap their pelts with her tongue, hoping to warm their cold, tired bodies.
Stonekit fidgeted. “Get off, I want to sleep.”
Mistykit was too tired to complain, her breath coming in tiny billows.
“Mosskit?”
The gray-and-white kit wasn’t fidgeting. Bluefur lapped her pelt again. “Mosskit!” Panic started to grip her. She stared at the little bundle of fur, looking for the rise of her flank, a puff of frozen breath.
The kit was perfectly still.
Bluefur licked harder. “Mosskit, please wake up. Please. There’s warmth and safety just on the other side of the river. Your father will look after you, I promise. Just a little bit farther, my tiny, brave daughter.”
Bluefur stopped licking and looking down at the small, snow-damp body. Wake up!
Bluefur. Snowfur’s breath stirred her whiskers. Bluefur smelled the scent of her sister drifting around the walls of the snow-hole. Let her go. I’ll look after her.
“No! Don’t take her, please.”
She’s already gone. There’s nothing you can do.
Bluefur gathered Mosskit between her paws. Mistykit and Stonekit stirred at her belly but didn’t wake. She wasn’t supposed to die!
It was her time. Snowfur’s mew echoed in her ears. I’ll take care of her in StarClan.
Snowfur’s scent faded and the icy tang of leaf-bare filled the snow-hole once more. Mosskit didn’t move.
“Bluefur?” Oakheart’s muzzle appeared at the mouth of the hole, sending warm fishy breath billowing inside.
Stonekit woke up and twitched his tail. “Yuck! What’s that stench?”
“Nothing, little one. Don’t be rude.” Bluefur forced herself to concentrate. She could still save two of her kits. “Go back to the rocks,” she told Oakheart. “I’ll bring them to you.”
“But I could carry one,” Oakheart offered.
Bluefur glared at him. “I h
aven’t told them who you are yet. Go back!”
As Oakheart disappeared, she roused Mistykit. “We have to get moving.”
“But I was just getting warm.”
“You’ll be even warmer soon,” Bluefur promised.
“Where are we going?” Stonekit demanded.
“I’m taking you to meet your father.”
Stonekit looked confused. “Do you mean Thrushpelt? Runningkit told me that’s who White-eye said was our father.”
“Your real father. Oakheart. From RiverClan.”
“From RiverClan?” Stonekit echoed in disbelief.
“Hurry up,” Bluefur ordered, nudging them out into the snow.
Mistykit glanced back into the hole. “What about Mosskit?”
“I’ll come back for her.”
“But you said we were ThunderClan,” Stonekit wailed. “How can we be RiverClan as well?”
Bluefur didn’t answer. She let the kits stumble along underneath her belly, sheltered from the snow that had started to fall. She glanced back, as if Mosskit might be struggling after them, wailing at them to let her catch up. To her horror, the snow-hole was starting to fill up. No! I might lose her! She looked around wildly for somewhere to leave Stonekit and Mistykit while she went back to rescue their sister. Farther along the riverbank, two shapes were padding steadily away. Had Oakheart brought another cat with him? No—these cats were unhindered by the snow, gliding over the surface. Behind them, the snow was white and unmarked. These cats left no paw prints behind. One was full-grown, with a thick pelt of white fur that made her almost invisible. The other was patched with gray, and barely as high as her companion’s belly. The kit was looking up eagerly at Snowfur as they walked, as if she was telling her something exciting.
Good-bye, Mosskit. Snowfur will look after you now.
“Ow!” Beneath Bluefur, Stonekit crashed forward onto his nose. “This ground is hard!” he yowled.
They had reached the edge of Sunningrocks. Paw steps crunched toward them.
“Are they okay?” Oakheart asked quietly.
Bluefur nodded without looking up at him. His scent wreathed around her, warm and comforting. For a fleeting moment Bluefur longed to go with him. She wanted to walk the rest of her days at Oakheart’s side. Never have to leave him or her kits.
But she couldn’t.
She had to save her Clan.
The kits were staring up at the stranger with their heads on one side.
“This is Stonekit,” Bluefur trembled as she touched the light gray kit with her nose. “And this is Mistykit.” Her throat grew tight. She began to back away, her eyes blurring. I can’t say good-bye to them! “Please take care of them.”
“Where’s the other one?” Oakheart called.
“Dead.” Bluefur stumbled but didn’t look around, not wanting to take her eyes from her kits.
“Bluefur, come back!”
“Where are you going?”
“Are you coming back to get us?”
Unable to bear their desperate cries, she turned and fled into the trees.
She stopped by the clump of ferns. The snow-hole had vanished, but Bluefur dug down, ignoring the pain in her frozen paws, until she reached the tiny body. She carefully lifted Mosskit out—she didn’t even smell like the nursery anymore—and kept digging. There was no way Bluefur was leaving her daughter for foxes when the snow thawed. The ground ripped at her claws and rubbed her pads raw but she kept scraping the frozen earth until the hole was deep enough to protect her kit. Numb, she laid Mosskit’s body in the hole and covered it over.
She limped back to camp on throbbing, stumbling paws. There was one more thing she had to do. One more lie to tell my Clanmates. She slipped in through the dirtplace tunnel and quietly clawed a fox-sized hole in the back of the nursery.
Then she squeezed through the den entrance, checked that White-eye, Mousekit, and Runningkit were asleep, climbed into her nest, and deliberately, loudly called an alarm to her Clan.
“My kits! My kits are gone!”
CHAPTER 42
Adderfang spoke gently. “Bluefur, would you like to join a hunting patrol today?”
Bluefur gazed at him, trying to focus.
A moon had passed since she’d left her kits with Oakheart. The nursery walls had been fortified with extra brambles. Two warriors sat guard through each freezing night to make sure that no fox or badger would ever steal into the nursery again. The Clan had believed Bluefur’s story—that she’d awoken to find her kits gone. Every cat believed that they had been stolen by an animal that had clawed a hole in the back of the nursery, driven by starvation to venture into the camp for the first time.
They’d searched the forest for days, not knowing where to look, the scent trail killed by freezing snow. Bluefur had scoured the woods with her Clanmates, numb with guilt, reminding herself over and over that she’d done it for her Clan. Meanwhile hunger and sorrow gripped the Clan. They spoke in low voices and huddled in knots, eyeing Bluefur with pity that stabbed her like thorns. She was sick of telling lies. She hardly noticed how empty the fresh-kill pile was these days. She was too miserable to eat, wishing only to hide in sleep. She felt as though the shard of ice piercing her heart would never melt.
They’ll be safe with Oakheart.
The thought wasn’t enough to ease her grief.
Was Mosskit watching from StarClan, hating Bluefur for stealing her life? Had Snowfur explained that her life had been sacrificed for the good of her Clan?
“Bluefur.” Adderfang rested his tail on her shoulder and repeated his question. “Do you feel up to hunting?”
“I’ll hunt with you, if you like.” Thrushpelt hurried to join her. Sadness shadowed his gaze. He was grieving as a father would grieve. He’d worked harder than any other cat to reinforce the nursery, and his pelt was still tufted and scratched from the brambles he’d woven tightly into the branches. Bluefur wished she could tell him that two kits lived on, safe and cherished, across the river.
She shrugged off Adderfang’s tail. “I’d rather hunt alone.”
Adderfang nodded. “As you wish.”
Thrushpelt turned away, his eyes clouding.
“Bluefur!” Rosetail caught up to her, pressing close as she padded toward the tunnel. “Are you going to be all right?”
No! Nothing will ever be all right ever again. Bluefur longed to curl up against her friend’s warm fur and go to sleep for a moon. “I’ll be fine,” she replied, feeling hollow.
She scrambled up the side of the ravine and headed into the forest. As the Owl Tree came into view, a squirrel darted across her path. She froze, her paws burning with cold on the ice-hardened forest floor. The squirrel had a nut in its jaws and was scrabbling among the roots of an oak. Bluefur dropped into a hunting crouch, tail straight, belly lifted from the forest floor.
Stonekit. Did he still remember his ThunderClan hunting crouch?
Pushing away the thought, she thrust down with her hind paws and sprang, landing squarely and killing the squirrel with a single bite.
“Nice catch.”
Goosefeather’s rasping mew made her whip around. The squirrel swung from her jaws.
She dropped it. “What are you doing here?” The elders rarely made it up the ravine.
“I still have legs, you know,” he snapped.
It was jarring to hear a Clanmate speak to her in a voice that wasn’t honeyed with sympathy. She straightened and met his gaze. “What do you want?” Did he have another stupid prophecy to ruin her life?
“You did the right thing.”
His words made her bristle. “For whom?”
“For your Clan.” Goosefeather narrowed his eyes. “The prophecy left no room for kits. You must blaze alone at the head of your Clan.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she hissed. She hated the prophecy and hated Goosefeather for telling her about it.
Goosefeather blinked. “It is not your destiny to feel better, it’s your d
estiny to save your Clan.”
“And I will,” she growled, her mew as hard as flint. “But I will always regret what I’ve done.”
“The kits were your choice,” Goosefeather pointed out. “StarClan made no provision for them.”
“StarClan made me sacrifice everything I loved.” Bitterness rose like bile in her throat. “My kits—”
Goosefeather cut her off. “They’re alive, aren’t they?”
“Not Mosskit.”
“StarClan will honor her loss.”
“What about my loss?”
“It is small compared with the fate of your Clan.”
Bluefur shook her head, trying to clear it. Was she just being selfish? What was one broken heart compared to the safety of her Clanmates? Where was her loyalty? She dipped her head. “I’ll serve my Clan,” she promised.
“Good.” Goosefeather nodded. “Sunstar wants to talk to you.”
He padded away into the trees.
Bluefur met the ThunderClan leader as he was climbing over the top of the ravine.
“Bluefur.” Sunstar greeted her. “I wanted to talk to you away from the camp.” He headed into the forest. “Walk with me.”
Bluefur fell in beside her old mentor, remembering how he had spoken to her after the death of Moonflower and again when she’d been grieving for Snowfur. “Is this another lecture to tell me to leave the past behind?” she growled.
He shook his head. “It seems you are destined to suffer,” he sighed. Bluefur looked into his eyes and saw how the ThunderClan leader had aged in the last few seasons. Making ThunderClan strong and feared among the other Clans had cost him three lives in battle; sickness had taken another two. Goosefeather had told her to aspire to leadership, but was this how she wanted to spend her days? Fretting and fighting and tired from the weight of responsibility?
I have no choice. StarClan has chosen my path.
The ThunderClan leader ducked under a low-hanging fern. “I can tell you only what I’ve told you before. Life goes on.” They brushed past a bush where tiny green buds had pushed off their brown husks, hazing the branches with green. “Leaf-bare is followed by newleaf and then by greenleaf. The forest doesn’t freeze forever. You must take heart from that, after the loss of your kits. I know that you will be okay—and even stronger than before.”