Dovewing spoke for him again. “There aren’t any scrapcans to scavenge from by the lake,” she told Pouncekit diplomatically. She caught Tigerheart’s eye. “Besides, hunting is much more fun than scavenging. You’ll find out when you become a warrior.”
Tigerheart had turned away heavily and followed Fierce, Cobweb, Cinnamon, and Mittens out of the gathering place. He hoped that soon he’d be able to show Pouncekit what a warrior was. Now, as the sun lifted over the Twoleg dens, Tigerheart glanced at the bright blue sky showing between the rooftops. They’d scavenged all morning, but he hadn’t once smelled prey, and his hope of finding fresh-kill for the kits was fading.
Fierce flicked her tail happily. “Cold weather like this makes Twolegs hungry,” she meowed. “Which means more leftovers for us.” She led the way to another cluster of scrapcans and jumped onto one. As she knocked it open with practiced ease, Tigerheart jumped onto the next and pushed away its cover while Cobweb and Mittens rummaged through litter at their base. Tigerheart dug deep into the trash, his paws feeling the softness of something edible. He hooked it out with his claws. A round lump of something that smelled a little like meat but he knew would taste sour.
Cobweb glanced at it, his eyes brightening. “Meat scraps!”
Mittens hooked out a soft white strip from among the litter. “Dotty will like this,” he mewed. “It’s easy to chew.”
Fierce pulled a bone from her trash and flicked it triumphantly onto the ground below. “There’s more in here.” She delved deeper and hauled out another.
Tigerheart swallowed back distaste as she tossed it over the side. Warriors leave bones for the crows. Here they were a treat.
Fierce jumped down. “Let’s take these scraps back to Cinnamon.”
They’d left Cinnamon guarding their first haul—a collection of scraps they’d fished out of a scrapcan nearer the gathering place. Tigerheart had suggested a moon ago that the guardian patrols stash the scraps they’d gathered before taking them home. It was an old warrior trick that freed up their paws for more scavenging. But the city was full of cats and foxes, and they’d often return to find that their stash had been raided. It had been Cinnamon’s idea to post a guard. Tigerheart had been pleased that one of the guardian cats had begun to think like a warrior.
He hurried back toward Cinnamon. The strange meat he’d scavenged dangled from his jaws and smeared grease on his chin. As he ducked from the alley and followed the street that led to their stash place, pigeons fluttered between the dens above him. If only he could reach one. Why hadn’t the guardian cats come up with a plan to catch them? There must be some place in the city where the clumsy birds settled within reach. Hadn’t the guardian cats worked out where it was?
As he turned in to the narrow alley between dens where they’d left Cinnamon, his fur bristled. Four strays surrounded her. They’d backed her against the wall where her stash was piled. Cinnamon spat at them, back arched and fur bushed. One of the strays reached for a scrap trailing from the pile behind her. Cinnamon lashed out with a hiss. The tom backed away, snarling. Fur sparking with alarm, Tigerheart dropped the meat he’d been carrying and leaped in front of Cinnamon.
He faced the strays and growled at them menacingly. “This is our stash,” he snarled. “Go find your own.”
As he spoke, Fierce padded into the alley. Cobweb and Mittens watched, wide-eyed, from the end. Tigerheart beckoned them closer. He might need backup. The strays were standing their ground. Greed shone in their eyes.
One of them—a lithe gray she-cat—narrowed her bright blue gaze. “Your friend wanted to share,” she told Tigerheart.
“No, she didn’t,” Tigerheart snapped.
The gray cat glanced around at the guardian cats, food dangling from their jaws, then nodded to the scraps piled behind Cinnamon. “There’s enough to share.”
Tigerheart growled. “We have other mouths to feed.”
“We might have other mouths to feed too.” The gray she-cat tipped her head.
“That doesn’t mean you can take our catch.” Tigerheart glanced at Fierce. Was she going to speak up?
“Why shouldn’t we?” the gray cat meowed.
“You didn’t catch it,” Tigerheart growled.
“Nor did you.” The she-cat glanced dismissively at the scraps. “You found it. Now we’re finding it too.”
Shame scorched beneath Tigerheart’s pelt. She was right. They’d picked these scraps out of cans. I’m fighting over crow-food! And yet this crow-food would feed the cats waiting at the gathering place. It will feed my kits. He lifted his chin. Even if it wasn’t prey, it would keep them from starving. A new, protective anger surged in his chest. It belongs to us! Did this cat have no sense of honor at all? He looked around at the guardian cats, who were watching uneasily. “You’re trying to steal from my friend,” he hissed slowly.
“Steal!” The gray cat lifted her chin. “No cat owns anything until it’s safely in her belly. Here it’s every cat for herself. You’re obviously not city-born, or you’d know that.”
“I’m glad I’m not city-born.” But my kits are. Tigerheart pushed the thought away. “I was born in a place where we feed our Clan before we feed ourselves.”
The gray cat shrugged. “But you’d let us go hungry?”
Tigerheart blinked. How was she making him out to be the bad cat? “You’re not my Clanmate. Besides, there are plenty of scrapcans in the city. You won’t go hungry.”
“‘Plenty of scrapcans,’” the she-cat mimicked. “But only if we can get to them before the foxes.”
“Foxes only come out at night, when the Twolegs have gone,” Tigerheart pointed out.
“What do you know, outsider?” For the first time, the she-cat’s eyes rounded, betraying unease. Pelt ruffled, she nodded to her companions. “Come on. Let’s try somewhere else.” She shot Tigerheart a look. “Don’t get too comfortable. You don’t belong here. I can still smell the grass on your paws.” Turning her tail on him, she padded away down the alley. The others followed, glancing reproachfully over their shoulders.
“Well done.” Fierce blinked at Tigerheart warmly.
“You saved us a fight.” Cinnamon looked relieved.
For now. Tigerheart watched the city cats disappear around the corner. Don’t get too comfortable. The gray cat’s parting threat made him feel this confrontation might just be the beginning.
Back at the gathering-place den, the guardian cats clustered around the patrol as they dropped the scraps they’d collected. Tigerheart eased himself away from the crowd and glanced toward his nest. He was relieved to see that Dovewing and the kits were sleeping.
“Those smell like good scraps.”
Spire’s mew took him by surprise.
The skinny black tom was sitting in the shadow of a wooden ledge, watching Blaze scramble for food with the others. Tigerheart had avoided Spire as much as possible since the strange healer cat had told him Shadowkit would be able to see into the shadows. He hadn’t told Dovewing of Spire’s prediction, even after she’d named the tom-kit. “Shadowkit, in honor of your Clan,” she had explained. How could he have argued with her? The coincidence had unnerved him, though, and he’d kept clear of Spire in case the tom announced any more alarming visions.
Now Spire watched the guardian cats with a clear, even gaze. “How are your kits?”
“Fine,” Tigerheart answered quickly. “I was thinking of catching some real food for them.”
“Food is food,” Spire mewed casually.
“Scraps aren’t warrior food.” They’re crow-food. Tigerheart didn’t meet the healer’s gaze. “Warriors eat fresh-kill.”
“And your kits will be warriors.” The healer’s tone was matter-of-fact.
Tigerheart felt Spire’s gaze burning into his pelt. Unable to resist, he turned to meet it. Did this strange cat know for sure that his kits would be warriors? Or am I just taking him seriously because he’s saying something I want to hear?
He gave the tom a
questioning look.
“What else could they be with Dovewing and you as their parents?” Spire got to his paws and padded toward Blaze.
Blaze met him, greasy scraps hanging from his mouth. The young tom’s eyes shone brightly as he dropped them at Spire’s paws. “Look what I got for us!”
Tigerheart looked up at the den entrance. Determination hardened his belly. He would catch fresh-kill for his kits. Was there time before they woke? Quickly he leaped onto the wooden ledge and up through the gap in the wall.
Outside, pigeons fluttered around the great spike sticking up from the thorn den. Hope pricked in Tigerheart’s paws as one swooped low, but a passing monster sent it rushing upward once more, and his heart sank as it nestled beside its companions on the roof.
Pelt itching with frustration, he stalked between the stone slabs. The frost on the grass had melted, and icy water seeped into his paws. This grassy stretch around the gathering den was the only green he’d seen since arriving in the city. His heart ached for the crunch of pine needles beneath his paws. He longed for the scent of sap and the familiar smells of home. Had Rowanstar chased the shadows away yet? Was ShadowClan back to normal? Was it safe for him to return without blocking the sun? Even if it was, he knew the kits were too young for such a journey.
A loud chirrup sounded nearby. Tigerheart jerked his muzzle toward it. A thrush was hopping along the branch of a cherry tree. The colored walls of the gathering place glittered behind it.
Tigerheart sank into the grass. Dampness soaked his belly fur as he fixed his gaze on the thrush. Keeping as still as one of the stone slabs, he waited. The thrush chirped again. A warning cry? Had it spotted him? Tigerheart’s chest tightened. He glanced at the trunk, wondering if he could climb without being seen. But the branches had been stripped bare by the cold. The thrush would see any movement.
Frustrated, Tigerheart flexed his claws, longing for the shadows of the pine forest. Feeling helpless, he watched the thrush flutter onto a higher branch. It pecked at the bark, then hopped to a spot of moss farther along and began pecking again.
Disappointment dropped in Tigerheart’s belly like a stone. There was no way to reach the thrush without scaring it off. His kits would eat crow-food again today. Guilt tugged him toward his nest. If they woke, he wanted to be there to share crow-food with them at least. As they ate, he could reassure them that one day they’d eat real prey.
Movement jerked him from his thoughts. The thrush dived suddenly down and landed in front of one of the slabs. It began rummaging in the grass with its beak. Hope sparked beneath Tigerheart’s pelt. Slowly, he drew himself to his paws and began to creep toward it. The stone slabs hid his approach. He quickened his pace. He had to reach the thrush before it fluttered away again. Slow down, he told himself. He couldn’t let desperation make him mess this up.
Stopping behind the slab where the thrush was digging for worms, Tigerheart steadied his breath. He peered around the edge. The thrush hadn’t noticed him. As he eased into the open, Tigerheart’s belly fluttered with excitement. Whiskers twitching, he pounced and slapped his paws onto the thrush a moment before it could flap away in panic. Pinning it to the earth, he grabbed its neck between his jaws and killed it fast. Thank you, StarClan. Happiness surged through him at the taste of blood. He picked it up in his teeth, relishing its warm prey-scent as he hurried back to the den.
“Wake up!” He dropped his catch at the side of Dovewing’s nest.
Dovewing lifted her head, her nose twitching. “Thrush!” Pleasure sparked in her green gaze as she sat up and looked from Tigerheart to the limp bird. She prodded the kits, still snuggling against her belly. “Wake up, Pouncekit! Lightkit, wake up.” She lapped Shadowkit between the ears. “Tigerheart’s brought food.”
Blinking in the sunshine, which flooded the den, Pouncekit peered over the side of the nest. Her shoulders drooped as she saw the thrush. “That’s not food,” she mewed sadly. “It’s just a bird.”
“It’s prey!” Tigerheart bristled angrily. “And you’re going to eat it.”
Lightkit scrambled out of the den, her brown tabby kit fluff ruffled by sleep. She sniffed at the thrush. “It smells sweet.”
Shadowkit balanced on the edge of the nest, his nose twitching suspiciously. “Weren’t there any scraps?” He looked across the den to where the guardian cats were lounging, the scraps they’d gathered gone.
Pouncekit followed his gaze, sniffing. “I can smell meat.” She scanned the den.
“This is meat.” Tigerheart poked the thrush.
“It’s all feathers.” Pouncekit dismissed it with a flick of her muzzle.
Tigerheart’s belly tightened. Why wasn’t the scent of fresh-kill making them hungry?
Dovewing climbed out of the nest and began to tear the thrush into strips as the kits watched with a look of horrified fascination. Putting the feathery parts aside, she laid a small, meaty strip in front of each of them.
Irritation clawed Tigerheart’s belly. “Tawnypelt never had to tear my food up when I was a kit.”
Dovewing shot him a look. “Of course she did. They’re only two moons old. You can’t expect them to rip up their own prey.”
Tigerheart sat back on his haunches. Perhaps she was right. He must be patient.
“Try it,” Dovewing encouraged the kits gently.
Pouncekit sniffed uneasily at the strip of red meat before dabbing it with her tongue. She frowned and dabbed it again. Shadowkit touched his piece with his paw before sinking his teeth in. Lightkit grabbed one end of hers in her mouth and, hooking the strip with her claw, began tugging it with her teeth.
Dovewing blinked affectionately at Tigerheart. “It was good of you to catch fresh prey for us.”
Tigerheart didn’t answer. He was still staring anxiously at the kits. What if they never learned to love fresh-kill? What if he took them back to ShadowClan and they refused to eat?
“All kits are fussy about food at first,” Dovewing murmured. “Ivypool refused to eat rabbit until she was four moons old. And I hated shrews.”
“Really?” Tigerheart looked hopefully at her.
She held his gaze for a moment, then nodded at the kits. All three were busy chewing on their strips of thrush. Shadowkit looked thoughtful. Pouncekit was still frowning. Lightkit’s cheeks bulged with food where she’d bitten off too much.
“Chew it properly before you swallow,” Dovewing warned. “Or you’ll get a bellyache.”
Tigerheart watched them eat, pride swelling in his chest. Even if they didn’t like the thrush, they were trying to eat it. Your kits will be warriors. Spire’s words rang in his mind. Of course they would be. Especially if he took them home soon.
CHAPTER 20
Tigerheart fluffed his fur against the cold. Outside the gathering place, wind whipped rain against the stone slabs. Fierce, Spire, and Ant were already heading across the grass. Beside him, Dovewing shivered.
“Are you sure you want to come?” Tigerheart glanced at her. It would be the first time she’d left the den since kitting.
“I need fresh air.” She lifted her face into the breeze, half closing her eyes against the rain; then she stiffened and looked anxiously at Tigerheart. “Blaze and Peanut will take good care of the kits, won’t they?”
“Of course,” he reassured her. “Blaze will keep them busy, and Peanut will make sure they stay out of troub—” He paused as a familiar scent touched his nose.
He’d learned by now to untangle jumbled city scents and pick out prey, cat, fox, and food smells from the acrid stench of monsters. He could smell the gray she-cat they’d met the day before. His ears twitched uneasily. Ant, Fierce, and Spire had reached the Thunderpath and were waiting for a gap to cross. “Come back!”
Fierce looked back questioningly and turned back as Tigerheart beckoned her with a flick of his tail. Ant and Spire followed. “What is it?”
Tigerheart sniffed the air again, smelling the she-cat once more. Other cat scents mingled with
it. “The strays have been here.” The smell strengthened with the wind. “They’re still around.” Tigerheart jerked his nose toward an unkempt patch of trees and bushes at the far end of the gathering place. Was that movement in the long grass beside it? His pelt prickled. “They’ve invaded our land!” Without waiting, he raced toward the cat scents. He stopped as he reached the trees and stared into the bushes crowding their trunks. “Come out!” he demanded.
The branches rustled, and the gray she-cat slid out and gazed at him impassively. “Hi again.”
“What are you doing here?” Tigerheart demanded as Dovewing caught up to him. She was panting a little. It had clearly been a while since she’d run. Fierce, Ant, and Spire followed slowly.
The gray she-cat stared at Tigerheart, looking puzzled.
He glanced at the guardian cats. They didn’t look concerned. “She’s on our land!” he growled.
“This isn’t our land.” Fierce flicked her tail as she reached him.
Tigerheart could hardly believe his ears. “It’s where you live and hunt.”
Ant frowned. “We sleep in the gathering place and scavenge all over the city.” He clearly didn’t understand.
“But this is your home.” Tigerheart glanced around the stretch of grass surrounding the thorn den.
A tom emerged from the bushes, followed by three other strays. They lined up beside the gray she-cat, blinking at him curiously.
“What’s the fuss about, Fog?” A brown tom looked at the gray she-cat.
“I’m not sure, Tuna.” Fog stared at Tigerheart. “This cat’s complaining again.”
Tigerheart struggled to understand their indifference. Even Dovewing looked unconcerned. If this were the forest, pelts would be bristling and teeth bared by now. He blinked at Dovewing. “I know this is the city, but all cats have territory, right? Don’t they want to defend it?”
She looked at him. “They obviously don’t mind sharing.” She looked at Fierce inquiringly.
Fierce shrugged. “What’s the point of arguing over land?”
Tigerheart stared at her. “Don’t you have borders?”