Moth Flight’s Vision

Moth Flight lifted her chin. “I’ll find them!” Wishing she felt as sure as she sounded, she marched toward the camp entrance.

Spotted Fur hurried after her.

Moth Flight glanced back at Dust Muzzle. “Aren’t you coming to help?”

Dust Muzzle rolled his eyes. “Not again! I’m always helping you out of trouble. You’ve got Spotted Fur to help you.

I’m tired from hunting. Let me rest.”

Moth Flight flicked her tail crossly. But he was right. Her brother was always helping her out of scrapes. Last half-moon, Wind Runner had sent her looking for cobwebs to dress Dew

Nose’s scratched paw, but the night had been so starry, Moth Flight had been distracted by the reflection of the sky glittering in a puddle. It had been Dust Muzzle who’d come to hurry her up and who had finally found a clump of cobwebs among a pile of rocks while she’d been spotting patterns in the stars.

I must learn to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing!

Otherwise, I’ll never—

“Should we head for the gorge?” Spotted Fur’s mew cut into her thoughts.

“The gorge?” she stopped outside the camp entrance and frowned for a moment. Then she hissed, angry with herself. Her thoughts had wandered again! Promising herself she would try harder, she nodded. “Of course. That’s where Rocky saw the kits last.”

She stared across the wide swaths of brown heather rippling softly in the newleaf breeze. Full moon was in two days, and in another half-moon, the moor would be green with budding leaves, something she had only heard older cats talk about.

Moth Flight could hardly wait for the fresh, clean scent of new life. This would be her first newleaf. All she could remember was snow and ice and the slow dying of the moorland in the moons before leafbare. Now it was all going to come back to life again. Excitement fizzed in her paws.

“Moth Flight!” Spotted Fur’s mew was stern this time. “We need to find the kits!”

She shook out her fur, feeling guiltier than ever. Why did there have to be so many things to distract her? “The kits.” She curled her claws into the grass, determined that this time she would stay focused on finding them.

The heather rustled ahead of them and Willow Tail slid out from beneath the bushes, a mouse hanging from her jaws. She dropped it and looked at Spotted Fur. “What’s this about kits?”

“I’ve lost Slate’s—”

Spotted Fur cut Moth Flight off before she could finish her confession. “Slate’s kits have wandered out of camp and we’re going to find them.”

Moth Flight glanced gratefully at her friend. “Rocky said he’d seen them near the gorge,” she added.

Willow Tail’s eyes rounded with worry. “I’d better come with you. Three noses are better than one.” Leaving her mouse, she began to hurry down the slope, breaking into a run as she weaved between the clumps of heather. Spotted Fur hurried after her and Moth Flight ran behind.

“Keep your mouths open to taste for their scent,” Willow

Tail called over her shoulder.

Moth Flight caught up with Spotted Fur, opening her jaws to let the moor scents bathe her tongue. The smell of warm peat filled her mouth. She narrowed her eyes, peering at the slope below, hoping to see a flash of familiar fur. “Can you smell them?” she puffed.

Spotted Fur’s gaze was fixed ahead. “Not yet, but with Willow Tail helping we’re bound to find them quickly.”

Willow Tail had slowed as the slope steepened toward the gorge. She darted this way and that, sniffing the grass around the edge of a gorse patch. “Check that stretch of heather,” she called to Spotted Fur.

“Where should I look?” Moth Flight called.

“Stay with Spotted Fur,” Willow Tail called back. “We don’t want you getting lost too.”

Moth Flight’s pelt prickled. Did every cat in WindClan think she was as useless as thistledown? Obediently, she slid between the heather bushes after Spotted Fur.

A distant tang touched her nose. “I can smell the river.”

“From here?” Spotted Fur turned to face her, heather crowding in on either side and arching over their heads.

“I can smell the water plants that line it.” Moth Flight felt a pang of longing. “I’ve always wanted to go and see them up close and pick a few. Water plants are so interesting. Why don’t they drown? Don’t they need wind like moor plants?”

“You can’t go picking plants in RiverClan territory,” Spotted Fur warned her. “Wind Runner says if there’s to be peace between the Clans, then we have to stay on our own lands.”

Moth Flight felt a prickle of frustration. “How will we learn anything if we just stick to what we know?”

As she spoke, she saw Spotted Fur stiffen. Alarm sparked in his gaze.

“What’s wrong?” Fear pricked her paws.

“Listen!” Spotted Fur’s ears were stretched.

Moth Flight stretched hers too, straining to hear what he had heard.

The faint wail of a kit sounded through the heather.

Then Willow Tail’s frightened yowl sounded from downslope. “Spotted Fur! Come quickly!”

“The kits are in trouble!” Spotted Fur plunged through the heather.