Moth Flight’s Vision

Blue Whisker nestled tighter against her belly. “I don’t ever want a badger ride,” she breathed, staring in alarm at her sister as she bobbed on Storm Pelt’s back.

Moth Flight tucked her tail over Blue Whisker, relieved that at least one kit was staying close.

Spider Paw was crouching in the sandy hollow. Silver Stripe crouched beside him, while Black Ear paced in front, advising him on his stance.

“Hindquarters lower,” the black-and-white tom-kit told him.

“And keep your tail still or the prey will hear you coming.”

Silver Stripe fidgeted impatiently. “Can we jump yet?” she begged.

“Not until you’ve got the perfect crouch,” Black Ear told her sternly.

“Is this right?” Spider Paw pressed his chin closer to the ground and stared fiercely ahead.

“Quite good,” Black Ear conceded. “Pull your hind paws in tighter, or your takeoff will be clumsy.”

Where’s Honey Pelt? Alarm flashed through Moth Flight.

She scanned the camp, relief swamping her as she caught sight of his yellow pelt as he burrowed under the heather wall on the far side of the camp.

White Tail was beside him, squeezing under the branches.

Moth Flight frowned. Keeping an eye on four kits seemed far more exhausting than it should be. “What are those two doing?”

“White Tail promised to show him all the secret ways out of camp,” Slate told her.

“I hope he’s not thinking of sneaking out.” Moth Flight remembered hauling Silver Stripe out of the rabbit hole all those moons ago. How had she been so calm? Dread gouged at her belly as she imagined one of her own kits stuck on the moor and wailing for help. She pushed the thought away. She wasn’t going to let her kits out of her sight.

She felt a wave of gratitude toward her Clanmates. Among them, someone was always keeping an eye on Bubbling Stream, Honey Pelt, Spider Paw, and Blue Whisker. Even Holly, who was watching Bubbling Stream now, her eyes narrow with disapproval, always knew where they were and what they were up to.

Reed Tail nosed his way out of the den that Eagle Feather and Dew Nose had hollowed from the heather wall of the camp.

They had grown too big to share Jagged Peak and Holly’s den and had moved into their own with Storm Pelt.

Reed Tail padded across the clearing and paused in front of Moth Flight. “Dew Nose has wrenched a paw,” he told her. “She slipped in a rabbit hole while she was hunting. Shall I use up the comfrey from your herb store or pick fresh?”

“Use what we’ve got for now and pick some fresh later,” Moth Flight told him.

He nodded and ducked into the gorse den behind her. Reed Tail had been busy taking care of the Clan’s cuts and sprains over the past moon. Moth Flight had tried to keep an eye on her Clanmates’ well-being, but every time she left the den to check how a scratch was healing or a sore belly was responding to the chervil Reed Tail had given, one of her kits would start mewling with hunger or squeal for help as they climbed the den wall and got stuck among the branches. It seemed that the moment she set paw in the clearing, a desperate wail would call her back.

“You need to be tougher,” Slate had told her many times.

“Let them wail. They’re safe in camp. They’ll survive while you check on your Clanmates.”

But Moth Flight couldn’t relax. They’ve lost their father!

She couldn’t bear for them to be without their mother as well.

“They have a whole Clan to raise them,” Slate had insisted.

I don’t want to be like you, Moth Flight had thought. She ignored the truth that Silver Pelt, Black Ear, and White Tail had grown into happy young cats despite their grieving mother. The Clan had indeed raised them, giving Slate’s kits all that kits ever needed: warmth, kindness, food, and protection. My kits are special, Moth Flight told herself. No other cat can give them the love that I can.

And so she let Reed Tail care for the Clan and told herself that in another half-moon, she’d be ready to return to her duties as medicine cat.

Slate nudged her from her thoughts with a paw. “Look!”

Wind Runner and Jagged Peak had padded into camp.

Dappled Pelt and Acorn Fur walked between the WindClan cats, glancing at each other with puzzled looks. Wind Runner’s expression was grim. Jagged Peak’s ears twitched uneasily.

Moth Flight sat up, alarmed.

Gently moving Blue Whisker aside, she got to her paws.

What were Dappled Pelt and Acorn Fur doing here, and why were Wind Runner and Jagged Peak escorting them like prisoners? She crossed the clearing, meeting Wind Runner among the tussocks. “Is something wrong?”

Her mother’s eyes were dark.

“I found these two wandering across the moor,” she growled.

“We weren’t wandering,” Dappled Pelt objected.

“We were coming to see Moth Flight,” Acorn Fur chipped in.

Moth Flight glanced at the SkyClan medicine cat.