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I also posted this on the fan fic page, but basically I’m getting a bit burned out on F.A.N.G. so I’m taking a break to just write something fun and easy 😛
Who knows if I’ll finish it, but it’s basically a retelling of Bluestar’s Prophecy through Thrushpelt’s eyes.

Also, I don’t remember much of what Starclan’s like, so I just made it up. Honestly, I imagine them all sitting in front of a giant TV, watching the clans go through life like its a movie. They ought to kick Goosefeather out for spoiling the ending.

Thrushpelt’s Trust—Prolouge—
“Are you sure you want to watch this?” 
Thrushpelt twitched an ear in the direction of Oakheart, unable to turn his gaze away from the pool of water. “Bluestar’s faced troubles before, why should this be any different? She won’t be joining us today.” 
“There’s a first time for everything, Thrushpelt,” said Oakheart, the Riverclan tom’s pelt brushing his own as he leaned closer to the pool. Thrushpelt shrugged, trying to keep his pelt smooth, wishing he believed his own words.
It had been painful to watch his clan dissolve into chaos without him, each new member of Starclan hurting like a claw to the face. Who knew one over ambitious apprentice could have grown into such a menace? 
“I will not let you destroy my clan!” Bluestat roared from the other side of the pool, and she launched herself at the dog that was holding the newest of her deputies, headbutting the beast hard in the flank. 
“That’s showing them,” Brindleface hissed from Thrushpelt’s right. 
“Let them feel your claws, sister!” Snowfur piped in, her white fur, spiked with agitation, clouded Thrushpelt’s peripheral vision as she shoved between him and Oakheart to get a better view. 
“Better run, you mongrel, because she’s going to kick your rear!” Rosetail added, her voice rising up with the cheers of the other cats as the dog released Fireheart, spinning around to face Thunderclan’s leader. 
“What’s wrong, can’t swim?” Silverstream whooped as the first dogs skidded off the cliffs.
Thrushpelt couldn’t recall the last time there had been so many spectators for one fight. For some of them, like himself, they were here to watch their old acquaintance. Others, like Brindleface, were more invested. She’d been killed to give the monsters a taste for cat meat, so this was personal. When he’d shoved his way through the crowd, Thrushpelt had even earned the burning glare of Shadowstar, the founder of Shadowclan. 
Thrushpelt tensed as the lead dog reached forwards, its jaws closing around the gray she-cat’s leg. The starry forest was suddenly filled with an heavy, deafening silence as the dog lost its grip on the clip, toppling over the edge with Bluestar in tow. 
Thrushpelt met Oakheart’s gaze over Snowfur’s back, his own panic mirrored on the reddish brown tom’s face. He had tried to tell himself that this didn’t really matter, but his words felt hollow. She would be dead. Thunderclan would turn to Fireheart’s guidance, and the young cat would be responsible for the entirety of its future.
And Bluestar would be in Starclan.
With him.
Thrushpelt couldn’t breath as he watched his former leader tumble into the waters, his stomach churning like the waves that swallowed her elegant head like a hungry beast.
“Even the most powerful of flames can be destroyed by water,” Goosefeather murmured from somewhere in the crowd, his voice thunderous in the tense silence. 
“What’s that supposed to mean?” a tiny voice asked from behind Thrushpelt. This time, he spun around, turning his back on the pool for the first time since the whole fiasco had started. 
“Mosskit, I thought Graypool was watching you!” Oakheart yelped, shooting Thrushpelt a panicked glance. This was not something either of them wanted their daughter to watch. 
“Little one, why don’t you finish your nap?” Thrushpelt asked, blinking at the kit. “We’ll fill you in afterwards, okay?” 
“I can watch her,” Goosefeather replied, his blue eyes reflecting the light from the pool like two glowing moons. “I already know how this will end.” 
Thrushpelt shivered, sneaking a glance back over his shoulder. Goosefeather’s mind had cleared up significantly since his death, but Thrushpelt still wasn’t sure he trusted the medicine cat to watch his kit. 
Snowfur twitched her tail against his flank, then towards Mosskit. “I can do it,” she offered, her eyes still glued to the pool, desperately awaiting her sister’s fate. 
Can you really? Thrushpelt wondered, following the white she-cat’s gaze. Bluestar was fighting the current, but it looked like she was losing the battle. Thrushpelt was having trouble glancing away for just a moment, and he couldn’t imagine what it would be like, if that was Tawnyspots or Dappletail or Rosetail in the water. 
“No,” Mosskit snarled, the steel in her voice startling Thrushpelt, “I’m staying.” 
“She’s running out of strength,” Moonflower murmured from the other side of the pool, drawing Thrushpelt’s attention back to Bluestar. If Mosskit wanted to stay, she could stay. Bluestar was her mother, after all. 
They’d find out soon, whether or not this would be Bluestar’s final fight.
Mosskit whimpered slightly as she caught sight of her mother’s limp form being tumbled against the stones of the riverbed. Thrushpelt reached his tail out towards her, planning on pulling her close, only to find his tail overlapping with those of Snowfur and Oakheart, who had been about to do the same. Without looking away, Thrushpelt shifted closer to his former clanmate, allowing Mosskit to nestle into her aunt’s fur while her fathers’ tails curled around her like a nest. 
 “Don’t give up!” Oakheart said, leaning forwards to dip his paw into the water. His eyes slid closed as his soul slipped through the barrier between Starclan and Bluestar. 
Thrushpelt swallowed hard as Bluestar’s body twitched, her eyes flickering open once more. 
“It’s like running through the forest. Let your paws do the work. Raise your chin. Let the water carry you up,” Oakheart whispered, his twitching paws sending tiny ripples through the pool as if he could swim for her.
His words were reigniting her spirit, but her body was fading fast. Thrushpelt lifted his head as a sparkle floated off the surface of the pool, dancing above his head. Bluestar was dying. 
“Don’t you want her to be with us?” Mosskit asked softly, resting her chin on Thrushpelt’s tail. It was worded so innocently, but Thrushpelt knew there was weight behind the question. His daughter had grown wise in death, maybe a little wiser than he would have liked. 
“Of course,” he murmured back, “But her clan needs her as well.” That wasn’t the truth, but he wished it was. 
“Our kits are waiting, you can’t leave them without saying good-bye,” Oakheart coaxed, the sparks flying from the water now, illuminating the tom’s silky brown fur with a gentle silver glow. 
The Thunderclan deputy was dragging her out of the water now, and Thrushpelt’s focus sharpened at the sight of two familiar grey shapes. Mistyfoot and Stonefur, his kits. 
He listened to them talk, their voices sounding far away as if they were underwater, even though the pool didn’t distort sound. 
“We forgive you, Bluestar.”
“We forgive you.” 
Thrushpelt watched as Bluestar’s eyes closed one last time, the flurry of sparkles almost blinding as a shimmering cloud of them shot away from the pool. 
The quiet was interrupted with the rustle of paws and the joyful shouts of the cats crowded about the pool. That was the odd thing about Starclan. They’d hope for one more breath for each dying cat, but once the last was gone, there was only room for celebration. 
Thrushpelt followed slowly as the gathered cats swarmed around the glowing form, which was slowly shifting into the shape of a cat, revealing Bluestar, healthy and whole. Her pelt gleamed like a sliver of moon, her eyes warm and dancing with joy. 
“Snowfur! Moonflower!” she cried, twining herself between her mother and sister, “It’s so good to see you again! And Oakheart,” she added with a purr, turning to her mate. 
“Hi,” Oakheart replied, hanging back slightly. The former Riverclan deputy was looking almost bashful for once. 
“Mom!” Mosskit squeaked, wriggling through fray. Thrushpelt’s heart caught in his throat as his daughter beamed up at her parents, her purr almost loud enough to shake the earth below his paws. “I forgive you too,” she added, echoing her littermates. 
Then, the little grey and white kit glanced through the crowd, her eyes finding Thrushpelt. The question in her gaze was obvious. 
“Thrushpelt?” Bluestar asked hesitantly, the smile on her face wavering with uncertainty. 
There were no enemies in Starclan, Oakstar always said. Thrushpelt couldn’t think of any cats who still held onto their old grudges after death. Sure, there were awkward moments between Moonflower, Stormtail, and Dappletail, and Leopardfoot and Pinestar tended to avoid each other, but it was nothing a warm sunbeam or a good piece of prey couldn’t cure. 
It was odd, the coldness in his gut that wouldn’t let him smile back at her. Thrushpelt had spent his whole life loving her, and now that she was reunited with him once again, he couldn’t bring himself to look at her. 
Bluestar’s presence here would change everything. Mosskit would have a mother now, Oakheart would have a mate, and Snowfur would have a sister. 
And he could have a friend. In theory, at least. At one point, Thrushpelt had believed that, overjoyed to have her trust and the opportunity to play a part in her kits’ lives. 
Except she’d never trusted him, not really. 
“Funny, those two cats looked oddly like our kits, didn’t they?” Thrushpelt said softly, his tone cold. “And Mosskit says she froze to death. But that can’t be it, can it?” he asked, his voice cracking like breaking ice. “You told the clan they were eaten by a fox. You told me they were eaten by a fox!” 
“Thrushpelt…” Bluestar said again, but he shook his head, trying to get her voice out of his mind. 
“Maybe our kits can forgive you,” Thrushpelt continued slowly, already beginning to turn away, “But I can’t.”