Hollyleaf’s Story

She was about to jump down from the branch and attempt to find something to eat when she noticed a trail of paw prints leading away between the trees. They were bigger than hers, but small for a passing dog. The hair prickled on the back of Hollyleaf’s neck. With a hiss of displeasure, she plunged her feet back into the snow and went to take a closer look. More than the size and shape of the prints, the distinctive smell told her who had walked this way: a fox! A young fox, judging by its small paws, and was it just her imagination, or did Hollyleaf recognize the lingering scent?

Yes!

It was the cub she had rescued!

Hollyleaf’s heart started to beat faster. At that moment, the prospect of seeing the little cub again filled her with more excitement than the idea of finding food. She followed the trail, leaping carefully alongside the tracks so as not to smudge them. They wound through the trees, heading along the shoulder of the ridge before swerving downward into a dense copse of pine trees. Hollyleaf’s legs were aching from jumping through the snow, and it got deeper the farther down the hill she went, but she wasn’t going to give up now. The scent of the cub had gotten stronger and the tracks were even clearer, as if it had only just walked this way.

The pine trees opened out in a little clearing where the snow was scuffed and heaped up amid deep claw marks and scarlet-stained feathers. Hollyleaf wrinkled her nose as the scent of blood filled the air. The fox must have killed a pigeon here, she decided, studying the broad gray feathers. She felt a flash of pride, as if she’d mentored the cub herself.

There was a noise behind her and the sharp smell washed over her more strongly than ever. Hollyleaf turned, a purr rising in her throat. The cub was standing at the edge of the clearing, watching her. Its ears were pricked and the tip of its bushy tail brushed the snow. This was definitely her fox! He was growing into a handsome male, his fur standing out against the snow almost as scarlet as the pigeon’s blood.

“Hello!” Hollyleaf meowed. “Do you remember me?”

With a snarl, the fox leaped at her. Yellow teeth snapped at the air where Hollyleaf’s neck had been, a heartbeat after she scrambled backward. She crashed into a pine tree and spun around to claw her way up the trunk, with the creature snapping barely a whisker’s length from her paws. The tree was circled with moss halfway up and Hollyleaf’s claws lost their grip; she slithered down, feeling branches jab her ribs and flanks, and the cub jumped up, yelping with hunger and excitement. Hollyleaf dug her claws into the bark and managed to stop her fall just as teeth closed on the fur at the end of her tail. She tore herself free and scrambled to the topmost branches, fear propelling her upward. Below her, the cub snarled in frustration.

Hollyleaf huddled on a thin branch that swayed beneath her weight. She peered down through the dark green pine needles and watched the fox circling far below. Of course he doesn’t remember me. I’m nothing more than prey! Hollyleaf sank her claws into the branch, closed her eyes, and waited for her heart to stop trying to punch its way out of her chest.

When she opened her eyes again, it was dark. Fear and flight must have exhausted her enough to sleep on her uncomfortable perch. The woods were silent, and all she could smell was snow and the stinging scent of pinesap. The cub was long gone. Above the trees, a full silver moon floated in the sky, surrounded by dazzling stars. The forest was bathed in crisp white light, and Hollyleaf could see all the way to the top of the ridge. On the other side, the four Clans would be meeting on the island for the Gathering. Would her name be mentioned? Did any cat ever wonder what had happened to her? Hollyleaf felt a wave of misery so intense she almost lost her grip on the branch. When it dipped alarmingly beneath her, she came to her senses and eased herself down the trunk to the snowy ground.

There was a sharp pain in her belly, and as Hollyleaf trekked back through the trees she paused by a clump of yarrow that had been sheltered from the snow to eat a few leaves. But the ache inside her persisted, and Hollyleaf knew it was more than hunger: It was loneliness, and regret, and sadness. There was only one place she could go. Fluffing up her pelt against the bitter cold, Hollyleaf began to trudge up the slope.

Dawn was breaking by the time she arrived, lightening the shadows cast by the trees in the moonlight and rousing a few birds into song. Hollyleaf staggered the last few paces and paused at the entrance, gasping for breath. The tunnel yawned ahead of her, warm and dark and welcoming.

“Fallen Leaves!” she called as she plunged inside. “Fallen Leaves, are you there?”

Chapter 7