Pebble Heart picked up the bundle of herbs in his jaws and hurried through the tunnel after Mouse
Ear. On the tabby’s back, Eagle Feather squeaked as the branches scraped his spine, and he burrowed deeper into the tom’s fur.
Gray Wing paused as he reached the entrance and looked back at the hollow. It was eerily quiet.
Only the scuffing of Cloud Spots’s paws as he rummaged in his den broke the silence.
Heart heavy, Gray Wing nosed his way through the gorse.
Outside, snow had dusted the moor. The heather rocked as the wind swept across it. Dappled Pelt and Shattered Ice were already heading toward the river. They seemed small under the great, yellowing sky.
Holly, Mouse Ear, Mud Paws, and Tall Shadow followed Jagged Peak over the grass. The tops of the pines showed in the distance, beyond the crest of the moor. Pebble Heart was running to catch up.
“Hurry, Gray Wing!” Jagged Peak called from the head of the group.
Gray Wing stopped, his nose twitching. An unfamiliar scent was tainting the snow. Rogues had passed this way, by the smell of it. And they’d lingered by the camp entrance. There was a dent in the snow where they’d sat. Why hadn’t they introduced themselves, as most rogues did, out of curiosity if not suspicion? Unease pricked at Gray Wing’s pelt. He thought he knew the scents of all the rogues who crossed the moor. But not these. What does it matter? They were leaving the hollow. Gray Wing scanned the moor. Wind Runner’s camp was nearby. Memories of One Eye flashed in his mind. If strange rogues were hanging around, her kits might be vulnerable. He decided to investigate. “I’ll follow your paw prints!” he called to Jagged Peak. “I’m going to scout for prey.” There was no need to alarm the kits.
“Don’t be long!” As Jagged Peak answered, Gray Wing sniffed the snow. Tracks led toward the river: Dappled Pelt’s and Shattered Ice’s. Another set led toward the forest: Clear Sky’s cats. A third set carried the smell of the strangers. Gray Wing followed them downhill into the wide swath of heather. As the branches closed over his head, their scent grew stronger.
Two cats.
He slowed his pace. He was still struggling to breathe deeply. He didn’t want to meet these strangers face-to-face when he felt so weak. But curiosity, and worry for Wind Runner’s kits, drew him on. He pricked his ears as a growl echoed ahead.
“I don’t have time.” There was a snarl in the tom’s voice.
An anxious mew answered it. “But I don’t want to go by myself.”
A shriek of pain sliced through the heather.
Gray Wing froze.
“You’re not a kit anymore!” the first voice snapped.
Gray Wing crept forward until he saw daylight ahead. The heather tunnel opened into a clearing, and Gray Wing spotted the ringed tail-tip of a tabby flicking over the snow.
Quickly he turned off the trail and pushed his way into the tangle of bushes. He moved slowly, slithering between the rough branches like a water snake moving through reeds. They crackled around him, their stems brittle with cold.
“What’s that?” He heard the stiff mew of one of the cats and froze.
“Probably a pheasant or a rabbit.”
“Prey?” Excitement edged the she-cat’s hiss.
“We’ll eat later,” snapped the tom. “You need to follow those cats.”
Follow those cats? Gray Wing stretched his ears. He slithered forward as lightly as he could until he was close to the edge of the heather, hoping its dusty scent would mask his own. Through the spiky branches he could make out the two cats.
A broad-shouldered brown tabby faced a black she-cat. Both were scarred, their ears nicked at the tips and their fur crisscrossed by old wounds. The tabby’s front legs were marked with a slash of white, his ears were torn, and half his whiskers were missing. The black cat’s tail was short, squared at the end as though half had been lost in an accident.
How does she balance with half a tail? Gray Wing squinted through the heather. The black cat looked young, despite her scars; her muscles were taut. The tabby’s flanks sagged with age, but experience glinted in his eyes, and Gray Wing noticed his long claws flexing as he talked. He’d be a formidable enemy, Gray Wing guessed.
The tabby went on. “I want you to follow them. Find out where they settle. I knew they’d leave this barren piece of land eventually. I need to know where they make camp, where they hunt, their habits, their weaknesses, everything!”
“But why, Slash?” The black cat’s mew quavered.
“Don’t be such a mouse-brain, Fern!” The tabby lashed out with a paw and caught her across the ear.
Fern ducked away, a low whine in her throat.
“Just do as I tell you!” Slash hissed. “Watch and wait and report back to me.”
“Why can’t you come with me?”
Gray Wing wondered why Fern wasn’t happy to be away from her vicious companion.
“I’ve got other fish to catch.” There was menace in Slash’s tone. “Don’t let me down, Fern. Star
Flower betrayed me, and she’s lucky I let her live. I won’t be so soft with you.”
“I won’t let you down,” Fern promised quickly, pressing her belly to the ground like a frightened kit.
“And don’t let them see you!” Slash showed his teeth. “When the time comes, I want to see the surprise on their soft, kitty-loving faces for myself.”
“I’ll be like a shadow,” Fern mewed.
“You’d better be, or you know what I’ll do to you.”
Gray Wing saw Fern tremble as terror shone in her gaze. “I—I know, Slash.”
“Good.” Slash straightened, then stalked away across the grass.
Fern watched him leave, the terror in her eyes hardening to hate.
Gray Wing’s tail-tip twitched uneasily. These rogues were going to be trouble, and yet their alliance was based on fear. That is their weakness. He kept still as Fern padded away. The black she-cat was heading across the slope, no doubt aiming for the Thunderpath and the pine forest beyond.
He waited until Fern disappeared behind a wide clump of gorse, then wriggled out from the heather.
Shaking crumbs of leaf from his pelt, he scanned the moorside. How long had Slash been roaming their territory? He talked as though he’d been watching the cats for a while. And he knew Star
Flower. He must have known her father, One Eye. Gray Wing’s paws pricked. These rogues were like poisonous weeds. One Eye had been killed, but Slash had grown in his place. Frustration flashed beneath Gray Wing’s pelt. Will we never find peace?
He ducked back into the heather. He had to catch up to the others without bumping into Fern. He followed an arcing route around the gorse and slid from the heather near the top of the moor. From here he could see rolling countryside sweeping toward the mountains and, ahead, a steep sharp slope down toward the Thunderpath. Shapes moved over it. Jagged Peak and the others! Bounding forward, Gray Wing hurried to catch up. He paced himself, trying to ignore the stabbing in his chest, which was tightening more as the wind chilled. Flakes of snow began to whip his flank. A thick fall was closing in, already swallowing the distant mountains. By the time he reached his friends, he could hardly see a tail-length ahead.
“Gray Wing, is that you?” Pebble Heart’s voice called through the storm. Gray Wing followed it, relieved to see the young tom and his campmates. The kits were still clinging to Mouse Ear, Mud
Paws, and Tall Shadow. Snow coated their pelts.
“There’ll be shelter in the forest!” Jagged Peak called.
Holly answered him. “We have to cross the Thunderpath first.”