But she remembered the hardness in his mew and the distant way he’d stared at her.
Had he left her the rabbit as a parting gift?
The thought stung. She tried to push it away. But doubt dragged like a stone in her belly. Every harsh glance and sharp word Branch had ever flashed at her burned suddenly like a fresh wound. She knew how he relished the freedom of the moor. Why would he want to be tied down with a lame companion?
Wind swayed on her paws. The glare of the snow seemed too bright to bear.
I’m alone! Fear broke over her like a wave of icy water.
No! She lifted her chin. Her leg would heal, and she could fend for herself. I can hunt, I can fight—I can survive!
She ignored the grief tearing at her heart. That would heal too. No cat would ever abandon her again, because she wouldn’t be dumb enough to trust again. Squaring her shoulders, she limped across the moor, crouching low against the freezing wind. Her thoughts narrowed to a single goal—find something to eat.
Chapter 1
Wind raced across the grass, a rabbit’s white tail bobbing ahead of her. Beyond it, the forest stood green against the bright, blue sky. Around her, the heather bloomed, filling the hot air with its sweet scent. It hadn’t rained in a moon, and the moor was as dry as old bone. But clouds were rolling in from the mountains, and Wind could feel the air thicken. She looked forward to the coming storm; its cooling rain would soften the grass and nourish the heather.
The rabbit raced as quickly as a bird over the moorside, but it would never outrun her. I’m as fast as the wind! She pushed harder against the coarse, dry grass, her injured hind leg healed now and as strong as ever. The rabbit’s scent, tainted with fear, bathed her tongue. As she drew near, the rabbit scooted down a burrow. Wind dived after it. Dirt sprayed her muzzle as the rabbit scrabbled to escape into the darkness. Wind hooked her claws into its haunches and dragged it out onto the moor, its squeals still echoing in the tunnel as, with one bite, she killed it.
The rich tang of its blood felt sweet on her tongue, and her belly rumbled with satisfaction. She’d grown strong since the sickness and near-starvation of leaf-bare. Feasting on the rich prey of the moor, she was hardly ever hungry. She wanted to eat as much as she could. There would be another leaf-bare soon enough, and she would face it alone. Hunger couldn’t frighten her so long as she ate well during the prey-rich moons.
Wind picked the rabbit up in her jaws and padded toward the holly tree that stood alone on the hillside. Thick gorse bushes crowded at one side, their spikes and narrow leaves sharper than ever, dried by the relentless heat. She dropped the rabbit on the shady earth on the other side, where a hollow among the roots would make a good place to eat. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She glanced up, pleased to see the storm clouds swallowing the blue. Cooling rain would arrive soon.
Licking her lips, she crouched to take a bite.
“Tansy! I’m hungry!” A small mew sounded from beneath the gorse.
“I smell rabbit!” Another mew rang out.
Wind pricked her ears. Kits?
“I know, my dears.” The soothing purr of a queen touched Wind’s ear fur. “I’ll hunt soon, when I’ve got my strength back.”
“Hunt now!” a mew demanded.
“I can’t run fast enough to catch anything yet.” The queen sounded apologetic.
“I’ll do it then!” The gorse rustled as a tiny gray tom ducked from under its shelter and stomped across the grass.
Wind narrowed her eyes. Rabbit scent was filling her nose. But she didn’t eat. She watched the kit stride across the moor. On the far horizon, lightning flashed against the darkening clouds.
A second kit popped out from beneath the gorse. She was a pale tabby with bright blue eyes. “Frog! Come back! Tansy said you were to stay near her!”
The tom glanced crossly over his shoulder. “If I stay with her, we’ll all starve. I’ll be back once I’ve caught something.”
Wind scrambled to her paws. The moor wasn’t safe for such a young kit. She glanced at the sky, checking for hawks. The tiny tom would make an easy meal for a hungry marsh harrier. She called out: “Wait!”
He turned and gaped at her, his pelt bushing. “Who are you?”
Wind dipped her head. “I’m Wind. I live on the moor.”
“Frog! Run! Tansy warned us about moor cats!” His sister’s mew was sharp with fear.
“I won’t hurt him.” Wind nodded toward her rabbit. “I have food if you’re hungry.” Instantly she felt a pang of doubt. Should she give her prey away so easily? Wind was used to looking after herself; she wasn’t sure if she wanted to look after other cats.
“See, Willow? I told you I smelled rabbit!” Frog was already padding toward her.
The she-kit stared at Wind with round eyes. “We are very hungry. Tansy’s milk has dried up and she’s too sick to hunt.”
Wind watched Frog sniff the rabbit. “What’s wrong with Tansy?” she asked distractedly.
“She got a thorn in her paw,” Willow mewed. “I managed to pull it out this morning, but her pad is all red and fat.”
“It’s probably infected. Now the thorn’s out, it should heal—as long as she washes it regularly.” Wind nudged Frog away from the rabbit. Perhaps she should just tear off a few strips for them, enough to keep their bellies from rumbling. After all, they weren’t her kits.
Frog stared at her defiantly. “You said we could have it.”
Wind prickled crossly. “Not all of it.”
Willow hurried to her brother’s side. “I’m sorry about Frog,” she mewed quickly. “He’s always been greedy. And it’s hard being hungry.”
Wind remembered with a jab of grief her first moon after Branch had abandoned her, lying through long, cold nights, too frightened to sleep in case she didn’t wake up. She had nearly starved. “You can have it.” Leaning down, she grabbed the rabbit between her jaws, then marched toward the gorse bush.
Tansy was squeezing out from under the branches as she approached. Spikes stuck out of the queen’s thick gray pelt, and she was holding a forepaw gingerly off the ground.
Wind dropped the rabbit in front of her. “I’m not surprised you get thorns in your paws if you make your nest under a gorse bush.” She frowned, irritated that any moor cat could be so mouse-brained.
“I didn’t know where else to shelter.” Tansy’s gaze was on the rabbit, her nose twitching eagerly. “We used to be strays in Twolegplace. I thought the moor would be a safer place to raise my kits.”
Wind snorted. “No place is safe for a cat who doesn’t know how to look after herself.”
Tansy bristled. “I’ll learn!”
“I hope so,” Wind answered darkly.
Frog and Willow crowded around the rabbit, their tails twitching excitedly.
Wind jerked her nose toward the wide swath of heather coating the moorside. “You should make your den in there. There are more dips and hollows than there are rabbits on the moor. And the heather sprigs make good nests.”
“Is that where your nest is?” Tansy asked her.
“I have no nest.” Wind flicked her tail. “I have no mate. Or kits. Why would I need a den?” She nudged the rabbit toward Tansy. “Here. Eat this.”
“All of it?” Tansy blinked at her, surprised.
Wind shrugged. “I can catch another.”
“Please share it with us,” Tansy begged. “You caught it, after all.”