#hitdsnk

Thistleclaw still fretted, padding after her with more prey than she wanted and enough moss to line every nest in the warriors’ den, and Snowfur looked happy. And really, that was what mattered. (Right?)

“Goldenflower, you are kind and patient, and an excellent warrior. I believe you will be an excellent mentor, and you will pass down the lessons you learned from Dappletail to Stonepaw.” Goldenflower wasn’t someone Thrushpelt expected to be given an apprentice, but when Sunstar had floated the name past him, he had been supportive.

Thrushpelt is not particularly religious. He listens to the medicine cat and leader, whispers his own prayers to Rainfur when things seem uncertain. But for the most part, he’s always thought most of his contact with StarClan will be after he dies. Not so, now. Now, he prays frantically, scrambling for the names of queens who protected their kits, queens who went mad and regretted it, scrambles for just one name, he can pray to. So he can beg her to keep Bluefur, keep the kits, safe.