Tigerheart’s Shadow

“Steal!” The gray cat lifted her chin. “No cat owns anything until it’s safely in her belly. Here it’s every cat for herself. You’re obviously not city-born, or you’d know that.”

“I’m glad I’m not city-born.” But my kits are. Tigerheart pushed the thought away. “I was born in a place where we feed our Clan before we feed ourselves.”

The gray cat shrugged. “But you’d let us go hungry?”

Tigerheart blinked. How was she making him out to be the bad cat? “You’re not my Clanmate. Besides, there are plenty of scrapcans in the city. You won’t go hungry.”

“‘Plenty of scrapcans,’” the she-cat mimicked. “But only if we can get to them before the foxes.”

“Foxes only come out at night, when the Twolegs have gone,” Tigerheart pointed out.

“What do you know, outsider?” For the first time, the she-cat’s eyes rounded, betraying unease. Pelt ruffled, she nodded to her companions. “Come on. Let’s try somewhere else.” She shot Tigerheart a look. “Don’t get too comfortable. You don’t belong here. I can still smell the grass on your paws.” Turning her tail on him, she padded away down the alley. The others followed, glancing reproachfully over their shoulders.

“Well done.” Fierce blinked at Tigerheart warmly.

“You saved us a fight.” Cinnamon looked relieved.

For now. Tigerheart watched the city cats disappear around the corner. Don’t get too comfortable. The gray cat’s parting threat made him feel this confrontation might just be the beginning.

Back at the gathering-place den, the guardian cats clustered around the patrol as they dropped the scraps they’d collected. Tigerheart eased himself away from the crowd and glanced toward his nest. He was relieved to see that Dovewing and the kits were sleeping.

“Those smell like good scraps.”

Spire’s mew took him by surprise.

The skinny black tom was sitting in the shadow of a wooden ledge, watching Blaze scramble for food with the others. Tigerheart had avoided Spire as much as possible since the strange healer cat had told him Shadowkit would be able to see into the shadows. He hadn’t told Dovewing of Spire’s prediction, even after she’d named the tom-kit. “Shadowkit, in honor of your Clan,” she had explained. How could he have argued with her? The coincidence had unnerved him, though, and he’d kept clear of Spire in case the tom announced any more alarming visions.

Now Spire watched the guardian cats with a clear, even gaze. “How are your kits?”

“Fine,” Tigerheart answered quickly. “I was thinking of catching some real food for them.”

“Food is food,” Spire mewed casually.

“Scraps aren’t warrior food.” They’re crow-food. Tigerheart didn’t meet the healer’s gaze. “Warriors eat fresh-kill.”

“And your kits will be warriors.” The healer’s tone was matter-of-fact.

Tigerheart felt Spire’s gaze burning into his pelt. Unable to resist, he turned to meet it. Did this strange cat know for sure that his kits would be warriors? Or am I just taking him seriously because he’s saying something I want to hear?

He gave the tom a questioning look.

“What else could they be with Dovewing and you as their parents?” Spire got to his paws and padded toward Blaze.

Blaze met him, greasy scraps hanging from his mouth. The young tom’s eyes shone brightly as he dropped them at Spire’s paws. “Look what I got for us!”

Tigerheart looked up at the den entrance. Determination hardened his belly. He would catch fresh-kill for his kits. Was there time before they woke? Quickly he leaped onto the wooden ledge and up through the gap in the wall.

Outside, pigeons fluttered around the great spike sticking up from the thorn den. Hope pricked in Tigerheart’s paws as one swooped low, but a passing monster sent it rushing upward once more, and his heart sank as it nestled beside its companions on the roof.

Pelt itching with frustration, he stalked between the stone slabs. The frost on the grass had melted, and icy water seeped into his paws. This grassy stretch around the gathering den was the only green he’d seen since arriving in the city. His heart ached for the crunch of pine needles beneath his paws. He longed for the scent of sap and the familiar smells of home. Had Rowanstar chased the shadows away yet? Was ShadowClan back to normal? Was it safe for him to return without blocking the sun? Even if it was, he knew the kits were too young for such a journey.

A loud chirrup sounded nearby. Tigerheart jerked his muzzle toward it. A thrush was hopping along the branch of a cherry tree. The colored walls of the gathering place glittered behind it.