Not me. They won’t help me. Earth’s mouth was dry. He’d still never seen a spirit. And, despite everything Moonlight had told him, the idea of a dead cat watching him seemed scary.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “I’m ready,” he croaked, his voice small and dry. He sounded completely unconvincing to his own ears, but Moonlight purred in approval.
“Walk through the night without looking back,” she continued. “At dawn, you will have left your kithood behind you and become a true tom. May the ancestors who walk the land find you and give you guidance.”
Earth jerked his head into a nod, turned toward where the Claw Stars hung in the sky, and began to walk. His paws felt heavy at first, but he made an effort and walked faster, feeling the eyes of the Sisters on his back.
Remembering how excited and proud Chestnut and Snail had seemed as they left, he raised his tail high, trying to look unafraid. He didn’t want them to remember him as a coward. Would they watch him until he was out of sight? He desperately wanted to turn and look back, to see if the mothers and sisters were still watching, to see if they looked sorry to see him go. He steeled himself and kept walking.
But it was so dark. The sun had set now. Underbrush crackled nearby, and Earth glanced around, his pelt prickling with apprehension. A spirit? He didn’t see anything.
He must be out of sight of the Sisters by now. Earth stopped for a moment. Crickets chirped steadily in the bushes around him, and he heard the deep croak of a frog in the distance. A breeze ruffled his fur. He sensed nothing threatening nearby, but suddenly Earth’s heart was pounding as hard as a rabbit’s, and he crouched low to the ground, as if to hide.
It’s just that I’ve never been out alone at night before, he reassured himself. Everything’s okay.
The world seemed bigger and emptier than anything ever had, and Earth was alone. He began to walk again, one paw after another. Where was he supposed to stop to make camp? How was he going to know if it was a good spot? Moonlight had always chosen the Sisters’ camps. This is so stupid, he thought. Why do toms have to start their wander at night? Who thought up that dumb rule? Night makes everything more difficult.
Earth thought of turning back—things would be better closer to camp, wouldn’t they?—but remembered what Moonlight had said. Walk through the night without looking back. Gritting his teeth, he kept going.
A sudden rumble made him jump; then bright light flashed in his eyes. Lightning!
Earth yowled in terror. But the light swung past and something huge and dark growled as it rushed away.
A monster. Earth tried to catch his breath and calm his pounding heart. I must be right by a Thunderpath.
He stood stock-still, his paws sinking into mud. There could be anything out here, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
After a few deep breaths, he made up his mind and scrambled under a bush. I’ll stay here tonight. So what if he was still close to the Sisters’ camp? No Sister could say he was wandering wrong, because which of them really knew what a tom did on his wander? He might not have walked through the whole night, but he hadn’t turned back.
Earth curled into a tight ball and squeezed his eyes shut. He missed the warmth of his sisters beside him. He missed the sounds of the Sisters.
“Ancestor spirits, if you’re out there, watch over me,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I can’t see you, but I hope I’m not alone.”
He listened, straining his ears, but there was no response.
When dawn broke over the forest, Earth stretched and shook his pelt, cold and stiff from sleeping by himself. He could see the Thunderpath through the trees now, so he turned his back on it and walked into the forest.
I guess the first thing I should do is hunt, he thought. If he was going to wander alone, he needed to take care of himself. He sniffed carefully at the ground: a trace of vole, a light scent of shrew … and his own scent from last night, leading straight back to the Sisters’ camp.
He hesitated for a moment. Did he really have to be all alone? Surely, he could take care of himself closer to all the cats he knew. The land he wandered could be near the Sisters, he supposed, just as easily as it could be far from them. Making up his mind, he followed his own scent, his paws feeling lighter. He had walked farther than he’d thought last night; the sun was high in the sky by the time he could hear the voices of the Sisters.
“Petal, don’t forget to cover up the dirtplace!”
“I’m just going to spread out the old bedding.”
They’re leaving, Earth realized. He recognized what they were doing—destroying the signs that they’d lived there so that no predator would track them to a new camp.
Scrambling up a nearby pine tree, he looked down through its thick needles onto the clearing. He’d been right—the Sisters were hurrying around, burying the remains of the prey-hole and making sure the dens where they’d slept held no sign of them.
It’s like they couldn’t wait to get rid of me, Earth thought. He knew that wasn’t true, but his belly felt hollow with grief. Couldn’t they have waited, just a few days, to make sure he was okay?
Finished with their tasks, the Sisters gathered around Moonlight. With a wave of relief, Earth saw Ice among them. She looked thin and frail, leaning against their mother, but she was standing on her own paws. He wanted to run to her, to speak to her one last time, but he could imagine the look of disapproval on Moonlight’s face, and he stayed where he was. Good-bye, Ice, he thought. I hope you’ll be okay.
Moonlight bent to nuzzle Ice gently, then straightened up and led the Sisters out of the camp and into the forest, heading away from Earth. He watched until they were out of sight.
Good-bye, he thought again. Good-bye, every cat. He felt as if something with sharp claws were tearing its way out of his chest. I guess now I’m really alone.
Chapter 5
Evening was falling as Earth padded back to his new den, a shrew dangling from his mouth. His current home was within view of the Sisters’ old camp. I haven’t left my kithood behind at all, he thought, guiltily hunching his shoulders. He’d done the opposite of what a tom was supposed to do.
At least I’m managing all right as a hunter, he thought, crouching down at the entrance to his den. Remembering Hawk’s lessons had been easier than he’d imagined. When he hunted alone, every sound his prey made was practically deafening. He bit into the shrew, trying to enjoy the crunch of its bones.
Without company, though, his meal seemed tasteless. And he wasn’t used to eating a whole piece of prey by himself. With the Sisters, he’d always had some cat to share it with. As he took one more reluctant bite, he looked toward the camp, imagining Sunrise and Ice play-fighting by the nursery. Snow pacing the edges of the camp, keeping a sharp eye out for predators. Hawk and Petal, carrying in prey. Moonlight building a new nest for her den. Stream napping in the sunlight …
Stream. His appetite left all at once. Earth let the shrew drop into the dirt and batted it away.
The sky was getting darker, pale stars beginning to appear. A gust of wind made the pine branches above Earth’s head creak, and he shivered. He still wasn’t sleeping well. At night he lay awake in his den, listening tensely to every snap of a branch or hoot of a low-flying owl.