Moth Flight’s Vision

“Quick!” A mew sounded behind her. She snapped her gaze around, amazed to see two cats pulling up on either side of her.

A plump black-and-white she-cat stared at her urgently.

“We’ve got to get out of here.”

A small tom with graying whiskers around his brown muzzle nudged her toward the hedge. “Now!”

Moth Flight stared across the grass. The yellow tom was zigzagging, the dog at his heels. “But what about him?”

“Who, Micah?” The brown tom swapped amused glances with the black-and-white she-cat.

Moth Flight stiffened as Micah veered suddenly and plunged between the legs of the startled sheep. Bleating with surprise, they scattered as the dog raced after the tom, knocking them aside if they weren’t quick enough to get out of the way.

The she-cat purred beside her. “Micah doesn’t need any help.”

“Come on.” The tom nudged her again. “We can show you somewhere safe.”

The black-and-white she-cat was already hurrying toward the hedge, her plump belly swinging beneath her.

Heart swelling with gratitude, Moth Flight followed after her. Behind them the dog’s bark grew shrill with fury. The brown tom fell into step beside her, slowing to let her push through the hedge first. As the stems scraped her flanks, relief swamped her. She just hoped that these cats were right and the yellow tom who had saved her didn’t need any help.

Chapter 8

“Follow me!” The plump she-cat was climbing a steep slope, scrambling up the wooden slats that crisscrossed it.

Moth Flight hurried toward her, crossing the straw-covered floor, nervous at finding herself inside a huge Twoleg den. It towered around her, the roof high above her head. The brown tom trotted after them, not even glancing at the large black-and-white creatures that shifted and huffed at one end of the den.

“Are they dangerous?” Moth Flight whispered, eying them warily.

“Cows? Dangerous?” The tom shrugged. “They’re clumsy, but not mean. Stay away from their hooves and you’ll be okay.”

The she-cat had already made it to the top of the slope and peered down from a broad ledge where big lumps of dried grass were stacked.

Moth Flight paused at the bottom of the slatted slope, paws twitching with unease. “What is this place? Are there Twolegs here?”

The tom nudged her onto the first rung. “This is the barn.

The Twolegs store their hay in the loft and keep their cows below. But they’re used to us being here and they don’t bother us.”

Are these cats kittypets? Moth Flight clung onto the next slat and pulled herself up. One of her hind paws slipped and hit the tom on the muzzle. “Sorry!” She hauled herself up. “I’ve never seen a slope like this before.”

The tom snorted and shook his fur out. “Ladders are only hard to climb the first time,” he assured her. “Just keep going.”

Moth Flight scrambled over the top, onto the ledge where the she-cat waited. She sneezed, hay dust filling her nose. This must be the loft.

As Moth Flight sniffled, the she-cat purred with amusement.

“You’ll get used to that too.”

Moth Flight wasn’t so sure. Her eyes stung. The air was thick with dust; she could see it clouding in the shafts of sunlight that sliced through every gap in the high wooden walls of the barn. The loft stretched into shadow where it reached to the back wall of the huge den. Stacks of hay crowded every side.

The tom landed next to her. “You’re safe up here. Dogs can’t climb ladders. They’re all paws and no sense.”

“What about Micah?” She could still hear the dog barking angrily in the distance.

“Micah is the fastest and cleverest cat I know.” The plump she-cat sat down and began licking her belly fur.

“No dog ever gets near him,” the tom assured her.

The she-cat looked up from her washing. “What are you called, dear?”

“Moth Flight.” She glanced around the stacks of hay, her nose twitching as she smelled prey in the shadows. Her belly growled. She was hungry.

“Moth Flight?” The she-cat blinked at her. “Is that a kittypet name?”

Moth Flight lifted her chin sharply. “I’m no kittypet!” She snorted indignantly. Then she hesitated, guilt pricking her pelt.

Were these cats kittypets? The tom hadn’t answered her question. She didn’t want to offend them after they’d been so kind. She tipped her head apologetically. “Are you?”

The tom lay down and stretched in a strip of sunshine.

“We’re farm cats. We share our territory with Twolegs, but we look after ourselves.” He yawned.

The black-and-white she-cat straightened. “My name’s Cow and that’s Mouse.”

Moth Flight swallowed back a purr. Such odd names!

“Where are you from, dear?” Cow pressed.

Moth Flight’s purr caught in her throat as she remembered the WindClan camp. “I come from the moor. I live there with my Clan.” Homesickness swept her so fiercely, she swayed on her paws.