Bluefur felt sick as Thistleclaw turned to his apprentice. “Here, let’s put it to my apprentice. What do you think, Tigerpaw? How should we handle this?”
“I think the kittypet should be taught a lesson,” Tigerpaw hissed. “One it’ll remember.”
Bluefur stepped forward. “Now, hold on, there’s no need for this—”
Thistleclaw turned on her, arching his back. “Shut up!”
Tigerpaw lunged at the kit, sending it flying like a piece of prey. The kit skidded across the rough earth and landed, gasping for breath.
Get up!
Tail bushed in terror, the kit tried to scramble to its paws. But Tigerpaw pounced again. The tabby apprentice pinned the kit to the ground. With claws unsheathed, he swiped at its muzzle, then raked its flank. The kit squealed in agony.
“Show it your teeth, Tigerpaw,” Thistleclaw goaded.
Tigerpaw sunk his teeth into the kit’s shoulder and hauled it to its paws. The kit yowled and struggled, its paws scrabbling helplessly on the ground until Tigerpaw, his eyes gleaming, flung him away.
No!
Blood welling scarlet along his wounds, the kit pressed his belly to the ground as though he wished he could just vanish. Tigerpaw padded grimly toward it.
“Stop, Tigerpaw!” Bluefur pelted past him and stood in front of the kit. “That’s enough!” She bared her teeth, prepared to fight. Tigerpaw would kill this kit if she let him carry on. It was no bigger than Whitekit. The thought wrenched her heart. “Warriors don’t need to kill to win a battle, remember?”
Tigerpaw halted and glared at her. “I was just defending our territory.”
“And you’ve done that,” Bluefur reasoned. “This kit has learned its lesson.”
The kit stood up on shaking paws and gazed at Tigerpaw with terror in its eyes.
“Yeah,” Tigerpaw agreed. He leered at the kit. “You’ll never forget me!”
Bluefur held her ground while the kit scuttled away. “If I ever see you do something like that again”—her eyes flashed from mentor to apprentice—“I’ll report you to Sunstar!”
“We were only defending ThunderClan territory from invaders,” Thistleclaw snarled.
“That so-called invader was a kit!”
Thistleclaw shrugged. “That’s his problem.” He turned and stalked away between the trees, his spiky pelt soon swallowed in shadow. Tigerpaw trotted after him with his tail up, proud of his brave victory.
Rage throbbed in Bluefur’s paws as she stared after them.
I’ll never let you take power in this Clan, Thistleclaw!
Chapter 33
“StarClan honors you for your wisdom and your loyalty. I name you Whitestorm.”
As Sunstar pressed his muzzle to the white warrior’s head, the Clan broke into cheers. “Whitestorm! Whitestorm!”
Bluefur closed her eyes, relief washing over her like rain. I kept my promise, Snowfur. I kept him safe.
Bluefur hadn’t been Whitestorm’s mentor after all. Sunstar had told her that he didn’t think kin were the best mentors for kin, especially as Bluefur had basically mothered Whitestorm since Snowfur’s death. Instead he had given Bluefur Frostpaw as an apprentice a few moons later, and Patchpelt had trained Whitestorm, a choice Bluefur approved of. Whitestorm had trained alongside Tigerclaw, and Bluefur was pleased to have a wise and gentle mentor around to temper Thistleclaw’s brutal practices. She had involved herself whenever she could in Whitestorm’s training, which hadn’t been easy with Thistleclaw glowering at her whenever she tried to guide the young tom.
She opened her eyes, basking in the warmth of the cheers that welcomed Whitestorm to the Clan. He had grown strong and handsome, and he stood now with his chin high and his eyes bright, thick snowy fur dazzling in the leaf-fall sun. It had rained in the night, and the forest sparkled with silvery drops, reflecting rainbows through the trees.
Four seasons had passed since Bluefur had promised her sister in her dream of the gorge that she’d help raise the young tom, seasons that had brought change to the whole Clan. Redpaw, Willowpaw, and Spottedpaw had moved to the apprentices’ den, though Spottedpaw spent every spare moment shadowing Featherwhisker, fascinated by how much he knew about cures and herbs. Mumblefoot and Weedwhisker had died peacefully, and were still missed by their Clanmates. Fuzzypelt and Windflight had joined Stonepelt, Larksong, and Poppydawn in the elders’ den. White-eye had moved to the nursery, expecting her first kits. She was anxious about raising a litter through leaf-bare, but the Clan was strong and hopeful, and Bluefur knew that they would protect the kits however harsh the season.
Thistleclaw had established himself as a senior warrior, taking a nest near the center of the warriors’ den. Tigerclaw had been a warrior for four moons and had already claimed a nest close to Thistleclaw’s, shunning the outer den. No warrior had challenged him, though Bluefur wasn’t sure whether that was because his denmates respected the fierce, dark tabby and his former mentor—or feared them. Thistleclaw had become like a father to the dark tabby in Pinestar’s absence; he had trained him to win at any cost, defending his methods as part of the warrior code, though Bluefur saw no honor in the way Thistleclaw fought for his Clan.
Tigerclaw watched Whitestorm now; the new warrior’s eyes glittered as he padded over to Bluefur and dipped his head to her.
“Thank you.” The white tom’s mew had grown deep. “You have given me so much.”
Bluefur’s heart swelled. I won’t let anything hurt you, ever.
“Your mother would be proud of you,” Bluefur murmured, her mew catching in her throat.
“I know,” Whitestorm purred. “She’d be proud of you, too.”
Bluefur’s gaze clouded as she reached up and licked a stray tuft of fur on the warrior’s shoulder. She noticed with a pang the scar behind his ear. Tigerclaw had done that when he unsheathed his claws during a training session, when both cats were still apprentices. Bluefur had blamed Thistleclaw.
“If you taught Tigerclaw respect for his Clanmates, it would never have happened,” she had told him.
Thistleclaw had curled his lip. “His Clanmates must earn his respect.”
“But Whitestorm will be scarred for life!”
“It’ll teach him to react more quickly next time.”
Bluefur had stalked away fuming. She was furious at the way Thistleclaw had seemed to pitch the apprentices against one another, again and again. Seeing the scar now, she still had to push away a bolt of anger. What’s done is done, she told herself. Perhaps Thistleclaw’s ruthlessness had made Whitestorm a better fighter.
“Whitestorm!” Lionheart and Goldenflower were calling to him.
Whitestorm pressed his muzzle to Bluefur’s cheek and hurried away.
Larksong! Bluefur remembered that she’d promised to tell the old she-cat about the naming ceremony. She had been too frail to leave her nest. Padding to the fresh-kill pile, she picked a juicy mouse from the top and pushed through the branches of the fallen tree.
Larksong was curled in her nest with her nose on her paws and her eyes closed. Her tortoiseshell pelt, once so pretty, was now dull and ragged, but the old she-cat never lost her humor, even after her denmates Weedwhisker and Mumblefoot had died.
“At least I’ll get a few moons’ peace from their bickering before I join them in StarClan,” she had joked.
Not wanting to wake her, Bluefur laid the mouse beside her nest and began to creep out of the den.
Larksong lifted her head. “Did it go well?”
Bluefur turned. “Wonderfully. Whitestorm is a warrior now.”