by Erin Hunter
Slate pawed the last scraps of her meal toward Gray Wing. “Are you still hungry?”
“Save them for the kits.” Gray Wing felt self-conscious about eating other cats’ prey.
Wind Runner looked up. “Eat it,” she urged. “You look thin.”
Gray Wing suddenly realized that the moor cats looked as well as the last time he’d seen them. “Is hunting good here?”
“Not bad, despite leaf-bare and the sickness,” Wind Runner purred. “Don’t forget we have the tunnels, so there’s hunting even when it snows.” She narrowed her eyes, curiously. “Don’t you miss it?”
“I miss the wind and sky. The dampness in the forest affects my breathing. But I have to stay with Pebble Heart and Tall Shadow.” He paused, sadness tugging in his chest as he remembered his quarrel with the black she-cat. “Though I’m not sure Tall Shadow feels she needs me anymore. She accused me of trying to take over as leader. She said I’m not as strong as I used to be.”
“I’m sure Tall Shadow didn’t mean it. She just wants her new home to feel like hers.” Wind Runner’s tail twitched over the grass. “I felt the same way when we moved here.”
Slate sniffed. “If she’d seen you fight off that fox, she’d know you’re as strong as any cat!”
“Tall Shadow will always know that she’s lucky to have you.” Wind Runner licked a paw and ran it over her ear.
Gray Wing shifted his paws self-consciously. They were being too kind. He changed the subject. “How are you, Wind Runner?” The last time he’d seen her, she’d been grieving the loss of a second kit.
She met his gaze. “Moth Flight and Dust Muzzle are strong and bright. Our home is safe and warm. And now we have Reed, Minnow, and Slate. They’re good hunters.” She dipped her head to Slate. “And good company for the kits.” She blinked slowly. “I guess I’m happy, even though I never thought I could be after all that I lost. Is that wrong of me?” She looked at Gray Wing with round, anxious eyes.
Gray Wing returned her gaze softly. “It’s not wrong,” he reassured her. “I thought I would never be happy after I lost Turtle Tail. But life goes on, and I can see new paths ahead of me.” He snatched a look at Slate, who was eyeing him thoughtfully. “I think it’s our duty to be happy, despite all that we’ve lost.”
Wind Runner purred. “That’s what Gorse Fur says. He seems to approach every new day as though it’s his first and his last.” She pricked her ears at the sound of paws pattering over the ground beyond the camp wall. The heather shook as Moth Flight and Dust Muzzle burst into the clearing.
“It’s so big out there!” Moth Flight exclaimed.
“Gorse Fur took us to the top of the moor and showed us Highstones!” Dust Muzzle stared at Gray Wing. “Did you really travel all that way from the mountains?”
Gray Wing padded forward and nuzzled the kit’s head. “It was a long, hard journey.”
“I want to make a journey like that one day,” Dust Muzzle exclaimed. “I want to go farther than I can see.”
Moth Flight stared at her brother. “Leave your home?” She turned to her mother. “We should stay here and defend what’s ours, shouldn’t we?” Her eyes flashed fiercely.
Wind Runner lifted her chin proudly. “Yes.”
Gorse Fur padded into camp. “Minnow’s gone hunting,” he announced. “She found a fresh rabbit trail. I might follow her and help.”
Wind Runner stood and stretched, curving her spine until her tail trembled. “I’ll come with you.”
“When do we get to hunt?” Moth Flight asked.
“You’ve had plenty of excitement for one day.” Wind Runner shooed her daughter away with her tail.
Reed lifted his head and gazed across the clearing. “Come and soak up some sunshine with me,” he called to the kits.
“That’s boring,” Dust Muzzle complained.
“Let’s play hunt the mouse!” Moth Flight screwed her eyes shut. “Quick, hide while I’m not looking.”
“Don’t leave the camp, you two!” Wind Runner ordered as Dust Muzzle wormed his way between the stems of the heather wall. She glanced at Gray Wing. “You’ll stay awhile, won’t you? I’d hate for you to leave while we’re gone.”
Gray Wing tipped his head. “I don’t know. Pebble Heart will be missing me.”
“He’ll be fine. He must be full-grown by now.” Wind Runner glanced at Slate. “You’ll persuade him, won’t you?”
Before Slate could answer, Wind Runner darted into the heather tunnel after Gorse Fur.
Gray Wing tucked his paws closer. The meal had made him sleepy and the scratches on his neck ached. “I should really be getting home,” he murmured halfheartedly.
“Do as Wind Runner asks,” Slate urged. “Stay and rest. Just for a while.”
Gray Wing gazed at her through half-closed eyes. It was cozy here, and the old scents of the moor mingled with Slate’s warm fragrance. He yawned. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a little nap before I leave.”
CHAPTER 9
Clear Sky hung his chin over the edge of the branch and gazed at the camp below. Satisfaction washed beneath his pelt as he watched his cats. Acorn Fur lay in the weak leaf-bare sunshine that filtered through the branches, while Birch and Alder batted the tip of her tail between them. Every now and then she whisked it up into the air, and one of the young cats jumped for it, purring loudly.
Nettle and Thorn shared tongues among the roots of the beech, while Owl Eyes and Sparrow Fur picked through the prey pile.
Sparrow Fur pawed a mouse from the top and lifted her tail proudly as a small shrew showed beneath. She stepped away and eyed her campmates hopefully.
Cloud Spots crossed the clearing toward her. “What’s fresh?”
“This shrew.” Sparrow Fur nodded toward it.
“Did you catch it?” Cloud Spots’s eyes twinkled.
Owl Eyes snorted. “You know she did! She’s been boasting about it since we got back from hunting.”
Cloud Spots licked his lips. “I love shrew.”
Owl Eyes hooked out a mangy starling. “What about something with feathers?”
Sparrow Fur glared at him. “He wants my prey, not yours.” She nudged her shrew toward Cloud Spots, who took it and carried it to the beech, where he settled beside Nettle and Thorn.
“I’d like the starling,” Pink Eyes called from the holly bush where he was sunning himself beside Quick Water.
Quick Water raised her head. “Can I share it with you?”
Pink Eyes sat up. “Of course.”
Owl Eyes picked up the starling in his jaws and bounded across the clearing. He dropped it at Pink Eyes’s paws. “Sorry it’s a bit scrawny.”
“It’s leaf-bare.” Pink Eyes shrugged. “I’m happy we have any prey.”
Owl Eyes glanced toward the bramble wall. “Blossom’s patrol will be back soon. They’ll have more.”
Quick Water sniffed the starling. “This will be enough for us.”
Clear Sky could see beyond the brambles from his perch in the oak tree. There was no sign of Blossom’s patrol. He’d sent her out with Lightning Tail just after dawn. He’d sent Leaf out with Sparrow Fur and Owl Eyes a little later, and Leaf had already gone back out again to gather moss. Two hunting patrols should bring back enough prey to feed all the hungry bellies in camp.
He peered beneath the yew. Where were Milkweed and her kits? They’d seemed so frail when they’d arrived that he’d given them Birch and Alder’s cozy nest, tucked deep under the dark, green branches. Birch and Alder had happily made new nests in a gap in the brambles.
As he searched the shadows, two pairs of eyes flashed beneath the bush. Milkweed’s ginger-and-black pelt moved behind them. Clear Sky had found them on his border. His heart had ached to see them. The kits looked as scrawny as Fluttering Bird had been, while Milkweed had the same haunted look that used to darken Quiet Rain’s eyes. He’d invited them to join his group even before Milkweed asked. But when she had given him Gray Wing’s message, he’d
felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps his brother was seeing sense in bringing all cats together after all.
A twinge of regret tugged at Clear Sky’s belly. If only the other cats understood. They could be here now. More hunters would mean more food. Everyone would be safe, just as Fluttering Bird wanted.
Leaf-bare will be here for moons. It had brought him Milkweed, Thistle, and Clover. More hard frosts and snowfalls might help the moor cats and river cats realize they could not survive alone. And the pine forest might not turn out to be the prey-rich home Tall Shadow had dreamed of. They’ll see sense eventually.
Star Flower’s golden pelt caught his eye. She slid out from behind the oak and skirted the edge of the clearing. Stopping beside the yew, she stooped to look under the branches. “Hi, you two.” There was a teasing purr in her mew as she called to Thistle and Clover. “Who wants to race me to the prey pile?”
Thistle and Clover scrambled eagerly into the light.
“There’s prey?” Clover blinked.
“I told you I smelled mouse,” Thistle told his sister.
“Milkweed said we shouldn’t take prey unless it’s offered.” Clover’s eyes were wide with worry.
Star Flower lifted her tail. “I’m offering.”
Clear Sky snorted. Star Flower was acting as though it was her prey to give away! She’d hardly been here longer than the kits. She hadn’t even been on the hunting patrol that had brought it back. She had lost none of her arrogance.
“Line up next to me,” she told the kits as she crouched. “When I twitch my ear, run. The first cat to the prey pile gets first pick of the prey.”
Thistle and Clover huddled beside her, their short tails flicking with excitement.
Milkweed squeezed out behind them. “Don’t pick the best prey,” she warned. “The hunters should get it.”
Star Flower flashed her a look. “Don’t teach them to take less than they deserve. They need to grow strong—one day, they’ll be hunters.”
Milkweed glanced around the camp, her gaze flicking nervously over the other cats. “I guess.” She clearly did not feel comfortable depending on others for her food.
Star Flower twitched her ear, and Thistle and Clover sped away, their small paws pattering over the cold earth. Star Flower trotted after them, arriving a few paces behind as they skidded to a halt beside the prey pile.
“I got here first!” Thistle mewed.
“But I’m closest.” Clover had stopped a whisker away from the mouse that Sparrow Fur had knocked from the pile. She snatched it in her jaws and began to drag it back toward Milkweed.
Thistle growled. “That’s not fair.”
“Don’t you like mouse?” Star Flower asked, her eyes shining.
“Yes, but I want—”
Star Flower didn’t let him finish. “Then go and help your sister carry it back to Milkweed.”
The mouse had snagged on a jutting root at the edge of the clearing. Clover was tugging at it, her face crumpled with effort.
Thistle hurried toward her and, grabbing the mouse’s tail in his teeth, unhooked it from the root. Clover blinked at him gratefully and they headed back to Milkweed, carrying the mouse between them.
As Star Flower sat back on her haunches and watched them go, Clear Sky narrowed his eyes. Thunder was watching the golden she-cat from beneath the oak. There was a glow in the young tom’s gaze. Was I wrong to let him bring her back to camp? Clear Sky shifted his paws uneasily. The other cats had accepted her, but they still eyed her with mistrust.
On the night of her arrival, Leaf and Lightning Tail had followed Clear Sky out of camp and questioned his judgment.
“She’s a traitor,” Leaf had growled.
Lightning Tail had paced, frowning. “She lied to Thunder last time. She’ll do it again.”
Clear Sky had met their gazes steadily. “Thunder’s no fool,” he told them. “And what would she lie about? There’s no cat left for her to betray us to. One Eye is dead. She has no one else. Would you have left her to fend for herself all leaf-bare?”
“Yes.” Lightning Tail had kicked at the fallen leaves with a forepaw.
“Don’t you think I have a reason for taking her in?” Clear Sky had argued. “Having her close means we can keep an eye on her. That way, if she is our enemy, we’ll know it before she can harm us.”
Leaf had tipped his head thoughtfully. “I guess.”
Lightning Tail had curled his lip. “I’m watching her every move. Especially around Thunder.”
Clear Sky’s thoughts flicked back to the present. Do they trust her yet? Star Flower had shown nothing but loyalty so far. She’d hunted well, and had taken a damp nest among the beech roots without complaint. Lightning Tail had kept his word, watching her like a hawk and barging into any conversation she had with Thunder. But now Lightning Tail was out hunting, and Thunder was gazing wistfully at the golden she-cat. He still cares for her. Clear Sky moved on his branch as Star Flower stretched out her forepaws languorously, arching her back until her hind legs trembled. She knows Thunder’s watching her. Clear Sky saw her gaze flick over her shoulder for a heartbeat before she picked a mouse from the prey pile and padded toward the yew.
Thunder turned hurriedly and began washing his tail as she passed.
I should have a talk with him, Clear Sky thought. He’s young. Feelings may cloud his judgment. He got to his paws. I’ll do it later. He knew that he’d need to pick the right moment if he wanted Thunder to listen to his warning.
Right now, he planned to patrol the borders of the forest. He wanted to find out whether any of the cats from the moor, pine forest, or river were hunting close to his scent lines. Hunger will drive them to my prey-rich woods eventually, and we’ll be together, just like Fluttering Bird wants.
The bright skies had brought a fresh chill to the forest. He stepped toward the trunk and, scrabbling down from branch to branch, leaped down into the clearing. He tasted the air, wondering whether the fine weather would be warmed by rain or hardened by snow. The wind, tainted by the must of decaying leaf litter, gave no clue.
He padded around the edge of the clearing, nodding to Milkweed as he passed. Star Flower had settled beside the black-and-ginger queen and was sharing her mouse with Thistle, while Clover snatched bites from her mother’s. Milkweed glanced up at Clear Sky, her eyes round with silent thanks. Her kits were sleeker already, though they’d only been here a few days. They would grow into good hunters.
Clear Sky dipped his head. “Would you like to join the next hunting party?” She might feel easier about taking prey if she’d helped hunt it.
Milkweed blinked eagerly. “Yes, please!”
“Can I go too?” Thistle looked up from his mouse.
“Not yet,” Clear Sky told him. “But you can practice some moves in camp.” He glanced at Birch and Alder. Acorn Fur had rolled onto her side and was sleeping. The two young cats were pacing restlessly behind her, clearly looking for something to do. “Would you like to teach Thistle and Clover some hunting moves?” Clear Sky called.
Alder hurried over. “That would be great!”
Thistle sat up excitedly and licked his lips. “Can we start now?”
“Why not?” As Alder led Thistle toward the center of the clearing, Clear Sky headed for the bramble. He paused beside Pink Eyes and Quick Water, who were still chewing on the starling. “I’m going to check the borders,” he meowed. “Keep watch on the camp.”
Pink Eyes sniffed. “You should choose a cat with better eyesight.”
Quick Water nudged the old tom. “No cat hears or smells better than you.”
“I trust you won’t miss anything.” Clear Sky dipped his head.
Quick Water eyed him curiously. “Why are you patrolling the borders?” she asked. “I thought you welcomed strangers now.”
“I still like to know who’s coming and going,” Clear Sky told her. He padded to the bramble wall and ducked through the gap between the branches.
Outside was cold.
An icy wind whisked between the trees. No prey stirred, and he guessed that the tiny creatures of the forest were tucked deep in their warm burrows. Perhaps he should send out a hunting patrol at night as well as in the day. Mice and voles ventured out when the moon was high, but so did the owls and foxes that preyed on them. And the air would be too cold to scent anything but ice.
He followed the trail to the gully. One good rainfall and the narrow channel in the forest floor would be brimming with water, but for now it was dry. He hopped into it and headed toward the great sycamore.
He paused suddenly, the fur along his spine pricking as though it felt some creature’s gaze. Was he being followed? He stopped and listened for paw steps. A blackbird shrilled overhead. Far away on the moor, a dog barked. He opened his mouth to taste the air—Lightning Tail and Blossom had passed this way, their stale scent carried away by the breeze rippling over him, heavy with the scent of the pine forest, but nothing else.
Clear Sky shook out his fur and picked his way farther along the gully, telling himself that he was just being jumpy.
As the woods rose to one side, he hopped out of the gully and began to climb the slope toward the sycamore. As he neared the top, a fresh scent touched his nose; not all prey was in its burrow. The thick layer of leaf litter beneath the sycamore, crawling with tasty bugs, must have tempted something from its shelter. He opened his mouth and tasted the musky scent of a vole.
Stiffening, he dropped into a hunting crouch and drew himself forward, one paw step at a time, toward the crest of the slope. As the earth flattened, he scanned the forest floor. The ancient roots of the sycamore snaked into the ground. Movement flickered beside one of the gnarled stems. Clear Sky froze. The vole was snuffling at a seed pod, its tiny ears twitching.
He fixed his gaze on it, forcing his tail to stay still as he crept forward. His heart quickened as he closed in. The vole had picked up the seed pod and was nibbling at one side. Three tail-lengths from it, Clear Sky narrowed his eyes, judging his leap. If he pushed hard enough, he could land square on the vole and pin it against the sycamore root. His fur rippled along his spine. Bunching his legs beneath him, he waggled his hindquarters. Then he leaped.