“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.
Thistlekit 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.