Moth Flight’s Vision

Cow leaned forward to steady her with a soft shoulder. “You must be hungry, you poor thing. You’ve strayed a long way from home.” She glanced at Mouse. “The moor’s that great hill looming in front of the sunrise, isn’t it?”

Mouse nodded. “Is your Clan your family?” he asked Moth

Flight.

“Kind of.” Her heart ached as she remembered Dust Muzzle and Gorse Fur, and even harder as she pictured Wind Runner. I wish I could make her proud of me.

Moth Flight heard paws pattering over the ground below.

She turned in time to catch sight of yellow fur, then heard scrabbling on the ladder. Moments later Micah jumped into the loft. His striped pelt gleamed in a streak of sunlight and his green eyes flashed as he met Cow’s gaze. “That dog will be picking thorns out of its paws for days.” A purr rumbled in his throat.

“Did you lead it through the bramble patch again?” Cow’s whiskers twitched with amusement.

“Of course!”

Moth Flight stared at him. “You sound like you do this a lot!”

“There’s not a dog in the whole valley that can catch me.”

Micah whisked his tail in the air. “And if they did, I’d give them such a clawing, they’d regret it.”

Mouse rolled onto his back, drowsily. “It must be a new one.

The old farm dogs know better than to chase you, Micah.”

Moth Flight gazed in admiration at the yellow tom. He stared back at her, his eyes widening.

She shifted her paws uneasily. He was staring at her as though she had green fur. “What’s wrong?” Self-consciously, she smoothed a paw over her ears, wondering if one of them was bent inside out.

“It’s you!” Micah’s pelt ruffled along his spine. His mew was thick with disbelief. “What are you doing here? This isn’t where you belong!”

Cow blinked at him. “What are you talking about, Micah?

She’s a stranger.”

“But I know her!” Micah insisted.

Mouse pushed himself to his paws. “You’ve been on this farm since you were a kit. How can you know her? She’s never been here before.”

“I’ve seen her in my dreams!” Micah murmured, half breathless, his eyes wide.

Cow whisked her tail over her paws. “Don’t be mouse-brained. She’s real!”

Moth Flight hardly heard the she-cat. She was staring at Micah. “Do you have dreams too?”

Mouse sniffed. “Every cat has dreams.”

Micah glanced at him. “I’ve heard you talking about your dreams, Mouse. You do nothing but chase mice and rats.”

“That’s not true,” Mouse sniffed. “Sometimes I dream that they’re chasing me!”

“But my dreams feel like they’re real!” Micah insisted.

“Mine too!” Moth Flight’s belly tightened with excitement.

Cow weaved between them, tail high. “Poor Moth Flight is starving. Let’s eat first and talk later.” She nodded toward the shadows at the back of the loft. “Shall I catch a mouse for you?

There are plenty!”

Moth Flight shook her head. She had a long journey ahead.

The moth still had something to show her, she was sure of it.

And if her dreams could be trusted, she assumed it had something to do with the spirit-cats. She must prove that she was strong enough for the task. “I’ll catch my own prey, thanks.” She glanced past Cow, snatching a look at Micah. I don’t want him thinking that I can’t hunt for myself, she thought, her pelt growing hot.

Cow jerked her nose toward the shadows. “Help yourself.”

Micah padded past her. “Let’s hunt together,” he suggested.

“That chase has made me hungry.”

“We’ll all hunt.” Cow stood up.

Moth Flight felt a jab of disappointment. She wanted a moment alone with Micah to ask about his dreams. Were they like hers?

“Come on!” Cow marched toward the back of the loft.

Micah leaped onto one of the stacks of hay and disappeared down the other side.

Moth Flight wondered whether to follow him, but Cow was beckoning her into the shadows.

“Here’s a great spot,” Cow lowered her voice. “There are always plenty of mice who can’t resist a nibble on the straw, even up here.”

She dropped into a crouch. Moth Flight sank down beside her and stared into the gloom. Dust filled her nose but, through it, she could taste the musky scent of prey.

Her belly growled again.

Cow stifled a purr. “I’ll let you go first,” she whispered.

“Thanks.” Moth Flight crept forward, her eyes adjusting to the gloom. Between two lumps of hay, movement flickered.

Concentrating, Moth Flight remembered Gorse Fur’s advice, realizing as she did how many times he’d told her the same thing. Move slowly. Lift your tail. Put your pads down softly.

Her father’s words ringing in her mind, she stalked forward, ears pricked. Excitement tingled in her belly. As she neared the hay lumps, she could make out the small, round haunches of a mouse. Holding her breath, she padded closer, then halted.

Bunching the muscles in her hind legs, she prepared to pounce.

For a moment, she was aware of absolute stillness and silence.

Then she leaped.