Mistystar’s Omen

Stonefur shook his head, almost in sorrow. “The lake is not the only source of prey,” he mewed, echoing what he had said before. “RiverClan has another medicine cat.”

“But Mothwing doesn’t believe in you! How can she be a true medicine cat? She has lied to the whole Clan, and she will be forever blind to what you tell her.”

“Did StarClan tell you how to give birth to your kits?” Stonefur queried.

Mistystar gazed at her brother in astonishment. “No, of course not.”

“So you trusted your instincts, and acted alone?”

“Well, I had Mudfur to help me, but yes, I guess my instincts told me what to do,” Mistystar admitted. She had no idea where this was leading. Beside her, Stonefur was starting to fade. Mistystar reached out with her front paw, trying to hold the vision where it was.

“Perhaps you should trust Mothwing to act alone,” came the last whisper.

Dazed, Mistystar shoved her way out of the brambles. On the last tendril, a pale green pod balanced, so delicate that Mistystar could almost see through it. Something made her pause, and as she watched, the pod began to split open. A damp, folded brown creature emerged, not much thicker than a twig. The sides of the pod fell away, leaving the creature clinging to the bramble. Mistystar watched, entranced, as the tiny shape stretched out first one wing, then the other. They gleamed in the pale light, thinner than gossamer and lifted by the softest breeze. As the wings dried, bolder colors appeared: rich fox-colored brown, bright circles of blue edged in white, and specks of black that looked like the opposite of stars. It was a moth!

Does it know what it is? Mistystar wondered. Fly, little one! That’s what your wings are for!

The moth clung to the tendril, its wings trembling. Then, with a twitch of its hair’s-breadth legs, it flexed its wings and let the breeze lift it into the air. It hung for a moment above the bramble; then its wings folded and unfolded in a single heartbeat and the moth soared up through the brambles, flitting past the thorns and out into the cold, crisp sky.

Mistystar realized she had been holding her breath. Did the moth have its own StarClan? Or had it really emerged all on its own, known how to spread its wings and take flight purely by instinct? Stonefur’s words came back to her, and Mistystar’s fur started to tingle. You sent this moth, didn’t you, Stonefur? You meant this to be an omen—an omen for me that I should trust Mothwing’s instincts, and not judge her for what she does not do.

Chapter 10

Mistystar raced back to the camp and burst through the entrance. The clearing was empty and quiet. There was no sign of Reedwhisker or Willowshine or the cats who had clustered around them. Surely Reedwhisker hadn’t died! Was she too late? She spotted Graymist emerging from the dirtplace and called over to her.

“Where is he? Where is Willowshine?”

Graymist looked at her, and Mistystar flinched from the judgment in her gaze. “They are in the medicine cats’ den,” she meowed.

Mistystar couldn’t bear to ask how Reedwhisker was. She fled to the rocks and peered in. Willowshine was bent over the deputy’s still, black shape. “Is… is he alive?”

“Just,” mewed Willowshine without looking up. “I’m doing everything I can.”

Mistystar stepped forward. “Where is Mothwing?”

Anger prickled from Willowshine’s fur. “In the elders’ den. Where you sent her.”

Mistystar swallowed. “I made a mistake,” she whispered. Then she turned and ran out of the den. She went over to the bush that sheltered the elders in their twilight moons and ducked her head into the den. “Mothwing?”

There was a faint stirring in the shadows. “Yes?”

“Mothwing, Reedwhisker needs you.” Mistystar paused. “I need you. Please don’t let me lose my son.”

Mothwing padded across the den and pushed her way out as Mistystar stepped back. Her blue eyes were wary and watchful.

“I was wrong,” Mistystar confessed. “You are still the RiverClan medicine cat. It is not up to me to take that away from you.” She pictured the moth, proud and strong and utterly confident that it could fly without any help. “Please forgive me, Mothwing.”

Mothwing stretched until her muzzle rested on top of Mistystar’s head. “I will do everything I can for Reedwhisker,” she promised. Then she brushed lightly past Mistystar and vanished into her old den.

Mistystar forced herself not to follow. Reedwhisker was in the best place to recover; she would only get in the way. Suddenly she knew where she had to go. She turned and trotted toward the entrance. She met Beetlewhisker just outside. “Is Reedwhisker okay?” the warrior asked.