Free Bluestar's Prophecy by Erin Hunter

gazed at Bluepaw. “How does it feel to be an apprentice at last?”
    “Great!” she lied. At least it would be if I were hunting instead of collecting bedding . She pushed the thought away. This is important, too , she reminded herself, still not entirely convinced.
    Stonepelt was already rootling through Weedwhisker’s nest, plucking out stale, stinky strands of bracken. Bluepaw hurried to help him while Weedwhisker sat to one side, his eyes half-closed as though he was dozing.
    “Pass the moss,” Stonepelt meowed once they’d removed most of the bedding.
    Bluepaw picked up a wad and dropped it into Weedwhisker’s bed. Stonepelt expertly tore it apart with his claws and tucked it among the remaining stems of bracken until the nest was deeply lined, soft and green. “We’ll get fresh bracken tomorrow to bolster the sides,” he promised Weedwhisker.
    “Good.” Weedwhisker yawned. “My bones ache in this weather.”
    He didn’t even say thank you! Bluepaw whisked some spare moss aside but held her tongue.
    Weedwhisker climbed into his nest as they began work on Larksong’s. “There’s a thorn!” he complained.
    “Let me look,” Stonepelt offered at once. While Weedwhisker leaned stiffly out of the way, Stonepelt rummaged through the bedding until he found a tough piece of moss. “Just a bit of root,” he meowed, plucking it out and tossing it onto the pile with the old bedding.
    Weedwhisker shook his head. “That’s the trouble with new apprentices,” he sighed. “They leave every bit of stick and stone in the moss.” He climbed back into the nest and curled down. “Couldn’t you have found some that was drier? This is a bit damp.”
    “It’ll dry now that it’s away from the tree,” Stonepelt promised.
    Bluepaw had to hold her tail still, though she couldn’t stop it trembling. How ungrateful! Her claws still ached from slicing that moss, and all Weedwhisker could do was find fault. But Stonepelt showed no sign of annoyance, just turned to Larksong’s nest and went back to work.
    Stiff with anger, Bluepaw crouched next to him and helped. She was worn out by the time they’d finished all three nests, carried the old bedding away, and dumped it beside the dirtplace. The leaf-fall sun was starting to sink behind the treetops.
    “You deserve a meal,” Stonepelt told her. “Get something from the fresh-kill pile and go share with your denmates.” He nodded to where Leopardpaw and Patchpaw were eating beside the tree stump. “You’ve worked hard today.”
    His praise lifted Bluepaw’s spirits. Dipping her head to him, she padded to the fresh-kill pile and picked up a mouse. As she settled beside Patchpaw, she eyed Leopardpaw coldly. Some denmate she’d been, teasing Bluepaw like that.
    The black she-cat was eating a thrush. She paused for a moment. “I bet they didn’t even thank you.”
    Bluepaw stared at her. “You mean the elders?”
    “Every cat knows they complain about everything,” Leopardpaw mewed. “I suppose they’ve earned the right, but it doesn’t help when you’re stuck with cleaning out their smelly bedding.”
    Patchpaw rubbed his muzzle with a paw. “Fuzzypelt says they’re grumpy because they can’t do it for themselves anymore.”
    “They’re lucky they don’t have to do it themselves anymore!” Leopardpaw commented. “Here.” She tossed a morsel of thrush to Bluepaw. “That mouse won’t fill you up if you’ve been clearing out nests all day.”
    For the first time, Bluepaw felt like a real apprentice. She purred. “Thanks, Leopardpaw.”
    “Denmates share,” the black cat answered.
    Cheerfully Bluepaw took a bite of the thrush. The foresty flavor sang on her tongue, and she hardly noticed the paw steps heading toward her.
    “I’ll take you hunting tomorrow.”
    Surprised, Bluepaw looked up and saw Stonepelt standing over her. She swallowed. “Really?”
    “We’ll leave at sunhigh. Let’s see if you can use what you’ve learned today on