Gray Wing shook his head. “I’m going alone. Sending a patrol might cause a battle.”
Wind Runner grunted. “Perhaps we should have a battle and end this once and for all.”
“No.” Clear Sky paced between the cats. “It would be mouse-brained to fight a battle against an enemy we don’t know. First we need to know how many rogues there are.”
Gray Wing nodded. Clear Sky was right. “I’ll find out what I can.”
“Meanwhile, we must prepare to defend what is ours.” Thunder glanced toward Lightning Tail.
“We’ve been training to fight and practicing battle moves. I think you should all start training so that you can fight off any rogue attack. There may be many of them, but they’re not very skilled. If they were, they wouldn’t have to travel in such big groups.”
Milkweed’s eyes glittered. “Lightning Tail has been teaching Clover and Thistle how to defend themselves.”
Tall Shadow flicked her tail-tip. “Storm Pelt, Dew Nose, and Eagle Feather each have their own trainer. They’ve only been learning to hunt so far, but they could learn some battle moves too.” She nodded to Mouse Ear. “You’ve formed quite a bond with Eagle Feather, haven’t you?”
“He’s a fast learner.” Mouse Ear glanced around at the other cats. “And it’s easier if I train him alone. I can learn his strengths and weaknesses and build on what he already knows.”
Lightning Tail blinked. “That’s a good idea.” He glanced at Thunder. “Maybe I should assign trainers to Clover and Thistle.”
“I’d be happy to train either of them,” Leaf offered. “They’re both bright and eager to learn.”
Milkweed fluffed out her pelt proudly.
Wind Runner exchanged looks with Gorse Fur. “Perhaps if Moth Flight had her own trainer, she’d learn faster. She certainly doesn’t seem to have learned much from us.”
“She’s doing fine—” Gorse Fur began to defend their kit, but Jagged Peak interrupted.
“I got nowhere trying to train Eagle Feather,” he admitted. “I was either too soft on him or too hard. We ended up squabbling.”
Mouse Ear shifted his paws. “It’s easy for me to see Eagle Feather’s progress with a clear eye. It seems more difficult to train one’s own kit.”
“Very well.” Clear Sky dipped his head. “Let’s all begin battle training, and give each kit their own trainer.”
Wind Runner nodded. Tall Shadow dipped her head. As River Ripple blinked his approval, shadows darkened the clearing.
Gray Wing glanced at the full moon. Clouds were beginning to drift across it. Thicker clouds lurked on the horizon. Night was coming, and it would be easier to reach Slash’s camp in the dark.
“I’ll go and find Fern now.” The sooner they knew what they were facing, the faster they could prepare. For what? His ears twitched uneasily. Was there really going to be a battle? He shuddered, remembering the Great Battle, fought right where they were standing. So many cats had died.
Slate moved closer and lowered her voice. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“I’m sure.” He wasn’t going to put her in danger.
She gazed at him, worry darkening her eyes. “Be careful,” she breathed.
“I’ll be okay,” he promised, hoping it was true. He knew what it was like to wait for a loved one who never returned, and he wouldn’t wish it on Slate for anything. Stiffening, he determined that he was going to be back at her side by dawn. “I promise.”
He nodded to the others, then turned and headed for the slope. Breaking into a run, he plunged into the bracken and headed toward the pine forest.
As he neared the edge of the pines, he tasted the air. He winced as he smelled the dank odor of decaying mushrooms and followed the scent, moving silently through the shadows, until he found a patch of wilted ink caps at the foot of a tree.
Wrinkling his nose, he lay down on the mushrooms, shuddering as he felt their rotting flesh collapse beneath his weight and squish into his fur. He stood up and shook out his pelt. The rankness of their scent would disguise his.
Gray Wing headed for the edge of the pines, ducking as he emerged from their shelter. The moon and stars were covered by cloud. Fern would be curled up in her nest, fast asleep. Would he have to wait like last time, to catch her on patrol? As the grass beneath his paws turned to mossy peat, he slowed. He could just make out the marsh grass rising ahead. The wall of the rogues’ camp was half-hidden by the dip. He veered away, heading for the willow copse, and climbed the slope, then crouched between the hazel thickets once again.
Blinking in the darkness, he pricked his ears and listened. He stiffened as an owl’s hoot echoed across the stretch of marshland. Wings fluttered far above his head, and the owl swooped, dipping over the boggy land, silent as it glided across the grass. Gray Wing watched it as it pulled up. It seemed to stall, turning its wings to slow itself and stretching out its claws. The shriek of prey cut through the air as the owl grabbed something and lifted into the sky, tracing a long, slow circle against the dark night as it headed back to the trees. Gray Wing strained his neck, following the owl with his gaze, his belly rumbling as he glimpsed a small shape wriggling in its claws. As the owl disappeared among the branches overhead, the grass below Gray Wing rustled.
Gray Wing snapped his head around, pelt bristling. A shape was moving up the slope toward him.
He drew back into the hazel thicket, pressing his belly to the ground, and unsheathed his claws.
“Gray Wing!”
His heart seemed to burst with relief as he recognized Fern’s mew. Two green eyes flashed at him through the darkness. He began to slide out of his hiding place, hesitating suddenly. Was this a trap?
He glanced beyond Fern, scanning the slope for other shapes. Then he tasted the air, frustrated as the stench of rotting ink caps bathed his tongue.
Fern snorted. “You smell foul,” she hissed as she stopped a tail-length from the hazel thicket. “It was the stink that woke me up. I guessed it was you. We don’t get many walking mushrooms around here.”
“Are you alone?” Gray Wing breathed, hoping he could still trust her.
“Of course I’m alone!” Her mew was indignant. “Do you think I risked my pelt just to betray you now?” Her eyes flashed with anger.
Gray Wing slid out of the thicket and stopped in front of her. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “It’s just that I don’t like coming here.”
“You should try living here,” she grunted.
“Why don’t you leave if you hate it?” Gray Wing stared in wonder at the young she-cat.
“I would if I thought there was anywhere safe from Slash.” She glanced over her shoulder, then slunk past Gray Wing and headed deeper into the copse. She led him to a clearing beyond the hazel thickets. “The farther away we are from camp the better,” she whispered. “If your stink woke me up, it might wake up someone else.”
“I was trying to disguise my scent.” Gray Wing’s pelt felt hot with embarrassment.
“It worked,” Fern snorted. “You smell worse than a badger.”
“At least I found you,” Gray Wing pointed out. “I thought I was going to have to wait.”
“Smelling like death is a great signal,” Fern muttered. “But you might want to tone it down a bit next time.” She blinked at him through the darkness. “Why are you here?”
“I need information,” he told her.
“What about?” Fern tipped her head to one side. “You rescued Star Flower, didn’t you?” She leaned closer. “Is she okay?”
“Yes.”
“Has she had her kits yet?”
Gray Wing’s tail bristled as he remembered the traumatic escape. “Yes. Two she-kits and a tom.”
Fern purred. “I’m glad. I wish I could tell Juniper and Willow. They’ve been worried about her.”