Bluefur awoke in the nursery, her kits clambering over her and squealing. She sat up and looked around.
Soft moss carpeted the ground, and the warm scent of milk was everywhere.
Bluefur blinked as memories of her dream flooded back to her. Giving away her kits, Mosskit dying, Thistleclaw becoming deputy. What a weird dream it was!
Mosskit tumbled up to her and pounced on her tail, growling playfully. She very much wasn't dead, that Bluefur was sure. Bluefur purred and licked Mosskit's ears. She felt joy welling up in her and realized that she hadn't felt this happy in moons, for whatever reason.
Suddenly, the nursery grew darker. The air chilled, and a musty stench hit Bluefur's nose. She scrunched up her face and rubbed at her muzzle with her paws, trying to rid the lingering smell.
Something fell on Mosskit's fluffy pelt, staining her fur. Bluefur frowned. What was that? She licked it away, and immediately a strong, salty taste filled her mouth. Blood.
Bluefur jerked her head up and stared at the roof of the den. Instead of a canopy of leaves, vines, and brambles, the ceiling was writhing with ugly, fat thistles.
Bluefur let out a gasp and drew all her kits closer with her tail. They had stopped playing, and was now whimpering, their eyes huge with terror.
Another drop of blood fell from the thistles onto Mosskit's head. It dripped down her face and oozed through her fur. Mosskit's eyes widened, then filled with pain. She mewed piteously, and began to fade away. Bluefur sucked in a shocked breath and began to grasp at Mosskit, to hold on to her, but it was no use. Mosskit disappeared completely. Her sad, scared mewling echoed through the nursery.
"No!" Bluefur yowled, her voice dying away. She bowed her head. Grief crashed over her and threatened to drag her down, but Bluefur resisted. The thought of Mistykit and Stonekit brought her back, and she snapped to her senses.
Too late. Bluefur's kits were caught in the thistles, which now covered the walls of the nursery. They struggled and meowed, flailing their paws.
Determination hardened Bluefur's heart. She wasn't going to lose any more kits! She sprang forward, slicing at the thistles with her claws. The plants recoiled, then struck out, cutting Bluefur with their thorns. She hissed and bit at a tendril, feeling it snap. She dropped the severed thistle stem, and rushed to her kits. She grasped another tendril with her teeth and yanked, causing it to drop Mistykit. She did the same for Stonekit's captor, then grabbed both of their scruffs and exploded out of the nursery.
What she saw made her heart break. Bodies of all her Clanmates were scattered around the clearing, blood tricking out of their wounds. Thistles twined around them, cutting into their skin.
Bluefur slowly padded forward, and nudged the nearest cat with her paw. The body rolled over, and this time Bluefur could not contain her cry of grief. It was Thrushpelt, her loyal friend, who kept her secret till the very end.
Bluefur carefully lowered her kits to the ground, then buried her nose into Thrushpelt's cold fur. Good-bye, my friend. She thought, then backed away.
She turned to pick up her kits again, but they were gone. Bluefur spun around in a circle, her heart pounding. Where were they?!
Bluefur spotted two small, limp bodies a few tail-lengths away and her stomach lurched. Please, oh Starclan, please, don't let that be… Bluefur shied away, but she already knew. It was Mistykit and Stonekit.
