Bluestar's Prophecy

  “Let me look,” Stonepelt offered at once. While Weedwhisker leaned stiffly out of the way, Stonepelt rummaged through the bedding until he found a tough piece of moss. “Just a bit of root,” he meowed, plucking it out and tossing it onto the pile with the old bedding.

  Weedwhisker shook his head. “That’s the trouble with new apprentices,” he sighed. “They leave every bit of stick and stone in the moss.” He climbed back into the nest and curled down. “Couldn’t you have found some that was drier? This is a bit damp.”

  “It’ll dry now that it’s away from the tree,” Stonepelt promised.

  Bluepaw had to hold her tail still, though she couldn’t stop it trembling. How ungrateful! Her claws still ached from slicing that moss, and all Weedwhisker could do was find fault. But Stonepelt showed no sign of annoyance, just turned to Larksong’s nest and went back to work.

  Stiff with anger, Bluepaw crouched next to him and helped. She was worn out by the time they’d finished all three nests, carried the old bedding away, and dumped it beside the dirtplace. The leaf-fall sun was starting to sink behind the treetops.

  “You deserve a meal,” Stonepelt told her. “Get something from the fresh-kill pile and go share with your denmates.” He nodded to where Leopardpaw and Patchpaw were eating beside the tree stump. “You’ve worked hard today.”

  His praise lifted Bluepaw’s spirits. Dipping her head to him, she padded to the fresh-kill pile and picked up a mouse. As she settled beside Patchpaw, she eyed Leopardpaw coldly. Some denmate she’d been, teasing Bluepaw like that.

  The black she-cat was eating a thrush. She paused for a moment. “I bet they didn’t even thank you.”

  Bluepaw stared at her. “You mean the elders?”

  “Every cat knows they complain about everything,” Leopardpaw mewed. “I suppose they’ve earned the right, but it doesn’t help when you’re stuck with cleaning out their smelly bedding.”

  Patchpaw rubbed his muzzle with a paw. “Fuzzypelt says they’re grumpy because they can’t do it for themselves anymore.”

  “They’re lucky they don’t have to do it themselves anymore!” Leopardpaw commented. “Here.” She tossed a morsel of thrush to Bluepaw. “That mouse won’t fill you up if you’ve been clearing out nests all day.”

  For the first time, Bluepaw felt like a real apprentice. She purred. “Thanks, Leopardpaw.”

  “Denmates share,” the black cat answered.

  Cheerfully Bluepaw took a bite of the thrush. The foresty flavor sang on her tongue, and she hardly noticed the paw steps heading toward her.

  “I’ll take you hunting tomorrow.”

  Surprised, Bluepaw looked up and saw Stonepelt standing over her. She swallowed. “Really?”

  “We’ll leave at sunhigh. Let’s see if you can use what you’ve learned today on real prey.”

  Bluepaw stared after Stonepelt as he padded away to join Adderfang and Tawnyspots by the nettle patch. She felt dizzy with happiness. She couldn’t wait till Snowpaw returned so she could tell her sister how much she’d learned. Being a ThunderClan apprentice was the best feeling in the world.

  CHAPTER 5

  I’m going hunting!

  Bluepaw could hardly keep her paws still as she waited beside the gorse barrier. She looked up at the sky again. Was it sunhigh yet? Where was Stonepelt? Had he forgotten his promise? What about the extra bracken for Weedwhisker’s nest? Had he forgotten that promise, too? Did he always forget promises?

  “Guess what!” Snowpaw was sprinting across the clearing toward her. “Sparrowpelt told me we’re coming hunting with you and Stonepelt.”

  “Where is Stonepelt?”

  “He’s putting fresh bracken in the elders’ den.”

  Should I be helping?

  Bluepaw hurried to meet Stonepelt. As she reached the fallen tree, he was nosing his way out of the tangle of branches. Stalks of bracken poked from his pelt. He shook them out and padded toward the barrier.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I should’ve been helping—”

  “No need,” he cut her off. “I wanted you fresh for your first day of hunting.”

  “We’re really going?” she breathed.

  Stonepelt nodded. “Of course.”

  “At last!” Snowpaw plucked at the ground. “I thought after spending yesterday wandering around the borders, I was never going to get to do anything exciting.”

  “But you saw Fourtrees!” Bluepaw still wished she could have explored ThunderClan’s territory instead of gathering clean bedding.

  “Fourtrees!” Snowpaw scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I saw more trees than I’ve got claws! But I wasn’t allowed to climb one or to look under the roots for prey.” She dropped her voice to a growly mew so that she sounded like Sparrowpelt. “And here’s the border with RiverClan. Be sure to notice how their scent smells.” Flicking her tail, she returned to her normal mew. “Like I’d miss that fishy stench!”

  “Ready to go?”

  Sparrowpelt’s mew made Snowpaw spin around.

  “I’ve been ready for ages!” Snowpaw mewed.

  Sparrowpelt was already heading out through the tunnel. “Come on, then.”

  Bluepaw shot after him, ducking ahead of Snowpaw and racing to be first to the bottom of the ravine. She gazed up the slope, her paws prickling as she saw branches swaying like tails, beckoning her into the forest.

  “Don’t expect too much on your first hunt,” Stonepelt warned, padding up beside her. “There’s a lot for you to learn.”

  I’m ready! Bluepaw unsheathed her claws for the climb.

  Fat white clouds raced across the blue sky as Stonepelt led the way up the ravine. As they crested the ridge, wind ruffled Bluepaw’s fur and a feeling of fierce joy welled up inside her.

  Stonepelt glanced at Sparrowpelt. “The Owl Tree?”

  “The Great Sycamore might be better for prey,” Sparrowpelt suggested.

  “Because of the owl?” Bluepaw guessed.

  Stonepelt nodded. “Even mice know better than to share dens with an owl.” He headed into the trees. Following on his heels, Bluepaw gazed up at the towering trunks. Branches with just a few wrinkled leaves clinging to them crisscrossed the sky, clattering as the breeze shook them.

  Padding through the forest, she noticed how many small trails weaved through the undergrowth. Stonepelt led them beneath the arching fronds of a fern where Leopardpaw’s scent still clung. They skirted around bramble that smelled of Sunfall, and Bluepaw could see tiny orange tufts of fur caught on its barbs. Stonepelt kept going as the forest sloped steadily upward.

  “How much farther?” Bluepaw glanced over her shoulder, trying to memorize the route they’d come. Would she ever find the way by herself?

  “Not much,” Sparrowpelt promised.

  All the trees and bushes looked the same. Every dip gave way to another rise, every rise to another dip.

  Stonepelt finally halted. “Here we are.”

  Sparrowpelt weaved in front of them and lifted his chin. Ahead, a gigantic tree towered above the others, its crown stretching beyond the canopy that shielded the sky.

  The Great Sycamore.

  Its roots, some thick as branches, twisted through dense layers of leaves around its base and burrowed into the earth.

  Bluepaw’s pelt tingled. She could smell prey. Birds chattered in the branches above her head. Fallen leaves rustled at the base of the sycamore, stirred by wind or small creatures. Bluepaw longed to slide her paws deep into the great golden drifts.

  “The first lesson of hunting,” Stonepelt began, “is patience.”

  Sparrowpelt nodded. “The greatest hunter is the one who knows how to wait.”

  “Can’t we just sift through the leaves till we find something?” Bluepaw asked hopefully.

  Stonepelt shook his head. “You’ll scare everything back to its burrow.” He padded away toward a bush three fox-lengths from the base of the tree. It was still thick with leaves, and he disappeared behind it. Sparrowpelt foll
owed, beckoning the apprentices with his tail.

  “Is there prey behind there?” Snowpaw asked, wide-eyed.

  “Not if they’ve got any sense,” Sparrowpelt meowed.

  Stonepelt was already crouching behind the bush, his belly flat to the earth, peering through the low branches toward the roots of the sycamore.

  “Get down,” he whispered.

  Bluepaw crouched next to him, with Snowpaw and Sparrowpelt beside her. She squinted through the bush, wondering what she was supposed to be looking for.

  “Don’t move till you see your prey,” Stonepelt advised.

  “Will prey come out into the open?” Snowpaw asked.

  “Now that we’re downwind, some might,” Sparrowpelt told her. “Do you see the sycamore pods?” Bluepaw scanned the ground and noticed some little wing shapes among the leaves, like tiny moths littering the ground.

  “Where there are pods there are bugs,” Sparrowpelt meowed.

  “And where there are bugs there’s prey,” Stonepelt finished. The gray warrior stiffened and his ears pricked. Bluepaw followed his gaze. A small, furry shape was skittering along one of the roots.

  Mouse!

  The fur rippled along her spine, and she unsheathed her claws. “When do we pounce?” she hissed to Stonepelt.

  “Not ye—”

  Before he could finish, Snowpaw shot forward, rattling through the bush and throwing up leaves as she tore across the forest floor. She leaped for the mouse, but it had disappeared, and she sat down with a thud, her tail thrashing through the leaves, shoulders back and ears flattened in disgust.

  “Mouse dung!”

  She turned and stalked back to her Clanmates. Sparrowpelt was shaking his head as she appeared behind the bush. “I like your enthusiasm,” he meowed. “But your technique could use a little work.”

  There was a teasing lightness in his tone that made Bluepaw’s whiskers twitch and a purr of amusement rose in her throat.

  Snowpaw turned on her. “You can shut up!”

  Bluepaw backed away, alarmed, then was relieved to see Snowpaw’s anger melt as soon as their gaze met.

  “Sorry,” Snowpaw apologized. “I was just upset.”

  “You were fast,” Bluepaw encouraged her.

  “I’m afraid speed doesn’t count when it comes to mice,” Sparrowpelt meowed. “They don’t stray far from their burrows, and they move quickly. This is why it’s important to master stalking. Skill is far more important than speed.”

  Stonepelt looked at Sparrowpelt. “Maybe we should save hunting for another day and practice stalking instead.”

  Sparrowpelt nodded, though Snowpaw sighed.

  But Bluepaw was eager to show her mentor the skills Patchpaw had already taught her. She dropped low to the ground, keeping her tail pressed against the leaves, and began to stalk forward.

  “Not bad,” Stonepelt meowed. “But lift your tail a little. You don’t want it dragging through the leaves. Lower your chin, too, and flatten your ears. You need to try to disguise your shape.”

  “Like this?” Snowpaw crouched beside Bluepaw, ears flat, chin swaying close to the ground like a snake.

  “Good,” Sparrowpelt praised her. “Now move forward slowly. Remember, make your movements as small as you can.”

  Bluepaw put one paw lightly in front of the other, pulling herself forward; she lifted her belly when she heard it drag on the leaves. She placed each paw down so gently that the leaves flattened beneath her without crunching.

  “Promising,” Stonepelt purred, and Bluepaw let out a sigh of relief.

  They practiced until the sun began to slide behind the trees.

  “It’s time we went home,” Sparrowpelt announced.

  “Just one more go,” Bluepaw pleaded. She was so close to being able to move silently through the leaves.

  “You can practice more in camp, if you like.”

  “But there aren’t so many leaves there,” Bluepaw complained.

  Snowpaw sat up and fluffed out her fur. “Come on, Bluepaw. It’s getting cold, and I’m hungry.”

  Sighing, Bluepaw straightened up. “Okay.”

  She watched Sparrowpelt and Snowpaw head away through the trees.

  “We can practice again tomorrow,” Stonepelt promised, bounding away to catch up with Sparrowpelt.

  Bluepaw trailed a few tail-lengths behind her Clanmates, wishing she could practice now. Suddenly she heard the skitter of paws on bark. She froze. Glancing sideways, she spotted a squirrel sitting on a tree root with a nut between its paws. It was gnawing busily, absorbed in its tasty morsel.

  Bluepaw dropped into a crouch. Raising her belly and lifting her tail so it just skimmed the leaves, she began creeping toward it, silent as a snake on a rock. She was trembling with excitement; her heart was pounding so hard, she thought the squirrel must hear it.

  But the squirrel only carried on gnawing until Bluepaw was so close, she could hear its teeth scrape the nut. Holding her breath, she stopped and pressed her backside to the ground, tensing the muscles in her hind legs.

  Now!

  The squirrel had no time to move. She knocked it from the root, pinned it to the ground, and sunk her teeth into its neck. The warm tang of blood surprised her as the squirrel went limp beneath her paws.

  “What’s happened?” Stonepelt leaped onto the root behind her, his pelt bristling.

  Bluepaw sat up with the heavy squirrel hanging from her jaws.

  Stonepelt’s eyes gleamed. “Well done!”

  Sparrowpelt and Snowpaw appeared behind him. Snowpaw’s eyes grew round, and Sparrowpelt opened his mouth and stared for a moment.

  “Did you catch that?”

  Joy rising like a bird in her heart, Bluepaw nodded.

  “It’s almost as big as you,” Snowpaw whispered.

  “Give thanks to StarClan for the life this creature has given to feed the Clan,” Stonepelt meowed.

  Thank you, StarClan!

  Stonepelt brushed against her. “Let’s get it back to camp while it’s still warm.”

  Bluepaw was relieved when he took the squirrel from her. She’d been wondering how she’d carry it home without tripping over. “Thanks.” She trotted happily past him and headed for the ravine.

  “No way!” Leopardpaw stared in disbelief as Stonepelt laid the squirrel on the fresh-kill pile.

  “All by herself!” Snowpaw boasted about her littermate.

  Bluepaw lowered her gaze as her Clanmates gathered to see her catch, hoping they wouldn’t think she was being smug.

  “Was that your first hunting session?” Thrushpelt asked. He sounded really impressed.

  Bluepaw nodded.

  “You’re lucky to have her,” Fuzzypelt told Stonepelt.

  “ThunderClan’s lucky to have her!” Windflight’s pale green eyes were round. “I don’t remember any other apprentice catching prey on their first try.”

  Bluepaw scanned the camp. Where was Stormtail? Had he seen what she’d caught? Frustration pricked her pelt when she realized that he was nowhere to be seen and there was no fresh scent of him in camp. He must have gone out with the dusk patrol.

  She felt Moonflower’s muzzle brush her cheek. “I’m so proud,” she whispered.

  “I’m going to catch something tomorrow,” Snowpaw promised.

  “It’s not a competition,” Sparrowpelt reminded her.

  Weedwhisker padded from the fallen tree. “I smell fresh squirrel.”

  Snowpaw skipped to meet him. “Bluepaw caught it,” she announced.

  While Weedwhisker admired the catch, Stonepelt took Bluepaw aside. “I’m very impressed with you today. You listened well and you learned quickly.”

  Bluepaw felt a purr spring to her throat.

  “I want you to come to the Gathering tonight.”

  Bluepaw gulped. She’d been an apprentice for only two days. Was she ready to meet the other Clans? She’d be one of the youngest cats there, and with so many new faces and in such a new place—what if she go
t lost? Or separated from her Clan? Nerves gnawed at her belly.

  “I assume you want to come?” Stonepelt queried.

  Bluepaw nodded at once. She wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity like this, no matter how scary it seemed.

  “Good. Now, get some food and rest as much as you can. We’ll leave when it gets dark.”

  A light breeze made the gorse barrier whisper in the moonlight, and the rising stars turned the dens silver.

  Warriors were gathering at the camp’s entrance, ready to leave.

  Bluepaw felt a worm of anxiety in her belly. Would she be able to keep up? She’d had a nap, but her legs still felt tired from the hunt.

  “I wish I were going with you.” Snowpaw flicked her tail crossly.

  “I wish you were going with me, too,” Bluepaw mewed back.

  Windflight was nudging Thistlekit back toward the nursery. “It’ll be your turn soon enough.”

  “But I’m almost as big as Bluepaw, and she’s going!” Thistlekit complained.

  “You’re not an apprentice,” Windflight reminded him.

  Adderfang was staring at Highrock while Tawnyspots paced around him, his eyes gleaming. Stormtail was talking with Stonepelt beside the barrier. Were they discussing her training? Bluepaw tucked her paws closer to her belly, wishing her butterflies away.

  Moonflower pressed in beside her. “Stay close to me.”

  “Shouldn’t I stay near Leopardpaw and Patchpaw?” She eyed the two apprentices, who were chatting near the entrance, tails sleek, ears pricked, not a sign of ruffled fur. Weren’t they nervous?

  “Next time,” Moonflower advised. “Once you know what to do.”

  What to do? Alarm shot through Bluepaw. Was she supposed to do something?

  “I mean”—Moonflower gazed back sympathetically—“how to behave.”

  “How should I behave?”

  “The Gathering is held under a truce. For the night of the full moon we are one Clan, so long as Silverpelt shines. But…” Moonflower paused, as though weighing her words carefully. “Never forget that the truce ends.”

  Bluepaw tipped her head on one side.

  “Tomorrow we will be rivals again,” Moonflower explained. “Don’t say anything that might weaken your Clan, and don’t make friends with cats you may one day face in battle.”