Inside the thick gorse den, Brackenwing soothed her. “Barkkit and Shrewkit will watch out for him, I promise.”
Tallkit shivered. This was only his second sunrise outside the nursery, and his paws pricked with excitement. A light dusting of snow had turned the camp white, frosting the tussocky grass and thick heather walls. The freezing air stung his nose. He fluffed up his fur.
Barkkit pawed at the white tip of Tallkit’s black tail. “You look like you’re turning to ice as well.”
Tallkit flicked his tail away, purring with amusement. His white muzzle and white paws would just make it easier for him to hide in the snow!
Shrewkit bounced past him. “Let’s show him the Hunting Stones, Barkkit!”
Tallkit stared at his denmates. They were three moons older and twice his size, but he was determined to keep up with them. “I thought we were going to climb Tallrock again,” he protested. “I know I’ll make it this time.” His eyes stung in the bright, cold air. He’d only opened them for the first time a few sunrises ago and they were still slowly adjusting to sunlight after the cozy gloom of the nursery.
He blinked up at the high slab of granite where Barkkit had told him Heatherstar stood to address the Clan. It loomed, jagged and dark, from a wide, sandy crater, which encircled it like an empty pool.
The Meeting Hollow.
Tallkit gazed into it wide-eyed. At the bottom, Heatherstar, Hawkheart, and Reedfeather huddled beside the stone, their breath billowing as they spoke.
Hawkheart looked up and caught Tallkit’s eye over the rim. “Our youngest kit is exploring again,” he murmured.
Tallkit shifted his paws. The dark glint in the medicine cat’s gaze made him nervous. Palebird had warned him to stay away from the gray-brown tom; he had little patience for kits.
“Stay under cover, Tallkit.” Hawkheart narrowed his eyes. “We don’t want you attracting buzzards to the camp.”
“Buzzards?” Tallkit’s heart lurched.
“Kits are their favorite prey,” Hawkheart warned. “And they can spot you from Highstones.”
Reedfeather’s whiskers twitched. “Don’t scare the poor kit.” There was a purr in his throat as he nodded to Shrewkit, who had popped up beside Tallkit. “What are you showing him today?”
Shrewkit flicked his tail. “The Hunting Stones.”
Heatherstar shook frost from her thick gray pelt. “Be careful,” she cautioned. “The stones will be icy.”
“Don’t come mewling to me if you sprain a paw,” Hawkheart called.
“Come,” the WindClan leader urged her deputy and medicine cat. “It’s too cold to sit here. Let’s go to my den.”
As Heatherstar hopped out of the Meeting Hollow, Hawkheart and Reedfeather followed, their tails twitching as they ducked into the shelter of the leader’s den beneath a gorse bush at the far end of the clearing.
“Can we play sliding in the hollow?” Barkkit mewed.
“I want to go to the Hunting Stones,” Shrewkit insisted. He scraped up a pawful of snow and flung it at Barkkit. The wind snatched the flakes and tossed them back into his whiskers.
As he sneezed, Barkkit purred with amusement. “Wow! You’re scary!”
“I’ll show you!” Shrewkit hurled himself at his brother and sent him rolling over the grass.
Tallkit backed away as their dark brown pelts scuffed the snow. It must be fun to have a littermate to play fight with. If only Finchkit hadn’t died.
Shrewkit leaped free of his brother’s grip. “Look at Tallkit!” he teased. “He’s blinking like he’s just opened his eyes!”
Tallkit bristled. “I’m nearly half a moon old and Sandgorse says I opened my eyes quicker than any kit in the nursery.” He glared at his denmates. “I’m just not used to snow.” The ground sparkled, and the heather that formed the camp boundary—so dark against the sky yesterday—now glittered brightly with frost. What would the moor look like when the heavy snows came and the world turned completely white? Palebird had warned Tallkit that leaf-bare hit WindClan hardest of all the Clans, because the moor touched the sky. But this also made them more special, and safer.
“We’re closer to Silverpelt than any Clan,” she’d told him as she snuggled him in their mossy nest. “Which means that StarClan watches us more closely.”
Tallkit heard worry in her mew. “Is that why we tunnel under the moor?” he asked. “To hide from the dead warriors in other Clans?”
“Don’t be silly.” Palebird had licked his ear. “We tunnel because we’re stronger and cleverer than all the other Clans together.” Her washing became brisker, silencing him.
“I’m going to the Hunting Stones!” Shrewkit charged across the grass.
Barkkit raced after him. “What about sliding in the hollow?”
“There’s not enough snow for real sliding.” Shrewkit veered away from Tallrock.
“You’re just scared.” Barkkit swerved after his brother, sending a shower of frozen flakes up from his paws.
“Am not!” Shrewkit called back.
Tallkit followed, not caring where they chose to play. It felt great to be outside, the grass cold on his pads as he raced across it.
“Watch out!”
Tallkit skidded to a halt as Cloudrunner yowled at him. The pale gray tom was crossing his path with Aspenfall. The warriors were heading to the prey heap, carrying fresh-kill. Wind-ruffled from the moor, they’d brought food for the Clan. Tallkit gazed at them, impressed by their long legs and wiry tails. They were moor runners, which meant they served WindClan by hunting and patroling the borders, and Tallkit could smell heather on their pelts.
In the brittle patch of bracken where the tunnelers made their nests, Woollytail looked up from washing his mud-streaked belly. Like all the cats who served the Clan by carving out new tunnels and shoring up old ones far beneath the moor, his pelt was permanently stained with sand and dust. He nodded at the rabbit swinging from Cloudrunner’s jaws. “Did you catch that on the high-moor?”
“Yes.” At the prey heap, Cloudrunner kicked away a stale mouse left from the previous day’s hunt and dropped his catch. “You’re right, as usual, Woollytail.”
Tallkit blinked at Woollytail. “How did you know?”
“I can smell the sand in its fur.” Woollytail flicked his tail and returned to washing.
Hickorynose, his tunnelmate, shifted on the bracken beside him. “You only find sand tunnels on the high-moor.” The brown tom lifted a forepaw and rubbed dirt from his ear. “Not like the gorge tunnel. That’s all soil and grit. But it’ll open the way to fresh prey beside the river.”
Cloudrunner snorted. “If you ever find a way to stop the cave-ins.”
Aspenfall laid a vole beside the rabbit. “The grit makes it unstable. It’s not safe to tunnel there.”
Woollytail narrowed his eyes. “It is if you know what you’re doing.”
Tallkit glanced from tunneler to moor runner as an awkward silence fell between them.
Heatherstar cut through it. She padded from her den and followed the rim of the Meeting Hollow. Passing the grass nests of the moor runners, she brushed by Cloudrunner and stopped beside the bracken patch. “Will the new tunnels be ready before newleaf, Woollytail?”
Woollytail sniffed. “It takes time to shore up the roofs.”
Heatherstar flicked her tail. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.” She turned back to the prey heap and sniffed Cloudrunner’s rabbit.
Does Heatherstar ever patrol underground? Tallkit watched the WindClan leader curiously. She’d trained as a moor runner, but surely as leader, she needed to understand what it was like to be a tunneler too.