“That’s a load of mouse dung,” Boris protested. “I can fight as well as any cat. They wouldn’t eat me!”
“I didn’t see you being so keen to fight this cat.” His sister flicked her tail at Firestar. “Anyway, those cats have gone now, all except crazy old Moony.”
“Who’s Moony?” Sandstorm asked, and Firestar added, “Is that who you thought was down in the cave?”
The two kittypets exchanged a glance, beginning to look embarrassed again. Boris ducked his head and started to lick his chest fur.
“He’s just this mad old cat,” Cherry muttered. “He doesn’t live here, but he comes here every full moon, and sits on that rock that sticks out over the gorge. He spends ages staring up at the moon—that’s why we call him Moony.”
“Then he sleeps one night in that cave before he goes away again,” Boris added.
Cherry gave a disdainful sniff. “Every cat around here knows that he’s mad. If you try to talk to him, he just tells you weird stories about cats in the stars.”
Firestar felt every hair on his pelt stand on end. This was the first clue that any trace of Clan life survived, that any cat knew what it meant to be a warrior.
“Cats in the stars?” he asked sharply. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Cherry mewed. “I’ve listened to him often enough.”
“And if he did have anything to do with those other cats,” her brother added, “they can’t have been very fierce. Moony never fights back, whatever—”
He broke off as his sister gave him a sharp prod with one paw and hissed, “Mouse-brain!”
Firestar would have liked to cuff both young cats around the ears, but when he met Sandstorm’s gaze, she shook her head. Regretfully, Firestar admitted she was right. They would get more out of the kittypets if they didn’t scare them.
“Moony hasn’t done anything wrong, has he?” Firestar asked, deliberately making his voice gentle. “He hasn’t hurt you or stolen your food?”
Both kittypets shook their heads, not meeting his gaze.
“Then you should leave him alone.”
The two kittypets exchanged a guilty glance. “I told you this wasn’t Moony!” Cherry hissed to her brother. “The moon isn’t full yet.”
“Well, how was I to know?” Boris complained. “No other cats have ever come here.”
“Never mind that.” Firestar interrupted their argument before it had a chance to get properly started. “What can you tell us about Moony? Where does he live when he isn’t here?”
Cherry shrugged. “Dunno.”
“He must come from farther up the gorge,” Boris offered, waving his dark-striped tail in that direction. “We’d have noticed if he came up the river.”
“And that’s all you can tell us?” Sandstorm leaned forward and fixed both young cats with a penetrating green gaze.
“That’s really all.” Boris’s yellow eyes widened. “Can we go now?”
“I think they can, don’t you, Firestar?”
Firestar paused for a couple of heartbeats, long enough for the two young cats to understand that they weren’t getting off too lightly. “I suppose so,” he mewed at last. “But no more tormenting defenseless cats, okay?”
“We won’t!” Boris promised. He prodded his sister.
“Will we?”
“No, not anymore.” Cherry flattened her ears. “We just didn’t think…”
“Next time, try not to be so mouse-brained,” Firestar meowed, drawing aside to leave a narrow tunnel through the undergrowth. “Off you go.”
Relief flooded the eyes of both young cats. They crept hesitantly past Firestar, as if they weren’t completely sure his claws would stay sheathed. Once they were safely past him, they shouldered their way out of the thicket and broke into a run.
As Cherry dashed past the tree where Firestar had hidden, she gave a tremendous leap, batting at the lowest branch. Leaves showered down on her brother as he bounded after her.
Firestar and Sandstorm followed the kittypets to the edge of the bushes and watched them racing back to Twolegplace, their tails held high.
“They’re not bad, for kittypets,” Sandstorm commented.
“Cherry’s got spirit, at least.”
Firestar suspected that the young tortoiseshell reminded Sandstorm of her apprentice, Sorrelpaw. “They’ve both got spirit,” he responded. “It’s a pity they can’t be apprenticed in a proper Clan.”
“Well, they can’t,” Sandstorm meowed. “Not unless we can find SkyClan. They left here a long time ago, by the sound of it.”
“Except for Moony.” Firestar felt excitement prickling through his pelt again. “A cat who gazes at the full moon and talks about cats in the stars… He’s a Clan cat, Sandstorm; he must be!”
Sandstorm nodded, a glow in her green eyes. “Then that’s our next job. We’ve got to find him.”
“To think I complained it was too hot!” Sandstorm exclaimed.
She and Firestar had finished their hunt and eaten, and were heading along the top of the gorge in search of Moony.
The dawn mist had turned to a fine, cold drizzle, soaking the cats’ fur. The sky was heavy with gray clouds, and Firestar couldn’t see clearly more than a few fox-lengths ahead.
“This is no good,” he meowed. “It’s just the same as when we were looking for the SkyClan camp. If we stay up here, we’ll never find the place where Moony is living.”
Sandstorm sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Climbing down was even harder when the rocks were slippery with rain and the bottom of the gorge was still shrouded in mist. Firestar led the way, scrambling over boulders and slithering down loose pebbles until they reached the narrow valley above the rocks where the river poured out. The path was sticky with mud, covering the cats’ legs and splashing up into their belly fur. They plodded along uncomfortably, peering through the rain at the sides of the gorge to find any trace of the old cat.
“There’s a slit in that rock.” Sandstorm pointed with her tail. “Maybe it leads to a cave.” She splashed away from the path to investigate and splashed back almost at once. “No good,” she reported. “It’s not wide enough for my whiskers. A cat could never live in there.”
Firestar wondered whether a cat could live in this barren place at all, but as he and Sandstorm trudged along he began to spot stunted bushes here and there, and scent faint traces of prey. Some of the rainwater had collected in puddles among the boulders.
“This place would support one or two cats,” he meowed.
“But it’s a pretty miserable place to live, all the same.”
“Especially on your own,” Sandstorm agreed. “If Moony is a bit weird, no cat could blame him.”
The cats passed more slits in the gorge wall, but they were all too shallow or too narrow for a cat to live in comfortably.
Firestar began to wonder how much farther they would have to go, or whether they had already missed Moony’s home.
Gradually a breeze sprang up, wafting billows of rain into their faces. Firestar shivered.
“For StarClan’s sake, let’s look for shelter,” Sandstorm mewed. “We’ll never find him in this.”
Not waiting for Firestar’s agreement, she splashed up to another of the narrow caves and slipped inside it. There was just enough room for Firestar to squeeze in beside her, their sodden pelts pressed together. But in spite of his drenched, mud-plastered fur and his sore paws, he felt more hopeful than he had for a long time. At last they had news of a real
Clan cat, and sooner or later they had to find him.
He drowsed uneasily and woke to feel Sandstorm’s tail flicking over his ear. She was standing outside the cave, looking down at him. “Come on,” she meowed. “The rain’s stopped.”