Bluefur's Choice

Leaf-fall Again

AN: Ahhh, I didn't mean for this to take so long! Writer's block and life happened, but I'm back now.

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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.

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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.