Moth Flight padded closer. She knew that the other cats could not see or hear her. I am here to watch. The brown-and-white tabby sneezed suddenly and scrabbled to her paws. She glanced at the flame-pelted tom, as though looking for reassurance. He rested his tail-tip on her shoulder and, as he did so, a gray-and-white tom padded from the mist. Droplets sparkled on his pelt like stars. Is this a spirit-cat?
The gray-and-white cat exchanged words with the flame-pelted tom. Moth Flight didn’t even strain to hear; she knew she’d pick up nothing but the whispering of wind in her ears. Then the spirit-cat touched his nose to the tabby’s.
The she-cat jerked with pain.
Moth Flight narrowed her eyes. She’d seen this before. The cat was receiving the agonizing blessing of StarClan. She worked her paws deeper into the coarse grass, her pelt pricking with curiosity as more cats appeared from the mist.
A dark gray tom touched the brown-and-white tabby, and the tabby shuddered again.
Then an older white-and-tabby she-cat stepped forward. They must be related. Their markings were similar, and the look that passed between them glistened with affection. Are they mother and kit? Moth Flight’s thoughts flicked to Wind Runner. In the two days since the battle, her mother seemed to have grown worse, not better. A moan of pain jerked her attention back to her dream. As the older cat touched noses, the young tabby stiffened and jerked, clenching her teeth. She swayed on her paws, but held her ground until the older cat withdrew and began fiercely lapping her cheek, as though sorry for the pain she’d caused. They must be mother and kit. The young tabby closed her eyes, seeming to relish the moment. Then the old tabby turned and headed into the mist.
The young tabby watched her go, eyes desperate with grief. She opened her mouth to yowl. Though Moth Flight could not hear the words, she guessed that the tabby was begging her mother not to leave.
Grief stabbed at Moth Flight’s heart, so sharp it jerked her awake.
She blinked her eyes open. Her den was shady and cool. Through the entrance she could see sunshine scorching the clearing.
Wind Runner lay beside her on a bed of moss and heather, her broken leg jutting over the edge. Moth Flight leaned close. The WindClan leader felt hotter than ever. What can I do? Over the past two days, Wind Runner had struggled into consciousness less and less often, sleeping most of the time now. Perhaps it was a blessing. It saved her from the pain. Perhaps it was her body’s way of healing. But if that was true, why was Wind Runner’s fever worsening? Perhaps I’m giving her too many poppy seeds? Maybe she needs to feel the pain to fight it.
Moth Flight frowned. She’d helped Pebble Heart set her mother’s broken leg, and felt sure that they’d done the right thing. She’d treated the gash in her throat with dock and horsetail, just as Micah had taught her. And yet, it still oozed blood.
She sniffed the neck wound. Her pelt pricked with alarm. Beneath the pungent tang of herbs, she smelled sour infection. Why hadn’t Micah’s poultice stopped it from turning bad? Was this wound what was making her mother so sick? If Micah’s herbs weren’t strong enough to heal it, what herbs should she use?
Perhaps she should go and ask Pebble Heart. No. After a moon in ShadowClan, she knew his herb store as well as her own. There were no herbs there she didn’t have already. What about Dappled Pelt? When she’d visited RiverClan with Micah, the RiverClan medicine cat had only just begun to experiment with the lush plants growing along the riverbank. Perhaps she’d discovered something new, something strong enough to fight Wind Runner’s infection.
“Moth Flight?” Honey Pelt’s mew interrupted her thoughts. He was peering at her from the den entrance. “Can you come and play yet?”
She’d left her kits in the care of the Clan while she’d tended to Wind Runner.
Honey Pelt’s eyes were round with worry. “We miss you.”
Guilt wormed in her belly. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “I have to look after Wind Runner.”
Honey Pelt didn’t argue, but turned away, his tail drooping. Moth Flight’s guilt deepened.
Another shadow darkened the entrance. She smelled Gorse Fur’s scent before she could make out his pelt against the bright sunlight.
“How is she?” Gorse Fur’s mew was grim as he padded in. He stopped beside Wind Runner and sniffed her pelt.
“Her fever’s getting worse,” Moth Flight confessed. “I’m not sure what to do.”
A growl rolled in Gorse Fur’s throat. “This isn’t fair!” he snapped. “After the Great Battle, I thought the Clans had stopped acting like foxes! Can’t a new moon pass without bringing us fresh troubles?”
Moth Flight got to her paws and met her father’s gaze. “I will heal her,” she promised. “I’m going to RiverClan to see if Dappled Pelt has any herbs to treat the infection in her neck wound. Will you watch her while I’m gone?”
“Of course.”
As Gorse Fur settled close to his mate, Moth Flight nodded toward the wet moss piled beside her mother’s makeshift nest. “Drip a little water into her mouth every now and then,” she told him. “Send Dust Muzzle or Spotted Fur to get fresh if the old moss dries out.”
Gorse Fur’s ears twitched. “Will you be gone long?”
“I’ll be as quick as I can.” Moth Flight ducked from the den, screwing up her eyes against the harsh sunshine. Slate was lying in the long grass outside her den. The gray she-cat was recovering from her cough, but was still weak. Storm Pelt was nosing through the prey pile with Swift Minnow. The other hunting parties were still out on the moor. Jagged Peak had been organizing patrols while Wind Runner was sick, making sure the prey pile was well stocked.
“Moth Flight!” Blue Whisker’s excited mew sounded from the sandy hollow. “Have you come to play with us?”
Moth Flight stiffened. “I have to go and speak with Dappled Pelt.”
Spider Paw scrambled out of the hollow and stared at her. “But you haven’t played with us for days!”
Honey Pelt and Bubbling Stream stopped wrestling beside Blue Whisker, untangling themselves and jumping to their paws.
“Just one badger ride!” Honey Pelt mewed.
“Please.” Bubbling Stream blinked at her eagerly.
Moth Flight’s belly tightened with frustration. Digging her claws into the earth she met Honey Pelt’s gaze. “I’ll play with you as much as you like once Wind Runner is well.”
Slate heaved herself to her paws. “I’ll play with them,” she puffed.
“You need to rest,” Moth Flight told her sternly.
Storm Pelt looked up from the prey pile and called to Honey Pelt. “Once I’ve eaten, I’ll give you a badger ride.”
“And me?” Bubbling Stream scrambled toward the young tom.
“Eagle Feather and Dew Nose will be back from hunting patrol soon,” Storm Pelt told her. “Then you can have as many badger rides as you want.”
Moth Flight glanced gratefully at Storm Pelt. “Thank you.” She headed over the tussocky clearing and hurried out of camp.
The heather was browning after endless days of sunshine. Moth Flight looked at the horizon, hope flickering in her belly as she saw clouds bubbling in the distance. Rain might help cool Wind Runner’s fever. The feverfew leaves she’d given her hadn’t helped.
She headed downslope. The dry heather jabbed her pelt as she nosed through it. Grass crunched beneath her paws. As she neared the gorge, she heard the faint swish of the river far below. Slowing as she neared the edge, she followed the steep trail that sloped down the cliff and flattened onto the shore. In newleaf, the river churned and frothed between the sheer sides of the gorge, swelled by moons of rain and snowmelt. Now, it swirled smoothly, its deep currents pushing quietly against the bank. Moth Flight stopped to lap water, her throat burning with thirst, then hurried along the bank as it opened onto marshland. She could see stepping-stones ahead and remembered, with a jab of grief, Micah waiting for her there only a few moons ago.
This time, she would cross them alone.
> Micah? She lifted her face to the sky, hoping StarClan could hear her. How can I make Wind Runner well again?
The sun glared down at her, stinging her eyes, and she hurried along the bank. If StarClan couldn’t help her, maybe Dappled Pelt could.
She reached the stepping-stones and bounded across. The sun-drenched rocks burned her pads and she paused on a low stone to let the river lap over her paws, relishing the water’s chill. She scanned the reeds ahead, searching for the opening where a trail would lead her to the RiverClan camp.
Fox scent touched her nose. She stiffened, unnerved by its freshness, and gazed along the river to where the water split the reed beds from the forest. Among the trees, birds chattered in the cool shadows. Wings flitted among the branches. But there was no sign of a red pelt between the trunks. She leaped the last few stones and landed on the marshy bank, pelt pricking as the fox stench grew stronger. She paused, stretching onto her hind legs to peer over the reeds. Was a fox skulking there? She couldn’t turn back. She needed to reach Dappled Pelt. Padding along the shore, she pricked her ears. A gap showed in the reed wall beside her. Her heart lifted. It was the trail she and Micah had followed on their first visit. She opened her mouth, letting scents wash her tongue. The fox stench was still strong.
She paused. River Ripple would have smelled it surely? He’d have sent patrols to drive the fox away from his camp. It must be gone by now. She ignored the foreboding in her belly. She’d have to risk it. Wind Runner’s life depended on her.
As she ducked into the reeds, squeals sounded behind her.
Her heart lurched as she recognized the desperate mewls.
“Spider Paw!”
“Help him!”
“He’ll drown!”
She turned and saw Honey Pelt, Bubbling Stream, and Blue Whisker clustered on a stepping-stone in the middle of the river. They huddled, fur bushed, and stared at the water flowing away from them.
Moth Flight followed their gaze, horror sparking through her fur. Her heart lurched as a paw jutted from the water, disappearing again as the current swept it onward.
Lightning seemed to jolt through her. She pelted toward the stepping stones, ignoring the surprised squeals of Honey Pelt and Bubbling Stream.
“Moth Flight!”
“Spider Paw fell in!”
She had already plunged into the water. The chill of it took her breath. Gulping, she struggled for the surface and flailed desperately toward the tiny whirlpool, which was all she could see of Spider Paw. The current grabbed her and spun her, dragging at her fur. Fighting to keep her muzzle above water, she kicked fiercely with her legs, trying to steer herself toward Spider Paw. The river dragged her down, sucking at her pelt. As water closed over her head, she blinked open her eyes, panic sending her thoughts spiraling into terror. Spider Paw.
Moth Flight forced herself to focus, straining to see through the stinging water. It clouded around her and dragged her downstream. She kicked out determinedly, pushing herself upward until her head broke the surface long enough to take a desperate gulp. The squeals of Bubbling Stream, Honey Pelt, and Blue Whisker seemed far away. She could hardly hear them as water gurgled in her ears. Reeds blurred at the edge of her vision as the river swept her under again.
Prepared this time, she struck out with her hind legs and scanned the murky water. A pale shape showed ahead, white fur in the spinning current. Spider Paw! Blood roared in her ears and she flailed, trying to swim. She shot forward, closing the gap between her and Spider Paw. Reaching out with a forepaw, she felt fur snag between her claws. She grabbed it and fought once more for the surface.
She broke into fresh air, a bundle flailing against her chest. Its scent filled her nose. It was definitely Spider Paw.
Churning her hind paws, she managed to keep her head above water. Dizzy with fear and disorientated by the swirling river, she looked for the bank, her heart sinking as she saw it across a vast stretch of water.
I can make it! Gritting her teeth, she steered herself toward it, fear sparking through every hair as the struggling bundle in her claws grew limp. Grunting with effort, she tried to heave Spider Paw above the surface. “Lift your head!” she ordered sharply. “Breathe!” She shook her paw, desperately trying to rouse him as she struggled closer to the bank.
His muzzle dragged through the water.
Is he dead?
Her hind paws hit stones and she scrabbled to find her footing as the riverbed rose to meet them. Limping, she dragged Spider Paw from the water and laid him on the pebbly shore.
Panic scorched beneath her pelt as she stared at his bedraggled body. His muzzle lolled to one side. His paws flopped onto the stones. “Spider Paw!” Her mind clouded with dread. Her paws froze beneath her.
Moth Flight. A distant voice sounded in her ears. Remember what Dappled Pelt did.
“Micah?” Moth Flight gazed numbly around as she recognized his calm mew.
Remember Drizzle.
Of course! Pushing fear away, Moth Flight lifted her forepaws and rested them on Spider Paw’s white chest. She began pumping, her thoughts clearing. Juniper Branch’s kit! She’d done this before! Spider Paw was much stronger. “Breathe!” she growled, pumping harder.
Spider Paw jerked suddenly beneath her paws and coughed up water.
She rolled him quickly onto his side and massaged his flank. Then she glanced upstream. The river had carried her far from the stepping-stones. She’d climbed out beside the reed beds, on RiverClan’s side. She narrowed her eyes, searching for Honey Pelt, Bubbling Stream, and Blue Whisker.
The stepping-stones were empty.
Her pelt spiked with fear as fox scent touched her nose. “Hurry!” She nosed Spider Paw up. “We have to find your littermates and get out of here.” Hardly daring to look around, she grabbed Spider Paw’s scruff and picked him up. He churned his paws indignantly as she carried him along the bank toward the stepping-stones. Where are they? She scanned the far shore, her gaze flitting over the water and toward the reed beds. Her heart lifted. Three shapes crouched at the water’s edge, shadowed by the reeds. They’d crossed the stepping-stones and were waiting for her on this side of the river. She raced toward them, scrambling to a halt and dropping Spider Paw beside Honey Pelt.
Fox stench still soured the air.
“Come on!” She began to herd them toward the stepping-stones. “We have to get out of here.” Alone, she had been willing to risk meeting the fox, but her kits would be easy prey for it. She had to get them out of danger.
As they reached the crossing, she darted in front. “Wait on the shore,” she told them. “I’ll carry you across one at a time.” She wasn’t going to let another kit fall in. Snatching Blue Whisker by the scruff, she bounded across the stones and dropped her on the far shore. Racing back, she scanned the reed beds, her heart pounding as she looked for flashes of red fur among the stems.
There was no sign of fox, only its stench heavy in the air. She grabbed Spider Paw and carried him, dangling, across the river. Bounding back, she thanked Dappled Pelt silently for the many trips across the stepping-stones. Her paws seemed to find the rocks without her looking. She picked up Bubbling Stream and turned, grit cracking beneath her paws. Leaping over the stones a third time, she set Bubbling Stream down beside Blue Whisker and turned back for Honey Pelt.
The yellow kit was already halfway across the stones.
Moth Flight froze, her eyes widening with fear.
“I’m okay!” Honey Pelt paused and met her gaze.
Hardly breathing, Moth Flight watched him bound onto the next stone. His paws skidded on the rock, but he kept his balance and leaped for the next. Two more stones and he reached the shore.
Moth Flight stared at him, anger churning beside pride in her belly. “Why did you come here?” she snapped. “It’s not safe!”
Blue Whisker stared at her with round eyes. “But you came here,” she mewed anxiously.
“I know how to take care of myself.” Moth Flight jer
ked her gaze toward Spider Paw. “I can cross the river without falling in.”
Spider Paw looked tiny, his wet pelt slicked against his bones. He blinked at her, his green eyes glittering with guilt.
Moth Flight’s heart twisted. She’d nearly lost him! She pressed her muzzle against his cheek, then began lapping the water from his fur.
Honey Pelt nudged her flank. “Shouldn’t we go?” he mewed. “I can smell fox.”
Moth Flight blinked at him. Then she glanced toward the reed beds. She needed to speak with Dappled Pelt. But first, she had to get her kits out of danger. “Follow me,” she ordered. She led the way along the shore, heading for the gorge and the steep trail onto the moor.
As they reached the top, her shoulders loosened. Fresh wind whipped down from the moortop, clearing the stench of fox from her nose. She nosed her kits forward and began to guide them toward camp.
As they neared the hollow, she spotted Gorse Fur and Storm Pelt zigzagging over the grass. Gorse Fur lifted his tail as he saw her and called to Storm Pelt. “They’re safe!”
The toms raced to meet her, slithering to a halt as they neared.
“I don’t know how they snuck out,” Storm Pelt panted. “Gorse Fur was at the entrance.”
Honey Pelt lifted his nose. “We used the tunnel White Tail showed me.”
Gorse Fur eyed the kits sternly. “You were supposed to stay in camp.”
Bubbling Stream glared at him. “We wanted to find Moth Flight.”
“She was by the river,” Blue Whisker told him breathlessly.
“I fell in,” Spider Paw announced.
Gorse Fur’s pelt spiked.
“Moth Flight had to save me,” Spider Paw explained.
Moth Flight shook out her dripping pelt. As her fear ebbed, irritation prickled in her paws. She was supposed to be asking Dappled Pelt about herbs for Wind Runner, not escorting her kits home. Her mother’s life was at stake. She looked at Gorse Fur. “I have to go back.”
Honey Pelt looked alarmed. “But there’s a fox.”
Moth Flight glanced toward the gorge. “River Ripple will have sent a patrol to drive it away by now.”