by Erin Hunter
Drizzle’s eyes opened wide as she spotted Moth Flight and Micah. “What are they doing here?”
“Invasion!” Pine Needle fluffed out his fur. “Should I warn River Ripple?”
A deep purr rumbled at the side of the clearing. “There’s no need to warn me. I was expecting them.”
Moth Flight jerked her nose around and saw the RiverClan leader sitting in the shade of the reed wall.
He stood and crossed the camp, dipping his head as he neared. “I’m glad you’re here. Dappled Pelt’s in her den.” He pointed his muzzle to the foot of a long-dead tree. Its roots snaked into the earth, forming a cave beneath the stump, where countless moons of wind and water had hollowed out the earth.
Night flashed Moth Flight a look. “I hope you can hunt for yourselves,” she growled. “I’m not feeding WindClan or SkyClan cats.”
River Ripple blinked calmly at his Clanmate. “It doesn’t matter what Clan they’re from; their hunger is no different from yours.”
Night snorted and stalked away.
Dawn Mist whisked her tail. “Don’t worry about her,” she whispered to Moth Flight. “She enjoys being bad-tempered.”
Drizzle pricked her ears. “Yesterday she said that I was as dumb as a water vole. But I’m not.”
“Of course you’re not!” Pine Needle’s whiskers twitched mischievously. “You’re dumber.”
“Hey!” Fluffing her fur out indignantly, Drizzle leaped at her brother. Pine Needle ducked out of the way and hared across the camp.
“I’ll get you for that!” Drizzle hurtled after him.
“When they’re not eating, they’re fighting.” Dawn Mist rolled her eyes. “I’d better fetch them more prey.” She headed toward a gap in the reeds where the river lapped the edge of the clearing. Without pausing, she slid into the river and disappeared beneath the surface.
Moth Flight glanced at Micah. The RiverClan cats seemed more like otters than cats. Micah was gazing around the camp. Shattered Ice lay in a patch of sunshine at the far end of the clearing. Swift, a dark brown tom, washed himself beside the camp wall.
River Ripple flicked his tail toward Dappled Pelt’s den. “She’s been looking forward to your arrival.”
Micah dipped his head to the RiverClan leader and headed toward the tree stump. Moth Flight hurried after him, her nose twitching as the stink of fish grew stronger. She could see that the gaps between the roots of Dappled Pelt’s den had been woven with reeds. Feathers were threaded between them and fluttered in the soft breeze.
Dappled Pelt stuck her head out from under an arching root. “You’re here at last!” she purred. “Come in! I’ve just finished sorting my herbs.”
As the RiverClan medicine cat ducked back into the shadows, Moth Flight followed her down the short slope that led into the den. She shivered. The reed walls screened out the bright sunshine and the shadows felt cold and damp. Reeds were strewn over the floor. They shifted beneath Moth Flight’s paws. She blinked, adjusting her eyes to the half-light. “You’ve got plenty of space!” She paused in the center and looked around. There was room enough for four nests here, though she could only see two, both woven from rushes. She looked up and saw shadow where the roof disappeared into the rotting stump. A spider was spinning a web at one corner. “You’ll always have cobwebs to dress wounds!” she mewed, delighted. Perhaps I should catch spiders and try to persuade them to nest in my den!
Micah slid under the root and padded inside. “Does it flood?” He glanced over his shoulder.
“Not unless the whole island floods,” Dappled Pelt told him.
Moth Flight blinked, alarmed. “Has that ever happened?”
“It happened once, during a storm that came after moons of rain.” Dappled Pelt patted a stray rush into the nest beside her. “River Ripple says if there’s rain like that again, we’ll shelter in the forest until it passes.”
Micah was peering into the shadows behind Dappled Pelt, where an earth wall formed the back of the den. “Is that where you keep your herbs?”
Moth Flight followed his gaze. Small holes had been hollowed from the mud, and green leaves stuck out here and there.
“There’s a different hole for each herb.” Dappled Pelt’s eyes shone proudly.
“Doesn’t the damp air make them rot?” Moth Flight was used to the dry winds that scoured the moor.
“It’s airy enough,” Dappled Pelt told her. “The breeze from the river keeps it cool, which seems to preserve fresh leaves, and I find that fresh leaves are more effective than dried leaves.”
Micah frowned. “It’s a shame,” he murmured. “Leafbare brings more illness. But by then, all we’ll have left in our supplies are dried leaves.”
“Seeds and berries keep their strength.” Dappled Pelt reached into one of the holes and pulled out a pawful of dark berries. She dropped them at Moth Flight’s paws.
As Dappled Pelt drew out one herb after another, telling them where they could be gathered and what they treated—juniper for bellyache, poppy to ease pain—Moth Flight tried hard to remember them, sniffing their pungent leaves, rolling their seeds beneath her paw, fixing the scents in her mind. She couldn’t wait to get home and start scouring the moor.
Micah nosed past Dappled Pelt and sniffed a wide, furry leaf. “What’s this?”
As Dappled Pelt turned to see, a yowl split the air outside the den.
“Help!”
Moth Flight froze as Night skidded down the slope into the den. Her eyes were wide with terror. “You have to come! I just pulled Drizzle from the river—she’s not breathing!”
CHAPTER 19
Dappled Pelt darted past her Clanmate. Micah hared after her. Panic flashing beneath her pelt, Moth Flight followed.
Dappled Pelt was already skidding through a gap in the camp wall as Moth Flight reached the clearing. Micah raced at her heels. Moth Flight gave chase, blood roaring in her ears. She leaped through the gap and pulled up sharply as the river loomed in front of her.
Dawn Mist was standing at the water’s edge, her eyes hollow with dread. Water dripped from her fur and she trembled like frightened prey. A sodden scrap of fur lay at her paws.
Drizzle! Moth Flight’s heart leaped into her throat.
Dappled Pelt dropped into a crouch beside the unmoving kit.
Micah leaned close. “Is she dead?”
Dappled Pelt jerked her nose toward Dawn Mist. “Keep her warm. She’s in shock.”
Micah hurried to Dawn Mist’s side and pressed against her.
Moth Flight’s paws seemed frozen to the ground as she stared at Drizzle. The tiny kit’s flank wasn’t moving. “She’s not breathing!” She stared at Dappled Pelt. Why did the RiverClan medicine cat look so calm?
Dappled Pelt’s gaze flitted over Drizzle’s body, then she lifted her forepaws and rested them on the she-kit’s chest.
Moth Flight watched, eyes stretched wide, as Dappled Pelt began pumping the kit with rapid jerks of her paws. “What are you doing?” How could squashing the poor kit help?
Dappled Pelt ignored her. She paused and leaned down, sniffing at Drizzle’s muzzle. Then, straightening, she began to pump the kit’s chest again.
Drizzle’s body shuddered with each jolt, her paws flapping limply, like the paws of a dead rabbit.
Dappled Pelt paused again and sniffed at Drizzle’s nose.
Dawn Mist let out a low moan. “She’s dead!”
“No,” Dappled Pelt, growled fiercely. “Not yet.” Once more she rested her paws on Drizzle’s chest and began pumping.
Suddenly, with a splutter, Drizzle jerked and began coughing up water. Dappled Pelt quickly rolled the kit onto her side, stroking her chest fiercely as Drizzle brought up more water.
“Drizzle?” Dawn Mist’s mew was no more than a breath.
Drizzle stopped vomiting and blinked at her mother. “What happened?” she croaked weakly.
Pine Needle stuck his nose out from behind a clump of reeds. “Is she okay?” His eyes were b
right with terror.
Dawn Mist beckoned him closer. “She’s fine.” She looked anxiously at Dappled Pelt. “Isn’t she?”
“Yes. Now that she’s coughed up the water, she’ll be able to breathe again,” Dappled Pelt told her briskly.
Moth Flight stared at the River Clan medicine cat. She wasn’t even trembling. How does she stay so calm?
Pine Needle hurried to his mother’s side and pressed against her flank. “She wanted to see if she could catch her own fish. But she disappeared under the water,” he mewed shakily. “I called Night when she didn’t come up again.”
“She needs to learn to swim before she catches a fish.” River Ripple brushed past Moth Flight.
She spun, her heart lurching at the sight of the RiverClan leader. She hadn’t heard his paw steps.
He touched his muzzle to Dawn Mist’s cheek. “Start teaching them as soon as Drizzle has recovered.”
Dawn Mist met his gaze, her eyes glistening. “I wanted to wait until they were stronger.”
“Fish swim the moment they are born,” River Ripple murmured. “It’s never too soon for a RiverClan kit to learn.”
Drizzle pushed herself uncertainly to her paws.
Dawn Mist leaned down and lapped her cheek. “Let’s get you into my nest and warm you up.” She nosed the kit toward the clearing.
River Ripple ran his tail along Pine Needle’s spiked fur. “You did well to fetch help.”
“I only called to Night.”
“That was the right thing to do,” River Ripple told him.
Pine Needle stared at him uncertainly. “I shouldn’t have let her go into the water.”
River Ripple touched his muzzle to the kit’s head. “Sometimes we can’t stop others from making mistakes. But we can help them when they do. And that’s what you did.” He nosed the kit after his mother, who was lifting Drizzle into a reed nest on the far side of the clearing.
Dappled Pelt watched her leader as he guided Pine Needle away. “He’s so good with the kits,” she murmured. “It’s a shame he doesn’t have any of his own.”
Moth Flight hardly heard her. “How did you know what to do?”
“River Ripple taught me,” she explained. “He’s lived near the water all his life and he knows that you can push water out of a cat’s chest as easily as a cat can suck it in.”
Micah swished his tail through the air. “You were fantastic! I thought Drizzle was dead.”
Dappled Pelt gazed at the river as it swirled past. “It’s a trick every RiverClan cat should know.”
Admiration surged beneath Moth Flight’s pelt. I hope I’m as calm and skilled as Dappled Pelt one day! How must it feel to save another cat’s life? She wondered if Half Moon had been watching. I’ll try to become as good as she is, she promised silently.
Clouds hid the setting sun. A thin drizzle misted the river and a breeze rustled the reeds around camp.
Moth Flight shifted closer to Micah as the damp wind licked her pelt. She eyed Night, who was watching them warily from the other side of the clearing. Dawn Mist was still curled in her nest, tucked among the rushes. River Ripple had gone hunting for shrews in the reed beds with Dawn Mist’s mate, Swift. “Are you sure we should stay the night?” Moth Flight whispered.
“Of course!” Micah looked up from washing his belly. “Look how much we learned today! Tomorrow we’ll learn even more.”
Moth Flight was glad he was with her. She liked the RiverClan cats, but it felt strange to be away from the hollow. After she’d returned from the valley, she thought she’d never leave her Clanmates again. “Do you think River Ripple will catch a shrew?” she mewed hopefully.
Dappled Pelt had slipped into the river as the sun began to sink, promising to bring them back a juicy trout.
Micah blinked at her. “Don’t you want to taste fish?”
Moth Flight wrinkled her nose. She’d smelled nothing but fish and herbs all afternoon. She was looking forward to tasting the sweet, familiar flesh of prey with legs. Before she could answer, water splashed behind them and Dappled Pelt waded out from the river.
Moth Flight’s heart sank as she saw a fish between the tortoiseshell’s jaws. It thrashed as she padded onto land, its scales glittering through the rain. Dappled Pelt stopped in front of them and dropped it on the ground.
Moth Flight hopped backward as it wriggled, spattering mud onto her paws.
Purring with amusement, Dappled Pelt stilled it with a forepaw and leaned to give a killing bite. “At least you know it’s fresh,” she meowed, looking up.
Micah glanced at Moth Flight. “Do you want the first taste?”
She flattened her ears and sniffed uneasily at the fish. “Is this a trout?”
Dappled Pelt’s eyes flashed. “It’s called a chub.”
Moth Flight stifled a shiver. “Does it taste anything like toad?”
“No!” Dappled Pelt snorted. “Who eats toads?”
“They taste like mud!” Micah spluttered.
Heat spread beneath Moth Flight’s pelt. There was no way she was going to tell Micah and Dappled Pelt that she’d shared one with Spotted Fur. She touched the chub gingerly with a paw.
Micah caught her eye. “Do you want to wait and see if River Ripple brings back a shrew?”
“No.” Moth Flight lifted her chin. She wasn’t a coward. Besides, it would be rude to refuse Dappled Pelt’s gift. “I want to taste fish.” She leaned down and sank her teeth into the soft flank of the chub, delighted to find the texture meatier than the rubbery toad flesh. As she tore away a chunk, the flavor sang on her tongue. She blinked at Dappled Pelt in surprise. “It’s nice!” Chewing, she relished the soft flesh. It tasted of fresh water. “It’s delicious!”
“Don’t tell Wind Runner you like RiverClan food,” Micah joked. He took a mouthful, his eyes brightening as he chewed. “Oh, you’re right! It’s great!”
As he spoke, River Ripple nosed his way through the reed wall of the camp, a water vole dangling from his jaws. Swift followed him, carrying a shrew. They stopped when they saw Moth Flight and Micah.
River Ripple dropped the vole. “You’re eating fish!”
“It’s tasty!” Moth Flight ripped off another mouthful.
River Ripple nodded toward the shrew dangling from Swift’s jaws. “You might as well share that with the kits.”
The dark brown tom dipped his head and carried his catch toward the nest where Dawn Mist was curled with Drizzle and Pine Needle. Placing it beside the tightly woven bundle of reeds, he stuck his nose in and nudged Dawn Mist’s pelt.
She jerked her head up, blinking.
“How’s Drizzle?” Swift asked.
“I’m fine!” Drizzle sat up, ears pricked.
“I smell vole!” Pine Needle clambered onto his mother’s back and peered from the nest. Nose twitching, his gaze flashed toward River Ripple’s catch. He scrambled out of the nest and raced toward it. “Can I taste it?” He glanced at the RiverClan leader.
“Of course.” As River Ripple pushed the vole toward Pine Needle, Drizzle leaped from the nest and hurried to her brother’s side.
“I want to taste it too!”
River Ripple purred. “It’s good to see you looking better.”
Drizzle stuck her tail up indignantly. “I wasn’t sick. I only went for a swim!”
River Ripple’s whiskers twitched. Water beaded along them as the rain grew heavier. He glanced up at the darkening sky. “I’m going to my nest.” He headed toward a den, woven among the roots of another tree stump.
Moth Flight felt rain seeping through her pelt. “Where should we sleep?” she called after the RiverClan leader.
He paused and nodded toward Dappled Pelt’s den. “Is there room enough there?”
Dappled Leaf nodded. “They can share the spare nest.”
As River Ripple disappeared inside his den, Moth Flight glanced shyly at Micah. She’d only shared a nest with her brother before. Dust Muzzle had always teased her that it was li
ke sleeping next to a badger. “I’m afraid I snore.”
“Good.” He took another bite of fish. “I snore too.”
Dappled Pelt rolled her eyes. “Great,” she muttered.
When they’d finished the chub, she led them to her den. Rain was thrumming the earth as dusk gave way to night, and Moth Flight was relieved to slip into the shelter of the tree stump. She crossed the dark den and climbed into the reed nest on the far side, surprised to find the stems silky beneath her paws. All the sharp ends had been carefully tucked underneath so that curling into it felt almost as good as curling into her heather nest at home. She wriggled to one side, leaving room for Micah.
He squeezed in beside her. “Do you have enough room?”
“Yes.” Moth Flight purred as Micah’s warm pelt pressed against her.
Dappled Pelt’s golden gaze shone through the darkness. “Are you both comfortable?”
“I am,” Micah purred.
“Me too.” Moth Flight snuggled deeper into the reeds. She yawned, suddenly sleepy. “I hope I remember everything I’ve learned today.”
“You will.” Micah shifted beside her, tucking his paws close to his belly.
Moth Flight blinked at him through the darkness. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing Drizzle come back to life.”
“She was never dead,” Dappled Pelt meowed across the den. “She just needed air in her chest instead of water.”
Moth Flight suddenly remembered her dream of the blue-gray she-cat. She’d come back to life too. Perhaps she hadn’t been dead either. Moth Flight frowned. But no cat had pumped her chest, and she hadn’t coughed up water.
Beside her, Micah’s breathing began to slow and deepen. He was drifting into sleep. Moth Flight rested her muzzle on her paws and watched him. Her fur tingled where his breath stirred her pelt. Gradually, her eyes grew heavy and closed and darkness swirled around her.
A familiar stone tang touched Moth Flight’s nose. She opened her eyes as the scent of the Moonstone cave washed her tongue. Leaping to her paws, she gazed around. How did I get back—