Heatherstar fluffed up her fur. “You’d better get dry,” she advised the tunnelers. “This chilly wind will give you greencough if you’re not careful.”
Sandgorse nodded and headed away. “Come on, Tallkit!” he called. “Help me lick the grit from behind my ears.”
Tallkit scurried after him, catching up to Sandgorse as he reached the tunnelers’ bracken patch. Sandgorse stopped and shook out his pelt. Tallkit screwed up his face as mud spattered him. A purr rumbled in Sandgorse’s throat. “You’ll have to get used to mucky fur.”
Tallkit shuddered.
“You’re getting him dirty!” Palebird’s mew rang across the camp. Tallkit turned to see his mother hurrying toward them.
“He’s helping me get cleaned up,” Sandgorse objected. “He wants to get the grit from behind my ears, don’t you, Tallkit?”
Tallkit gazed at his father’s mud-crusted head. Not really.
“I guess he’s got to learn how.” Palebird touched her muzzle to Tallkit’s head. “One day he’ll be cleaning the grit from his own ears.”
Sandgorse’s eyes shone. “I can’t wait till we can go on patrol together.” He looked from Palebird to Tallkit. “Running tunnels, just the three of us.”
Palebird sighed. “It may be a while before I join you.”
Sandgorse looked up sharply. “What do you mean?” His gaze darkened. “Surely you’ll be ready by the time Tallkit’s an apprentice?”
Palebird shook her head. “I don’t think I’ll be strong enough.”
“Of course you will.” Sandgorse leaned forward and pressed his cheek against hers. “Newleaf will bring fatter prey, and you’ll have your strength back in no time.”
Tallkit stared anxiously at his mother. “You’ll be better, won’t you?”
“I hope so,” Palebird murmured. Turning, she headed toward the nursery.
“Go with her, Tallkit,” Sandgorse whispered. “I think she needs cheering up.”
Tallkit hesitated. “What about your ears?”
“I’ll wash them myself.”
Tallkit trotted after his mother, scrambling over the tussocks until he caught up with her. The comforting scent of wool and milk enfolded him as they entered the nursery. Brackenwing sat up as Palebird curled into her nest. The queen’s pale ginger pelt was ruffled with sleep. “Where are Barkkit and Shrewkit?” she meowed.
Does she know that Barkkit is planning to ask Heatherstar if he can become Hawkheart’s apprentice? Tallkit wondered. He figured it wasn’t his place to tell Brackenwing if she didn’t know. “They’re playing outside.” He scrambled over the edge of the nest and slid in beside Palebird’s belly. He was hungry.
Palebird pulled away as he nuzzled into her belly. “No, Tallkit.”
Tallkit froze. No? He wriggled closer, closing his eyes and breathing in his mother’s tempting, milky scent.
Palebird shoved him back with a paw. “I said no, Tallkit.”
“No milk?” He stared at her in disbelief.
“It’s drying up,” she told him. “You’re old enough to eat from the prey heap now.”
“But…” He searched for a way to change her mind, but Palebird was staring at him blankly.
Brackenwing’s nest rustled. “It’s okay, Tallkit.” She climbed out of the heather and leaned in to lick his ears. “Shrewkit and Barkkit have been eating from the heap for a moon. They prefer prey now.”
No milk at all? Tallkit couldn’t believe Palebird hadn’t warned him.
His mother half closed her eyes. “You’ll enjoy eating with the big kits,” she murmured.
Tallkit felt Brackenwing tug his scruff with her teeth. He scrabbled at the nest, snagging wool in his claws as she lifted him out. His fur spiked. It’s not fair!
Brackenwing lowered him gently to the floor. “Let Palebird rest.” She nosed him toward the entrance. Numbly Tallkit stumbled forward. Behind him, Brackenwing was tucking wool around his mother. “You get some sleep, dear,” she whispered as Palebird tucked her nose under her paw and closed her eyes.
With a pang of sadness, Tallkit slid from the den. He landed on the damp grass and fluffed his fur against the chill. Wool was tufted beneath his claws. He shook it out crossly and stared across the camp. The prey heap was stacked high. He could see a rabbit near the bottom with small, brown mouse bodies piled on top. Belly growling, he stomped toward the heap. As he reached it, he sniffed warily. Rich scents swamped his tongue. He drew back, wrinkling his nose.
“First time?” Plumclaw’s mew made him jump. The dark gray she-cat nosed in beside him. “Try a mouse first. It’s not too strong and it’s easy to chew.” She tugged one of the little, brown bodies from the heap and dropped it at his paws. “Be careful of the bones.” She tapped the haunches of the mouse with her soft, gray foot. “Take a bite there.”
Tallkit leaned down, trying not to breathe in the prey scent. I want milk! Closing his eyes, he sank his teeth into the soft flesh. Flavor flooded his tongue, pungent and warm.
“Not bad, eh?” Plumclaw purred.
Tallkit wasn’t sure. He ripped a small chunk from the mouse and looked at her. The juicy meat was strange, but not horrible. He began to chew.
“There you go!” Plumclaw’s eyes glowed. She hooked a bird from the pile with a claw and pointed to a patch of grass beside the heather wall of the camp. “Let’s take our meal over there and stop crowding the prey heap.” Grabbing the bird between her teeth, she padded across the grass.
Tallkit picked up the mouse and followed. He puffed out his chest proudly as it swung from his jaws. He felt like a moor runner bringing prey home to the Clan! He settled beside Plumclaw as she took a bite of her bird. “This is a thrush,” she explained, her mouth full. “It tastes a bit woody.” She swallowed. “I prefer lapwing, but we only hunt them after the breeding season.”
Tallkit took another bite of mouse. He knew what to expect this time and began to relish the chewy meat.
“You’ll be an apprentice soon and then you can catch your own prey,” Plumclaw told him.
Catch my own prey! Tallkit wondered what tunnel-hunting was like. Chasing rabbits in the dark couldn’t be as much fun as chasing rabbits on the moor. “Did you like being an apprentice?” he asked Plumclaw.
“It was great.” Plumclaw tore another mouthful from her thrush.
Tallkit glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Were you glad you were going to be a tunneler?” Could any cat be glad to be told they would spend their life underground?
“Of course!” Plumclaw shook a feather from her muzzle. “Both my parents were tunnelers. And I knew I’d be good at it because I’m small, and my paws are wide and strong.” She held one up. Tallkit could see mud trapped beneath her claws even though the rest of her pelt was washed clean.
“Do you like being underground?” Tallkit tried to sound unconcerned. He didn’t want her to guess he was having second thoughts about becoming a tunneler. What if she told Sandgorse?
“I love it,” she told him. “It feels like a secret world. Above me, prey runs, warriors patrol, clouds move over the moor, and no one except my tunnelmates know where we are.”
“Don’t you miss the wind in your pelt?”
“No.” Plumclaw looked at him, surprised. “It’s snug underground. I feel safe with the earth pressing against my fur.”
Tallkit swallowed. “You sound like you’re half mole!”
“Maybe I am.” As Plumclaw purred with amusement, Barkkit scrambled out of the Meeting Hollow. Tallkit sat up as his denmate bounced toward him.
“Heatherstar said yes!” Barkkit stopped in front of him. “I can be Hawkheart’s apprentice!”