Tigerheart’s Shadow

Cat.

Another cat was here! He smelled tom scent with a rush of surprise that made him scan the cavern more closely. The scent was both fresh and old, as though a cat visited this place regularly. Did a cat live here?

Accustomed now to the idea that the Twolegs here wouldn’t chase him, and that he only had to avoid their clumsy paws, he paused beside the opening of a brightly lit den and took a moment to analyze the tom’s scent. It was stale here, but fresher beyond the den entrance. He headed toward the fresher scent, pleased to find it so strong that he knew the tom must have passed this way very recently.

Tracking the smell, he wove through the stone columns that stood like trees around the cavern. The trail led him toward a small opening in the lower part of a wall. A hard mesh lay in front of it, as though it had fallen away from the opening. Tigerheart ducked inside, relieved to find it dark here, and the scent of the tom much stronger.

A hiss from the shadows made him freeze.

“I’m Tigerheart,” he mewed quickly. “I’m not here to fight. I just need some help.” He unsheathed his claws warily. This tom might not want to welcome a new cat onto his territory. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw a skinny black-and-white cat glaring at him through slitted eyes.

Back arched, the tom showed its teeth. “Get out or I’ll shred your muzzle.”

Tigerheart backed away. “Please,” he begged. “I just need to find my way out of this place.” He tried not to wrinkle his nose. The tom smelled like Twoleg leavings.

His gaze flitted over Tigerheart. Slowly his arched back relaxed. “You’re not here to steal food?”

“I don’t need to steal food,” Tigerheart told him. “I can hunt.”

“You don’t want to fight?” The tom sounded suspicious.

“No.” He waited while the tom breathed deeply, clearly testing his scent.

“You don’t smell like a rot pile cat,” he conceded.

“What’s a rot pile cat?” Tigerheart wondered if there were different Clans here too.

“There’s a gang of cats that hangs around the rot pile behind the station,” the tom explained. “They’re always trying to drive me away. I don’t know why. The Twolegs here leave enough trash for every cat.”

Rot pile? Station? Trash? This cat used odd words. He stared at the tom, suddenly aware how far from home he was. He didn’t even understand the language. His pelt prickled nervously. He puffed out his chest. “Why don’t you fight them?”

“There are three of them.” The tom looked at him like he was a mouse-brain. “There’s only one of me.”

“Don’t you have Clanmates here?”

“Clanmates?” The tom stared at him, puzzled.

Tigerheart groped for a word this cat could understand. “Kin.”

“I’m the only cat in the station.”

“Is that what this place is called?” Tigerheart pricked his ears. “I thought it was a Thundersnake nest.”

The tom blinked at him. “You’re not from the city at all, are you? Only outsiders call trains Thundersnakes.”

City? Tigerheart blinked back. “I’m from the forest. I’m looking for my friend.”

“Is your friend from the forest too?”

“Yes.”

The tom tipped his head. “I didn’t know there were strays in the forest.”

“We’re not strays,” Tigerheart corrected him. “We’re warriors.”

For the first time the tom looked interested. His gaze sharpened, glittering in the dingy light seeping into the den. “A warrior? Does that mean you fight?”

Tigerheart didn’t like the inquisitive edge in the tom’s mew. “I can fight if I have to,” he mewed cagily. What does he want?

The tom dipped his head. “I’m Dash, by the way. I live here.”

“I guessed.” Tigerheart wasn’t ready to warm to this prickly cat. He seemed to be planning something.

“So?” Dash leaned closer. “Do you know where your friend was heading?”

Tigerheart avoided answering Dash’s question directly. “Is there a big Twoleg den here with a roof that has gorse spines sticking up to the sky?”

Dash frowned. “Gorse spines?”

“Like this.” Tigerheart held up a paw and fanned out his claws.

Dash tipped his head. “There’s a big den with a couple small thorns, and one big thorn. It’s a Twoleg gathering place.”

A Twoleg gathering place! That’s what Ajax had called it! Could it be the gorse-spined den Dovewing had dreamed about? He had to check. “Is it near here?”

“It’s not far.”

“Can you show me?”

Dash looked down at his paws. “I can help you—if you help me.”

“You need help?” Tigerheart’s eyes narrowed. Dash sounded cagey. Was he going to ask Tigerheart to do something bad?

“I told you,” Dash meowed. “The rot pile cats have been trying to drive me away. If they thought I had a tough friend, they might leave me alone.”

“You want me to help fight them.” Why hadn’t he just asked straight out?

Dash looked away. “I’m not so good at fighting.”

“Of course you are. You’re a cat.”

“So are they,” Dash pointed out.

Tigerheart felt a glimmer of pity for the tom. No cat liked to be bullied. “Do they belong to a Clan?” He wanted to know what fighting skills they had.