Moth Flight’s Vision

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 jerked 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.”

Blue Whisker pressed against her flank. “But what if he hasn’t?”

Moth Flight ignored her. There wasn’t time to worry.

“How’s Wind Runner?” she asked Gorse Fur.

“She’s talking,” he told her. “But her words don’t make any sense. She opened her eyes for a while, but it was like she couldn’t see me.”

Moth Flight’s heart quickened. Her fever must be worse. She turned away. “Dappled Pelt will know what to do.” She raced for the gorge. “Watch the kits!”

“What about the fox?” Storm Pelt called after her.

“I’ll deal with that if I have to. Just stay with the kits!” Moth

Flight felt the wind whip her words away as she hurtled downslope.

Would Dappled Pelt know? Fear crawled beneath her fur.

What if the RiverClan medicine cat couldn’t help? She could go to Cloud Spots. Or Acorn Fur. Her mind began to spin. What if none of them knew how to save Wind Runner?

I have to try. She pushed harder against the grass, the wind singing in her ears.

Orange-and-white fur showed at the top of the gorge. Moth

Flight slowed, narrowing her eyes. Dappled Pelt! The tortoiseshell she-cat was padding toward her.

Moth Flight raced to meet her.

Dappled Pelt’s eyes shone with relief as Moth Flight skidded to a halt in front of her. “I smelled your scent beside the river.”

“I was coming to see you.” Moth Flight caught her breath.

“There’s been a fox hunting on our land,” Dappled Pelt told her. “I was worried it had hurt you.”

“I smelled it,” Moth Flight told her.

“River Ripple sent out patrols to chase it off.” Dappled Pelt flicked her tail. “Why did you want to see me?”

“Wind Runner’s sick,” Moth Flight told her. “I think it’s an infection in her neck wound. I’ve tried dock and horsetail, but the wound smells sour and she has a fever. Do you have any herbs I could try?”

Dappled Pelt frowned. “It sounds as though the infection’s gone too deep for poultices,” she meowed gravely. “I don’t know any herbs that can fight it from inside.”