“Hello, Bluepaw!” Poppydawn broke into a purr. “I didn’t see you come in. I hear you made a great catch yesterday. Weedwhisker was certainly pleased to have such a big meal.”
“I was just lucky,” Bluepaw replied, trying to be modest.
“I’m sure it was more than luck,” Poppydawn meowed.
Bluepaw shrugged, secretly pleased that her old denmates had heard about the squirrel. “I’ve come to clean out the den.”
“There!” Speckletail meowed, whisking Lionkit and Goldenkit out of the nest with her tail. “It’s time you all went outside and got some fresh air. Bluepaw will need room.”
Rosekit stopped playing with her moss ball and sat up. “But what if it rains?”
“It’s too chilly to go out,” Goldenkit wailed.
“It’s okay, I can work around you,” Bluepaw offered.
“No,” Poppydawn meowed firmly. “True warriors don’t hide from the weather.”
“Exactly,” Thistlekit agreed. “Come on, you two.” He padded around the den, nudging each of the other kits toward the entrance. “I’ll make sure the wind doesn’t blow you away.”
Lionkit was already outside when the others, muttering complaints, let themselves be herded from the den.
Poppydawn rolled onto her back and stretched. “You must be tired after the Gathering.” She yawned.
“How was it?” Speckletail asked.
Bluepaw didn’t dare say that the whole event had gone past in a blur. “It was great.” She began plucking old straws and strands of bracken from the edge of Speckletail’s nest.
Speckletail climbed out of the way. “What did Pinestar say about WindClan’s thieving?”
Bluepaw tensed. She really couldn’t remember! If only Featherwhisker had told them about the Gathering when he’d told them about the rain.
As luck would have it, the pale silvery tom scraped through the bramble entrance just then with two bundles of moss. Featherwhisker dropped the moss by his front paws. “Pinestar told the Clans that there had been evidence of hunting inside our border and warned that any intruders will be sent away with more than just sharp words,” he explained to the queens.
Thank you, StarClan! Bluepaw decided her warrior ancestors must have taken pity on her.
“Did he mention WindClan?” Poppydawn wondered.
“Not out loud, but he was looking at Heatherstar as he spoke,” Featherwhisker replied.
In a flash, Bluepaw recalled the WindClan leader. Heatherstar had been sitting on the Great Rock with the other Clan leaders, her pale pelt tinged rose even in the silver moonlight, her blue eyes blazing as she returned Pinestar’s gaze.
“I bet she didn’t like that,” Speckletail commented.
“She didn’t reply,” Featherwhisker mewed darkly.
“Let’s hope Pinestar’s words were enough to warn them off.” Poppydawn sighed. “A battle so close to leaf-bare will do no cat any good. We need to conserve our strength for the cold moons ahead.”
Speckletail nodded. “We should be concentrating on fighting hunger, especially with so many kits in the nursery.”
Bluepaw looked up from her work. “Do you think WindClan was stealing from us?”
“They’ve done it before,” Poppydawn meowed.
Featherwhisker was spreading moss flat with his muzzle. “Let’s hope they don’t do it again.”
“Bluepaw! Bluepaw!” Snowpaw’s mew came from the clearing outside. She sounded excited.
Bluepaw glanced at Featherwhisker, wondering if he’d mind if she left him for a moment.
“Go on,” he mewed. “I’ll manage here.”
Quick as a mouse, Bluepaw turned and slid out of the den.
Snowpaw was sitting proudly by the fresh-kill pile with the wind tugging her long fur. A vole lay at her paws. “My first catch!” she called as Bluepaw raced to join her.
Bluepaw sniffed the vole. It smelled fresh and warm, and it made her mouth water. “My favorite!”
Goosefeather, crouching by the nettle patch, got to his paws and wandered over. “You are both good hunters,” he meowed approvingly. But when he glanced down to admire the vole, he froze and his tail bushed out as his eyes grew wide as an owl’s.
“StarClan save us!” he yowled.
Bluepaw peered at the vole. What was wrong with it?
Goosefeather was shaking from nose to tail-tip. “It’s a sign!” he wailed, his mew ringing around the camp. “Destruction for us all!”
Chapter 7
“What’s happening?” Pinestar was at the medicine cat’s side in an instant, Sunfall at his heels.
Adderfang and Stormfur, sharing a thrush beneath Highrock, swung their broad heads to stare at Goosefeather. Speckletail slipped from the nursery entrance, her gaze darting anxiously around the clearing till it rested on the kits. Thistlekit was charging toward the fresh-kill pile with his denmates clustered behind. Fuzzypelt and Robinwing slid out from the warriors’ den and hurried after Stonepelt and Dappletail.
“Look at the vole’s fur,” Goosefeather breathed, his eyes still fixed on the small scrap of prey.
Bluepaw, suddenly crowded out by her Clanmates, slipped between legs and under bellies to see the vole. Goosefeather was running a paw across its flank.
“Look,” the medicine cat hissed. “See how the fur’s parted along here.” With a claw he pointed to the distinct line that ran from the vole’s shoulder to its belly. On one side of the line, the fur bristled toward the ear; on the other, it splayed smooth toward the tail. “See how it appears flattened here?” Goosefeather paused and looked around at his audience.
Adderfang and Stormtail padded closer.
“I can’t see!” Thistlekit bobbed up and down behind Speckletail.
“Hush!” Speckletail ordered, sweeping him back with her tail.
“But what does it mean?” Pinestar demanded.
“It’s like a forest flattened by wind,” Goosefeather growled. “This is how we will be crushed by WindClan.”
Speckletail backed away and folded her tail around Lionkit and Goldenkit, but Lionkit wriggled free and padded boldly toward the vole. “How can a dumb bit of fresh-kill tell you all that?”
“Yes.” Smallear leaned forward. “How can you be sure?”
“He’s a medicine cat!” Adderfang snapped. “He shares tongues with StarClan!”
“The prey-stealing was just the beginning,” Goosefeather went on. “This sign was sent from StarClan as a warning. Like a storm, WindClan will rage through the forest. They will destroy us, tear up our camp, and make ThunderClan territory a wasteland. We will be clawed down like grass in a meadow.”
Moonflower nosed in beside Bluepaw. “That’s impossible!” she meowed.
For all the defiance in her mew, Bluepaw could feel her mother trembling. Around the clearing, she could see some of her Clanmates exchanging doubtful glances, and behind her she heard Swiftbreeze whisper, “We’re not going to take this seriously, are we?”
Why not? Bluepaw wondered. Has Goosefeather been wrong before?
Goosefeather dipped his head. “StarClan has spoken.”
Pinestar was staring at the vole. “When?” he rasped.
Goosefeather blinked. “I can’t tell. But the sign has been sent now to give us time to prepare.”
“Then we must prepare!” Stormtail yowled, lashing his tail.
“There’s no time!” Sparrowpelt barged forward and hooked the vole up with one claw, holding it for all the Clan to see. “We must attack first!”
Adderfang and Stormtail yowled in agreement.
Dappletail clawed the ground. “WindClan doesn’t know we’ve been warned. We have the advantage. We must use it!”
Pinestar took the vole from Sparrowpelt and laid it back on the ground. “There are cold moons ahead,” he meowed slowly, “and kits to be fed.” He gazed around at his Clan. “Can we really risk fighting and injury when we should be strengthening the Clan for leaf-bare?”