Tallstar’s Revenge

“See what I mean?” Reena’s gaze hardened. “Why don’t you talk to me once you’ve finished feeling sorry for yourself?” She turned and stalked away, her tail twitching angrily.

Paws thrummed the grass as Shrewpaw whisked past. “Hey, Reena!” Together they disappeared among the cats gathered outside the nursery.

Tallpaw headed for the camp entrance. Let them all chatter like starlings. I don’t care.

“Wait for me.” Flailfoot’s mew rasped behind him.

“I’m just going for a walk,” Tallpaw muttered. “Don’t try and stop me.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Flailfoot fell in beside him. “Is this your first time out since the accident?”

“You mean since Sandgorse was killed.” Tallpaw pushed through the heather.

Flailfoot followed. “If you want to put it that way.”

“Then, yes. It’s my first time.” Outside camp, the wind snatched at Tallpaw’s fur and he shivered, forgetting how cold it could feel. He took the rabbit trail that led to the grassy slopes below the moor-top. The blossom was beginning to fade, but as it dropped from the bushes it gave a far sweeter scent than before. Tallpaw breathed it in, opening his mouth to let it bathe his tongue.

Flailfoot padded alongside him. “You must have missed the moor.”

“I guess.”

They weaved on in silence, the bushes brushing Tallpaw’s pelt, sprinkling his fur with purple blossoms. As they broke from the heather onto the grassy slope, Tallpaw felt the wind tug his ears. He’d also forgotten how it could spark excitement in his paws. Suddenly he wanted to run until his chest hurt. He glanced at Flailfoot.

The old tom’s whiskers twitched. “Go on,” he urged. “Run. I can tell you’re longing to.”

Tallpaw plunged forward, his legs stiff at first, but loosening as he hared across the grass. Ears flat, tail streaking behind, he raced as hard as he could. He screwed up his eyes as the wind battered his face, and felt the rush of air as he crested the moor-top and saw meadows and valleys stretch before him. Flailfoot was a speck far behind, his black pelt a smudge on the grass. Tallpaw whirled around in a broad circle and raced down to meet him.

“Feeling better?” Flailfoot asked as Tallpaw slowed to a halt in front of him.

“Yes.” The restlessness that had suffocated Tallpaw while he was stuck in the camp had disappeared.

Flailfoot headed upslope. Tallpaw paced beside him, catching his breath. “The sun feels hotter out on the moor.”

Flailfoot purred. “There’s no better feeling than the sun on your pelt.”

Tallpaw stared at the old tunneler. “You like it?”

Flailfoot kept walking. “Of course. The sky, the wind, the wide-open moor—they’re all in the blood of every WindClan cat. Even tunnelers.”

“I thought tunnelers preferred being underground.”

“We get used to working in the dark,” Flailfoot told him. “And the challenge of building tunnels safely makes it interesting. But it always feels good to come up to the surface.” He winked at Tallpaw. “We’re not worms, you know.”

Tallpaw looked up. Gray clouds were drifting in from the mountains, swallowing the blue sky. “I love being in the open more than anything else,” he confessed. “Sandgorse never understood that.”

“I think he did,” Flailfoot murmured. “In his own way.”

“No.” Tallpaw stiffened. “I disappointed him so much,” he mewed. “By not wanting to be a tunneler.”

“Every tunneler dreams of passing on their skills to their kits. Of working side by side with their own kin.”

“Mistmouse didn’t,” Tallpaw reminded him. “She’s glad that Doespring, Stagleap, and Ryestalk are moor runners.”

Flailfoot stopped and looked directly at Tallpaw. “Sandgorse wanted you to be happy, you know.”

“He had a strange way of showing it.” Tallpaw remembered the furious glare his father had given him after Heatherstar had announced that the gorge tunnel was to be shut down.

“He didn’t know he was going to die,” Flailfoot rasped. “If there’d been more time, he would have come to accept that your dream was not his. There would have been time to forgive and forget.”

Tallpaw’s throat tightened. He pictured Sandgorse puffing out his chest as Heatherstar gave Tallpaw his warrior name. He stopped walking, his paws suddenly as heavy as stones.

“Sandgorse loved you, Tallpaw.” Flailfoot began to head downhill, back toward the camp. “Whatever your differences. Never forget that.”

Tallpaw stayed where he was. Up here, there was nothing between him and StarClan but the sky. Is Flailfoot right, Sandgorse? He stared up at the clouds but there was no reply. Tallpaw shook himself and sprinted down the slope, quickly catching up with Flailfoot. “What was my father like?” he asked breathlessly. “When he was in the tunnels?”

“Sandgorse was a great planner,” Flailfoot told him. “He could pick out a route overground, then dig it exactly the same underground, paw step for paw step. He knew the tunnels under this moor better than any other tunneler.” Flailfoot’s eyes glowed. “But he hated worms.”

“Worms?”