Moth Flight's Vision, Page 2

  “Moth Flight!” Spotted Fur’s mew was stern this time. “We need to find the kits!”

  She shook out her fur, feeling guiltier than ever. Why did there have to be so many things to distract her? “The kits.” She curled her claws into the grass, determined that this time she would stay focused on finding them.

  The heather rustled ahead of them and Willow Tail slid out from beneath the bushes, a mouse hanging from her jaws. She dropped it and looked at Spotted Fur. “What’s this about kits?”

  “I’ve lost Slate’s—”

  Spotted Fur cut Moth Flight off before she could finish her confession. “Slate’s kits have wandered out of camp and we’re going to find them.”

  Moth Flight glanced gratefully at her friend. “Rocky said he’d seen them near the gorge,” she added.

  Willow Tail’s eyes rounded with worry. “I’d better come with you. Three noses are better than one.” Leaving her mouse, she began to hurry down the slope, breaking into a run as she weaved between the clumps of heather. Spotted Fur hurried after her and Moth Flight ran behind.

  “Keep your mouths open to taste for their scent,” Willow Tail called over her shoulder.

  Moth Flight caught up with Spotted Fur, opening her jaws to let the moor scents bathe her tongue. The smell of warm peat filled her mouth. She narrowed her eyes, peering at the slope below, hoping to see a flash of familiar fur. “Can you smell them?” she puffed.

  Spotted Fur’s gaze was fixed ahead. “Not yet, but with Willow Tail helping we’re bound to find them quickly.”

  Willow Tail had slowed as the slope steepened toward the gorge. She darted this way and that, sniffing the grass around the edge of a gorse patch. “Check that stretch of heather,” she called to Spotted Fur.

  “Where should I look?” Moth Flight called.

  “Stay with Spotted Fur,” Willow Tail called back. “We don’t want you getting lost too.”

  Moth Flight’s pelt prickled. Did every cat in WindClan think she was as useless as thistledown? Obediently, she slid between the heather bushes after Spotted Fur.

  A distant tang touched her nose. “I can smell the river.”

  “From here?” Spotted Fur turned to face her, heather crowding in on either side and arching over their heads.

  “I can smell the water plants that line it.” Moth Flight felt a pang of longing. “I’ve always wanted to go and see them up close and pick a few. Water plants are so interesting. Why don’t they drown? Don’t they need wind like moor plants?”

  “You can’t go picking plants in RiverClan territory,” Spotted Fur warned her. “Wind Runner says if there’s to be peace between the Clans, then we have to stay on our own lands.”

  Moth Flight felt a prickle of frustration. “How will we learn anything if we just stick to what we know?”

  As she spoke, she saw Spotted Fur stiffen. Alarm sparked in his gaze.

  “What’s wrong?” Fear pricked her paws.

  “Listen!” Spotted Fur’s ears were stretched.

  Moth Flight stretched hers too, straining to hear what he had heard.

  The faint wail of a kit sounded through the heather.

  Then Willow Tail’s frightened yowl sounded from downslope. “Spotted Fur! Come quickly!”

  “The kits are in trouble!” Spotted Fur plunged through the heather.

  Heart pounding in her ears, Moth Flight raced after him.

  CHAPTER 2

  She crashed through the heather, hardly feeling the branches scrape her flanks, and exploded onto the grass a moment after Spotted Fur. He was already scanning the slope and she followed his gaze.

  Willow Tail crouched in a dip near the edge of the gorse patch. The pale tabby she-cat was peering into a narrow rabbit burrow. “It’s all right, Silver Stripe. We’ll get you out.”

  A plaintive wail answered her. “Hurry! Please! I’m scared!”

  White Tail—no bigger than a rabbit-kit—appeared, nosing past Willow Tail and peering into the burrow. “She’s been there for ages!”

  Black Ear paced around them, his fluffy black-and-white fur bushed out. “We tried to reach her but she’s too far down.”

  They’re okay! Relief swelled in Moth Flight’s chest, then she froze. Black Ear and White Tail were safe, but what about Silver Stripe?

  Spotted Fur charged toward his Clanmate. “What happened?”

  Willow Tail’s ears twitched. “Looks like Silver Stripe fell into a tunnel and she can’t get out, the poor kit. She’s scared half to death but the hole’s too narrow for me to squeeze through.”

  Moth Flight caught up, skidding to a halt and peering into the small gap in the grass where Silver Stripe’s wails were growing louder. “Are you hurt?” she called down.

  “Not yet,” Silver Stripe squeaked nervously. “But I’m sure I can hear paw steps coming up the tunnel toward me!”

  Black Ear’s eyes widened. “A badger!”

  White Tail unsheathed his tiny claws. “I’ll save her.” He stuck his head into the hole and began to burrow into the tunnel.

  “No you don’t!” Spotted Fur grabbed his tail between his teeth and hauled the kit backward. “We’re not losing two of you.”

  Black Ear tried to scrabble free. “But what about the badger?”

  “That tunnel’s too small for a badger,” Willow Tail assured him.

  White Tail blinked at the tom. “What about rats?”

  Moth Flight’s heart quickened, her fear spilling into anger. “Why didn’t you just stay in camp?” she snapped at the kits.

  Black Ear met her gaze innocently. “We were going to ask you if we could leave, but you were asleep.”

  Willow Tail flashed her a look. “Were you supposed to be watching them?”

  Moth Flight dropped her gaze guiltily. “Yes,” she confessed, her fur rippling with irritation. Why did Slate have to ask her to watch her kits? Everyone knows I’m a featherbrain!

  Spotted Fur pushed past her and began tearing at the grass around the narrow tunnel entrance. “Let’s just get Silver Stripe out. I can’t smell rat scent down there, but she must be cold and hungry.”

  Willow Tail nodded and hooked her claws into the earth, ripping away another clump. Together they dug out soil around the rim. Moth Flight found herself watching the grassy clods as her Clanmates flung them aside. They exploded as they hit the ground; the soil here wasn’t as dark and wet as it was on the high moor. And she noticed that the grass was softer too, nothing like the stiff grass around camp; it smelled lusher too.

  “Stop staring and help!” Willow Tail’s sharp mew broke into her thoughts.

  Moth Flight hopped forward, tripping over Black Ear. He squeaked as her paw squashed his tail, then dragged it free and glared at her indignantly.

  “Sorry!” Moth Flight plunged her forepaws into the hole beside Spotted Fur’s and began scraping out soil. She could see Silver Stripe’s muzzle, lit by the late sunshine that broke into the widening hole. The earth was easy to scrape away—lighter and crumblier than the heavy peat higher on the moor. Moth Flight wondered if different plants grew here and, as she helped Willow Tail and Spotted Fur dig, glanced furtively around, looking for unusual leaf shapes showing in the grass nearby.

  “That should be big enough.” Willow Tail sat back on her haunches.

  Spotted Fur frowned. “It’s too small for me to fit in.”

  Silver Stripe was already trying to scrabble up the steep sides of the hole, yowling with frustration each time she slid down as the earth crumbled beneath her claws.

  “You’re small enough to squeeze in.” Willow Tail stared at Moth Flight. “Jump down and give him a boost.”

  Moth Flight hesitated. She knew that some of the WindClan cats liked running though the rabbit tunnels. Holly often took Eagle Feather and Dew Nose hunting there. But Moth Flight preferred to feel the wind in her fur.

  Spotted Fur nudged her shoulder with his muzzle. “Don’t think about the dark,” he urged gently. “Silver Stripe needs help
.”

  Steadying her breath, Moth Flight slithered into the hole. Her paws slipped as she reached the bottom, and she nearly fell. A cold musky smell swirled around her. She shivered, the darkness of the tunnel pressing around her until her belly tightened with fear.

  “You saved me!” Silver Stripe flung herself against Moth Flight, purring loudly. Moth Flight suddenly realized how brave the young kit had been, trapped alone down here for so long.

  She peered, blinking, into the blackness beyond the kit, wondering with a shiver how far the tunnel stretched and what might be at the end of it. She sniffed for rat scent, pricking her ears to listen for the slither of tails. Nothing. The tunnel was clear. “I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she whispered into Silver Stripe’s soft ear. “I should have been watching you.”

  Silver Stripe’s cold muzzle brushed her cheek. “I’m sorry we ran off,” she apologized, her mew thick.

  “Let’s get you out of here.” Moth Flight ducked and tucked her nose beneath the kit’s haunches. “Jump!” she ordered, her mew muffled by fur. As Silver Stripe leaped, Moth Flight heaved her upward. She smelled Spotted Fur’s warm breath as he reached down and grabbed the kit’s scruff, scooping her into the light.

  “Silver Stripe!” White Tail squeaked happily.

  Black Ear mewled with excitement. “We thought rats would get you for sure.”

  Spotted Fur purred. “Are you coming, Moth Flight?”

  Moth Flight hardly heard him. As she stared at the ring of light above her, a sharp tang touched her nose. She opened her mouth, intrigued. There was an unfamiliar sour scent mingled in with the heavy smell of earth. She glanced down the tunnel, widening her eyes to adjust to the gloom. White roots dangled from the roof of the tunnel a tail-length away. They didn’t smell like grass roots. Or heather. Or gorse. I knew there must be special plants growing in this sandy soil! Her heart quickening, Moth Flight padded deeper into the darkness until her face brushed the roots. Sticking out her tongue, she licked them gingerly, intrigued by their sweet flavor. I wonder what the leaves of this plant look like? Moth Flight knew that she wasn’t far from the surface. Leaning back on her haunches, she began to dig upward, through the earth around the roots. If she could just claw away a few pawfuls of soil, she’d be able to drag the whole plant down and look at it properly.

  “Moth Flight?” Spotted Fur’s mew echoed along the tunnel. “Where are you?”

  “Coming,” she called back absently. Dirt spilled onto her tongue as she spoke, and she coughed, spitting it out.

  “Hurry up!” Willow Tail’s mew was sharper than Spotted Fur’s. “We need to get these kits back to their mother. They’re tired and hungry!”

  “I won’t be long!” Moth Flight scrabbled harder at the soil above her head, screwing up her eyes against the earth, which showered her face. The roots were thicker, higher up, and she curled her claws into their flesh and tugged. They slid free, bringing pawfuls of dirt with them as Moth Flight dragged the plant down into the tunnel. Laying it on the ground, she tried to make out the shape of the leaves.

  “Moth Flight!” Willow Tail sounded angry. “We need you up here!”

  Moth Flight grasped the plant between her jaws and raced back along the tunnel. Reaching up, she scrambled out, thankful to feel Spotted Fur’s teeth in her scruff as he helped haul her free of the crumbling earth.

  “What, in all the stars, is that?” Willow Tail stared at the plant dangling from Moth Flight’s jaws.

  Moth Flight dropped it, spitting out dirt. “I don’t know,” she spluttered. “But I want to find out.”

  Willow Tail glared at her. “You’re not bringing it with you,” she snapped. “These kits are two moons old and too tired to walk back to camp. They need carrying.”

  Moth Flight’s heart sank. She glanced at the plant she’d unearthed. Its bright green leaves had scalloped edges and it smelled pungent—almost how she imagined RiverClan water plants would smell. “I can’t leave it behind!” She knew all the plants on the high moor. This was new! She looked hopefully at Spotted Fur. “Can’t one of the kits ride on your back?”

  “I’ll ride,” Black Ear offered. His eyes were dull with tiredness. “It’s better than being carried.”

  Willow Tail snorted at Moth Flight. “Do you really think he’ll have the strength to hang on to Spotted Fur’s back all the way to camp?”

  Spotted Fur glanced apologetically at Moth Flight. “Willow Tail’s right. These kits need to be carried.”

  “I can make it,” Black Ear promised. “I know I can.”

  “Of course you can.” Spotted Fur soothed the young kit. “But it’ll be easier for me if you let Moth Flight carry you.”

  Moth Flight sighed. “Okay.” The plant would have to wait. “I guess I can come back and fetch this later.” She stroked the soft leaves with her paw. They felt furry.

  Willow Tail’s ears twitched impatiently. “What do you want with a dead weed anyway?”

  Moth Flight shrugged. “It’s interesting.”

  Willow Tail shook her head, sighing. “Cats are meant to hunt prey, not plants.”

  Spotted Fur nosed Black Ear gently toward Moth Flight. “If all cats were the same, life would be dull,” he meowed softly.

  Willow Tail huffed disapprovingly and scooped up Silver Stripe by her scruff.

  Spotted Fur lifted White Tail and Moth Flight grasped Black Ear gently between her jaws and lifted him off the ground. He was as light as prey and she suddenly realized how vulnerable the kits had been out here on their own. A fresh flash of guilt shot though her as she followed Willow Tail and Spotted Fur up the slope toward camp.

  Black Ear swung limply from her jaws. He didn’t scrabble or fidget like he did when she was trying to get him into his nest in the evenings. He must be exhausted. She quickened her pace, falling into step beside Spotted Fur.

  They slid into single file as they approached a thick swath of heather. Willow Tail pushed into it first. Spotted Fur waited for Moth Flight to duck in front of him. She followed Willow Tail through the branches to where an old sheep trail cut through the bushes. Spotted Fur’s breath tickled her tail as he traced her paw steps.

  As they neared the far edge of the heather patch, Willow Tail slowed. The pale tabby’s ears pricked and Moth Flight stiffened. Had Willow Tail heard something? A badger? A dog? Moth Flight breathed deeply, but all she could taste was Black Ear’s warm scent. Willow Tail put Silver Stripe down and pushed her way out of the heather.

  “What’s wrong?” Spotted Fur slid past Moth Flight and dropped White Tail beside Silver Stripe.

  Black Ear began to struggle. “What’s that smell?”

  As Moth Flight placed him gently beside his littermates, she smelled the strong tang of a strange tom.

  Spotted Fur’s hackles lifted. “Wait here with the kits.” He slid out of the heather after Willow Tail.

  “It’s just a SkyClan tom!” Moth Flight could smell the fragrant scent of bark mingling with the tom’s own scent. It was completely different from the heathery scent of her Clanmates. RiverClan smelled fishy, ShadowClan like pine. And ThunderClan always carried the musty scent of the leaf litter that softened the floor of their ravine.

  Why were Willow Tail and Spotted Fur so edgy?

  Moth Flight shooed the kits ahead of her as she nosed her way out of the heather. A large reddish-brown tom was stretching languorously on a sunlit patch of grass. She recognized him at once. She’d seen him at Gatherings. He was Red Claw. Willow Tail must know him well—they’d been rogues together before they’d chosen different Clans.

  Then why was she snarling at him, her ears flat against her head?

  “What are you doing on WindClan land?” Willow Tail hissed accusingly.

  Moth Flight glanced questioningly toward Spotted Fur. The tabby she-cat sounded furious. Why was she so bothered about the tom? He was doing no harm.

  As Spotted Fur shrugged in reply, Red Claw lifted his head and blinked at them lazily. “I came up here
to enjoy the sunshine. It’s too shady in the woods.”

  Willow Tail spat. “You shouldn’t be here! This is our land.”

  Black Ear began to march forward, showing his teeth. “Yeah, this is our land!” he squeaked.

  Red Claw glanced at the kit, amusement brightening his gaze. “I’m not hunting. So where’s the harm?”

  Spotted Tail cocked his head. “How do we know you’re not hunting?” he asked.

  Willow Tail bared her teeth at Red Claw. “We don’t! Listen, I don’t want you on WindClan land. You’ll bring trouble. You always do!”

  Moth Flight pricked her ears. Did Willow Tail know something about Red Claw the rest of the Clan didn’t? Was he dangerous? Moth Flight instinctively moved closer to the kits, sweeping her tail around them to draw them near.

  Black Ear tried to wriggle free, but Spotted Fur froze him with a warning look.

  Pushing himself to his paws, Red Claw faced Willow Tail, his eyes glittering. “You’re not WindClan’s leader,” he growled. “Or SkyClan’s. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  Willow Tail unsheathed her claws.

  Spotted Fur padded between the bristling cats. “This isn’t worth fighting over,” he mewed softly. “We may not be Wind Runner, but we can certainly take this back to her and ask what she thinks. Is that what you want?”

  Moth Flight shifted her paws uneasily. What would Wind Runner say? Wind Runner claimed that the borders had been established to make sure each Clan had enough prey to feed themselves, but there was more than enough prey on the moor and in the forests to feed every cat. Besides, Red Claw wasn’t even hunting. Still . . . Wind Runner seemed especially edgy where Clear Sky, and SkyClan, were concerned.

  Red Claw was eyeing Spotted Fur with annoyance. “I’m just a tired cat enjoying a rest in a sunny clearing that happens to be a few tail-lengths across the border. Do you think your leader would care?”