AN: And the hiatus is over! I'm sorry for the wait! I thought I'd be able to get back to this sooner, but well, life happens. This fic will be my main focus until it's complete, so updates will be more frequent in the coming weeks.
The attack on the ShadowClan camp had been the first of many. It hadn't taken long before Longpaw, now the Clan's newest apprentice, was joining battles like a seasoned warrior.
As the days went on and the fighting continued, Bluefur reflected that at least Stormtail got the chance to die with honor. Knowing her father, Bluefur guessed he would have wanted that.
The loss of Thrushpelt hit Bluefur harder than she had expected. Some of it she knew was because of the pain his death was putting her kits through, and it caused an ache in her heart to see them so grief stricken over the cat they thought was their father. But she grieved for herself too. She hadn't realized how much time she had spent with Thrushpelt until now that he was gone, and his absence didn't seem real at times.
She hadn't appreciated him at all. While she didn't love him like she had loved Oakheart, Thrushpelt had been her closest friend. She wondered what he thought of her now that he was in StarClan. He must know about Oakheart. Did he hate her now? Somehow she knew he didn't; knowing Thrushpelt, chances were he would make friends with Oakheart in StarClan. Bluefur's whiskers twitched at the image.
Resting in the shade of the camp wall, Bluefur sighed, remembering how Thrushpelt had stood with her during most Gatherings. The meeting would be soon, and Bluefur was not looking forward to it. She recalled seasons past when she had been wholeheartedly interested in Gatherings, but those days were long gone; it was difficult to enjoy Gatherings when she was worrying about Thistlestar widening the rift between ThunderClan and the rest.
At least she was not alone all the time; since Thrushpelt's death, Whitestorm made an effort to talk to Bluefur as often as he could. He'd taken to hunting with her in the evenings after their warrior duties were complete for the day. Bluefur guessed he was concerned about her, but she was secretly thankful. It was nice hearing from Whitestorm from time to time; it helped her keep her mind off ThunderClan's recent troubles.
It was one such night when Bluefur got up from her spot by the warriors' den and bent her head to groom a cut on her shoulder; it was a bite she had received in one of the attacks on the ShadowClan camp she had taken part in.
"How is it?" Whitestorm twitched his tail at Bluefur's cut.
"Not bad." Moving her shoulder, Bluefur winced. "I think I'm well enough for regular patrols."
"That's for one of us to decide." Just then, Featherwhisker padded up, a bundle of herbs between his teeth. Spottedleaf trotted behind her.
"I do think it's getting better. I can at least hunt a bit," Bluefur insisted.
"Let's see." Featherwhisker leaned forward to sniff the cut, and then chewed up one of the herbs in the pile. "Stay still now." A moment later, before she could protest that she was fine and other cats needed herbs more, Bluefur felt pressure on her shoulder, and scented the tang of horsetail, a smell that had become all too familiar in recent moons. She flinched, narrowing her eyes as Featherwhisker applied the poultice. "You can hunt as long as you stay near the camp," he told her finally, stepping away. "That wound is two days old, and it will take many days to heal entirely. Keep that in mind." He turned to Whitestorm. "Your turn." As he worked he spoke with Spottedleaf. "We're running low on horsetail. It would be fine if this was a normal time-" he shot a glance at Thistlestar, who was speaking with Tigerclaw beside the Highrock- "but if this continues, and cats are coming home every other day with injuries, we'll have to restock."
Spottedleaf nodded. "I'll see to it that more gets collected. We need marigold as well."
"There should be a clump of that by Snakerocks," Featherwhisker told her, rising to his paws. "I can join you in a moment."
Spottedleaf padded away, and Featherwhisker turned to follow. "Come by tomorrow to get your wounds checked." He rested his eyes on Bluefur. "Especially you, Bluefur; bites in particular are prone to infection."
Bluefur bristled; how had he guessed she was not planning to visit the medicine den unless she could avoid it? "I don't want to waste your herbs, Featherwhisker," she meowed. "Use them on Smallear. He needs them more than I do." She shot a look toward the medicine den, hoping to see the older tom, but he was nowhere to be found. Bluefur guessed he was still resting, just as he had been for days; Smallear was one of the few cats who had not been well enough to participate in any of the ShadowClan attacks.
"As ThunderClan's medicine cat, I won't allow any of my Clanmates to fall ill. With all the battles recently, it's even more important to make sure every injury heals properly." Bluefur dipped her head, admitting defeat. It still rubbed her the wrong way that she was receiving herbs that could be used on worse off cats.
Featherwhisker made to walk off, but Whitestorm stopped him with a question. "Are we really that low on herbs?"
Featherwhisker shook his head. "I don't want to worry any cat. It's horsetail that we're low on, and it's usually easy enough to find. We just need to gather more, that's all." Bluefur picked up a nervous glint in the medicine cat's eye, but didn't challenge him as he padded away.
She sighed, turning to look at the camp entrance. Many cats had run through it in recent days, yowling their battle cries as they raced toward ShadowClan territory. All was peaceful now. Mistyfur and Runningwind were eating a vole by the elders' den, while Mosstail and Stoneclaw looked to be sharing a quick word with Lionheart and Patchpelt.
It was quiet for a long time.
"ShadowClan must realize that we won't give in." Whitestorm frowned, glancing in the general direction of ShadowClan territory. "Then they might attack the camp again."
"Maybe."
"Do you think they'll take the risk?" Whitestorm meowed.
Digging her claws into the ground, Bluefur let out a growl. "They'd better not." Her shoulders sagged. "But perhaps they will. There might be nothing that can stop it."
Whitestorm nodded grimly. "Then we'll be back for them again." Bluefur blinked, sadness prickling her pelt. Her sister's son knew of nothing but fighting.
The full moon shone silver above Fourtrees. Squinting, Bluefur tasted the air, trying to pick out the cats she could talk to without receiving a clawed ear. Rosetail, who usually spent Gatherings with Goldenflower or Poppydawn when she wasn't talking to cats outside ThunderClan, had settled herself next to Bluefur. She shifted her paws, fluffing out her fur to ward off the unseasonably chilly air. Rosetail seemed to think Bluefur needed company, and if Bluefur was honest with herself the she-cat wasn't wrong.
"I wonder if that new litter of WindClan kits were born yet," Rosetail remarked.
Bluefur nodded. "Perhaps they will bring news of it this Gathering." In truth, she didn't know of any expecting WindClan queens, but she didn't have the energy to ask about it. As they waited for ShadowClan to arrive, Rosetail pointed out some of her acquaintances in RiverClan and WindClan, explaining things like how such-and-such's littermate might be getting an apprentice soon, or how so-and-so's son was getting ready to ask one of his Clanmates to be his mate. Bluefur could only nod occasionally.
"And Crowfur there, he's getting on in seasons. Barkface has been trying to convince him to retire since last green-leaf, but he's having none of it. I'll introduce you to all these cats when things aren't so tense." Rosetail swiveled her head. "Oh, ShadowClan have arrived."
Bluefur sniffed. Rosetail was right. A moment later rippling shadows appeared at the top of the hollow, but Bluefur looked past them. She had noticed Thistlestar sitting on top of the Great Rock.
Thistlestar's whiskers twitched in barely disguised amusement as the ShadowClan representatives bounded into the clearing. His demeanor worried Bluefur. He was clearly self-satisfied at the ShadowClan patrol's predicament; they would have needed to pass through ThunderClan territory to reach Fourtrees and if he chose to make an issue of it he'd have an excuse to order another attack.
Bluefur could only hope it didn't come to that.
As expected, Thistlestar began the Gathering with a challenge to Raggedstar, who responded in kind, and the Gathering kept on in a similar note.
Spotting two of her kits near the front of the crowd, Bluefur blinked sadly. Mosstail glared, occasionally spitting when Raggedstar spoke. Stoneclaw placed a calming tail tip on her shoulder, but even he was staring daggers at the ShadowClan leader. Bluefur knew they hated ShadowClan now, just like she had hated WindClan all those moons ago when Hawkheart killed her mother.
But they were just a Clan, fighting for their Clanmates just like Bluefur did for hers, and she couldn't hate them for that. She understood that now; as much as they fought, they all wanted the same things. Bluefur couldn't begrudge them for fighting for their Clan, but she would fight tooth and claw for her Clan as well.
Then she thought of Stormtail. He was an elder for StarClan's sake, granted, a young one, but an elder nonetheless. And ShadowClan had thought nothing of killing him.
That was one cat, Bluefur told herself. One cat killed Stormtail and Adderfang. It doesn't mean ShadowClan elders should meet the same fate.
Bluefur turned to share a glance with Thrushpelt; the empty space was a stinging reminder that he wasn't there. Her shoulders fell.
When the Gathering broke up, Bluefur lowered her eyes and fixed them straight on the forest, avoiding the other Clans' hostile looks. It would hardly help the situation if cats started fighting while the moon was still up.
Whitestorm's tail was flicking back and forth as he fell into step next to Bluefur. "This can't end well," he meowed, taking care to avoid a group of passing ShadowClan cats. Thistlestar was allowing them to use ThunderClan territory to travel to and from Gatherings… for now.
On Whitestorm's other side, Rosetail padded along with her tail held high. "Just wait." Rosetail's mew was confident and hopeful, and surprisingly serious for the gossip loving she-cat. "At the end of all this fighting, there will be peace. It has to come anytime now."
But it wasn't meant to be. Not a quarter moon later, Runningwind raised the alarm call: ShadowClan was trying to retake their territory beside Fourtrees. Bluefur watched as Thistlestar organized a group to attack. Almost every warrior was chosen; Bluefur was one of the few cats who stayed behind to guard the camp, as her shoulder injury hadn't yet healed. Mousefur, Runningwind, and Mistyfur hadn't joined the battle as well, and Spottedleaf settled herself among the group too. Featherwhisker had gone along with the patrol, carrying much of ThunderClan's supply of healing herbs.
It was later that night when the scent of blood told her that something was wrong. Bluefur raised her head, ready to call the alarm if ShadowClan warriors had followed the group. She wasn't prepared for what she saw.
It was not ShadowClan, but Featherwhisker. The pale tabby was limping into camp, blood dripping from his fur. He collapsed to the ground as his Clanmates surged around him, some from the warriors' den, others charging back from the battle through the gorse tunnel.
"Who did this?" Mousefur stalked up to him, outraged that any cat would attack a medicine cat.
Featherwhisker winced. "I'm not sure. I don't think they could tell who I was. Everyone was so close together." Forepaw swathed in cobwebs, Spottedleaf darted up and pressed her paw down on Featherwhisker's injury.
Voices rose up all around as the cats chosen for the patrol trickled back into camp and shared news.
"No sign of ShadowClan here, right?"
"No, thank StarClan."
"Did we win at least?"
"I wouldn't call a fight like this a win for any cat."
It was that moment that Thistlestar burst into the camp. "Cowards!" he snarled, raking his gaze across the ThunderClan cats. Every cat stopped talking. "You left the battle before I gave the order to retreat! Have you no honor?! We would have defeated them! ShadowClan wouldn't have dared challenge us again!" Thistlestar's yowl reverberated off every corner of the camp. "But now?" He glared at the cats, who looked away.
Mosstail twisted her ears back, while Darkstripe's eyes guiltily flicked downward. Like a shadow, Tigerclaw stood at Thistlestar's shoulder. The tabby deputy had obviously been one of the few cats who had stuck with Thistlestar to the end.
"I do not think they will challenge us for a long time," Whitestorm spoke up before Thistlestar could continue. "ShadowClan experienced heavy losses. At least two of their warriors are dead, and I have no doubt many are injured. They are in no state to attack us."
Thistlestar stared at his son, and Bluefur wondered if he was going to yowl at him that he was a coward. "Whitestorm, lead a patrol along the ShadowClan border, and make certain they don't try anything."
Whitestorm bent his head, summoned Mosstail and Mousefur with a glance, and led them into the forest. Bristling, Thistlestar loped to his den without another word.
Now finished covering Featherwhisker's wound with cobwebs, Spottedleaf dabbed it with her paw. "That needs treatment to prevent an infection. I'll get you some horsetail."
Shaking, Featherwhisker shook his head and crouched down. "I used the last of it yesterday. Try marigold, and if that's gone see if there's any burdock root left in the store."
But Spottedleaf came back empty pawed, her amber eyes betraying a hint of worry.
Featherwhisker shifted his paws. "I suppose we'll have to go with oak leaves."
"Perhaps we've used all the burdock root on our territory, but we can't have picked all of the horsetail or marigold." Spottedleaf's determined mew gave Bluefur hope. "There must be more somewhere. I can search for it, and hopefully some will grow back soon too."
But the entire supply of horsetail, marigold, and burdock root in ThunderClan had been used, and in the unseasonably cold weather, there wasn't any left in the territory. So as the moon went on, Featherwhisker sported a deep wound in his side that oak leaves couldn't heal. In spite of the skills of both himself and his apprentice, he grew weaker. There was only so much a cat could do without healing herbs. Although she tried to deny it, Bluefur knew that it was only a matter of time before he succumbed.