Tigerheart’s Shadow

For the first time, Tigerheart saw how swollen her flanks had grown. He hurried to her and rubbed his muzzle lovingly along her jaw. “I’ve missed you so much. How did you make the journey alone? Did you follow the Silverpath?”

Dovewing sat down heavily. He could hear her panting, and suddenly he realized he could smell blood. He sniffed her. His whiskers brushed a wound on her shoulder, and the tang of blood and herbs filled his nose. “You’re hurt!” He blinked at her, his heart quickening. “Did it happen on the way? Did something attack you?”

“I’m okay,” Dovewing reassured him gently. “It’s just a fox bite, and Spire has treated it. It’s healing fast.”

“A fox bite?” In a flash, Tigerheart relived every nightmare that had haunted him since she’d left. She’d been so vulnerable on her own. How had he ever left her to make the journey without him?

“It happened while I was out with the guardian cats,” she told him gently, easing down into her nest.

“The guardian cats?” Tigerheart blinked at her dumbly.

“These cats here.” Her gaze swept around the cave. “They take care of one another. And of strangers who need help or healing.” Her eyes rounded as she stared at him. “You see? My dream was right. I was meant to come here. Our kits will be safe.”

For how long? Tigerheart’s thoughts spiraled. Sure, the guardian cats seemed kind and helpful, like a whole Clan of medicine cats. But what about Dash, a cat who didn’t even understand that cats were stronger together? Or Floyd, Scrap, and Mae? They only thought of themselves. Was this really a good place to raise kits? How could they ever learn to become warriors if they were surrounded by strays and loners?

Dovewing was still looking at him, her eyes huge and dark, glittering in the shadows. She needed him to be strong. She needed him to be a warrior. She needed him to stand beside her.

“Our kits will be safe here,” he agreed. He stepped into the nest and curled around her, his belly softening as he felt the warmth of her pelt against his. He wrapped his tail tightly around her and tucked his muzzle behind her ear. “Your dream was right. It has brought us here.” The nest was comfortable, the furless pelts soft against his spine. He relaxed into them and closed his eyes. “Are you hungry?” he murmured sleepily as she snuggled into him, purring. “I’ll hunt for you soon. I want our kits to grow healthy and strong.”

“I can hunt,” she whispered. “There are plenty of mice around the gathering place.”

“But I want to get used to taking care of my kin.” Tigerheart’s words were slurred by sleep.

“You always have,” Dovewing murmured. “And you always will.”

Her scent filled his nose as he nuzzled deep into her fur. Happiness moved through him like a greenleaf breeze and seemed to lift him gently up. As he breathed softly and deeply, drawing in her warmth, he floated into sleep.

“Wake up, sleepypaws.”

Dovewing’s gentle mew nudged Tigerheart from his slumber. Dovewing! He’d found her. Fresh joy flooded him. He smelled the scent of mouse and opened his eyes. Surprise spiked through his fur as daylight flooded his gaze. It was morning! He’d slept all night. He lifted his head sharply. “I was going to hunt.” Confused, he gazed around the den. Slowly, memories of his arrival—the Thundersnake, Dash, the rot piles, the guardian cats—flooded back.

“I brought you this.” She nudged a mouse toward him. “You must be hungry.”

He was. His belly was as hollow as a deserted rabbit hole. He licked his lips. “But I was going to hunt for you.”

“Are you frightened you’ll forget how to catch a mouse?” Dovewing’s green eyes sparkled teasingly. She looked happy. “Don’t worry, Tigerheart. You’ll have plenty of chances to refresh your memory. There are a lot of mouths to feed here.”

Tigerheart followed her gaze around the cave. In the bright morning light, it seemed friendlier. But the smooth walls and shiny floor and Twoleg clutter still felt strange. He leaned closer to Dovewing. “We’re living in a Twoleg den. Don’t you find it odd?”

She shrugged. “Not anymore. Twolegs don’t use it,” she told him. “They meet upstairs every few days, but they don’t live there, and they never come down here.”

Tigerheart glanced at the flat, square ceiling. “But they built this den. Why don’t they use it?”

Dovewing hooked the mouse up with her claw and dropped it into the nest. “Stop worrying and eat.”

The mouse tasted musty. There was no forest sweetness in its flesh, but he was grateful for it. As he began to eat, Dovewing glanced over her shoulder. A skinny black tom was padding toward them. Dovewing climbed into the nest beside Tigerheart and pressed against him. Was she frightened of this tom? He didn’t look dangerous, and a small white-and-ginger kit was following him.

“Is this the cat you were talking about?” The kit wove excitedly around the black tom as he stopped beside the nest.