AN: Ahhh, I didn't mean for this to take so long! Writer's block and life happened, but I'm back now.
The battles were taking their toll on ThunderClan. Whenever Bluefur had a spare moment, she listed the names of the most recent dead in her mind, so she could find the will to fight on: Fuzzypelt, Windflight, White-Eye, Smallear. Most of the cats she had known during her kithood were gone now. Leopardfoot. Bluefur shuddered at the memory of her friend's death. The she-cat had been hit by a monster on the Thunderpath on the way back from one of ThunderClan's attacks on ShadowClan.
It wasn't just ThunderClan attacking either; RiverClan and ShadowClan sometimes sent patrols into ThunderClan's hunting grounds. That was how Poppydawn had died. The elderly she-cat had been on a leisurely stroll when ShadowClan attacked. They had given her a minor scrape, but she wasn't able to fight off the infection that ensued.
Robinwing too, had died just a moon previous from sickness, and her death had hit the Clan especially hard since she had been carrying kits. The lack of young cats was becoming a dire situation now, and the loss of an expecting queen certainly didn't help. Willowpelt had recently announced that she was to have kits, but it did little to quell the tension that was seeping into every corner of the ThunderClan camp.
Bluefur tried to shake herself from her thoughts. Whitestorm was trotting next to her as they made their way along the Twolegplace border. It was leaf-fall, and the treetops were turning orange once again.
Bluefur bent to lap water from a puddle. When she sat up her reflection caught her eye. Her muzzle was patched with gray. "I think I'm getting old."
"No, you're not," Whitestorm scoffed.
Bluefur narrowed her eyes teasingly. "How long has my muzzle been silver then?"
Whitestorm frowned thoughtfully. "Not that long... I don't think."
Bluefur stared down at the water. She wasn't that old, but she certainly wasn't the young cat she used to be. It was strange; she always imagined herself as how she'd looked at four seasons old, young and strong with no battle scars. Now her pelt was marked with several thin lines- the marks of enemy warrior claws. She squinted down at the rippling water. "You know, Whitestorm, this scar on my shoulder looks much worse from this angle."
"Where did you get it?" he asked.
"I don't remember," Bluefur meowed. She twitched her tail. "That may be a bad sign."
Whitestorm nodded. "We fight far more than we did when I was young. The battles blend together, I think." He frowned seriously. "Sometimes I fear that ThunderClan will be swept away by fighting."
Bluefur blinked in surprise. "I didn't think you feared the battle."
Whitestorm shook his head. "It is not that I fear war. I fear that once it starts it will never end."
It has already started. Looking away, Bluefur felt grief wash through her pelt. Whitestorm had grown so wise.
When Bluefur returned to camp later that day, her two daughters met her at the entrance. "Brindleface just had her kits," Mistyfur informed her. "Redtail and Spottedleaf are with her now."
Bluefur glimpsed Brindleface's pale tabby form through the gap in the nursery. She felt a pang of sympathy as she saw the queen resting her head on a paw. Bluefur couldn't see any kits through the entrance.
Mosstail narrowed her eyes. "How many do think there are?"
"I'm betting on three." Stoneclaw trotted up, Runningwind and Mousefur close behind.
"Two," Runningwind meowed.
"Hopefully four or five," Mosstail put in. "Then we can all have apprentices."
"Hush," Goldenflower mewed, trotting past. "We should be grateful as long as the kits are healthy, no matter how many there are." Bluefur nodded agreement. She shared Goldenflower's sentiment but at the same time understood why cats would hope for Brindleface to have a large litter. ThunderClan needed warriors.
Mosstail's ears pricked just then; Spottedleaf had emerged from the nursery. The tortoiseshell's eyes were bright and her whiskers twitching.
Most of the Clan had been waiting and began to crowd around her for news. "How is she?" Darkstripe called out.
"Brindleface is fine," Spottedleaf reassured them. "And her kit is healthy too."
The cats purred, their tails twitching.
"It's a she-kit," Redtail added, padding out of the nursery himself. He puffed out his chest. "She's strong, like her mother."
Cats began to mew their congratulations, but Bluefur couldn't stop one thing from tinting her happiness: Brindleface had only had a single kit. It was concerning how few kits had been born recently. Hopefully Willowpelt's litter will be bigger. The pale she-cat touched her tail to Redtail's shoulder, purring, clearly overjoyed. Redtail and Willowpelt were littermates, and Bluefur guessed that they both were looking forward to having their kits be raised among kin.
A few cats wanted to see the kit but Spottedleaf shooed them away. "Not today. Brindleface is much too tired for so many visitors." The cats mewed their acceptance but continued to linger by the nursery. Bluefur watched them speaking brightly of the future, and wished she could be that optimistic.
"It is good that Brindleface's kit is healthy," Whitestorm meowed after a long moment.
"It is," Bluefur replied, but from the look she shared with Whitestorm, she could tell that he was worried too. If Willowpelt's litter was small as well it could pose problems. "Perhaps one day you will mentor her," she went on, trying to move on to a more positive topic. "You've accomplished a great deal as a warrior, and I'm sure Thistlestar thinks so too."
Mosstail padded up before Whitestorm could answer. "I'm surprised Thistlestar hasn't given you an apprentice before now. You deserve it, after all you've done."
"There are many warriors to choose from," Whitestorm replied modestly. "What matters most is how well the mentor and apprentice will get along. I can hardly presume that Thistlestar will choose me, even if I have more experience."
And even if you're his son, Bluefur thought. Whitestorm was so different from his father, she reflected, that if she hadn't known she might not have guessed they were related. Where Thistlestar was impulsive and hot-headed, Whitestorm was calm and composed. Bluefur wasn't sure where he'd gotten it. He was a bit like Snowfur in a way, but even Snowfur hadn't possessed his quiet dignity.
Cats were still talking with each other; most seemed oblivious to the problems that small litters of kits would bring. There was an undercurrent of tension in the air too, but to Bluefur it felt separate from her worries about ThunderClan's future, more immediate.
She heard a sharp crunching noise, and turned her head. No other cat seemed to notice the sound, and she wondered if she was hearing things.
Her pelt prickled. Something was wrong. She heard it again- it was a snapping twig, and it was coming from outside the camp. She caught Whitestorm's eye, angled an ear toward the camp boundary, then fell to a half-crouch and slipped through the gorse tunnel.
The ravine was empty, but a steady wind was rustling the tree branches overhead. The other Clans couldn't attack now, Bluefur thought. What cruel timing it would be, to send a battle patrol during ThunderClan's most carefree day in moons. Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself expecting battle after hearing a single crunched branch, but she wasn't willing to ignore her gut. She needed to check for intruders.
Whitestorm stalked up to her, keeping low. "What is it?"
"Thought I heard something," she murmured. Bluefur scanned the undergrowth, ready for enemies to reveal themselves, but there were none. They waited at that spot for a long time, as their fur was ruffled by the growing breeze. Then there was a crackling of leaves behind them.
Ready to call out an alarm, Bluefur whipped around, and found herself staring at Mosstail.
"What's going on?" Mosstail mewed.
"Great StarClan, I didn't notice you there." Bluefur exhaled, forcing her hackles flat. "Something's not right. There is something out here- I heard it." She stepped forward and tasted the air. Though she scented nothing but leaves and mulch, she was still on edge.
Mosstail sounded sure of herself, but her tail gave an anxious twitch. "No Clan in their right mind would launch an attack so deep in our territory right now, would they?" she mewed. "It's broad daylight."
Even though Bluefur knew her daughter had a valid point, it didn't ease her nerves. "Go back to camp and see if Thistlestar will send out a patrol," she meowed, reflecting that as much as she disagreed with most of Thistlestar's decisions, she could at least expect him to take the threat of an attack seriously. "It may be nothing but we can't be too careful."
Nodding, Mosstail trotted back inside the camp, her tail still flicking nervously. It was rare to see the young she-cat so concerned these days.
The sky was a brilliant pale blue as Bluefur and Whitestorm sat in silence. All was quiet apart from the rustling of leaves.
They waited, but heard nothing more. Whitestorm took a few paces forward. "Perhaps it was the wind."
"Perhaps." She was feeling a bit ridiculous now; there was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. Yet Bluefur was certain she had heard that sharp crackling sound- the wind wouldn't snap a branch like that. There was a gentle breeze, and no gusts sprang up that were anywhere near strong enough to break twigs.
Mosstail had apparently told Thistlestar about Bluefur's suspicions; Tigerclaw, Rosetail, and Darkstripe slipped out of the gorse tunnel, their ears swiveling cautiously, and behind them were Stoneclaw and Mistyfur, who split from the group and began to circle the opposite way around the outer camp boundary. Runningwind joined them, and after him came Thistlestar and Mousefur. More warriors were waiting behind the screen of brambles.
"Great StarClan, I didn't mean for Thistlestar to send the whole Clan," Bluefur muttered. She was never going to hear the end of it if there were no trespassers.
"Better to have too many warriors for a patrol than too few," Whitestorm pointed out.
"True." Bluefur tasted the air and found that all she could scent was ThunderClan.
Just then shriek reached Bluefur's ears.
Further up the ravine and out of the sight line of the gorse tunnel, a group of unfamiliar warriors burst out of the undergrowth. From the other direction, ThunderClan warriors raced to meet them. Thistlestar led the charge.
"I knew it!" she spat, leaping to her paws.
Whitestorm raised his nose. "RiverClan this time. They must have looped around to find a protected spot." They sprang toward the fighting, joining the group of ThunderClan warriors rapidly closing the distance between them.
As soon as they reached the others, Bluefur knew they were in trouble. The battle had started moments earlier and cats were already bloodied; Mousefur fled for the camp, her ears covered in scratches, while a RiverClan warrior with a deep gash in her shoulder ran the opposite direction into the forest. The RiverClan cats were purposely arranging themselves further apart than they usually did. Bluefur recognized the point of their new strategy; there were too many enemies for ThunderClan to keep out if they were spread out like this.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, several RiverClan cats darted out from the group of shrieking, fighting cats, and pelted toward the camp entrance. Bluefur made up her mind. To have a chance they would have to fight inside the camp, whether Thistlestar thought that was the best choice or not.
"Fall back! Defend the camp!" Without checking to see if the patrol was following, Bluefur barreled down the slope and shot through the gorse tunnel. Thankfully, Whitestorm and Rosetail were right behind her, and a moment later she heard Thistlestar and Tigerclaw, yowling for the ThunderClan cats to follow them.
Willowpelt and Patchpelt had been dozing at the center of the camp, and they looked up in shock as RiverClan warriors streamed into the camp.
Bluefur shoved them into the nursery, and then spun around to guard the entrance. Redtail was there too, hissing and spitting with a ferocity Bluefur didn't know he possessed. She took up a spot beside him. There was only a single kit in ThunderClan; they had to defend her.
Whitestorm must have noticed Bluefur's and Redtail's attempt to defend the nursery; he tried to steer two warriors away from them. Redtail was lashing at a black and white tom. Bluefur eyed another cat nearby.
The tabby warrior glared at her, his eyes crazed and bloodshot. Bluefur barely had the chance to brace herself before he pounced, but she easily threw him aside; the tom was in no state to fight like this. He charged at Bluefur again, and she dodged, then rolled him onto his back and pinned him down.
Bluefur stared down at him. He was gasping for breath and blood trickled from his nose. The warrior could not defend against a killing bite in this condition.
Bluefur knew she could not kill this cat. She sheathed her claws, and the tom stumbled to his paws and slipped out of sight. Hopefully he would try to make a run for his camp. Several RiverClan cats already had.
But it was only a moment later when she saw him again; the tom had ducked behind the other cats and was creeping up on Whitestorm, who was still fighting the two other warriors. Before Bluefur could call out a warning, the tabby tom leaped onto Whitestorm's back, taking him by surprise. He closed his jaws around Whitestorm's neck-
"No!" Bluefur charged forward, and just then a pale blur flashed in front of her eyes. A RiverClan warrior aimed a swift kick at her head.
Bluefur was thrown to the ground and saw no more.
Bluefur's head pounded. She felt sand between her claws.
What happened? She blearily opened her eyes. She was lying on the dusty patch of ground by the nursery. Ears buzzing, she pushed herself into a sitting position, and tested her limbs one by one. It was sluggishly coming back to her: she had been running, and a moment later she had been knocked out. Bluefur had no idea how much time had passed, but from what she could tell the battle was over. She caught sight of Mistyfur grooming a shallow wound on her flank. Muted yowls were still echoing through the clearing; Bluefur recognized one of the voices as belonging to Brindleface.
A group of cats had formed a circle near the Highrock. Bluefur saw a patch of dark gray fur at its center. Apparently Thistlestar had lost a life. Bluefur's heart fell; he wasn't the only one. Redtail and Willowpelt were both lying dead, just paces from the nursery entrance. Oh, StarClan no. Willowpelt... Bluefur shook her head. Hadn't she pushed Willowpelt away from the fighting herself? The battle must have intensified after she had lost consciousness. And Redtail too, dead so soon after his daughter had been born. Brindleface crouched near his body, a wail rising from her throat.
"Bluefur, are you alright?" Mosstail padded up, looking alarmed. "I can fetch Spottedleaf."
Bluefur turned, seeing Spottedleaf crouched over Mousefur, and shook her head. It sent a wave of pain through her skull. "I'm fine. Other cats need her more."
Bluefur's eyes wandered. Thistlestar was stirring now, gazing around the camp with an unreadable expression. It was then that she noticed it- there was another cat lying motionless.
It slowly registered that he was in the spot Whitestorm had been fighting.
"No!" Bluefur raced to the tom's side. She placed her paw on his flank, trying to get a reaction. Whitestorm's normally snow-colored fur was stained red with blood; she could only hope that it was not his own.
"Whitestorm." He didn't respond, so Bluefur called his name louder. "Whitestorm." Still nothing. She tried to shake him, to wake him up, like she had with Snowfur all those seasons ago. "Whitestorm!" For the first time true fear crept into her voice. Her sister's son could not be dead.
She shook him again. He did not wake.
Bluefur raised her head to StarClan. "No!"
She had promised she would protect him.
She had promised Snowfur she would keep him safe.
The crowd parted to let Thistlestar through. A look of shock clouded his face when he saw his son's body. His stunned expression slowly contorted into fury.
Finally, Thistlestar looked up and broke the silence, his voice hoarse but powerful. "RiverClan think they have defeated us." He raised his head. "They are mistaken. I tell you now, ThunderClan, RiverClan will pay for their actions in their own blood. They will rue the day they killed my son."
Defeated and broken, the cats of ThunderClan murmured in silent agreement. Bluefur stared numbly at Whitestorm's body, barely aware of her kits pressing their fur against hers in a gesture of comfort. It didn't matter. Her sister's son, the kit she had promised to keep safe all those seasons ago, was dead.