Featherwhisker died near the end of greenleaf. Like the rest of her Clanmates, Bluefur had mourned. He had been relatively young; he didn't deserve to go so soon.
Thankfully though, ThunderClan still had Spottedleaf. Bluefur didn't have to know healing herbs to tell that Spottedleaf was a gifted medicine cat, and she knew that the medicine den was in good paws. Spottedleaf would do her best, just like every cat in the Clan. They were going through a hard time, but it didn't mean it was the end.
It had been only a few days since Featherwhisker's death, and Bluefur was resting in the warm midday sun. Sighing, she took in the appearance of the ThunderClan camp.
Spottedleaf was drying her newly gathered herbs in the patches of sunlight. It had been like a cruel joke- in the days following Featherwhisker's death, she had found a small amount of horsetail, along with sweet sedge, a RiverClan herb that would make a passable substitute when the horsetail ran out.
By the nursery, Robinwing was resting, her belly heavy with kits. They would probably arrive within the moon. Next to her were White-Eye and Poppydawn. Sharing stories about their kits, Bluefur guessed, noting the familiar expressions on their faces. Longpaw stood nearby, looking as much a warrior as any other cat. He would earn his name soon. Bluefur remembered the time that seemed like so many seasons ago already, when Thrushpelt and Mosstail had playfully taught him how to hunt.
Whitestorm and Patchpelt were standing by the fresh-kill pile, deep in conversation, their pelts dappled by the late greenleaf sun.
Lionheart limped along near the edge of the camp, a thin bramble stem between his teeth. Although he could no longer hunt or fight, he did anything he could to contribute to the Clan. Goldenflower padded up, giving her brother's side a friendly nudge.
Bluefur shook her head in amusement. She couldn't imagine having any other cats for Clanmates.
Rosetail trotted up, her tail waving. "Have you heard?" she meowed quietly.
Bluefur blinked, utterly bewildered. From Rosetail's mew, something very important must have happened, and she immediately thought of her wounded Clanmates. Mistyfur's scraped leg couldn't have recovered yet; what if it was infected? Or Whitestorm, he had twisted his paw the other day- what if the injury was worse than he'd let on? Bluefur felt her fur begin to rise. "Heard what?"
Rosetail twitched her whiskers. "Brindleface is expecting kits."
At once Bluefur stopped bristling. "That's good news. How long?"
"Two moons or so. Robinwing's kits will have playmates." Rosetail gave an amused purr. "Mosstail and Runningwind are making bets on how many."
"I bet they are." Bluefur shook her head to herself. Redtail and Brindleface had spent a great deal more time together recently, and the Clan had been expecting an announcement of kits any day. How could she have forgotten?
"Mistyfur didn't want a part of it- the talk Mosstail and Runningwind were having about how many kits there'd be, I mean," Rosetail told her. "She and Runningwind had a minor argument about it. Mistyfur thought the birth of new kits was a much too important topic to speculate about. They're fine today though." Purring, Rosetail tilted her head. "You know, they remind me a bit of how you and Thrushpelt were before you had kits." Rosetail glanced toward the warriors' den.
"Who?" Bluefur asked, but she already knew who Rosetail was talking about; Mistyfur's blue-gray pelt was visible within the shadows of the warriors' den, along with a lighter tabby pelt nearby.
Rosetail eyes glimmered mischievously. "Runningwind and Mistyfur, obviously. Haven't you seen them together? They bring back so many memories: Thrushpelt padding after you-" twisting her ear back, Bluefur gave a good-natured eye roll- "you denying Thrushpelt was your mate…"
"Mistyfur does take after me quite a bit," Bluefur replied evasively. Even though both Oakheart and Thrushpelt weren't around, she still wasn't about to betray their trust.
"Perhaps she will mentor one of Brindleface's kits," Rosetail meowed thoughtfully. "She's certainly ready for an apprentice."
Bluefur nodded, glad to be free of the topic of her kits' supposed father. "Or Mosstail or Stoneclaw. All of them are long overdue for their first apprentice. Whitestorm too, he has been more than ready since they were born."
As they talked the day away, Bluefur found that she was unusually happy at the news of Brindleface expecting kits. There hadn't been multiple litters in the nursery since her own were young. It would be good to see kits making friends with each other instead of spending their days lonely like Darkstripe and Longpaw had. And then they would become apprentices, and then warriors...
Bluefur closed her eyes, and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. ThunderClan would have a chance now.
Yet as surely as the sun rose, a new day meant a new battle, and the day after Bluefur learned Brindleface was to have kits was no different. This time ShadowClan had crossed the Thunderpath, intent on taking back their territory by Fourtrees once more. The pine-oak forest was alive with caterwauling- it echoed off the trees and bushes.
Bluefur crouched down, narrowing her eyes. She was stalking the edge of the skirmish after receiving a deep bite to her hind leg, readying herself to re-enter the fray. Her conversation with Rosetail the previous day had reinvigorated her; even in combat things hadn't seemed so bleak with the knowledge that ThunderClan would soon gain new kits.
As usual, it hadn't taken long to reach the point that ShadowClan was beginning to show signs of preparing their retreat, but they still had some fight left in them. Aiming for a tortoiseshell warrior grappling with Whitestorm, Bluefur pushed herself into the air and landed squarely on top of the she-cat.
Shrieks buffeted Bluefur's ears but she paid them no heed. She lost sight of Whitestorm as the tortoiseshell warrior shot off. She was next to Mosstail and Tigerclaw now. The ThunderClan deputy had wrapped his forelegs around a pale ShadowClan tom's neck and was churning his massive hind claws against the cat's belly again and again. The pale tom's eyes rolled back in his head...
Rolling to the side, Bluefur dodged a pouncing apprentice and caught the ThunderClan deputy's eyes. "He has learned his lesson, Tigerclaw!" The ThunderClan deputy stared at her, his attack halted, although Bluefur guessed that was more from shock at being told what to do than anything else.
With a growl, Tigerclaw reluctantly loosened his grip, allowing the warrior to stumble away, but not before first scoring his claws across the tom's flank.
Bluefur flinched watching him go. If the cat ever forgot this battle, the scars would certainly remind him.
"They're leaving!" Mosstail panted. As though the last of the ShadowClan warriors heard her mew, they slipped away from their opponents. Breathing hard, Bluefur sat down, taking care to keep weight off her hind leg. There weren't enough ShadowClan cats for every ThunderClan one to fight individually, and the wave of enemies diminished by the second.
Only two ShadowClan cats were left in the end. Mistyfur and Runningwind snapped at their heels, but there was no need; the remaining cats pelted away, their tabby stripes a dark blur.
Bluefur looked around, taking note of the cats she saw. Mosstail and Mistyfur were fine; they were limping, but their mews were calm. Stoneclaw was back at camp, so she didn't need to worry about him. Frostfur was alright, as were Runningwind, Mousefur, Rosetail, and Goldenflower. Whitestorm was nowhere to be seen.
A sorrowful wail pierced the sky.
The cats were gathering around a point a short way off from the Thunderpath. Bluefur peered through the crowd, and her heart jolted when she saw a flash of pale fur and a motionless white paw. No!
Whitestorm couldn't be dead! She'd only been separated from him for a moment! She sprang forward, pushing herself into the group.
The crowd parted and Bluefur skidded to a stop at its front.
She nearly collapsed in relief; it was not Whitestorm, but Fuzzypelt; she'd only caught sight of one of the black-and-white tom's patches of white fur. Whitestorm appeared next to her, bowing his head when he saw Fuzzypelt's body.
Bluefur's tail fell limp, and the pain in her paw returned. She felt an aching sense of gratefulness mingled with guilt. While he was a Clanmate, she and Fuzzypelt hadn't been close. She was saddened of course, especially for the kits he would never know, and Robinwing, his mate. But Whitestorm…
Bluefur shivered as they began the slow trek home. She didn't know how she would have coped if Whitestorm had died.