by Erin Hunter
Clear Sky snorted. “Through the bracken. Can’t you smell her?”
“All I can smell is wet leaves,” Lightning Tail meowed. “How do you ever sniff out prey around here? I can hardly taste my own tail when I wash.”
“You’ll learn how,” Thunder promised. He was only just getting used to it himself. He’d lived in the forest before but had forgotten all he’d learned after moons on the moor. There, the wind had carried only fresh scents. Here, smells gathered and mingled, catching on bushes and lingering on tree trunks. The whole forest tasted musty with decay.
Lightning Tail nodded to Thunder. “Do you want to join us?”
“No, thanks.” Thunder stared through the trees, wondering what was beyond the steep rise sloping up toward a thickly brambled crest. “I thought I’d explore my new home.” He flicked his tail toward Clear Sky. “Do you want to come with me?”
Clear Sky jerked around. “Come with you?”
“I thought you might want to keep me company.”
Clear Sky narrowed his eyes. “Are you planning to show me around my own territory?”
Thunder tipped his head, suddenly uneasy. “That’s not what I meant. I just wondered if you wanted to come along—”
Clear Sky cut him off. “It’s time I patrolled my borders.” He lifted his tail. “Perhaps you’d like to keep me company.”
Thunder’s pelt itched with frustration. Why did Clear Sky have to make everything a battle? He is the leader, he reminded himself. Let him lead. He dipped his head. “I’d be honored.”
Clear Sky marched from the clearing. Thunder followed.
Lightning Tail leaned forward as Thunder brushed past. “Does he argue about everything?” he whispered.
“Yes,” Thunder hissed back.
Clear Sky could be obstinate. But they knew that already. Thunder just wished that he were better at guessing what was going to make Clear Sky’s hackles rise. Dealing with his father was like picking his way through a briar patch—he never knew when he would step on a thorn.
Lightning Tail nosed Thunder’s flank. “You’ve got more patience than me.”
If only that were true. “See you later, Lightning Tail.” Thunder hurried on, weaving through a crowd of slender birch trees, following Clear Sky between the trunks. Water chattered beyond. They were heading for a stream. By the time Thunder caught up, Clear Sky had leaped the brook and was crouching at the far side. Thunder stopped at the edge and watched as Clear Sky leaned down the steep bank and began to lap at the water.
The stream had been empty until the snow had melted; now it washed his paw tips and glittered beneath the bare branches as it snaked away between the trees. Thunder bent low and drank too. It was more refreshing than what he found on the moor, where the streams were sluggish, the peaty earth making the water taste like smoke.
He lifted his head, his chin dripping, seeing that Clear Sky was now pacing the far bank. “Are you ready?” his father asked.
After Thunder jumped the stream, Clear Sky nodded toward a gully that cut through the forest. “There’s a huge oak along there. Beyond it, the forest stretches to Twolegplace.”
“Show me.” Thunder waited for Clear Sky to take the lead, then fell in behind him.
He followed his father over a rise, then hopped after him into the gully. It rose steeply on either side, muddy from the recent rain. Slippery roots snaked beneath Thunder’s paws. Clear Sky moved easily between them, his pale gray pelt no more than a shadow in the gloom. Thunder was aware that his own orange pelt glowed. His paws slithered. He stumbled over a root, landing awkwardly as another tripped him. He was used to the wide smooth expanses of the moor. Even the rabbit trails between the heather were well worn and easy to navigate. The uneven path here unbalanced him, and he found himself concentrating so hard on where to put his paws that he didn’t see the bramble stem hanging across the trail. It snagged his ear and he gasped with pain.
Clear Sky paused and turned his head. “Are you okay?”
“Just a bramble.” Thunder glanced at the land rising beside them. The earth looked smoother up there. And there were no brambles. Why did Clear Sky insist on picking his way along this treacherous gully?
“Can’t you go any faster?” Clear Sky called.
“I’m doing my best!” Irritation flashed beneath his pelt. He’s doing this on purpose. His father clearly wanted to show how easily he moved through his terrain.
Clear Sky quickened his pace over the root-tangled trail.
I’m not playing your game. Thunder leaped up the steep bank of the gully and climbed the smooth slope. Shadowing Clear Sky’s route, he kept to higher ground. A swath of bracken crossed his path and he pushed his way in, relishing the tug of the scratchy stalks as they scraped his pelt.
Clear Sky was waiting at the other side. “You’re supposed to be following me.” He stood on the slope, his blue eyes cold.
“I was, but I kept stubbing my paws.”
“You’ve clearly forgotten how to move through a forest.”
Thunder ignored his father’s condescending tone, pointedly glancing up the slope. A huge tree towered at the top, stretching high above the canopy. “Is that the oak you were talking about?”
“Yes.” Clear Sky swished his tail and bounded toward it.
Thunder leaped after him. Clear Sky dug his paws in harder to keep himself in the lead. As they neared the top of the rise, red fur flashed across ahead of them.
Clear Sky slowed to a halt, every hair on his pelt bristling.
Thunder smelled his father’s fear-scent and stopped. Alarm shrilled through his tail. He unsheathed his claws as leaves swirled in their path. Was it a fox?
Tiny paws skittered over the forest floor, and a red squirrel leaped from the ground and scooted up the oak trunk.
Thunder rolled his eyes. “I thought it was a fox!”
Clear Sky’s pelt was still bushed. “Don’t be dumb!” he snapped.
Thunder glanced at his father out of the corner of his eye. Then why did you look so scared?
Clear Sky snorted. “Stop looking at me and watch where you put your paws. I don’t want you stubbing them again.” Lashing his tail, he marched past the oak.
Thunder followed, glancing up as the squirrel disappeared between the crisscrossing branches. Raindrops splashed down onto Thunder’s muzzle. He shook them off and followed Clear Sky.
The ground beyond the oak sloped down to a glade. Thunder’s heart sank as he saw brambles crowding the bottom. He could see a clear route skirting them—a trail through wilted fern stumps. But Clear Sky charged down the slope, heading straight for the brambles. Flattening his ears, Thunder followed.
Clear Sky hopped neatly among the damp stems.
Thunder winced as prickles grazed his paws, until at last the brambles thinned. Through the trees he could see the rain-washed red roofs of Twoleg dens glinting in the weak sunshine. He slowed, smelling unfamiliar scents.
Clear Sky kept moving.
“We’re not going near there, are we?” Thunder stopped beside a yew bush.
“We might find some kittypet recruits.” Clear Sky halted and turned. “Fluttering Bird wants us to spread and grow, remember?”
“But kittypets?” Thunder remembered Tom, the kittypet father of Turtle Tail’s kits. He’d stolen them just to make Turtle Tail suffer, and she’d been killed trying to rescue them.
“Are you scared of them?” Clear Sky challenged.
“Of course not!” Thunder glared at him. “But they can’t hunt or fight. What good are they to us?”
“We can train them.”
Thunder hardly heard Clear Sky’s words. Paws were scrabbling over leaves close by. He pricked his ears. Something was moving beyond the yew.
“Listen, do you hear that?” he hissed at Clear Sky.
Clear Sky whisked his tail. “It’s probably a squirrel. We can hunt it on the way home.” He headed toward the Twolegplace.
“We should catch it now.” They�
�d already missed one today. Had Clear Sky forgotten it was leaf-bare? They couldn’t afford to ignore prey.
“Then go catch it,” Clear Sky called back.
Thunder ducked under the yew. Its dripping branches scraped his spine. Through its tangy scent he could smell more than squirrel. A second scent touched his nose—a familiar smell. His hackles lifted as he heard the crunch of tooth on bone. Dragging his belly over the cold wet earth, he peered out through the fronds on the far side.
A golden she-cat was bent over a dead squirrel. From its scent it was freshly caught. Thunder unsheathed his claws. This cat’s tabby markings, and her white chest and paws, were so familiar they made his heart ache.
He slid from under the yew and glared at her. “Star Flower.”
Star Flower turned, gazing at him with luminous green eyes. “Hi, Thunder. What are you doing in the forest? I thought you were a moor cat.”
Thunder bristled. “What am I doing?” Didn’t she realize she was hunting on Clear Sky’s territory? “How can you show your face here after—”
She cut him off. “After what?” She tipped her head, her gaze steady. “After you murdered my father?”
She was talking about the rogue cat called One Eye, who had taken over Clear Sky’s territory by force, viciously attacking any cat who disobeyed him. The cats of the forest had to stop him! But Star Flower had loved her father, despite his obvious faults. Just like I loved her, he thought.
He no longer had feelings for her, though. He was nearly sure of it.
“It wasn’t like that,” Thunder insisted.
“Really?” Star Flower swished her thick tail and turned back to her squirrel.
Thunder stared at her, bristling with indignation. If they hadn’t stopped him, One Eye would have killed every cat on the moor.
Star Flower glanced at him. “Do you want a bite?”
Heat flashed beneath Thunder’s pelt. “A bite? Are we allies now? Don’t you care about anything?”
Star Flower lifted her head, her green eyes glimmering. “I care enough to forgive you.”
“Forgive me?” Thunder snorted. “You’re the one who betrayed us!”
“And you’re the one who helped kill my father,” Star Flower replied steadily.
The yew rustled behind Thunder.
“That wasn’t my son’s fault.” Clear Sky pushed his way through the branches. “If you want to blame any cat for One Eye’s death, blame me.”
Star Flower’s gaze flitted thoughtfully over Clear Sky. “You’re the cat who took my father in, aren’t you?”
Thunder threw her a warning look—Clear Sky wouldn’t want to be reminded of his mistake. He blinked with surprise as Clear Sky dipped his head.
“Yes, that was me.”
How can he be so polite?
Star Flower’s hackles softened. “That was kind of you.” She brushed past Thunder and stopped a whisker from Clear Sky’s muzzle. “Would you be kind once more and take me in?”
Thunder stared at her.
“It’s hard for a loner,” she went on, her mew silky. “I know you don’t trust me, but you should. I was loyal to my father to the end.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward Thunder. “Isn’t that true loyalty?”
Thunder swallowed back anger. Is she saying I’m disloyal for leaving Clear Sky all those moons ago? He watched his father nervously. Would Star Flower’s honeyed words work on him? Relief washed his pelt as Clear Sky shook his head.
“I can’t let you join us,” he told her. “Your father hurt a lot of my cats. They wouldn’t thank me for bringing you back to camp.”
Star Flower blinked slowly at Clear Sky. “And what if your cats told you they didn’t mind?” she asked softly. “Would you take me in then?”
Clear Sky shook his head and turned away. “I can’t,” he growled. “Not after what your father did.”
Thunder saw anger flash in Star Flower’s eyes.
“Thunder, please!” She turned toward him. He tried to avoid her bright green gaze, but it hooked him. “It’s going to be a long leaf-bare.” There was fear in her mew. “I don’t know if I’ll make it through by myself. Now that One Eye is dead, I have no cat to help me hunt.”
Thunder forced himself to look away, feeling Star Flower’s desperate gaze burning through his pelt. Was he wrong to punish her for her father’s sins? She was alone now. Without One Eye to bully her, perhaps she could be trusted. Perhaps she’d simply been one of his victims. Thunder felt his heart twist. “Clear Sky!” He called to his father. “Maybe we should give her a chance.”
Clear Sky glanced over his shoulder. “She’s One Eye’s daughter!”
“That’s not her fault!” Thunder knew better than most that a cat didn’t have to follow in their father’s paw steps. Star Flower’s glossy pelt brushed his flank. Energy sparked through him like lightning. Her scent was so familiar, so warm. His mind whirled. He had to persuade Clear Sky to take her in. He couldn’t leave her to starve. “You wanted to bring all the cats together!” he called. “Why not Star Flower? She was one of us once.”
Clear Sky’s blue eyes narrowed.
“Fluttering Bird wanted us to unite so we can spread and grow.” Thunder pressed. “The more cats we have, the stronger we’ll be.”
Clear Sky glanced at Star Flower’s squirrel. “I guess she can hunt.”
“I can!” Star Flower snatched up the squirrel.
Clear Sky turned away, his tail twitching. “Bring her along. You can explain it to your campmates.”
Purring, Star Flower followed Clear Sky past the yew.
Thunder walked behind her, his belly tightening. You can explain it. His paws pricked nervously as he pictured Lightning Tail’s expression when he led Star Flower into camp. He’ll think I’ve gone crazy.
CHAPTER 6
Gray Wing dropped into a hunting crouch. High above him, faint sunlight filtered through the canopy and striped the forest floor. His tail twitched with excitement as he saw a lizard dart from beneath the fallen tree. He shifted his weight. Pine needles crunched like snow beneath his paws. As the lizard skittered from its hiding place, Gray Wing leaped.
Needles sprayed as he landed. His paws slid clumsily, but he hooked the lizard’s tail with a foreclaw and darted ahead to give it a killing bite. It lay dead at his paws, and he sniffed its scales. They were a strange texture, smooth and slimy, unlike the prey Gray Wing usually hunted. River Ripple eats them, he told himself as he lapped at the blood welling at the lizard’s neck. Its flesh might feel weird, but its blood tasted just like that of any other prey. Holly’s kits might have fun picking at it.
Gray Wing straightened. The tightness in his breathing, which had been bothering him all morning, hadn’t eased even when the sun’s gentle leaf-bare warmth had melted the dew from the forest. The fresh tang of pine seemed to tickle the inside of his chest, making him cough and wheeze. He remembered feeling much better in the fresh winds of the moor and, for a moment, felt a sudden longing for his old home that was like a blunt claw snagging at his belly fur.
You live here now, he told himself. As he bent to pick up the lizard between his teeth, pine needles swished behind him.
He tensed.
Fern?
He’d seen no sign of the half-tailed she-cat since they’d arrived in the forest nearly a half-moon ago. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t lurking among the unfamiliar scents and deep shadows of the pine forest.
He turned, unsheathing his claws.
“Hi, Gray Wing.” Pebble Heart padded toward him.
Gray Wing’s fur smoothed. “It’s you.”
Pebble Heart’s whiskers twitched teasingly. “Were you hoping I was Slate? She said she might visit today.”
“No.” Gray Wing shifted his paws, wishing that Slate were the only outsider who came here. He looked forward to seeing the dark gray she-cat from Wind Runner’s camp on the moor. She had visited the pine forest several times since they’d arrived, to see how the cats were settling into t
heir new home; she’d offered advice where she could. It had been Slate who’d suggested they make their camp between two wide swaths of bramble near the heart of the forest.
“It’ll be easy to defend,” she’d told Tall Shadow.
Tall Shadow had looked surprised. “Against what?”
Slate had shrugged. “Dogs. Foxes. Twolegs. These woods are like any territory. You’ll need a safe heart in your new home.”
Tall Shadow had looked crestfallen, and Gray Wing had stepped forward. “Tall Shadow has been dreaming about this for a long time.” He caught Slate’s eye. Don’t spoil her happiness here.
But Tall Shadow had lifted her chin. “You’re right, Slate,” she meowed. “I’ve been foolish, trying to imagine that danger won’t find us here. Of course we should be prepared. Show us the brambles. We’ll build a camp where our kits can play safely.”
They had built the camp, working hard for days among the prickly stems to shape the swaths into a fierce ring of thorns no intruder would dare penetrate. They’d threaded stems together, twining bush with bush until brambles encircled a wide, needle-strewn clearing.
Gray Wing could see it now, beyond Pebble Heart: a dark tangled mass, sheltering in the shadow of the pines.
“You’re wheezing.” Pebble Heart’s observation shook him from his thoughts.
“My breathing used to ease by sunhigh.” Gray Wing glanced ruefully at the sun glittering through the tops of the pines.
“Come back to the camp,” Pebble Heart ordered. “I’ve got some fresh coltsfoot.”
“You found some?” Gray Wing blinked with surprise as Pebble Heart began to head toward the brambles.
“It’s the last of the season, protected from frost beneath a holly bush.” Pebble Heart slowed to let Gray Wing fall in beside him. “Next to the Thunderpath.”
“You went to the Thunderpath by yourself?” Gray Wing’s belly tightened. “You shouldn’t—”
Pebble Heart silenced him with a look. “I’m not a kit anymore. You don’t have to protect me all the time.”
Gray Wing hardly heard him. There was a pain in his chest, like countless thorns were piercing his insides. He stopped and tried to draw breath, but couldn’t.