She’s dying!
The sight of death sliced through Moth Flight like an icy wind, and she began to tremble. She remembered Gray Wing’s death, just a moon ago. She’d shivered as she’d peered into his open grave, her heart twisting as she saw how small he looked and how dull his fur had become. The warmhearted tom, whose pelt had rippled in the wind, had been lost in death. Prey seemed to lie in his place. His Clan had buried him, eyes hollow with grief, yet at least the ceremony had given them a chance to say good-bye.
“You must bury her,” she breathed shakily.
But the cats did not move. They only stared at their dead friend, hardly blinking as the sun lifted higher into the sky. The-black-and-white tom watched from a few tail-lengths away, nervously eyeing the tabby.
“Don’t just stand there!” Frustration raged through Moth
Flight as she tried to make herself heard. “Show her some respect! Start digging her grave.”
No cat turned or even betrayed with an ear twitch that they’d heard her.
The sun lifted higher until its rays spilled into the ditch.
“Are you going to leave her here for crows to pick at?”
Moth Flight couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Are these cats heartless?
Suddenly, the blue-gray she-cat’s tail twitched.
Moth Flight gasped, shock jolting through her. Had the wind caught the dead cat’s fur?
No!
The blue-gray she-cat was lifting her head, looking blearily at the others.
Moth Flight tried to back away, but the mist seemed to entwine her paws, holding her still. She stared in disbelief as the she-cat spoke to the flame-pelted tom. She was dead! Moth Flight couldn’t make out the words but she could see, as the cat’s blue eyes cleared, authority in her gaze. It reminded her of her own mother’s look. Was this she-cat the group’s leader?
How was she alive?
The young cats moved away to let the she-cat stand. As she heaved herself slowly to her paws, relief washed over their faces.
But the tabby only stared. His amber gaze betrayed nothing—neither relief, nor joy. Moth Flight drew in a trembling breath and began to run, clambering out of the ditch, her thoughts spinning as she tried to make sense of what she’d seen.
A pale flash caught her eye and she lifted her head, surprised to see a great, green moth. Its wide translucent wings fluttered in the breeze; dawn sunshine flooded through them so they glowed as bright as new leaves.
She watched the moth dance away, realizing that, beyond it, she could see Highstones. Their towering peaks glittered in the sunshine and Moth Flight narrowed her eyes against the glare, straining to see the moth as it fluttered toward them.
Without thinking, she leaped the ditch and began to follow the moth as it bobbed over the grass, keeping low. I must reach it! She bounded after it as it zigzagged like a petal caught on a breeze, staying just beyond paw reach.
It pulled farther ahead until she stumbled to a halt and watched it fly away. Moth Flight was surprised by a fierce longing in her heart. Wait for me! A wail caught in her throat. I want to come with you!
Chapter 1
“What are you mumbling about?”
Dust Muzzle’s mew jerked Moth Flight awake. She blinked open her eyes, narrowing them at once as bright afternoon sunshine sliced over the gorse wall of the camp. “Was I mumbling?” The dream of the blue-gray she-cat and the moth were still sharp in her mind. Had she been calling out in her sleep?
Dust Muzzle paced in front of her. “You said you wanted to go with someone.”
Spotted Fur stopped beside Dust Muzzle, his eyes warm with affection. “I thought only old cats took afternoon naps.” He nudged Dust Muzzle. “Your sister has been hanging out with Rocky too long.”
Rocky looked up as he heard his name. The old ginger-and-white tom blinked from his nest in the long grass beside the sandy hollow. “She could learn a lot from me,” he grunted.
“I’ve seen more moons than the three of you put together.” The kittypet had been with the Clan for only a few moons—he’d arrived shortly after Gray Wing had called the groups of cats Clans for the first time, a word that had seemed right the moment Gray Wing had said it—but Rocky had taken to Clan life like a frog to swimming. He didn’t hunt as much as the younger cats, complaining that his paws were too slow for chasing. But he loved to help Holly and Eagle Feather with their tunneling. Holly was always planning new tunnels, digging through old rabbit runs to make shortcuts to new ones.
Moth Flight scrambled to her paws. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the sun was so warm.” Leafbare was finally loosening its grip on the moor and the newleaf sun felt luxurious after hard moons of frost and ice. Panic jolted through her.
“Where are Slate’s kits?” She scanned the clearing, her heart lurching. Slate had asked Moth Flight to watch White Tail, Silver Stripe, and Black Ear. They’d been playing in the sandy hollow when Moth Flight’s eyes had begun to grow heavy.
She’d only closed them for a moment and now the kits were nowhere to be seen.
She caught Holly’s eye across the camp. The black she-cat was washing dirt from her fur, while Eagle Feather shook out his dusty pelt beside his mother.
Holly frowned. “Is everything okay, Moth Flight?” she called. “You look worried.”
Moth Flight forced herself to blink brightly. “I’m fine,” she assured Holly.
Dust Muzzle flashed her a look. “Apart from losing Slate’s kits,” he breathed.
“Hush!” Moth Flight headed across the tussocky grass.
“Perhaps they’re near the stones.” The kits liked to chase one another around the smooth flat rocks near the camp entrance.
“I saw them earlier,” Rocky called.
Moth Flight spun to face him. “Where?” Before he could call his answer across the camp for everyone to hear, she dashed to his nest and stopped, panting, beside him. “Where were they?” she begged.
“I saw them playing outside camp when we came out of the tunnel,” Rocky told her.
“Whereabouts?” Fear prickled through Moth Flight’s pelt.
“Near the RiverClan border.”
“You mean the gorge?” Moth Flight’s throat tightened. A
deep ravine cut through the moor there, a river churning at the bottom. It was a dangerous place for kits.
“Not very near,” Rocky reassured her. “They’re too sensible to go close to the edge.”
“They’re only two moons old!” Moth Flight was fighting panic. Slate had trusted her to watch her beloved kits. Still mourning the loss of her mate, Gray Wing, the gray she-cat often rested after sunhigh, weary from her grief. I’ve let her down! What if Silver Stripe fell into the gorge? Or a buzzard carried off White Tail? Or Black Ear—stop! Moth Flight forced her thoughts to slow. “Why didn’t you bring them home with you?” She glared at Rocky.
“I thought you’d sent them out there.” Rocky blinked at her.
“Why would I do that?” Moth Flight lowered her voice to a hiss. “They’re too young to be out of camp. They can’t look after themselves.”
Rocky met her gaze steadily. “I thought that’s what you were supposed to be doing,” he grunted.
A disdainful snort sounded from behind Moth Flight.
She glanced around to where the heather wall of the camp shaded a soft grassy border.
Swift Minnow was eyeing her harshly. “I can tell you haven’t been with us long, Rocky,” the gray-and-white she-cat meowed. “You clearly don’t know Moth Flight very well.”