Clear Sky stepped forward, tail twitching angrily. “You have to! Slash will kill Star Flower if we don’t do as he says.”
Lightning Tail growled. “If we agree to their demands, these rogues will think we’re weak, and they’ll keep pushing us around!”
Leaf nodded. “He’s right. Rogues like that are worse than foxes. Too lazy to hunt for themselves, but happy to bully other cats into doing it for them.”
Milkweed moved closer to her kits, wrapping her tail around them. “Perhaps we should give them a little of our prey, just to keep them quiet.”
Pink Eyes glanced sympathetically at the queen. “I know you’re frightened for your kits, but the rogues are just trying their luck. If we give in now, they’ll keep pushing until they drive us away.
We’ve worked hard to make this land our own.”
“Exactly!” Lightning Tail snapped.
Thunder kneaded the ground anxiously. He glanced at Lightning Tail. His friend’s eyes shone with rage. Leaf circled the visitors, his black-and-white pelt spiking along his spine. Cloud Spots watched through narrowed eyes.
Clear Sky’s gaze fixed desperately on Thunder. “You have to help me.”
Why? Bitterness suddenly rose in Thunder’s throat. You never helped me! Why hadn’t Clear Sky ever shown as much concern for his mother? If he had, Storm and his littermates might still be alive.
He pushed the thought away. The past was over. Clear Sky needed his help. No matter how bad a father he’d been, he was still a cat who deserved to be heard.
And yet Thunder knew that he must put his campmates first. He met Clear Sky’s gaze. “I can’t promise prey to these rogues. We need it as much as they do.”
Clear Sky leaned forward, whiskers trembling. “You don’t have to give them prey. Just meet
Slash and promise so they return Star Flower.”
Lightning Tail growled. “Meeting these rogues is hunting for trouble.”
Leaf lashed his tail. “We should stay out of it.”
“It’s not our problem,” Cloud Spots agreed.
Clear Sky kept his gaze on Thunder. “Help me, please!” His mew was hoarse with despair.
Thunder shook his head, guilt jabbing in his chest. “I can’t,” he murmured. “I must think of my campmates. I can’t sacrifice their well-being for yours.”
Clear Sky’s tail bristled. “What kind of son are you?”
Thunder’s heart sank as anger hardened his father’s gaze. He’d seen it countless times before.
Wearily, he held his ground as Clear Sky went on.
“How long are you going to resent me for taking Star Flower as my mate?” Clear Sky snarled.
“Must you punish her as well? If my kits die, I’ll never forgive you!”
Thunder swallowed back fear. “I’m punishing no one,” he meowed steadily. “Star Flower chose you, and I respect her decision. I’m sorry she’s in trouble, and I’d help if I could, but I can’t let my campmates starve to save her. You must solve this problem yourself.”
Clear Sky stared at him, eyes wide with disbelief.
Acorn Fur leaned toward her leader. “Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s go.”
“Perhaps Tall Shadow will help,” Alder mewed encouragingly.
“River Ripple will know what to do.” Sparrow Fur shot Thunder a sharp look. “The river’s always full of fish. He’ll be happy to share some of his prey.”
Clear Sky turned away. “You’re right,” he muttered. “The others will help. They have to.” He hurried through the gorse tunnel, his campmates following.
As Thunder heard them scramble up the ravine, he realized he was trembling. Should he have agreed to help? He wasn’t convinced the other leaders would really support Clear Sky. And if they didn’t, what would happen to Star Flower?
He shivered as a damp wind spiraled into the hollow. Star Flower had softened his father. He shuddered to think how Clear Sky might react to her death. Would a refusal now lead them into another Great Battle?
Chapter 3
Gray Wing scanned the moorside, a damp wind tugging at his whiskers. His belly growled with hunger as he tasted the air. But there was no scent of prey, only the musty smell of dying heather.
Below him, Gorse Fur stalked across the slope, grass streaming around his paws. Where the moor began to dip toward the forest, Wind Runner sniffed at the edge of a swath of heather.
As she stretched her muzzle forward, Spotted Fur burst through the heather. “The prey-scents are stale even here.” Gray Wing heard the young tom’s mew on the wind.
Spotted Fur was a new member of the group—a golden brown tom whose mother had hunted with Slate in her rogue days. Spotted Fur had left his mother and littermates when they’d moved on to new territory. He’d watched the moorland cats hunting and racing through the heather and wanted to join them. Wind Runner hadn’t been keen to accept a rogue as a campmate, but Slate had vouched for him, swearing that his mother was a kindhearted cat and a good hunter. And Spotted Fur had quickly proven the gray she-cat right. He’d caught as much prey as Wind Runner, and the group leader had soon forgotten that she’d ever had doubts about the young tom.
But even Spotted Fur’s skill and enthusiasm couldn’t make prey appear where there was none.
Gray Wing narrowed his eyes, unnerved by the empty slopes. Surely the thaw should have brought the prey from their burrows by now? Had the early snowfall killed this year’s young? He shifted his paws anxiously. If it had, leaf-bare would be long and hungry. He saw Gorse Fur freeze, and stiffened. Had the gray tom spotted prey? He followed Gorse Fur’s gaze, disappointed as he saw it fall on Moth Flight.
Wind Runner and Gorse Fur’s scatterbrained kit had wandered away from the patrol again and was staring at the sky. The small white she-cat was five moons old, but she was as easily distracted as a kit half her age. Gray Wing frowned as he watched her scamper forward to sniff a withered stem poking from the grass before resuming her cloud gazing. Curiosity was natural in kits, but by now
Moth Flight should have learned to concentrate on what she was doing.
“Moth Flight!” Gorse Fur called to her. “You can watch clouds later! We’re supposed to be hunting!”
Gray Wing flicked his tail irritably. If any prey had crept from its burrow, Gorse Fur’s yowling would send it running back for shelter.
Moth Flight dipped her head apologetically and began to stalk the hillside.
Behind Gray Wing, paw steps thumped against the ground. He caught a trace of Slate’s scent a moment before she stopped beside him, her thick, soft pelt brushing his. “Caught anything yet?” She was out of breath. Her pelt still carried the warm, heathery smell of their nest.
Gray Wing glanced past her to the hollow in the hillside where the camp sheltered. She must have come from there. “There’s nothing to catch,” he told her gloomily.
“Of course there is!” Slate lifted her chin and headed toward the others.
Gray Wing’s dream flashed in his thoughts. It comforts me to see you happy. He remembered Turtle Tail’s words, fondness swelling in his chest. He was glad she didn’t begrudge the warmth
Slate had brought to his life, relieved that he wouldn’t have to spend the cold leaf-bare nights alone.
With Turtle Tail dead and her kits in different groups, he missed the closeness of family. He was lucky to be starting a new life with Slate.