He could feel bones through its mangy pelt. Cats were not the only creatures starving on the moor.
Slate growled. “It tried to take my prey.”
Gray Wing caught the scent of fresh-kill through the fox’s stench. He turned his gaze to meet
Slate’s. The fox bucked beneath him, with far more strength than Gray Wing had expected. Hunger had clearly made it bold—and desperate. It jerked back its muzzle to snap at Gray Wing’s neck. He felt his fur rip. Pain scorched through him. He let go with a shriek and slithered to the ground, struggling to find his paws on the frosty grass.
The fox turned on him. Its stinking breath bathed Gray Wing’s muzzle as its savage jaws opened for a killing bite. Then fur flashed at the edge of his vision. With a yowl, Slate sent the fox tumbling backward.
Gray Wing leaped to his paws. Slate and the fox were tumbling over the grass. Muscle thudded on earth as they grappled with each other. The air shivered with their screeching. Gray Wing hurled himself at them as the fox’s jaws clamped shut on Slate’s ear.
Hissing with rage, he shoved the fox away. He heard Slate shriek in pain, but he was on his hind legs, batting the fox backward, swiping with one paw after another. He felt its fur rip beneath his claws until the fox’s muzzle was wet with blood. The fox’s eyes flashed with anger. With a yelp it turned and fled, streaking across the grass like a shadow.
Gray Wing turned to Slate. “Are you okay?”
She sat, her head low, her flanks heaving. “It got my ear.”
Gray Wing rushed to her side. The tang of blood filled the air. It welled on Slate’s ear, and he could see the tip had been ripped away. “It’ll heal,” he soothed.
His own pelt felt damp; his neck fur was drenched with his own blood. “Foxes don’t normally fight that hard for prey,” he growled. “I thought it would run when it saw there was two of us.”
Slate was still panting. “Thanks for coming.” She lifted her head, pain darkening her amber gaze.
“But what are you doing on the moor?”
“I’ll explain later.” Gray Wing was too dazed by the fight to think up a good reason for being here. He couldn’t tell her about Fern—their conversation had to remain a secret while Slash threatened her. If word got out that she’d spoken to him, the vicious rogue might kill her. “Let’s get you back to your camp. You’re bleeding.”
Slate’s gaze flicked over him. “You’d better come with me. Your neck looks pretty bad. Reed can treat your wounds.”
“He knows about herbs?” Gray Wing blinked at her.
“I told you last time I visited.” Slate got stiffly to her paws and nudged him with her muzzle.
“You’re getting forgetful in your old age.”
Gray Wing nudged her back. “Who are you calling old?”
Slate’s whiskers twitched fondly. “Wait there.” She limped back to the gorse and dragged something out from beneath one of the bushes.
Grouse.
Its pungent scent touched his nose as she carried it toward him. Its wings dragged along the ground, and Slate struggled not to trip.
“Let me help.” Gray Wing fell in beside her and grabbed the bird’s tail in his jaws. Feathers pressed around his nose, his warm breath billowing through them.
Side by side, they carried Slate’s catch to Wind Runner’s camp. The scratches on Gray Wing’s neck stung like fire, but he held fast to the grouse. They’d fought hard to keep it.
Slate guided him along the secret passages that led to the clearing hidden in a wide patch of heather. As the trail narrowed, she tugged the grouse from him and pushed ahead. Gray Wing let go and fell in behind, slowing as the heather opened onto a small grassy clearing. Would Wind Runner welcome him? The last time he’d seen her, she had made it clear that her new home was closed to outsiders.
“Gray Wing!” Gorse Fur saw him first. The gray tabby tom clambered out of a heather nest and hurried across the grass. “How are you?” He paused, his nose twitching. “I smell blood. Are you okay?”
Slate dropped the grouse and pushed it beneath the heather. “I ran into a fox,” she explained.
“Gray Wing heard my screeches and came to help. Don’t worry, we chased it off. It won’t show its snout around here for a while.”
Small ears poked up above the rim of Gorse Fur’s nest.
“Who is it?” A kit clambered out of the nest and came charging across the clearing.
“Moth Flight!” Wind Runner sat up in a nest a tail-length away. “It’s too cold to be out of your nest. And Dust Muzzle will freeze on his own!”
“No I won’t!” A second head bobbed up.
“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” Wind Runner meowed with annoyance.
“We can sleep later!” Dust Muzzle climbed out of Gorse Fur’s nest and raced after his sister.
Wind Runner’s eyes shone in the dark, widening as they reached Gray Wing. She hopped out of her nest. “It’s you!”
“I’m sorry to disturb everyone.” Gray Wing dipped his head.
Wind Runner flicked her tail happily. “It’s good to see you.” She tasted the air. “You’re hurt!”
“Just scratches.” Slate shrugged.
“Slate lost a piece of her ear.” Gray Wing told her.
Wind Runner sniffed at Slate’s wound. “Reed had better look at it.” She called over her shoulder.
“Reed? Are you awake?”
“How can any cat sleep with this noise?” A silver tabby tom was stretching in his nest.
Gray Wing felt soft fur brush his forepaws. A tail flicked past his nose. He looked down. “Moth
Flight? Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me.” Moth Flight had grown. She was bigger than Dew Nose but still had her kit fluff. She gazed at Gray Wing with bright green eyes. “Who are you?”
“I’m Gray Wing.”
Moth Flight tipped her head. “You dug the graves for my sister and brother,” she mewed, “when we lived in the hollow.”
Gray Wing nodded, his pelt rippling uncomfortably as he saw grief glisten briefly in Wind Runner’s eyes.
She shifted her paws. “Moth Flight, take your brother back to the nest. You can speak to Gray Wing once it’s light. He has wounds that need treating.”
Reed had crossed the clearing and was already sniffing at Gray Wing’s neck. “I’d better put some herbs on those scratches before they turn bad.”
Gorse Fur grunted. “Fox bites are as sour as a badger’s.”
“I can help you, Reed!” Moth Flight offered.
“Me too!” Dust Muzzle pushed past his sister. The tom-kit’s gray pelt glowed in the moonlight.
Moth Flight pushed him away. “I offered first.”
Wind Runner growled. “Neither of you is helping,” she told them firmly. “Go back to the nest and sleep.”
Moth Flight eyed her mother. “Can we have a bite of grouse first? It’s the best catch we’ve had in ages.”
Wind Runner gave her a stern look. “In the morning.”
Moth Flight turned and flounced back to the nest. “If I starve to death before dawn, it’ll be your fault.”
Dust Muzzle ran after her. “At least we can look forward to a meal when we wake up,” he mewed eagerly.
As the kits climbed back into their nest, Gray Wing scanned the camp. The cold wind hardly penetrated the little hollow among the heather bushes. The cats had built deep nests in the shade of their branches. It was far cozier than the hollow had been, but when the kits grew into nests of their own, it would be cramped.
Reed peered at the scratches on Gray Wing’s neck.
Gray Wing nosed him away. “Treat Slate’s ear first.”
The gray she-cat was acting as though her injury weren’t bothering her, but Gray Wing could sense her stiffness. She was brave, but she must still have been shocked by the ferocity of the fox’s attack. If I hadn’t been there, it could have killed her.