Bluefur turned from the barrier and headed for her den. It seemed odd for Pinestar to take Lionpaw out today. Wouldn’t he want to stay in the camp and see how his kits were? Perhaps it was an urgent mission. She paused in the clearing, still queasy but struggling to understand. If the mission was urgent, why not take an experienced warrior instead of Lionpaw? She shook her head, trying to clear it, but the movement only made it spin more. Unsteadily she crept back to her nest and gave in to the drowsiness dragging at her bones.
Aware in her sleep of the warriors moving around her, she half lifted her head. Her belly was sore, but the cramping had stopped.
“Go back to sleep,” Snowfur was whispering in her ear. “I’ll explain to Sunfall that you’re sick.”
Too tired to argue, Bluefur rested her muzzle on her paws. Then she remembered with a start. “Leopardfoot?”
“I think she’s okay,” Snowfur murmured.
Bluefur closed her eyes.
It was hot in the den when she woke. Greenleaf sunshine beat down on the dark leaves, baking the nests. Panting, Bluefur crawled outside and breathed the cooler air that wafted across the clearing. The sun shone high in the sky, and the clearing was empty apart from Weedwhisker picking through the fresh-kill pile and Poppydawn pacing outside the apprentices’ den. Bluefur’s belly felt as though she’d swallowed thistles, but her head was clearer.
She looked toward the nursery, wondering how Leopardfoot and her kits were doing. As she watched, Featherwhisker slid out. His pelt was unkempt and his eyes dull.
Bluefur hurried across the clearing. “How are they?” Her voice rasped in her throat. He looked at her, surprised.
“Are you okay?”
“Bad belly.”
He sighed. “Sweetpaw and Rosepaw, too.” He stopped to greet Poppydawn. “You wanted me to look at them?”
Poppydawn glanced apologetically at her paws. “I know you’ve been busy, but I’m worried. Sweetpaw can hardly stand.”
Featherwhisker nodded and pushed his way into the apprentices’ den.
“What about the kits?” Bluefur called after him.
“Alive.” His reply was flat. “For now, at least.”
Bluefur glanced at Poppydawn. “He doesn’t sound hopeful.”
Poppydawn was gazing anxiously after the apprentice medicine cat, clearly more worried about her own kits than Leopardfoot’s.
“I had the same bellyache,” Bluefur told her, “and I’m feeling better.”
Poppydawn jerked her head around. “Did you?”
“We shared a mouse,” Bluefur explained. “It must have been bad.”
Poppydawn shook her head. “Rosepaw’s pretty ill, but Sweetpaw…” The warrior’s voice trailed away.
“She’ll recover,” Bluefur reassured her.
“I’ve never seen her so sick.”
The ferns rustled as Featherwhisker nosed his way out of the apprentices’ den. “Herbs would be pointless until they stop being sick. Just make sure they have plenty of water to drink. Find some moss and soak it in the freshest water you can find.”
Poppydawn nodded and headed for the gorse tunnel.
“How are you?” Featherwhisker asked Bluefur.
Bluefur shrugged. “Just sore and tired.”
“Go and ask Goosefeather for herbs to soothe your belly.” Featherwhisker glanced at the nursery. His eyes glittered with worry.
“Do the kits have names?” Bluefur asked.
“The she-kits are Mistkit and Nightkit, and the tom is Tigerkit.”
“Tigerkit?” Leopardfoot had chosen a fierce name.
“He’s the weakest of the three,” Featherwhisker mewed bleakly. “I suppose she hopes he’s a fighter from the start.” His eyes darkened. “He’ll need to be.”
“Will Leopardfoot be okay?”
“She’s lost blood, but there’s no sign of infection,” Featherwhisker reported. “She’ll recover with rest.” He looked weary.
“Have you slept at all?” Bluefur asked.
He shook his head.
“Why don’t you rest now?” Bluefur suggested. “The camp’s quiet, and Poppydawn’s taking care of Sweetpaw and Rosepaw.”
Featherwhisker nodded. “Go and get those herbs from Goosefeather,” he reminded her. “Then I’ll have one less cat to worry about.” He padded to the shade of Highrock and lay down.
Bluefur headed along the fern tunnel. Why wasn’t Goosefeather helping more? Why did ThunderClan seem to have the laziest, dumbest medicine cat? As she reached the end of the tunnel, she stopped. The medicine clearing was cool and green and empty.
“Goosefeather!” Bluefur guessed he was sleeping in his den.
Two eyes peered from the crack in the rock. Bluefur tensed. They were round and wild, and for a moment she thought a fox had got in.
“Goosefeather?” she ventured shakily.
The medicine cat padded out, his pelt ruffled. His eyes were still wild, but less startling in the daylight. “What is it?”
“Featherwhisker sent me for herbs for my belly. I shared a bad mouse with Sweetpaw and Rosepaw last night.”
“You as well?” He rolled his eyes.
Bluefur nodded.
“Evil omens everywhere.”
Bluefur wondered if she’d heard the medicine cat correctly. He was muttering as he turned back into his den and still muttering as he came out and shoved a pawful of shredded leaves in front of her.
“It was just a bad mouse,” she meowed, wondering why he was so upset.
He leaned toward her, his breath stinky in her face. “Just a bad mouse?” he echoed. “Another warning, that’s what it was! I should have seen it coming. I should have noticed.”
“How?” Bluefur backed away. “It didn’t taste bad.” She realized that his pelt wasn’t ruffled from sleep, but simply ungroomed. It clung to his frame as though the season were leaf-bare and he hadn’t eaten properly for a moon. She took another pace back. “It was just a bad mouse,” she repeated.
He turned a disbelieving look on her. “How can you—you of all cats—ignore the signs?” he spat.
“Me?” What did he mean?
“You have a prophecy hanging over your head like a hawk. You’re fire, and only water can destroy you! You can’t ignore the signs.”
“B-but…I’m just a warrior.” Was she supposed to have the insight of a medicine cat? That wasn’t fair. He should be giving her answers, not taunting her with the promise of a destiny she didn’t understand. She had wondered when Goosefeather would again speak to her about the prophecy, but now he was making even less sense than before.
“Just a warrior?” His whiskers trembled. “Too many omens. Three cats poisoned, two only whiskers from StarClan, Leopardfoot nearly dead, her three kits hanging on to life like rabbits in a fox den.” He stared through her, seeming to forget she was there. “Why such a difficult birth for the Clan leader’s mate? The kits may not make it through another night. The tom is too weak to mew, let alone feed. I should help them, and yet how can I when the signs are clear?”
What in the name of StarClan was he talking about? Forgetting the herbs, Bluefur backed out of the den. Only whiskers from StarClan. She dashed to the apprentices’ den. Were Sweetpaw and Rosepaw that ill?
Pushing through the cool green ferns, she saw the two sisters curled in their nests, pelts damp.
Rosepaw raised her head. “Hello, Bluefur.”
Sweetpaw didn’t stir.
Bluefur padded to Rosepaw’s nest and licked the top of her head. “How are you?”
“I’ve felt better,” she croaked.
“Has Poppydawn brought you water yet?”