Bluefur's Choice

No Place in This Forest

Time plodded on. There were more battles now, as ThunderClan struggled to keep its expanded territory while facing threats from all sides. Early new-leaf came and went- or at least what should have been newleaf; the cold of leaf-bare persisted for much too long.

Bluefur found herself checking her appearance in puddles sometimes, just to see how much more silver her muzzle had grown. She wondered if it was more due to stress or age.

There were no more evening patrols with Whitestorm. No more talks about the Clan's future with her sister's son. She tried to put Whitestorm's death in the back of her mind, burying it so deep that she couldn't think about it. About how she had let Snowfur down. About how Whitestorm's death had been a huge loss for ThunderClan. About how it was all her fault. She should have known the RiverClan cats were out for blood. She should have seen that the RiverClan warrior had been ready to kill. She should have known. If she had just fought the warrior instead of letting him go-

But she couldn't think about that.

There was a dearth of young cats now, with so few litters being born. Brindleface's kit had recently been named an apprentice, and to Bluefur's surprise, Stoneclaw had been chosen to be her mentor. Sandpaw and Stoneclaw got along well together, and whenever Bluefur saw her son instructing his young apprentice, she couldn't stop herself from feeling a warm glow of pride.

But every day Bluefur fought a pang of resentment. Too many had died. If only Robinwing and Willowpelt had survived to their kitting, ThunderClan would have at least had a few more apprentices. The Clan was in a precarious situation; Bluefur could feel it in her bones.

At least Goldenflower had given birth recently, but even that had been tainted with heartbreak; only one kit survived.

None of the younger cats said anything, but they had been disappointed. They were grief stricken by the loss of the kits just as much as their Clanmates, but on top of that they knew their chances for an apprentice of their own were slipping away.

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They patrolled the ShadowClan border constantly. As well as regular dawn and dusk patrols, Thistlestar often stationed a group of cats to keep watch over the more fought over segments of the border during the night.

Tonight, Bluefur and Stoneclaw had been chosen, and as they made their way there, they were drawn into conversation.

"Sandpaw's training is going well," Stoneclaw meowed as he trotted along the path, tail held high.

"She seems keen to learn," Bluefur remarked.

"She is." Stoneclaw slowed to a stop, and then sat down, wrapping his tail around his paws. Sniffing the air, Bluefur joined him. There was no sign of ShadowClan tonight, and all was peaceful.

"You're doing a good job with her," Bluefur continued. "Giving you Sandpaw to mentor was one of Thistlestar's best decisions."

"And probably the only one you've agreed with," Stoneclaw replied, his eyes narrowed teasingly. Bluefur let out a purr of amusement.

They sat there for a long time, unmoving. No sign of any other cats came, and as Bluefur breathed in the air, she wished that things could go back to how they were when she was young. Raggedstar had died recently, and ShadowClan's leadership had been taken over by his son, Brokenstar. The younger cat had proven himself unpredictable- half a moon earlier he had launched an attack on Snakerocks of all places.

Bluefur could feel it in her pelt- the forest was shifting. She thought back to her younger moons, recalling how she and Snowfur had played together as kits, how Sunstar had watched out for her when Moonflower died, how she had trained as an apprentice with Lionheart and Goldenflower and Rosetail and Sweetpaw. Back then there had always been a certainty that whatever challenges ThunderClan faced, it would survive. Cats died but new kits were born. Old leaders would fall and new ones would rise. But no matter what happened, ThunderClan, and the rest of the Clans, would go on. That certainty was gone now.