As they neared the rocks, Lightning Tail’s mew cut into his thoughts. “The group should practice tree climbing.” The black tom stopped and gazed up the wide trunk of an oak. A blackbird was hopping along a lower branch.
Thunder stopped and laid the mouse on the ground. “Try it,” he encouraged.
Lightning Tail circled the tree, then reached up and hooked his claws into the mossy bark. Hauling himself up, he sent fuzzy pieces showering down. The blackbird jerked around, eyes sparking as it caught sight of Lightning Tail. With a squawk it fluttered upward and landed easily on a branch overhead.
Lightning Tail growled. “Why does the best prey have wings?”
Movement caught Thunder’s eye. His gaze snapped toward the rocks. A thrush was strutting over the top, stopping every few steps to peck at the cracks in the stone. Thunder froze. There was no undergrowth between him and the thrush. One move and he’d be spotted. He stared, paws rooted to the ground. A thrush would make a good meal for Clover and Thistle. They were only four moons old and the bird would fill their bellies easily. He watched it hungrily. How could he get near enough to pounce without being seen?
Slowing his breath, he crouched and slithered like a snake along the forest floor. Wet leaves soaked his belly fur. Heart pounding, he fixed his gaze on the thrush.
Suddenly a black shape dropped from above.
Thunder gasped, pelt bushing. Lightning Tail! Had the tom fallen? Panic flashed beneath
Thunder’s fur. Then it melted as he caught his friend’s eye. Lightning Tail’s gaze was fixed on the thrush. He’d jumped from the branch!
The bird spread its wings, eyes wild with alarm. Too late. Yowling with triumph, Lightning Tail landed with a thud beside it and snapped his jaws around its neck.
Thunder broke into a purr. “Impressive!”
Lightning Tail bounded toward him, the thrush swinging between his jaws. He dropped it beside
Thunder, then shook out his front paws, one at a time, wincing. “Ow! Stone is hard!” His whiskers twitched proudly as he glanced at the thrush. “Let’s take it back to the camp so the others can have a bite while it’s still warm.”
Thunder nudged his friend’s shoulder playfully. “You just want to boast about how you caught it.”
Lightning Tail winked at him. “I might mention that I swooped on it like a hawk.” He scooped up the thrush between his paws and hurried toward the ravine.
Thunder grabbed his mouse and followed. As they neared the edge, familiar scents of home rose from the camp. Thunder slipped past Lightning Tail and scrambled down the steep cliff, following the route from ledge to ledge until he reached the soft earth at the bottom. Lightning Tail landed beside him and raced for the gorse barrier. He ducked first through the tunnel.
Thunder followed, the gorse scraping his pelt. As he burst into camp, Clover and Thistle raced from the bramble bush where they shared a nest with their mother, Milkweed. They were growing bigger each day. Thunder wondered whether he should bring live prey back to camp and start to teach them how to hunt.
Thistle skidded to a halt in front of Lightning Tail as the black tom stopped in the middle of the clearing. Early sunshine speared between the branches at the top of the ravine and dappled the camp with light. Clover raced past her brother and ran to Thunder. “Did you catch any shrews?” Her yellow eyes shone hopefully. Her ginger-and-white fur prickled along her spine.
Thunder dropped the mouse. “Just this, I’m afraid.”
“And my thrush,” Lightning Tail called, nodding to the bird at his paws.
Thistle was already nosing through the feathers, his orange tail twitching with excitement.
Milkweed called from the bramble. “Slow down, Thistle! The others might be hungry.”
Pink Eyes slid from his nest beside the fallen tree. “Let the youngsters eat,” he mewed huskily. “I can wait.” He blinked through the sunshine as though trying to see. His pale eyes had never been very sharp. The passing moons seemed to dull his eyesight even more.
Thunder noticed with a frown how skinny the old tom looked. Starting leaf-bare so thin wasn’t healthy. “Have this mouse, Pink Eyes.” He carried his catch to the white tom and dropped it at his paws. “Thistle and Clover can have the thrush. I’ll send out another hunting patrol soon.”
“I’ll go.” Leaf padded from the bramble, his fur still ruffled from sleep.
Owl Eyes scrambled from his nest beneath the yew. “Can I go too?”
Thunder purred, pleased to see his campmates so eager. “How would you like to lead it?”
“Yes, please!” Owl Eyes lifted his tail excitedly.
Thunder glanced at Leaf. The black-and-white tom was older and more experienced. Would he understand that it was important for younger cats to practice leading as well as following?
Leaf whisked his tail happily. “That’s a great idea.”
Cloud Spots padded from the fern tunnel, which led to a small clearing among the fronds where he’d made his nest. The ferns were dying back now, but bracken crowded behind, sheltering the den with stiff orange leaves. Cloud Spots still looked bleary with sleep. “I smell prey.” He glanced at the thrush. Then his gaze flicked toward the mouse at Pink Eyes’s paws. “Is that all you found?” There was worry in his mew.
Thunder shook out his fur. “I’m sure Owl Eyes and Leaf will find more,” he answered breezily.
He didn’t want the group to know how concerned he was. “They’re about to leave on patrol.”
“I’ll go with them,” Cloud Spots told him. “Six eyes are better than four.”
Thistle looked up from the thrush. “If I come too, there’ll be eight eyes!”
Leaf touched his nose to the kit’s head. “You can come another time.”
“You can check the ravine for mice while we’re gone!” Owl Eyes was already hurrying to the camp entrance, Cloud Spots at his heels.
“I already checked yesterday!” Thistle complained. “There aren’t any!”
“Try again,” Leaf told him, turning to follow Cloud Spots.
Milkweed crossed the clearing. “We need you here, Thistle,” she meowed. “If everyone goes hunting, who’s going to guard the camp?”
Thistle snorted. “You’re just saying that to stop me from going.”
Clover trotted toward her brother. “Of course she is,” she sniffed. “If she doesn’t make you feel special, you’ll sulk all morning.”
“I never sulk!” Thistle glared at his sister.
“You sulked all afternoon yesterday because Milkweed wouldn’t let you play in the rain.”
Thistle stuck his tail in the air crossly. “It was only rain!”
Thunder padded between them, swapping glances with Milkweed. He could hear grit showering down the ravine side as Owl Eyes led his patrol up to the forest. “When everyone’s had something to eat, I’ll take you into the forest with Milkweed,” he promised Thistle.
Milkweed looked at him gratefully.
Thistle’s fur rippled with excitement. “Like a real patrol?”
“Can I come too?” Clover asked eagerly.
“Of course.” Thunder gazed at her warmly.
Lightning Tail picked up the thrush and carried it to a patch of sunshine beside the tree stump near the edge of the clearing. “Come and eat this,” he called to the kits. “And I’ll tell you how I caught it.”
Thistle and Clover raced toward him.
Milkweed glanced at the fallen tree, her gaze flicking over Pink Eyes’s nest. The squashed pile of bracken looked limp, soggy after the recent rain. “Should I make Pink Eyes a new bed?” She glanced at Thunder.
As Thunder nodded, Pink Eyes looked up sharply from his mouse. “I can make my own nest,” he grunted.