by Erin Hunter
Before she could finish her thought, two cats padded into the cave. A large, dark tabby, the one she’d seen with the gray she-cat the day she’d come back to life, headed for the Moonstone, his eyes fixed on the dull rock. He glanced at the hole in the roof, the watery starlight reflecting in his yellow eyes.
Moth Flight shivered. There was coldness in this tom’s gaze, and a stiffness in his broad shoulders that frightened her. He seemed to be waiting for the moon to light the rock, impatience rippling along his spine.
The gray tom, who’d entered the cave with him, stopped at the dark tabby’s side. The tabby jerked his muzzle around, snarling as the gray tom spoke. There was no friendship between these cats. Then why are they here together?
The dark tabby sank stiffly onto his belly and touched his nose to the rock a moment before moonlight set it alight.
Moth Flight screwed up her eyes, flinching as brightness blinded her.
The stone beneath her paws turned to squelchy moss. She blinked open her eyes eagerly. Was she back on StarClan’s hunting grounds?
Darkness pressed on every side. She turned her head sharply. Trees loomed around her. This wasn’t StarClan’s land. She recognized the dank scent of rotting wood, sharpened by the smell of pinesap. This was ShadowClan territory.
Feline shapes moved among the trees, their shadowy pelts glittering with starlight. Spirit-cats! She scanned the starry cats, hoping to see a familiar pelt, but these weren’t the StarClan cats she knew. Heart racing, she backed toward a tree, hoping she couldn’t be seen. Her fur rippled with fear. These cats moved with solemn purpose and the dark tabby seemed to be waiting for them, his gaze blazing expectantly in the darkness.
His eyes narrowed as a sparkling tom approached him. Moth Flight saw the spirit-cat speak, but she couldn’t make out the words. As the tom stepped away, a small ginger she-cat took his place. The she-cat spoke and the dark tabby answered, disdain sparking in his gaze.
Doesn’t he respect his ancestors? Moth Flight leaned closer, pelt pricking with interest.
The she-cat reached her muzzle forward and touched the dark tabby’s head.
The tabby jerked as though agony flared through him.
This is like the time I saw the blue-gray cat in the cave! Moth Flight remembered her dream. Why did the touch of these spirit-cats seem to cause so much pain?
Moth Flight narrowed her eyes, her breath quickening as one after another, the spirit-cats stepped forward and touched the dark tabby. Each time, he stiffened, his pelt spiking, but he did not give ground. He met each new touch, his eyes burning with hunger.
Finally, the last spirit-cat stepped away and the dark tabby lifted his muzzle. Moth Flight looked into his eyes, searching for some clue as to what the spirit-cats had shared with him, but she saw only pride.
Around him, the spirit-cats’ mouths moved. They seemed to be chanting something. Moth Flight pricked her ears, trying to make out the words, but she couldn’t. One StarClan tom broke off, his mouth frozen as he stared at the dark tabby.
Moth Flight swallowed as she saw dread darken the spirit-cat’s gaze.
She jolted awake, cold with fear.
“Moth Flight?” Micah jerked his head up as she stared, blinking, around Dappled Pelt’s den.
The sound of his mew soothed her and she turned and met his gaze.
“Bad dream?” he asked.
As she nodded, he leaned forward and touched his muzzle to her cheek. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured softly. “We’re safe here.”
Obediently, she rested her nose on her paws and closed her eyes. She felt his tongue lap her ear until weariness muddled her thoughts.
“It was only a dream.” Micah stopped and tucked his muzzle beside hers.
These aren’t dreams. They’re visions. As his breath deepened into gentle snores, worry pulled Moth Flight back from the brink of sleep. But what are they about? And why do they make me feel so uneasy?
CHAPTER 20
Early-morning light washed the reed beds. The rain that had drenched the camp for the past two days had finally lifted and sunshine was breaking through the clouds. On the other side of the clearing, River Ripple stretched outside his den. Moss Tail and Dawn Mist were stirring sleepily in their nest while Drizzle and Pine Needle charged across the camp, trying to catch each other’s tails.
Dappled Pelt blinked kindly at Moth Flight and Micah. “I’ve taught you all I know.”
Micah whisked his tail. “You know lots!”
“I can’t wait to use some of the stuff I’ve learned!” Moth Flight’s pelt prickled with excitement. I hope I can find goatweed on the moor! It was one of the herbs Dappled Pelt had shown them. A few leaves, given daily, might lift Slate’s grief.
Her paws itched to go home, and yet the thought of leaving Micah made her heart ache.
Micah glanced around the RiverClan camp. “I’m going to miss it here,” he murmured. “I was getting used to the sound of the river lulling me to sleep.”
I was getting used to the sound of your breathing. Moth Flight glanced at him shyly. Her own nest would seem chilly without him.
Drizzle skidded to a halt between them. “Are you leaving?”
Pine Needle stared at Micah with round eyes. “You can’t go yet! I haven’t taught you how to fish.”
Micah nudged the kit’s cheek with his nose. “You need to learn how to swim first.”
Pine Needle stuck out his chin. “I swam a whole tail-length yesterday!”
Drizzle snorted. “With Dawn Mist holding your scruff!”
“At least I didn’t try to swallow half the river!”
“Hush.” Dappled Pelt silenced Pine Needle with a look. “Micah and Moth Flight need to return to their Clans.”
“Why can’t they stay here with us?” Drizzle mewed.
“My Clan needs me,” Micah told her.
A twinge jabbed Moth Flight’s heart. I need you. She pushed the rabbit-brained thought away. “Mine too.”
Drizzle’s tail drooped. “Okay.”
“Will you come and visit again?” Pine Needle asked.
“Of course.” Moth Flight swished her tail. “When we have new skills to share.”
Dappled Pelt’s eyes shone. “I hope it won’t be long.” Her gaze flitted past them.
Moth Flight turned, following it. River Ripple was heading toward them. She dipped her head as he neared. “Thank you for letting us stay.”
“It was an honor.”
Micah nudged Moth Flight as the RiverClan leader blinked at her respectfully. “See what happens when you get chosen by StarClan?” he teased.
“I must get back to my herbs.” Dappled Pelt turned toward her den. “They won’t sort themselves.”
“Thanks!” Moth Flight called as she disappeared inside.
Micah gazed across the reed beds thoughtfully. “Do we have to go home right away?”
Moth Flight shot him a look. “Don’t you want to go back to SkyClan?”
“Eventually.” Micah leaned close to her ear. “But I like hanging out with you,” he whispered.
Moth Flight snatched her gaze away, her pelt growing hot. “I like hanging out with you too,” she mumbled.
River Ripple looked away, his whiskers twitching. Moth Flight wondered if he’d heard.
“Perhaps Cloud Spots can teach you about woodland herbs,” River Ripple meowed vaguely as he stared toward the forest. “ThunderClan camp isn’t far.”
Micah blinked at him. “That’s a good idea! It’ll be fun. And we can tell Cloud Spots what we’ve learned from Dappled Pelt.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.” River Ripple kept his gaze on the trees.
Moth Flight shifted her paws self-consciously. “Maybe.” She felt guilty about staying away from the moor for so long. And with Micah. “But what about WindClan? They might need me.”
River Ripple blinked at her. “You’ve got a whole lifetime to take care of your Clan. Have fun while you can.”
S
he glanced at Micah. If River Ripple thought visiting ThunderClan was okay, then it must be. “Let’s do it.”
Micah purred. “Great!”
River Ripple’s tail twitched. “Do you want me to show you the way?”
And miss walking alone with Micah? “No,” Moth Flight told him quickly.
“We’ll find it,” Micah assured him.
“I thought you’d say that.” A teasing glint flashed in River Ripple’s eyes. Moth Flight’s paws prickled with embarrassment. He had guessed they wanted to be alone.
River Rippled turned his muzzle toward the forest. “The camp’s in a ravine,” he told them. “It’s hard to see from the top, so follow your noses.”
Micah dipped his head and padded toward the camp entrance. “Thanks.”
“Yes, thank you, River Ripple,” Moth Flight called as she hurried after Micah.
They followed the trail through the reeds until it opened onto the riverbank. Moth Flight could see the stepping-stones, which crossed to the tree-lined shore beyond. She trotted happily toward them. Dappled Pelt had led her over them so many times in the past few days that she no longer thought twice about getting her paws wet. She knew this stretch of river and the herbs that grew along it as well as she knew the moortop. She beat Micah to the first stone and bounded across, landing at the far side, her chest bursting with happiness.
She purred as Micah landed beside her. “Which way now?”
Micah gazed among the trees, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the shadows. “I don’t know this part of the forest.”
“Let’s explore it together.” Moth Flight marched from the shore and hopped over an oak root jutting from the ground. She brushed past a fern, its fresh leaves glowing in the dappled light that glittered through the canopy. Musty scents bathed her muzzle and, for the first time since leaving the moor, she smelled mouse. Her belly rumbled. They hadn’t eaten since last night, when Moss Tail had brought them a trout. She longed to taste furry prey again and she scanned the undergrowth, hoping to catch sight of movement among the leaves.
“We mustn’t hunt,” Micah reminded her. His nose was twitching. “Can’t you smell the border scents?”
Moth Flight had been too busy sniffing for prey. She lifted her muzzle and breathed in the scent of ThunderClan cats. “Perhaps we can catch a fish. I’m sure River Ripple won’t mind.” Her belly growled again.
“Can you swim?” Micah stared at her.
“No.” Moth Flight glanced back at the river. “But sometimes they come close to the shore. We might be able to wade in and grab one.”
“Or we could wait here for a bird to fly into our paws.”
Moth Flight lifted her tail and brushed past Micah, huffily. “It was just a suggestion.”
He purred and padded after her. “I love your suggestions.”
Moth Flight tried not to purr. Micah was so sweet.
He fell in step beside her. “Let’s find the camp. Hopefully ThunderClan will share their prey.”
Moth Flight followed Micah, pelt pricking uneasily. Had Cloud Spots warned Thunder that StarClan wanted the medicine cats to share their knowledge? She knew that the ThunderClan leader was Clear Sky’s son; did that mean he’d be as suspicious as SkyClan’s leader?
They followed a rabbit trail between brambles and bracken as the forest floor rose beneath their paws. It steepened as the trees grew thicker, the shadows deepening around them.
“Do you know where you’re going?” she asked Micah hopefully.
“No.” Micah scrambled over a rotting log and paused on the other side.
Moth Flight dropped down beside him and gazed between the trees. They seemed to stretch on forever, sunlight piercing the leaves here and there, illuminating spots of woodland with brilliant shafts of light. She pointed her nose toward a thick path of brambles some way ahead. “Do you think that could be the camp wall?”
“Let’s check.” Micah headed toward it, stumbling as a root tripped him.
Moth Flight steadied him with her muzzle. “I thought you were used to forests,” she teased.
“I’m used to farms,” Micah reminded her. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop stubbing my paws on roots.”
“Of course you will. You just nee—” Moth Flight yelped as she trod on a patch of young nettles. Pain shot through her paw and she hopped clear, lifting it protectively.
“Wait.” Micah glanced at the nettles then began to scan the forest floor, his eyes lighting up. He dashed toward a clump of leaves sprouting beside an ash. Tearing one off with his teeth, he carried it back to Moth Flight.
She stared at it. “What’s that?”
“Dock.” Micah laid it upside-down on the ground in front of her. “Rub your paw on it.”
Moth Flight pressed her throbbing pad to the soft leaf.
“Rub it hard,” Micah urged.
Moth Flight squashed the leaf beneath her paw until she felt its juices bathe the sting. To her surprise, the pain eased. “That’s great!” She stared at Micah with round eyes.
“I learned it from Cow,” Micah told her.
“I wonder if dock grows on the moor,” Moth Flight murmured.
A deep mew sounded from between the trees. “If nettles grow there, dock won’t be far away.”
Moth Flight jerked around, her heart lurching.
Micah flattened his ears warily.
“Don’t worry. It’s only me.” A black tom padded from the shadows.
“Cloud Spots!” Relief washed Moth Flight’s pelt.
“Are you two lost?” The ThunderClan medicine cat stopped beside them.
“We’ve come to visit you,” Micah explained.
Cloud Spots sniffed them, his nose wrinkling. “How was your stay with RiverClan?”
“Dappled Pelt taught us so much!” Moth Flight told him eagerly. “We’ve come to share what we learned.”
Micah lifted his tail. “And hopefully learn some more.”
Moth Flight blinked at Cloud Spots. “Will Thunder let us stay?”
“Of course.” Cloud Spots flashed Micah a playful look. “He doesn’t want SkyClan’s medicine cat knowing more than his.”
Micah purred. “He sounds like Clear Sky.”
“Perhaps,” Cloud Spots conceded. “But he also wants to please StarClan.”
Micah’s whiskers twitched. “I’m not sure Clear Sky cares much about what StarClan thinks. But he cares about his Clan.”
Cloud Spots dipped his head. “He’s become a worthy leader.”
Moth Flight looked toward the bramble thicket. “Are we near the camp?”
“It’s not far,” Cloud Spots told her. “I’m heading back there once I’ve collected some borage leaves.”
Moth Flight gazed at him blankly. “What’s borage?”
“I’ll show you.” Cloud Spots led them along a winding track through bracken, stopping as the trees thinned. In the patchy sunlight beyond, green plants crowded the forest floor. Their soft leaves looked furry and buds showed at the top of each stem. “By greenleaf, this patch will be purple with flowers.”
Moth Flight padded among the stems, breathing in the zesty perfume. She stopped and touched her nose to a leaf, surprised by its softness. “What’s it for?”
“The leaves help soothe bad bellies,” Cloud Spots told her. “And relieve tight chests. They can also help nursing queens to make more milk for their kits.”
Micah weaved among the stems. “Is someone ill?”
“Milkweed has just had kits,” Cloud Spots told her.
Moth Flight blinked. Newleaf seemed to bring kits like it brought fresh leaves. She wondered if any cat in WindClan was expecting.
Micah ran his paw over a borage leaf. “Doesn’t she have enough milk?”
“I’m just making sure,” Cloud Spots told him. “Milkweed’s not as young as she used to be. She had her first litter many moons ago, before she joined the Clan.”
“Is Leaf the father?” Moth Flight tipped her head, curious. She’d
seen Leaf and Milkweed at gatherings. They’d always stayed close, watching each other with a fondness she’d only seen between her mother and Gorse Fur.
“Yes,” Cloud Spots purred.
Moth Flight reached out a paw and tore a borage leaf from its stem.
“The best leaves grow halfway up the stem,” Cloud Spots told her. “Not too tough, but old enough to have plenty of sap.”
Moth Flight chose another leaf closer to the middle of the plant. “Like this one?”
“That’s great.” Cloud Spots picked a leaf from the plant beside him and laid it on the ground.
Together they picked enough to make a small pile, then Cloud Spots rolled them into a tight bundle and clasped it between his jaws.
He headed away through the trees. Moth Flight followed, Micah on her tail. They pushed past the brambles and headed across a clearing, Cloud Spots slowing as the forest sloped upward.
He flicked his tail sharply, his ears twitching a warning. Moth Flight halted as the medicine cat stopped and looked down. She followed his gaze, amazed to see the land drop away into a steep ravine.
Spindly trees and bushes crowded the bottom. “Is the camp down there?”
“Yes.” Cloud Spots placed his bundle on the ground. “Follow my route down the cliff and watch closely where I put my paws. Some of the ledges are narrow.” Picking up the wad of borage, he scrambled down onto a wide shelf, then hopped onto a narrow jutting stone below.
Moth Flight glanced nervously at Micah.
“Trust your paws,” Micah told her. “They led you to the Moonstone.” Slithering onto the first ledge, he followed Cloud Spots. Moth Flight ignored her pounding heart and jumped down after him.
She landed clumsily and sent grit showering down. “Sorry!” she called as it sprayed Cloud Spots and Micah.
Micah shook the dirt from his pelt. “Don’t worry!”
Carefully, Moth Flight leaped down onto the next ledge, unsheathing her claws to help her grip. Fear sparked beneath her pelt as she hopped from rock to rock until at last she saw the ground below. She landed on the smooth earth beside Micah, limp with relief. But there was still no sign of the camp. A large gorse bush blocked their way. She scanned it, searching for an entrance, but it was only when Cloud Spots slid among the dark green branches that she saw it. She followed Micah through, aware of the high cliffs and thick bushes looming on every side. It was different from the airy RiverClan camp.