Moth Flight’s Vision

“She was tired from hunting,” Reed Tail told her. “She said a tom was as good as a—”

Black Ear interrupted. “Perhaps Slate will come with us!”

“No way. She’s always too tired.” Silver Stripe scrambled up beside her brother. “Can we hunt on the moor?”

“Teach us some hunting moves!” White Tail leaped onto the rock. “I want to catch a rabbit.”

“They’re bigger than you!” Reed Tail teased.

“Reed Tail!” Holly called from the prey pile. “There are three fat mice here. Do you know any cat who might want one?”

“Me!” Silver Stripe leaped from the rock and began scrambling over the tussocks.

“I want the fattest one!” Black Ear chased after his sister.

“You are the fattest one!” White Tail hared after them.

Reed Tail glanced at Moth Flight. “I hope Slate says it’s okay to take them out of camp. They have more energy than a nest of squirrels.”

Moth Flight watched him trudge after the kits, grateful that he’d taken them off her paws. She turned back to Spotted Fur.

The tom’s amber gaze clouded with worry.

“Twolegplace is a long way. You’ll have to cross Clear Sky’s forest.”

“I’ll be okay,” Moth Flight reassured him. “Clear Sky doesn’t mind cats crossing his borders anymore. Besides, I’m a medicine cat now. I’m only hunting for herbs.”

Dust Muzzle frowned. “What if you run into rogues in Twolegplace?”

“And there are Thunderpaths,” Spotted Fur added anxiously.

“We’d better come with you.” Dust Muzzle shook out his pelt.

Moth Flight blinked at him. “Aren’t you supposed to be hunting today?”

Spotted Fur paced around her. “We can hunt on the way back.”

Moth Flight wondered if she’d travel faster alone, but it made sense to take help. When she reached Twolegplace, she’d have to sniff out catmint, and three noses would be better than one. “Okay!” She whisked her tail. “Thanks.” Heading for the entrance, she broke into a run.

As she burst out of camp, relishing the fresh breeze that streamed through her whiskers, heather scent filled her nose.

Happiness surged beneath Moth Flight’s pelt as she raced downslope. She would find catmint and cure Rocky! She pushed harder against the grass. Paw steps thumped behind her as Spotted Fur and Dust Muzzle caught up.

“Slow down!” Dust Muzzle called. “You can’t run all the way!”

“We’ll have to walk in the forest.” Moth Flight kept her gaze fixed ahead. The roots and brambles under the trees would slow them down. They might as well make good time here, where they knew the terrain well. She ducked into a swath of heather, heading down a rabbit trail she’d followed countless times before.

Racing out the other side of the heather, she headed for the forest, Dust Muzzle and Spotted Fur following her.

They crossed the border gingerly, exchanging glances. The whole Clan told tales of the days when Clear Sky had challenged any cat he’d found in his forest. We’ll be fine. Moth Flight lifted her chin. Since the great battle, cats had crossed each other’s territory freely, but it was understood that no cat would hunt on another cat’s land. We’re not hunting. As the trees blocked the sun’s warmth, she shivered. What if a SkyClan cat challenged them the same way Willow Tail had challenged Red Claw about his “theft”? She pushed the thought away.

Rocky needed catmint.

Dust Muzzle was staring between the towering trunks, eyes wide as he adjusted to the gloom. “SkyClan cats must have eyes like owls.”

Birdsong echoed eerily from the tree trunks, closed in by the canopy of branches. Sunshine filtered through the bright new leaves and dappled the forest floor. Brambles spilled from between the trees, and ferns unfurled in wide clumps.

Moth Flight tasted the air. The musty flavor of old leaves and damp wood bathed her tongue. “Don’t SkyClan and ThunderClan miss the sunshine?” she whispered.

“They must.” Spotted Fur fluffed out his pelt. “It’s weird not hearing the wind.”

Moth Flight realized that the pressing hum in her ears was the sound of stillness. High overhead the leaves swished, but down here, among the roots, no breeze stirred.

“This way.” Dust Muzzle padded forward, heading up a rise where the forest sloped toward a small clearing and sunlight broke through the canopy.

Tiny paws scuttled across the leaves to one side. Spotted Fur jerked his head around.

“Ignore it,” Dust Muzzle warned. “We can catch bigger prey when we’re back on the moor.”

Spotted Fur huffed and followed Dust Muzzle as he jumped over a fallen log. Moth Flight scrambled behind them, yelping as a bramble snagged her paw.

Dust Muzzle glanced back. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Moth Flight tugged herself free, wincing. “How do they hunt here?”

Spotted Fur shrugged. “Perhaps they wait for their prey to trip.”

At the top of the rise, Moth Flight relished the warmth of the sun for a moment before shadow swallowed it again. “Do you know which way to go?” she called to Dust Muzzle, who had pulled into the lead. He was following a trail smoothed by rabbit tracks, by the smell of them.

“I’m trying to find the Thunderpath,” he answered.