Tallstar’s Revenge

“Press it into a crevice, if you can find one,” Sandgorse meowed over his shoulder. “Keep it close. We never get rid of stones; they’re useful for shoring up walls.”

Tallpaw grabbed the stone in his paws. It was bigger than the sparrow-sized rocks he’d practiced on as a kit, but he heaved it backward, grunting at the effort. You’re always stronger than you think. Sandgorse’s lesson came back to him. And it was true: Even in the cramped space, Tallpaw found he could tug the stone back up the tunnel until he felt a dent in the earth wall. Pushing hard, he pressed the stone into the earth, then returned to haul some more of the soil that Sandgorse and Mistmouse had dug out. Scrabbling with his forepaws, Tallpaw dragged a pile of earth backward, leaving a trail of loose dirt in his wake.

His paws were clogged with grit and he could feel soil deep in his pelt. Fighting the instinct to wash it out, he kept hauling earth, spreading it back up the tunnel. Each time he hurried back for another load, he trampled the loose earth harder into the tunnel floor. As he reached for another pile, he suddenly realized that he’d forgotten he was working in the dark. And he was warm!

“They’re close!” Sandgorse called excitedly. “Can you hear them, Tallpaw?”

Tallpaw listened and heard Woollytail’s growl. Hickorynose answered, his gruff mew echoing beyond the wall of dirt.

Tallpaw’s pelt pricked. “Won’t it collapse again if we clear away the blockage?”

“All the earth’s fallen that’s going to fall,” Sandgorse reassured him.

“How do you know?”

“Listen.” Sandgorse scraped back more pawfuls of dirt, then halted. “Do you hear loose dirt? Or falling stones?”

“No.” Tallpaw felt a quiver of relief.

“And there’s no creaking above,” Mistmouse added. “The earth will hold.” As she spoke, Tallpaw felt fresh air on his whiskers.

“Sandgorse!” Woollytail’s delighted mew echoed around the walls of the tunnel.

“Is Hickorynose all right?” Mistmouse asked.

“I’m fine!” Hickorynose called from farther down the tunnel.

“Great.” Tallpaw felt his father’s tail swish past his nose. “Now we can get back to finding the gorge.”

Tallpaw tasted the air. “I smell heather!” The sweet scent of blossom touched his tongue.

Sandgorse’s tail flicked past his nose. “There’s an airhole ahead,” he explained. “A small crack up through the earth to the moor.”

Tallpaw strained his eyes and saw shapes in the darkness: Woollytail’s spine; Hickorynose’s ears silhouetted against it.

Light! And air! Tallpaw felt a rush of excitement.

“Let’s head for the river,” Mistmouse urged.

“Are you still trying to tunnel through the clay seam to get to the river?” Tallpaw asked, remembering a discussion from moons ago.

“That’s right.” Sandgorse nudged him forward as the others headed away. “It’s hard gauging our depth exactly, but yesterday I hit clay.”

Tallpaw glanced up as he passed below the airhole, blinking into the pale light seeping from the moor. “You found the seam?”

“That’s what we’ve been digging through all night.” Sandgorse’s mew was filled with warmth. “We should break through to the other side soon. I’m so pleased you’re here to see it happen! The first ever tunnel from high-moor to the river!”

Tallpaw felt the air dampen and fade as the soil around him thickened to mud. He was sharply aware of the airhole fading into the distance, and with it, the light and the scent of heather. He followed the sound of paw steps, staying close to the warmth of Mistmouse’s tail. As the tunnel twisted and turned, he quickly learned to recognize changes in the thickness of air that warned of a turning ahead. But his chest was tightening and he found himself snatching for each breath.

“Sandgorse?” he called nervously.

“Nearly there.” Sandgorse’s reply was muffled.

“Sandgor—” A hard wall of mud slapped Tallpaw’s muzzle. He yelped, half in pain, half-surprised.

Sandgorse stumbled back. “Turn to your right! Concentrate!”

“Sorry.” Tallpaw pricked his ears, focusing harder on the space ahead.

The air ahead seemed to tremble, and as he pushed on, the earth throbbed around him.

“What’s that?” Tallpaw froze. Was the tunnel about to collapse?

“It’s just the river,” Woollytail called. “We’re at the end of the tunnel. A few more scoops and we’ll be in the gorge.”

In the gorge! Fresh air! Tallpaw’s chest relaxed a little. They were probably only a tail-length from the wind and the sun.

Sandgorse pushed past him. “Wait here.”

Tallpaw heard paws scraping dirt.

“The clay’s wetter here!” Hickorynose sounded jubilant. “We must be close.”

Tallpaw hung back, listening above the hum of the river. The tunnelers’ pelts brushed against one another; clay squelched beneath their paws. Tallpaw could hear their breathing as they worked. “Should I dig, too?” he offered. Anything to get them into daylight faster.

Splat. A hunk of clay landed in front of him. Mud spattered his nose.

“Start packing the dug clay into the walls,” Mistmouse ordered.