Fallen Leaves shrugged and flicked the end of his tail over his nose again. Hollyleaf had the distinct feeling that she’d been dismissed. Trying not to feel wounded, she turned and padded back into the woods-tunnel. She walked slowly at first, half-expecting Fallen Leaves to come racing after her, begging her to change her mind. But the shadows behind her stayed obstinately silent.
The wind was colder than Hollyleaf remembered, pricking her fur even though she tried to stay in the shelter of the widest trunks. The light was fading and shadows spread from the base of every tree, but somehow this darkness was less comfortable than being in the tunnels and Hollyleaf found herself tripping over every fallen twig and clump of moss. Gritting her teeth, she picked her way into a dense thicket of brambles. Had thorns always dragged her fur like this? And were the leafless trees always so noisy as they clattered their branches together? Hollyleaf’s ears were too full to pick up the movements of any prey, and her eyesight was oddly fuzzy when she tried to look farther than a fox-length. She kept telling herself that this was just the same as ThunderClan territory, but it wasn’t at all, really: There were no familiar scent markers or paths through the bushes, no sign that cats had ever been here before.
Hollyleaf battled her way to the middle of the brambles and turned in circles beside the knot of trunks until she had cleared a small, roughly circular space. She clawed at the dry grass to make a nest to lie on, then curled up and tucked her muzzle under her tail. Her belly growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since her morning “hunt” in the underground river, but there was no chance of catching any prey tonight. Hollyleaf pressed her spine against the clutch of bramble trunks, wishing it were Fallen Leaves beside her. Even though he never gave off any warmth, he had been oddly companionable on the rare nights he’d shared her nest. Is he sorry that he let me go?
Hollyleaf woke before dawn, too hungry to sleep any longer. She crawled out of the brambles and sniffed the air. The scent of rain was carried on the wind and she shivered. Her prickly den wouldn’t be completely waterproof, so she’d need to find some big leaves to weave into the stems immediately above her head. But first she had to hunt. Milky light was filtering down through the branches, just enough to reveal a tiny trail of footprints across the leaf mulch beneath a beech tree. Hollyleaf dropped into the hunter’s crouch, her muscles stiff and protesting after moons of not being used. She stalked forward, stepping lightly as she strained to hear the faint telltale rustle of prey. At the base of the trunk, a leaf moved and the tip of a smooth brown tail peeped out. Hollyleaf sprang and landed squarely on the back of the mouse, killing it with a swift bite to the neck.
It tasted like fresh-kill fit for StarClan. Hollyleaf ate where she crouched, relishing each mouthful. Her belly rumbled in appreciation—and almost at once clenched with pain. Hollyleaf hissed through her teeth. It had been a long time since she’d eaten this much. Perhaps she should have saved half the mouse for later, in her own fresh-kill pile. She lifted her head, looking around for the best place to store her catches. Then she shrugged. If she was only feeding herself, what was the point of storing prey? She’d hunt and eat when she was hungry, that’s all. Like a rogue would…
Hollyleaf stood up and trotted briskly through the trees. She wasn’t a rogue, was she? She was a Clan cat with no Clan, that’s all. Not a rogue, or a loner, or, StarClan forbid, a kittypet. None of those. A murderer, whispered a tiny voice inside her head, but Hollyleaf flattened her ears and ignored it, pushing on as the ground sloped upward. With her head down, she wasn’t aware of the woods thinning out until her fur was suddenly blasted by the wind. Startled, she looked up to see that she was nearly at the top of the ridge. Just a few paces more would take her to the peak, and she would be able to look down on the lake, and her old home.
Her paws stayed rooted to the grass. Hollyleaf felt her ears strain for any sound of cats: her former Clanmates on a border patrol, perhaps, or WindClan cats in pursuit of a rabbit. She heard nothing but the wind whistling over the crest and swooping down to rattle the trees below her. Almost without thinking, Hollyleaf started to back away. Part of her longed to hear the distinctive sounds of ThunderClan cats, and race over the ridge to join them; another part feared they might be looking for her to punish her for Ashfur’s death. Would Leafpool or Lionblaze and Jayfeather have revealed the truth by now? There was no way she would ever know, because she could never go back. Turning away, Hollyleaf raced down the slope and plunged into the sheltering trees.
A few days later, the first snowfall arrived. Hollyleaf opened her eyes to find her bramble den filled with a strange cloudy light. She pushed her way out and squeaked as a clump of sparkling frost fell onto her neck. She shook it off crossly and jumped clear of the remaining branches. Her paws sank into soft white snow and instantly chilled to the bone. Hollyleaf hissed under her breath as she bounded to the nearest fallen branch, where only a dusting of flakes had settled. The moss was slimy under her paws but at least she was able to shake them clear of the clinging white stuff. She’d be lucky to catch anything to eat today; all the prey would be burrowed far under a warm layer of leaves. In the Clan, Firestar would have stocked up fresh-kill in a hole outside the hollow, where the cold earth would keep it fresh. Hollyleaf’s belly rumbled at the thought, and she curled her lip, annoyed with herself for not being better prepared.
She was about to jump down from the branch and attempt to find something to eat when she noticed a trail of paw prints leading away between the trees. They were bigger than hers, but small for a passing dog. The hair prickled on the back of Hollyleaf’s neck. With a hiss of displeasure, she plunged her feet back into the snow and went to take a closer look. More than the size and shape of the prints, the distinctive smell told her who had walked this way: a fox! A young fox, judging by its small paws, and was it just her imagination, or did Hollyleaf recognize the lingering scent?
Yes!
It was the cub she had rescued!
Hollyleaf’s heart started to beat faster. At that moment, the prospect of seeing the little cub again filled her with more excitement than the idea of finding food. She followed the trail, leaping carefully alongside the tracks so as not to smudge them. They wound through the trees, heading along the shoulder of the ridge before swerving downward into a dense copse of pine trees. Hollyleaf’s legs were aching from jumping through the snow, and it got deeper the farther down the hill she went, but she wasn’t going to give up now. The scent of the cub had gotten stronger and the tracks were even clearer, as if it had only just walked this way.
The pine trees opened out in a little clearing where the snow was scuffed and heaped up amid deep claw marks and scarlet-stained feathers. Hollyleaf wrinkled her nose as the scent of blood filled the air. The fox must have killed a pigeon here, she decided, studying the broad gray feathers. She felt a flash of pride, as if she’d mentored the cub herself.
There was a noise behind her and the sharp smell washed over her more strongly than ever. Hollyleaf turned, a purr rising in her throat. The cub was standing at the edge of the clearing, watching her. Its ears were pricked and the tip of its bushy tail brushed the snow. This was definitely her fox! He was growing into a handsome male, his fur standing out against the snow almost as scarlet as the pigeon’s blood.
“Hello!” Hollyleaf meowed. “Do you remember me?”
With a snarl, the fox leaped at her. Yellow teeth snapped at the air where Hollyleaf’s neck had been, a heartbeat after she scrambled backward. She crashed into a pine tree and spun around to claw her way up the trunk, with the creature snapping barely a whisker’s length from her paws. The tree was circled with moss halfway up and Hollyleaf’s claws lost their grip; she slithered down, feeling branches jab her ribs and flanks, and the cub jumped up, yelping with hunger and excitement. Hollyleaf dug her claws into the bark and managed to stop her fall just as teeth closed on the fur at the end of her tail. She tore herself free and scrambled to the topmost branches, fear propelling her upward. Below her, the cub snarled in frustration.