by Erin Hunter
Was it still deserted? Were other creatures sheltering there now?
He narrowed his eyes, wondering if he could see Wind Runner’s small camp. But the heather clearing where she’d made her home was hidden between the dips and rises of the moor. She had chosen well.
Gray Wing dragged his attention back to the hollow.
The bare branches of the four oaks showed dark above the rim. Beyond them the sun sank toward the distant horizon, burning orange in a pale blue sky. Gray Wing could feel dew gathering on his fur. He shook it out and shivered.
Below, the great boulder rose at one end of the hollow. Was Fern there already?
He padded forward and nosed his way down the bracken-covered slope. Slowing as he neared the bottom, he narrowed his eyes and scanned the clearing.
He stiffened as he spotted Fern’s black pelt. She was crossing the clearing, her belly close to the earth, her stumpy tail twitching excitedly. She was stalking something.
Gray Wing tasted the air. There was no sign of Slash’s scent. And Fern’s attention was focused on her quarry.
Had she just come here to hunt?
His pelt prickled with hope. This was his chance to talk to her and find out why Slash had sent her to spy on his campmates. Ducking low, he slid through the last few stalks of bracken and padded softly into the clearing.
Fern was watching the grass at the far edge. She lowered her chin and waggled her hindquarters, so intent on her prey that she didn’t twitch an ear as Gray Wing crept across the clearing toward her.
“Fern?”
The black rogue spun with a hiss. Fear flashed in her eyes and she reared, unsheathing her claws.
“I’m not here to fight.” Gray Wing stopped a tail-length away. He could smell her fear-scent.
“What do you want?” Fern eyed him warily.
“Don’t you recognize me?” Gray Wing circled her, giving her a wide berth. Fern dropped onto all fours and turned, keeping her gaze fixed on him. “Why should I?”
“You’ve been spying on us for the past half-moon,” Gray Wing told her.
Fern’s eyes widened with horror. “You’re one of the cats from the forest!”
Gray Wing rolled his eyes. She wasn’t much of a spy. “Haven’t you even learned our scent yet?”
The fur lifted along Fern’s spine. “All I can smell in that place is sap and stagnant water.”
Up close, her pelt looked dull, so thin that ribs showed beneath. She’s half-starved. “It must be hard to find prey in such a stench,” he commented.
She backed away. “I’m just not used to hunting alone. And prey is scarce since the sickness.”
“Did Slash usually hunt for you?” Gray Wing watched her gaze, seeing fear flash sharper as he mentioned Slash’s name.
“He helped,” she said defensively. “So what?”
“But now he’s left you alone,” Gray Wing pressed. “You look pretty hungry.”
Her eyes glittered. “I wouldn’t if you hadn’t interrupted me. I was about to make a kill!” She glanced ruefully at the grass. “My mouse has probably gone by now.”
Gray Wing flicked his gaze along her skinny flanks. “You look like you need more than a mouse.”
Fern lifted her chin. “I can take care of myself!”
“I can help you hunt,” Gray Wing offered. “Like Slash used to.”
Fern narrowed her eyes. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you’re starving.”
Fern stared at him.
“Slash is a bully,” Gray Wing went on. “He’s no better than One Eye.”
“How do you know Slash?” Fern asked suspiciously.
“I saw him talking to you, on the moor.”
Fern seemed to shrink beneath her pelt.
“You shouldn’t let him push you around,” Gray Wing told her.
“What else am I supposed to do?” she wailed. “If I don’t do as he says, he’ll kill me.”
Gray Wing padded slowly closer. “It doesn’t seem fair. He’s left you to starve.” He jerked his muzzle toward the empty clearing. “I don’t see him looking out for you. What if I was a dangerous cat? You look too weak to fight. And you’re lucky you made it through Clear Sky’s territory unnoticed—my brother doesn’t think much of spies.”
“I didn’t have any choice!” she snapped. Her gaze darkened suddenly. “You won’t tell Slash you’ve seen me, will you?”
“Why would I talk to Slash?” Gray Wing asked, leaning closer.
Fern backed away, trembling.
“I’m not going to hurt you!” Did this cat believe all toms were as bad as Slash and One Eye?
“Then leave me alone!” Hissing, she batted a weak paw toward him.
Gray Wing easily ducked out of the way. “You need food. You’re as weak as a newborn kit. Wait here while I hunt.” He hurried across the clearing and dived into the long grass at the far side. Opening his mouth, he tasted for prey, his tail-tip flicking excitedly as he caught a musky scent. Sniffing his way along its trail, he saw the bracken twitch in front of him.
He dropped into a crouch. A small, brown shape moved between the stems. It was rooting among the fallen leaves. Mouse! Bunching up his hind legs, he leaped and slammed his paws onto the startled creature. It fell limp beneath him, giving up without a struggle. Quickly, he nipped its spine and carried it back to Fern, who was crouching in the clearing where he had left her. She hadn’t tried to escape.
She really must be as frail as she looks.
He dropped the mouse at her paws. “Eat this.”
As Fern gobbled it down, the scent of mouse blood touched Gray Wing’s nose. His belly rumbled. He hadn’t eaten today.
As the last morsel disappeared, Fern licked her lips and sat up. “What’s your name?”
Gray Wing stared at her. “It’s Gray Wing.”
“Thank you, Gray Wing,” she said. She looked down for a moment, then back up at him.
Gray Wing shrugged. “I need you to do something for me in return.”
Her eyes flashed with fear. “What?”
“Try to persuade Slash he’s wasting his time with us,” he told her.
“How?” she frowned.
“I don’t know.” Frustration itched beneath his pelt. “Tell him that we’ve made a strong camp. That we’re dangerous. That he’d never win a fight with us.” Gray Wing gazed at her. “Just convince him.”
Fern tipped her head. “Slash would never believe there are cats he couldn’t beat,” she muttered bitterly. Her eyes suddenly lit up. “But I might be able to distract him.”
Gray Wing leaned closer. “Distract him?”
“I could tell him you’ve been hunting beyond the pines. Once he hears you’ve found a fresh, new source of prey, he’ll want to see it for himself—he’s always been greedy.”
“How will that help?” Gray Wing narrowed his eyes.
“It’ll give you time to prepare,” Fern told him. “He’s going to make his attack soon. You need to make your camp as strong as you can, and practice fighting. When Slash comes, he won’t come alone.”
Gray Wing shivered, dread hollowing his belly. Slash sounded just like One Eye. “What about you?” This scrawny rogue could hardly hunt for herself.
“I’ll be okay,” she promised.
“You should stay here for a day or two,” Gray Wing suggested. “You don’t need to spy on us anymore, and there’s prey here. Catch as much as you can and grow strong.”
Fern nodded. “I will.”
Gray Wing searched her gaze. Could he trust this she-cat to keep her word? Did she have the courage to lie to Slash and send him searching beyond the pines for prey that didn’t exist?
She stared back at him, hope glistening in her gaze.
He realized he had no choice but to trust her. “Good luck.”
Turning, he padded to the slope and headed toward the moor. He wanted one last look at it before he returned to the pines. He wove between the brambles and climbed over t
he top. The moor was bathed in evening sunshine. Above, the sky was streaked purple as the sun slid behind the trees. Gray Wing padded across the grass, which felt soft after the needle-strewn floor of the forest. A brisk, chilly wind lifted his fur and pricked at his flesh. Breathing deeply, he drew in the familiar fragrance of heather and stone.
Rabbit scent touched his nose. Excitement tingling beneath his pelt, he scanned the slope below. A young rabbit was hopping across the grass. It was heading for a burrow—a dark opening in the grass a few tail-lengths ahead. Could he catch it before it dived for cover?
His belly growled.
He charged forward, pounding down the slope. But the rabbit heard his approach and scampered away quickly, the white tip of its tail bobbing over the grass. As it closed upon its burrow, Gray Wing leaped. He soared through the air, his forepaws outstretched, and landed square on the rabbit. He clamped his jaws around its neck and killed it with one bite.
Joy flooded his chest as the scent of blood washed his muzzle. The rabbit’s body was warm and he took a bite.
“That’s not fair!” A tiny mew made him jump. He sat up, his mouth full.
A ginger tom-kit was marching across the grass toward Gray Wing. He was thin-faced and skinny even though, from the width of his shoulders, he looked older than Eagle Feather and Storm Pelt.
“That was my mother’s catch!” the kit spat. “She was stalking it.” He glanced over his shoulder. A dark shape was sliding from the heather.
Gray Wing tasted the air. A she-cat. He watched her approach, her tail low, her ears flat. She was a splotchy ginger-and-black tabby and even skinnier than her son. A ginger-and-white she-kit followed, her steps faltering. They’re half-starved, too! Just like Fern. Gray Wing glanced at the rabbit, then pawed it toward the tom-kit. “Take it,” he told him. “I didn’t realize it was your mother’s catch.”
The she-cat stopped as she reached him. “You caught it. You keep it.” She shooed the tom-kit away from the rabbit with a paw. “We don’t take food from strangers.”
The she-kit caught up to her mother and pressed, trembling, against the tabby’s flank. “Can’t we just take a bite?” She gazed at the rabbit with wide, hungry eyes. “If he wants us to share.”
“No.” The tabby she-cat hushed her sharply. “We catch our own prey.”
Gray Wing dipped his head. “I’ve been lucky today,” he told her gently. “This is my second catch. Please take it.”
The tabby met his eye cautiously.
“Your kits are growing and prey is scarce,” Gray Wing urged. He puffed out his chest. “I don’t need it as much as you.”
“It’s a trick, isn’t it?” The tabby’s gaze sharpened.
“No.” Why was this cat so wary?
“I’ve met your kind before,” she growled. “You don’t care if weak cats starve—you just want me to take it so you have a reason to start a fight.”
Gray Wing noticed the shredded tip of one ear and a scar across her black muzzle. His heart twisted in his chest. “I won’t hurt you,” he promised. He glanced at the ginger-and-white she-kit. She so was frail. Like Fluttering Bird. “I had a sister who died of hunger,” he told the tabby. “I would never let another kit die.”
The she-kit’s eyes filled with horror. “Are we going to die? Like Bramble?”
“No, dear.” The tabby nuzzled her daughter’s ear. “Bramble was always sickly. We’ll be fine.”
Gray Wing wasn’t so sure. This tabby looked too weak to hunt. She’d never have caught the rabbit before it disappeared into its burrow. “What’s your name?” he asked her.
“Milkweed.” She nodded to the ginger tom-kit, then her she-kit. “This is Thistle and Clover. Their sister, Bramble, died yesterday.” Emotion glistened in her amber gaze.
“Then eat.” Gray Wing leaned down and grabbed the rabbit in his jaws. He tossed it toward her and it landed at her paws.
Milkweed held his gaze, still wary. “You’re one of those cats from the mountains, aren’t you?” There was accusation in her gaze. “Ever since you came, there’s been less land to hunt on and more mouths competing for food.”
Guilt sparked beneath Gray Wing’s pelt. “We came here because we were starving in the mountains,” he explained. “That’s where my sister died. We didn’t come to steal your land or your food—only to share it.”
“You’ve set the rogues against each other,” Milkweed snapped. “Now every cat is fighting for prey.”
“That’s because the sickness killed so much of it,” Gray Wing argued. And because rogues like One Eye and Slash take pleasure from making other cats suffer.
“Yet you’d share this catch with us?” Milkweed’s nose was twitching. The scent of the rabbit must have been driving her wild with hunger.
“Yes.” Gray Wing sat down and curled his tail over his paws. “I’ll stay here and watch over you until you’ve finished.”
“Please, Milkweed?” Clover looked at her mother with pleading eyes.
Thistle padded toward the rabbit, his mouth open to draw in its warm scent.
“Okay.” Milkweed crouched beside it and ripped a lump from the rabbit’s flank. She dropped it at Clover’s paws and tore off another lump for Thistle. Once they’d begun eating. she took a mouthful for herself.
Gray Wing turned away and let them eat in peace.
His belly rumbled. This was his second catch of the day, and he still hadn’t eaten. He shifted his paws uneasily. Prey was scarce, but starving cats were not. Had the moor cats and forest cats really caused this suffering? We only came here because we were starving. Was there any way to help cats like these? He shook out his fur as an idea flickered in his mind.
Spread and grow like the Blazing Star.
“You should go to Clear Sky,” he told Milkweed.
She looked up from the rabbit, blood staining her chin. “Clear Sky?” Fear flashed in her eyes. “He killed my friend Misty—he doesn’t care for rogues like me.”
Gray Wing’s pelt rippled uncomfortably. “He took in Misty’s kits.”
Milkweed snorted. “That was nice of him. Perhaps he’ll take in mine after he’s killed me.”
Gray Wing flinched. “Clear Sky’s changed,” he promised. “He wants to bring all cats together now in peace. He wants his group to grow and spread. Some of my friends have gone to live with him. I’m sure he’ll take you and your kits in.”
Milkweed grunted and returned to her meal.
“Just tell him Gray Wing sent you. Tell him I told you to come to him for food and protection.”
Milkweed carried on eating.
Perhaps I should take these cats back to the pine forest. He frowned. Would they be safe there? The cats still had to find the best places for prey and learn new hunting techniques. And Fern sounded certain that Slash would attack. Clear Sky’s forest would be safer.
Thistle sat up and licked his lips. “My belly hurts,” he mewed.
Gray Wing gazed at him sympathetically. “That’s because it’s not used to so much food. Next time, chew more slowly.”
Clover lifted her head and burped. “I feel warm now.”
Milkweed straightened. “Thank you.” She stared gratefully at Gray Wing.
“Go to Clear Sky,” he urged. “You won’t survive out here alone.”
Milkweed wrapped her tail around Clover.
“Please can we go?” Thistle’s eyes flashed with excitement. “I want to be a forest cat. I heard Clear Sky’s cats train how to hunt and fight. If we go there, he might teach me to be the strongest fighter in the forest. Then we would never have to be scared again.”
Milkweed gazed at him fondly, then glanced at Gray Wing. “Do you promise he won’t hurt us?”
“I promise.” Gray Wing dipped his head.
Milkweed looked down at the rabbit carcass, then headed across the slope. Clover trotted after her, tail high, while Thistle snatched a final mouthful.
“Hurry up,” Gray Wing prompted him. “Your mother needs you
.”
Thistle met Gray Wing’s eye solemnly. “I’ll protect her,” he promised, then scampered over the grass after his family.
Gray Wing stood and watched until they reached the bracken edging the woods. His heart ached as they disappeared between the trees. Please, Clear Sky, take them in. He glanced toward the distant pines, then looked across the moor. Beyond its rose-tipped crest, the setting sun would be drenching Highstones. Longing filled his heart, and he broke into a run. Charging up the moorside, he dodged through swath after swath of heather until he emerged at the top. Beyond, he saw the wide, flat boulder that jutted out over the steep drop down to the Thunderpath. He hurried forward and climbed onto it. The smooth, wind-chilled stone stung his paws as he padded across. He lay down and hung his head over the edge and gazed across the rolling fields that stretched toward Highstones. They’d traveled that way from the mountains.
What would Stoneteller have said about the lives they’d made here? There was much to be proud of: new kits, new homes. As his belly rumbled once more, Gray Wing wondered if he should hunt again. But he couldn’t drag his gaze from Highstones shining golden in the dying sunshine. What would Stoneteller have thought of the battles they had fought and the deaths they had caused by coming here? As the sun sank behind him and Highstones disappeared into shadow, Gray Wing closed his eyes and let sleep draw him deep into dreams.
CHAPTER 8
Gray Wing opened his eyes. Scents swirled around him, thick with memories. A chill nipped his ears with a cruelty he’d forgotten.
Water thundered behind him, and he turned to see the waterfall that veiled the entrance of his old home from the crags outside. Light shimmered through it and rippled over the cave walls.
“Hello?” His mew echoed in the deserted cavern. He scanned the dimples in the wide stone floor where his Tribemates had made their nests, which were empty but for twigs and leaves lying shriveled in each hollow. “Where are you?” Worry pricked Gray Wing’s pelt. He stretched his ears, listening. Far away, he thought he heard faint mews. Distant paw steps scuffed the stone, but he could see no cat.