“I’ll go out there on my own,” he continued, “but you all need to make it count. If you don’t spring out in time, I’m a dead cat.”
“Clear Sky, you can’t,” Gray Wing protested. “It’s too dangerous.”
But Clear Sky had made up his mind. “I brought One Eye here, and I’ll be the one to see him thrown out again. I don’t want to die, but I won’t stand back and see other cats die, either. Let’s drive out One Eye, and then we can tackle this sickness.”
Seeing his friends’ nods of assent, and hearing a few murmurs of admiration, Clear Sky allowed a flicker of hope to awaken in his chest. We’re uniting against the rogue, he thought. Maybe this is what the spirit-cats meant.
Chapter 21
When the discussion was over, Gray Wing did not retire to his den. Instead he padded up the slope to the edge of the hollow and sat for a while, gazing at the sky as night fell and the moon appeared, swollen, almost full. Not a cloud could be seen, and the silver shape shed its frosty radiance over the moor, lighting up every rock and blade of grass.
Good, Gray Wing thought. I need all the help I can get tonight.
Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no cat was following him, he headed onto the moor, making his way toward the empty area in the center where he had suggested that Clear Sky should confront One Eye. He intended to use the night to survey the terrain, pick out a good spot for Clear Sky to wait, and make sure there were no nasty surprises lurking.
It’s all very well, scratching out battle plans in the earth, but if anything goes wrong it will be my fault. I meant to give the leadership to Thunder, he added wryly to himself. And here I am, back in the middle of the trouble.
When the hollow was a good way behind him, Gray Wing began searching for the best place for the fight. He needed an open space that was near to some cover. Outcrops of rock, dips in the ground, thorn bushes… all places where Clear Sky’s allies could hide. It would be no good if the cats who were ready to help Clear Sky had no chance of reaching him in time.
Gray Wing was padding around a gorse thicket, working out how many cats could be concealed inside it, when the hot stink of fox hit him in the throat.
Ugh, what a reek! he thought, stiffening.
There was a tang of blood on the air, too; the creature had killed, and would be on its way back to its den. And good riddance.
Leaving the gorse thicket, Gray Wing padded off to investigate a tumble of boulders that gleamed eerily white in the moonlight, except where patches of lichen stained the surface.
They cast a deep shadow over the moor, and as Gray Wing stepped into it his paws gave way beneath him. The ground was loose and sandy; he slid down helplessly, paws scrabbling for a grip.
From the bottom of the pit something darker than the shadows reared up, and a terrible snarling filled the air.
The fox!
Panic gave Gray Wing extra strength. Digging his claws into the loose earth he forced himself upward. The top of the dip was a tail-length away.
Yeowch!
A sharp pain pierced Gray Wing’s hind leg as the fox’s teeth met in it, and he was dragged down to the bottom again.
No! With a yowl of agony and terror Gray Wing struggled to pull away, but the fox’s teeth only sank deeper. He had never felt such excruciating pain, not even in the forest fire. Fierce, hungry eyes gleamed from the darkness as Gray Wing twisted his body and lashed out with his forepaws, trying to sink his claws into his attacker. But the fox didn’t let go.
In the midst of the struggle Gray Wing spotted a couple of bats flitting across the face of the moon.
Their shadows swept over him. He closed his eyes and thought of the kits he had raised with Turtle
Tail. Will that be the last thing I ever see?
The fox was flinging him to and fro by his hind leg; as Gray Wing thumped against the ground, the breath was driven out of him and he felt the familiar tightness in his chest. His strength was ebbing; there was nothing he could do to save himself.
Then he heard a loud and angry hissing coming from somewhere up above. The fox must have heard it too, and paused for a moment, letting Gray Wing dangle from its jaws. In the brief respite
Gray Wing looked up and saw Slate, Wind Runner’s friend, peering around the nearest boulder.
“Run!” Gray Wing choked out.
Instead Slate stepped out of cover and circled the top of the dip, her hissing changing to a deep, threatening growl. She didn’t seem at all afraid of the fox.
“You think you can fight, flea-pelt?” she taunted it. “Come and try!”
Though the fox couldn’t understand her words, the mockery was clear enough. With a snarl of rage it dropped Gray Wing to the floor of the dip. Winded and shaking, Gray Wing looked up to see the fox leaping up the slope and flinging itself at Slate.
But Slate was faster. Spinning around, she darted away. Gray Wing lost sight of her until he managed to scramble out of the dip. Then he saw her racing for the nearest thorn tree, her tail streaming out behind her.
The fox pursued her more slowly; Gray Wing saw that it was limping, and briefly glimpsed the gleam of exposed bone on its shoulder.
Ah, it’s been injured, he thought. That must be why it was lurking down there.
Slate reached the thorn tree and leaped into the branches, climbing nimbly to the very top. The moonlight turned her thick, gray pelt to silver and her eyes shone like two tiny moons. The branch swayed beneath her and she balanced there without a trace of fear.
“Oh, aren’t you clever!” she teased the fox. “You’ve trapped me in this tree. I’m so scared!”
Even though he was injured and exhausted, Gray Wing could feel laughter bubbling up inside him.
The fox looked so frustrated, snarling and scraping at the tree trunk. It couldn’t get at Slate, and it must have realized that she could jump down and outpace him anytime she liked.
Creeping cautiously, hampered by the pain in his leg, Gray Wing slid between two of the boulders into a narrow gap where the fox couldn’t follow. Turning in the tight space, he settled down to rest and watch what would happen next.
He had to admit, he admired Slate’s bravery. She was attacked by a fox, and her brother died saving her. But she still risked being attacked again to help me.
For a long time neither Slate nor the fox moved. All Gray Wing could hear was the flutter and squeaking of the bats. Then from farther across the moor he heard the bark of another fox.
Oh, no! he thought, tensing with fear. How are we going to cope with two of them?
But to his relief the injured fox staggered to its paws, and when the distant barking was repeated it limped off in the direction of the sound. Slate waited for a few moments after it vanished into the darkness, then jumped down from the tree and headed back toward the boulders.
Gathering his strength, Gray Wing crawled out of his hiding place to meet her. “Thank you!” he exclaimed. “You were great!”
Slate padded past him without a pause and Gray Wing gazed after her. Bemused, she cast a glance over her shoulder. “Follow me!” she called.