“I don’t know.” Frustration itched beneath his pelt. “Tell him that we’ve made a strong camp.
That we’re dangerous. That he’d never win a fight with us.” Gray Wing gazed at her. “Just convince him.”
Fern tipped her head. “Slash would never believe there are cats he couldn’t beat,” she muttered bitterly. Her eyes suddenly lit up. “But I might be able to distract him.”
Gray Wing leaned closer. “Distract him?”
“I could tell him you’ve been hunting beyond the pines. Once he hears you’ve found a fresh, new source of prey, he’ll want to see it for himself—he’s always been greedy.”
“How will that help?” Gray Wing narrowed his eyes.
“It’ll give you time to prepare,” Fern told him. “He’s going to make his attack soon. You need to make your camp as strong as you can, and practice fighting. When Slash comes, he won’t come alone.”
Gray Wing shivered, dread hollowing his belly. Slash sounded just like One Eye. “What about you?” This scrawny rogue could hardly hunt for herself.
“I’ll be okay,” she promised.
“You should stay here for a day or two,” Gray Wing suggested. “You don’t need to spy on us anymore, and there’s prey here. Catch as much as you can and grow strong.”
Fern nodded. “I will.”
Gray Wing searched her gaze. Could he trust this she-cat to keep her word? Did she have the courage to lie to Slash and send him searching beyond the pines for prey that didn’t exist?
She stared back at him, hope glistening in her gaze.
He realized he had no choice but to trust her. “Good luck.”
Turning, he padded to the slope and headed toward the moor. He wanted one last look at it before he returned to the pines. He wove between the brambles and climbed over the top. The moor was bathed in evening sunshine. Above, the sky was streaked purple as the sun slid behind the trees. Gray Wing padded across the grass, which felt soft after the needle-strewn floor of the forest. A brisk, chilly wind lifted his fur and pricked at his flesh. Breathing deeply, he drew in the familiar fragrance of heather and stone.
Rabbit scent touched his nose. Excitement tingling beneath his pelt, he scanned the slope below. A
young rabbit was hopping across the grass. It was heading for a burrow—a dark opening in the grass a few tail-lengths ahead. Could he catch it before it dived for cover?
His belly growled.
He charged forward, pounding down the slope. But the rabbit heard his approach and scampered away quickly, the white tip of its tail bobbing over the grass. As it closed upon its burrow, Gray Wing leaped. He soared through the air, his forepaws outstretched, and landed square on the rabbit.
He clamped his jaws around its neck and killed it with one bite.
Joy flooded his chest as the scent of blood washed his muzzle. The rabbit’s body was warm and he took a bite.
“That’s not fair!” A tiny mew made him jump. He sat up, his mouth full.
A ginger tom-kit was marching across the grass toward Gray Wing. He was thin-faced and skinny even though, from the width of his shoulders, he looked older than Eagle Feather and Storm Pelt.
“That was my mother’s catch!” the kit spat. “She was stalking it.” He glanced over his shoulder.
A dark shape was sliding from the heather.
Gray Wing tasted the air. A she-cat. He watched her approach, her tail low, her ears flat. She was a splotchy ginger-and-black tabby and even skinnier than her son. A ginger-and-white she-kit followed, her steps faltering. They’re half-starved, too! Just like Fern. Gray Wing glanced at the rabbit, then pawed it toward the tom-kit. “Take it,” he told him. “I didn’t realize it was your mother’s catch.”
The she-cat stopped as she reached him. “You caught it. You keep it.” She shooed the tom-kit away from the rabbit with a paw. “We don’t take food from strangers.”
The she-kit caught up to her mother and pressed, trembling, against the tabby’s flank. “Can’t we just take a bite?” She gazed at the rabbit with wide, hungry eyes. “If he wants us to share.”
“No.” The tabby she-cat hushed her sharply. “We catch our own prey.”
Gray Wing dipped his head. “I’ve been lucky today,” he told her gently. “This is my second catch.
Please take it.”
The tabby met his eye cautiously.
“Your kits are growing and prey is scarce,” Gray Wing urged. He puffed out his chest. “I don’t need it as much as you.”
“It’s a trick, isn’t it?” The tabby’s gaze sharpened.
“No.” Why was this cat so wary?
“I’ve met your kind before,” she growled. “You don’t care if weak cats starve—you just want me to take it so you have a reason to start a fight.”
Gray Wing noticed the shredded tip of one ear and a scar across her black muzzle. His heart twisted in his chest. “I won’t hurt you,” he promised. He glanced at the ginger-and-white she-kit. She so was frail. Like Fluttering Bird. “I had a sister who died of hunger,” he told the tabby. “I would never let another kit die.”
The she-kit’s eyes filled with horror. “Are we going to die? Like Bramble?”
“No, dear.” The tabby nuzzled her daughter’s ear. “Bramble was always sickly. We’ll be fine.”
Gray Wing wasn’t so sure. This tabby looked too weak to hunt. She’d never have caught the rabbit before it disappeared into its burrow. “What’s your name?” he asked her.
“Milkweed.” She nodded to the ginger tom-kit, then her she-kit. “This is Thistle and Clover. Their sister, Bramble, died yesterday.” Emotion glistened in her amber gaze.
“Then eat.” Gray Wing leaned down and grabbed the rabbit in his jaws. He tossed it toward her and it landed at her paws.
Milkweed held his gaze, still wary. “You’re one of those cats from the mountains, aren’t you?”
There was accusation in her gaze. “Ever since you came, there’s been less land to hunt on and more mouths competing for food.”
Guilt sparked beneath Gray Wing’s pelt. “We came here because we were starving in the mountains,” he explained. “That’s where my sister died. We didn’t come to steal your land or your food—only to share it.”
“You’ve set the rogues against each other,” Milkweed snapped. “Now every cat is fighting for prey.”
“That’s because the sickness killed so much of it,” Gray Wing argued. And because rogues like One Eye and Slash take pleasure from making other cats suffer.
“Yet you’d share this catch with us?” Milkweed’s nose was twitching. The scent of the rabbit must have been driving her wild with hunger.
“Yes.” Gray Wing sat down and curled his tail over his paws. “I’ll stay here and watch over you until you’ve finished.”
“Please, Milkweed?” Clover looked at her mother with pleading eyes.
Thistle padded toward the rabbit, his mouth open to draw in its warm scent.
“Okay.” Milkweed crouched beside it and ripped a lump from the rabbit’s flank. She dropped it at Clover’s paws and tore off another lump for Thistle. Once they’d begun eating. she took a mouthful for herself.
Gray Wing turned away and let them eat in peace.
His belly rumbled. This was his second catch of the day, and he still hadn’t eaten. He shifted his paws uneasily. Prey was scarce, but starving cats were not. Had the moor cats and forest cats really caused this suffering? We only came here because we were starving. Was there any way to help cats like these? He shook out his fur as an idea flickered in his mind.
Spread and grow like the Blazing Star.
“You should go to Clear Sky,” he told Milkweed.
She looked up from the rabbit, blood staining her chin. “Clear Sky?” Fear flashed in her eyes.