Owlstar nodded. “I think Snowfur is right. She would be a good choice.”
“I agree,” Brambleberry meowed.
Moonflower nodded as well, her eyes soft and sad.
I slipped away from the group and followed the edge of the river down toward Sunningrocks. My paws skimmed the smooth pebbles like I was swimming over them. I could feel the cold blasts of wintry air in the forest world, although they could not pierce my thick white fur.
A few fox-lengths into the trees, I found Bluefur curled around three small gray shapes. She was lucky they all looked like her, I thought—if any had had Oakheart’s coloring, some cat in ThunderClan might have suspected her secret by now. Two of the kits were squirming and protesting as Bluefur licked them. The third seemed to be sleeping in the snow. This was Mosskit.
Bluefur kept nudging him with her nose. Her eyes were pools of grief, and I could feel it with her. The snow buffeted her sides, where her ribs were showing through her thin gray fur, but she kept meowing: “Oh, Mosskit! What have I done? Mosskit, please wake up Mosskit, don’t leave. There’s warmth and safety just on the other side of the river. Your father will look after you, I promise. Just a little bit farther, my tiny, brave son.” She crouched closer to him, gathering him between her paws. “Mosskit, how could I do this to you?”
My heart ached for her, but it was too late. Mosskit had crossed over into my world. I ducked my head and whispered, “Mosskit, wake up.”
The dark gray kit opened his eyes and looked at me. “Who are you?” he squeaked. “Why do you have stars in your fur?”
“Don’t be scared,” I murmured. “I’m Snowfur. I’m here to take care of you.”
Mosskit shook himself and staggered toward me on tiny paws.
His spirit nuzzled into my fur. Behind him, his body was still curled beside Bluefur, but Mosskit didn’t notice.
“I’m cold,” he protested. “I’m so cold. Cold all the way to the tip of my tail. My whiskers are frozen, look.”
“I know,” I meowed, licking the top of his head. “Come with me, and you will be warm.”
Mosskit hesitated, looking up at me with wide green eyes. “What about my mother?”
“She’ll be all right,” I meowed. It was true. It would be hard for a long time, and she would never forget Mosskit, but she would push aside the memory and focus on her Clan. She would survive.
“But I want to be with her,” Mosskit whimpered. “I want my mother and Mistykit and Stonekit.”
“You will see them again,” I promised. “You will watch over them from the stars until they come to join you.”
He pressed his face into my fur and nodded. I looked back at my sister one more time, and then Mosskit and I walked away, following the moonlight back into the stars.
Territories
The Forest
The Lake
Beyond the Territories
Fourtrees
In a clearing at the center of the forest, where all four Clan territories converge, there is a space sacred to StarClan. Four great oaks stand at the corners of the clearing. At one end is a large boulder called the Great Rock, where the Clan leaders stand during Gatherings. Every month, at the full moon, cats from all four Clans gather here in peace for one night to share the news of the forest.
From the moment you take your first pawsteps outside the nursery, you long to go to Fourtrees. You long to meet cats from other Clans, to gaze up at Great Rock beneath StarClan. But you have to wait. Six moons, to be exact, until you’re an apprentice.
My first Gathering was only two days after I received my apprentice name, Bluepaw. In my first training session, I caught a squirrel that was as big as me. My mentor, Stonepelt, was so impressed, he invited me to the Gathering, ahead of the older apprentices.
The moon was as round and yellow as my mother Moonflower’s eyes. She ran beside me, her tail lifted proudly. We stopped at the top of a wooded slope. I gazed down into a wide clearing. At each corner of the clearing was a tree—four massive oaks that looked as old as the Highstones beyond.
The clearing was full of cats, meowing and murmuring. In the moonlight, their fur looked silver, and it rippled like the surface of the river. Their eyes flashed like leaping fish. In the center of the clearing stood the Great Rock. It seemed to grow out of the earth, like the peak of a mountain whose roots spread beneath the whole forest.
My fur tingled as I scrambled down into Fourtrees for the first time. I vowed that one day I’d be the one leading ThunderClan in a flurry of fur and claws into the clearing. I’d be the one who leaped onto the Great Rock with the other Clan leaders. One day, I would be Bluestar, leader of ThunderClan.
Highstones
Far to the north of WindClan’s territory, across a dangerous Thunderpath, there is a range of mountains known to the cats as Highstones. Deep inside a cave in the mountain lies the Moonstone, a glowing rock turned to silver by the moonlight. This is where cats from all the Clans must go to communicate with StarClan. Leaders travel here to receive their nine lives and their warrior name. Medicine cats visit the Moonstone together once a month at the half-moon, to trade remedies and share tongues with StarClan.
Many moons ago, at the dawn of the forest, Clan leaders had no way of sharing tongues with their warrior ancestors. Spirits appeared to them in dreams, but they had no way of seeking guidance.
At this time, there was a WindClan cat named Mothflight. She had soft white fur and stormy green eyes. Her paws were swift, and her heart was true, but she was restless, easily distracted, and forget-ful. She would return from hunting patrols with berries instead of prey. When asked what the berries were for, she would say she didn’t know, but she thought they might be useful.
More than once, the WindClan deputy, Gorsefur, found Mothflight nosing at plants over the border in other Clans’ territories. If she was caught by cats from another Clan, Gorsefur knew that WindClan would pay the price.
One morning, Windstar was leading a patrol along the edge of the Thunderpath. She felt the rumble of a Twoleg monster beneath her paws and glanced back at her warriors. Her breath caught in her throat.
Mothflight was crossing the Thunderpath, following a light blue feather as it drifted over into ShadowClan territory.
“Mothflight!”
The WindClan leader’s yowl was drowned out by the monster’s roar as Gorsefur dashed across the Thunderpath, shoving Mothflight to safety on the far side. Gravel spat into their faces as the monster rumbled past, trailing foul-smelling smoke.
“Stay here,” Windstar hissed to the rest of the patrol, and sped across the Thunderpath. She was furious. Gorsefur was not just her deputy; he was the father of her kits.
“Mouse-brain!” Windstar growled at the white warrior. “Star-gazing, feather-watching, hollow-headed mouse-brain! You could have been killed—you could both have been killed!”