“Have you thought of becoming the next Clan deputy?” he asked, without looking around.
Bluefur hesitated. Should she admit her ambition? She was still young. Would he think she was greedy?
“So you have,” Goosefeather concluded. “That’s good.”
“But I don’t even have an apprentice yet,” Bluefur pointed out. “There’s no way Sunstar will make me deputy. I’m too young.”
“Tawnyspots won’t die yet,” Goosefeather rasped. “There’s still time. But you’re going to have to work for it.”
Bluefur wasn’t convinced. “There are so many warriors more experienced than me. Adderfang, for example.”
“Sunstar wants a cat with youth and energy to serve beside him.” Goosefeather peeled off another curl of silver bark. “If he wants advice, he can go to the senior warriors any time he likes. He doesn’t have to make them deputy for that. His deputy must be a cat he feels he can train—a cat who is not set in old ways, a cat who is open to new ideas.”
“Someone like Thistleclaw?” Bluefur ventured.
Goosefeather growled. “That young warrior is the reason you must become deputy. Blood lies in his path. Fire lies in yours.”
Bluefur stopped pulling leaves as she felt the medicine cat’s gaze burn her fur. He was staring at her, his eyes ablaze. “You must concentrate on nothing else!” he hissed. “What could be better in this time of bitter frost than a blazing fire? Your Clan needs you. Don’t let anything distract you!”
Did he mean Whitekit? Surely not! He had only just encouraged her to help raise the young tom. But what else could he mean? Oakheart?
“Take these herbs back.” Goosefeather pushed his curls of bark onto Bluefur’s pile of leaves. “And leave me in peace.”
Dizzy with surprise, Bluefur hardly tasted the tang of the herbs as she grasped them in her jaws and padded unsteadily back to camp. Was this part of the prophecy? If only Snowfur were alive, she could talk to her about it. Snowfur might make sense of the medicine cat’s warnings. Even if she didn’t believe them, her honesty might help Bluefur untangle the jumble of emotions seething in her belly.
A sandy-gray pelt flashed through a swath of ferns ahead.
Thrushpelt.
“Hi!” He greeted her warmly. “Can I help?”
Her mouth full, Bluefur nodded and dropped some of her load. Thrushpelt picked it up and headed away to the ravine. Bluefur wondered if he’d been waiting for her. She felt a pang of regret. Why couldn’t he spark the same feeling in her as Oakheart did?
They bounded down the ravine and took the herbs to the medicine den. Dropping them at Featherwhisker’s paws, Bluefur spotted Tawnyspots’s damp pelt poking from a nest hollowed from the fern wall. “Is he going to be okay?” she whispered.
“These herbs should help,” Featherwhisker replied.
Tawnyspots won’t die yet. Goosefeather’s words rang in Bluefur’s ears. But there had been urgency in the medicine cat’s words. Tawnyspots wasn’t going to live forever, and she had to be ready.
Thrushpelt was waiting for her when she emerged from the fern tunnel. “So, who do you think will be our next deputy?”
Bluefur stared at him in shock. Had he overheard her talking with Goosefeather? “What?”
“Well, Featherwhisker only said the herbs would help. He didn’t say that Tawnyspots was going to be okay.”
He hasn’t heard anything. Thank StarClan. “I guess.”
“Thistleclaw’s got his heart set on it,” Thrushpelt went on.
Am I the only cat in ThunderClan who’s afraid of Thistleclaw’s ambitions?
“But,” Thrushpelt mewed thoughtfully, “there are plenty of senior warriors to choose from. Adderfang is the logical choice.”
“Unless Sunstar prefers youth to experience.” Bluefur found herself using Goosefeather’s argument.
Thrushpelt glanced at her. “I hadn’t thought of that.” His nose twitched as they neared the fresh-kill pile. Two juicy sparrows lay on top. “You hungry?”
Wasn’t Thrushpelt the slightest bit interested in becoming deputy? He certainly didn’t have Oakheart’s fire and ambition; it was clear from the way the RiverClan warrior had addressed the Clan from the Great Rock that he planned to be leader himself one day.
Bluefur shifted her paws, relieved to see Rosetail eating alone. “I’d better keep Rosetail company,” she meowed quickly and, grabbing a sparrow, hurried to join her friend.
She passed Stormtail and Dappletail in their usual spot beside the nettle patch, sharing a squirrel. They spent so much time together now that most of the Clan were waiting for an announcement about kits, but Bluefur had heard Poppydawn tell Swiftbreeze that some she-cats never had kits, however much they wanted them.
Bluefur continued through the camp. Sparrowpelt and Fuzzypelt were patching the nursery with freshly fallen leaves. Robinwing had brought Whitekit out of the nursery and was washing him.
“Hello, Bluefur!” he called, trying to duck away from Robinwing’s tongue, but Robinwing pulled him back and held him still with a firm paw.
Rosetail looked up as Bluefur approached. “I have never seen any cat look so disappointed.” She was gazing at Thrushpelt, who looked lost beside the fresh-kill pile.
“Shut up.” Bluefur flung her sparrow on the ground and lay down.
“What’s wrong with you?” Rosetail demanded. “I wish I had a cat following me around like that.”
“I don’t have time for a mate.”
Rosetail’s gaze sharpened. “You have your eye on the deputyship, don’t you?”
Bluefur’s ears burned. “So what if I do?”
Rosetail shrugged. “Well, not many cats get to be deputy, so don’t miss out on other things while you’re waiting.”
As she washed her face after her meal, Goosefeather padded into the clearing, burrs sticking from his pelt. He took a piece of fresh-kill and started wolfing it down.
“Does he have to eat so noisily?” Bluefur complained, feeling queasy. She tried to imagine Goosefeather as a fit young apprentice, but couldn’t. He’d probably been born a shambling old badger. It was hard to believe that he and Moonflower had been littermates.
Tigerpaw burst through the gorse tunnel, his eyes bright. Thistleclaw padded in after. They must have been training. Tigerpaw was still bursting with energy.
“Can we practice those battle moves again?” he asked his mentor.
“Practice by yourself for a while.” Thistleclaw padded to the fresh-kill pile.
“But who am I going to fight?” Tigerpaw called after him.
“Use your imagination,” Thistleclaw growled back.
Tigerpaw glanced around the clearing. Bluefur stiffened when the young apprentice’s gaze came to rest on Whitekit, dozing beside Robinwing in the afternoon sunshine. Relief flooded her as his gaze moved on.
“I could fight a whole Clan of enemies,” he boasted to no cat in particular.
Poppydawn was dragging bracken across the clearing. She looked up. “RiverClan had better watch out,” she purred.
Leopardfoot trotted over from the warriors’ den. “You’re back,” she meowed happily. She sniffed her son’s pelt. “Any injuries?”
“Not yet.” Tigerpaw sounded disappointed. “But I learned a new move. Watch this!” He kicked his hind legs in the air, then landed with a twist and a slash of a forepaw.