“He killed my friend Misty—he doesn’t care for rogues like me.”
Gray Wing’s pelt rippled uncomfortably. “He took in Misty’s kits.”
Milkweed snorted. “That was nice of him. Perhaps he’ll take in mine after he’s killed me.”
Gray Wing flinched. “Clear Sky’s changed,” he promised. “He wants to bring all cats together now in peace. He wants his group to grow and spread. Some of my friends have gone to live with him. I’m sure he’ll take you and your kits in.”
Milkweed grunted and returned to her meal.
“Just tell him Gray Wing sent you. Tell him I told you to come to him for food and protection.”
Milkweed carried on eating.
Perhaps I should take these cats back to the pine forest. He frowned. Would they be safe there?
The cats still had to find the best places for prey and learn new hunting techniques. And Fern sounded certain that Slash would attack. Clear Sky’s forest would be safer.
Thistle sat up and licked his lips. “My belly hurts,” he mewed.
Gray Wing gazed at him sympathetically. “That’s because it’s not used to so much food. Next time, chew more slowly.”
Clover lifted her head and burped. “I feel warm now.”
Milkweed straightened. “Thank you.” She stared gratefully at Gray Wing.
“Go to Clear Sky,” he urged. “You won’t survive out here alone.”
Milkweed wrapped her tail around Clover.
“Please can we go?” Thistle’s eyes flashed with excitement. “I want to be a forest cat. I heard Clear Sky’s cats train how to hunt and fight. If we go there, he might teach me to be the strongest fighter in the forest. Then we would never have to be scared again.”
Milkweed gazed at him fondly, then glanced at Gray Wing. “Do you promise he won’t hurt us?”
“I promise.” Gray Wing dipped his head.
Milkweed looked down at the rabbit carcass, then headed across the slope. Clover trotted after her, tail high, while Thistle snatched a final mouthful.
“Hurry up,” Gray Wing prompted him. “Your mother needs you.”
Thistle met Gray Wing’s eye solemnly. “I’ll protect her,” he promised, then scampered over the grass after his family.
Gray Wing stood and watched until they reached the bracken edging the woods. His heart ached as they disappeared between the trees. Please, Clear Sky, take them in. He glanced toward the distant pines, then looked across the moor. Beyond its rose-tipped crest, the setting sun would be drenching Highstones. Longing filled his heart, and he broke into a run. Charging up the moorside, he dodged through swath after swath of heather until he emerged at the top. Beyond, he saw the wide, flat boulder that jutted out over the steep drop down to the Thunderpath. He hurried forward and climbed onto it. The smooth, wind-chilled stone stung his paws as he padded across. He lay down and hung his head over the edge and gazed across the rolling fields that stretched toward Highstones. They’d traveled that way from the mountains.
What would Stoneteller have said about the lives they’d made here? There was much to be proud of: new kits, new homes. As his belly rumbled once more, Gray Wing wondered if he should hunt again. But he couldn’t drag his gaze from Highstones shining golden in the dying sunshine. What would Stoneteller have thought of the battles they had fought and the deaths they had caused by coming here? As the sun sank behind him and Highstones disappeared into shadow, Gray Wing closed his eyes and let sleep draw him deep into dreams.
Chapter 8
Gray Wing opened his eyes. Scents swirled around him, thick with memories. A chill nipped his ears with a cruelty he’d forgotten.
Water thundered behind him, and he turned to see the waterfall that veiled the entrance of his old home from the crags outside. Light shimmered through it and rippled over the cave walls.
“Hello?” His mew echoed in the deserted cavern. He scanned the dimples in the wide stone floor where his Tribemates had made their nests, which were empty but for twigs and leaves lying shriveled in each hollow. “Where are you?” Worry pricked Gray Wing’s pelt. He stretched his ears, listening. Far away, he thought he heard faint mews. Distant paw steps scuffed the stone, but he could see no cat.
Had his Tribemates traveled beyond his vision? Were they spirit cats now?
“Quiet Rain! Snow Hare! Where are you?” His heart lurched as guilt scorched his pelt. He should never have left them. Had they starved without him? “What have I done?”
Purring rumbled at the back of the cave.
Hope flashed in Gray Wing’s heart. He peered eagerly into the shadows and caught sight of a tail whipping away into the tunnel.
He hurried after it, blinking as darkness swallowed him. His paws ached on the freezing stone.
His whiskers brushed the walls, and his tail snagged on the jagged roof. “Who’s there?” he called anxiously into the blackness.
Suddenly, the tunnel opened around him and he emerged into a cave lit by moonlight, which seeped through a hole in the roof. Sharp claws of rock jutted up from the stone floor and down from above. Some touched, like paws meeting, and they glistened as water trickled down them. It pooled on the floor, sending light flickering against the walls.
An ancient white cat watched him from beyond the pools, her tail twitching softly behind her.
“Stoneteller?” Gray Wing blinked. Was she all that was left of the Tribe?
She didn’t answer, but touched one of the pools with a forepaw, sending ripples shivering across its surface.
Gray Wing padded closer. “I’m so sorry,” he began. “I never stopped to think how the Tribe would survive without us.”
“Hush.” Stoneteller lifted her green gaze to meet Gray Wing’s. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“But the cave!” Gray Wing wailed. “It’s empty! And it’s my fault. If only I’d stayed—”
“Gray Wing.” Stoneteller’s mew was firm. “You cannot decide the fate of every cat. You do not hold power like that.”
“Then why did you bring me here?” Surely it was Stoneteller who had summoned him to see the empty cave. “What’s happened to the Tribe?”
Stoneteller looked down into the pool as the ripples faded. “All will become clear soon enough,” she murmured. “For now, you must let go of the past. The future is the only thing you can change.”
A shriek jerked Gray Wing awake. He blinked at the dark valley stretching below him. The mountains beyond Highstones were no more than shadows against the starry night sky.
The Tribe! He jumped up. Where are they?
The shriek sounded again. It tugged him from his thoughts.
The moor was bathed in moonlight, the grass turned white by frost.
“Back off!” He heard a vicious yowl from beyond a patch of gorse. Gray Wing recognized it at once.
Slate! He leaped from the stone and charged over the top of the moor, skidding on the grass as he swerved around the gorse.
Slate was backed against its sharp spines. A fox snapped at her hind legs, then her muzzle, its sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight. Slate hissed and shrank deeper against the thorns. Blood darkened her pelt. Eyes blazing, she slashed at the fox’s face with a forepaw, but it dived for her tail.
She whipped it clear just in time. The fox’s jaws slammed shut on thin air. Yelping with rage, it lunged for her neck.
“Leave her alone!” Gray Wing plunged forward, pelt bushed. Snarling, he leaped onto its back.
Caught by surprise, the fox staggered and fell. Gray Wing clung on, digging his foreclaws in hard.