Tigerheart saw tiredness in her eyes. “You must be exhausted. Sleep now and I will keep watch.”
Dovewing blinked at him gratefully, then cast her gaze across the cavern. The guardian cats sat in groups, sharing prey. Mittens was leading Pipsqueak and Blaze out through the entrance. Fierce dozed in a strip of sunshine. “There’s no need to keep watch,” she mewed sleepily. “They’ll keep watch for us.” She closed her eyes and let her chin rest on her paws. The kits had grown still and were purring softly.
Tigerheart rested his head on the side of the nest, contentment enfolding him like a warm breeze. As he watched Dovewing sleep, he heard paw steps behind him. He lifted his head and looked around.
Spire was padding toward him. The clear, bright gaze he’d had while he’d helped with Dovewing’s kitting had given way to the glazed look Tigerheart had seen in the tom’s yellow eyes when they first met. Was he having one of his visions?
Tigerheart sat up, blocking the way to his kits. “Spire? Are you okay?”
Spire peered past him, staring directly at the dark gray tom-kit. His fur ruffled along his spine. “This one will see into the shadows.”
Tigerheart tensed. “What do you mean?”
Spire looked at him vacantly, then padded away.
Tigerheart shook out his fur, irritated by the uneasy feeling Spire had awoken beneath his pelt. Don’t be silly. He’s not a medicine cat. He stared after Spire. But why did he speak of shadows again? Did this tom have some strange connection with ShadowClan? Was StarClan speaking through him?
Tigerheart shifted his paws nervously. He glanced up at the flat white roof, wondering if StarClan could see them here. We’ll come home as soon as we can, he promised. Turning to gaze once more at Dovewing and their kits, he leaned down and breathed in their scent. His heart ached with love, and he settled beside the nest and closed his eyes.
Chapter 19
Hurry up. Tigerheart glanced down the alley to where Cobweb, Mittens, and Fierce had stopped to drink from a puddle. It was bad enough they had to scavenge for scraps even Twolegs didn’t want; did they have to take so long? There were no mouthwatering prey scents carried on fresh forest breezes here. Tigerheart wanted to get the patrol over with.
The laid-back life of the guardian cats no longer felt like a relief. It had begun to irritate him. Scavenging was all they did now. In the two moons since Shadowkit, Pouncekit, and Lightkit had been born, leaf-fall had hardened into leaf-bare. Prey had become scarce, and the guardian cats relied on Twoleg scraps more and more. This morning, Tigerheart had woken to a hard frost, which had turned the clear walls of the gathering-place den into patterned ice. And yet when he’d followed the others out into the streets, the city lacked the stone-cold chill of the forest, holding a warmth of its own like a huge living creature.
Fierce had suggested they take a tour of their favorite scrapcans, clustered in the alleys that ran behind the rows of dens. Tigerheart had offered to come, as he always did. He owed the guardian cats his loyalty. But he secretly hoped that he would find a mouse or bird to take home to Lightkit, Pouncekit, and Shadowkit. Weaned now, they were eager for food, and Tigerheart hated that they had only tasted Twoleg scraps. What if they didn’t grow up to be strong? City strays were agile and wily, but none of them were as well-muscled as a forest cat. He’d hunted around the gathering place, but in the city there was always the sudden rumble of a monster or the thumping paws of a passing Twoleg to scare prey before he could finish stalking it. He hadn’t caught anything for half a moon. He guessed that was why the guardian cats weren’t even trying to hunt now. Besides, the scrapcans were overflowing, even as the weather grew harsher. He remembered with a pang the anxious days of leaf-bare in the forest, when catching a single rabbit brought joy to the whole Clan because it meant a warm night’s sleep on a full belly.
These cats have no idea what it is to go hungry, Tigerheart thought as he watched Cobweb shake puddle water from his whiskers and Fierce lap a few more sour mouthfuls. He wondered if they had ever been truly cold. The gathering-place den had grown chilly, but it was sheltered from wind and free of the drafts that would be slicing through gaps in the walls and dens of the ShadowClan camp now. It was easy to warm up in the furless-pelt nests.
In the past two moons, he’d learned city words like alley, street, and scrapcan; he’d grown accustomed to monsters and had learned to dart between them with ease as they crawled between the dens. He hardly noticed the Twolegs now as he wove between their legs on patrol.
This was the only world his kits knew. They’d never seen forests and streams and real prey. He wondered how long it would be before Dovewing agreed that they were old enough to make the journey home. By the time they reached the lake, would they be able to adjust to warrior life?
His pelt ruffled uneasily at the thought and he pushed it away. There would be plenty of time for them to learn to become warriors. But what if this first glimpse of life stayed with them? What if they always found warrior ways strange?
“I’m going on hunting patrol,” he’d told Pouncekit before he’d left.
She’d blinked at him. “Don’t you mean scavenging?” she’d asked. “That’s what the others call it.”
“Scavenging is like hunting,” Dovewing had answered quickly as Tigerheart’s pelt ruffled, then added, “Tigerheart used to be the best hunter in ShadowClan.”
Pouncekit didn’t seem to hear. “Why don’t warriors scavenge like city cats?”
Tigerheart stared at her. What could he say? That warriors had more pride and more skill? That they kept their distance from Twolegs, and definitely didn’t eat their scraps? He didn’t want to insult the guardian cats. But he wanted Pouncekit to understand what it meant to be a warrior.
Dovewing spoke for him again. “There aren’t any scrapcans to scavenge from by the lake,” she told Pouncekit diplomatically. She caught Tigerheart’s eye. “Besides, hunting is much more fun than scavenging. You’ll find out when you become a warrior.”
Tigerheart had turned away heavily and followed Fierce, Cobweb, Cinnamon, and Mittens out of the gathering place. He hoped that soon he’d be able to show Pouncekit what a warrior was. Now, as the sun lifted over the Twoleg dens, Tigerheart glanced at the bright blue sky showing between the rooftops. They’d scavenged all morning, but he hadn’t once smelled prey, and his hope of finding fresh-kill for the kits was fading.
Fierce flicked her tail happily. “Cold weather like this makes Twolegs hungry,” she meowed. “Which means more leftovers for us.” She led the way to another cluster of scrapcans and jumped onto one. As she knocked it open with practiced ease, Tigerheart jumped onto the next and pushed away its cover while Cobweb and Mittens rummaged through litter at their base. Tigerheart dug deep into the trash, his paws feeling the softness of something edible. He hooked it out with his claws. A round lump of something that smelled a little like meat but he knew would taste sour.
Cobweb glanced at it, his eyes brightening. “Meat scraps!”
Mittens hooked out a soft white strip from among the litter. “Dotty will like this,” he mewed. “It’s easy to chew.”
Fierce pulled a bone from her trash and flicked it triumphantly onto the ground below. “There’s more in here.” She delved deeper and hauled out another.
Tigerheart swallowed back distaste as she tossed it over the side. Warriors leave bones for the crows. Here they were a treat.