Thunder’s gaze moved to Dew and Thorn, still sitting beside the bramble. “How did they make it across?” he asked.
“They asked permission.” Clear Sky padded toward them. “They wanted to join us.” Pleasure rippled though his pelt. “As did Snake.” He nodded toward the striped tabby tom, camouflaged in the shadows of the bramble.
Snake got to his paws and padded out. He was lean and sleek and had the sharp eye of a hunter. Clear Sky had been pleased when he’d come to the border, asking to join shortly after Dew and Thorn. The forest cats were flourishing, no matter what Jackdaw’s Cry claimed. He turned to the black moor cat. “Snake was a rogue in Twolegplace. But he preferred to join us,” he boasted. “He knew he’d be well fed here.”
Jackdaw’s Cry’s gaze strayed toward the piles of prey. “A little too well fed,” he grunted.
Clear Sky’s tail twitched irritably. Okay, so there was more prey here than they could eat. It’d start rotting soon and fill the camp with stench. But they weren’t dumb. They could bury carrion. Jackdaw’s Cry was missing the point. “Isn’t it better to have too much prey than not enough?”
Jackdaw’s Cry didn’t answer.
What was it about Gray Wing’s cats that made them so smug? Clear Sky scanned his own cats. At least they understood that life was harsh. “I’ve decided to meet with Gray Wing,” he told them.
“When?” Fircone’s eyes narrowed to slits.
Clear Sky paced. He realized they hadn’t discussed a specific time. “At full moon,” he decided. “In two days.” He stopped and stared at Jackdaw’s Cry. There was something else they hadn’t discussed. “This moor cat will remain here in the forest camp until after the meeting,” he growled. “If you must risk your leader, then they should risk something too.”
“No!” Thunder flattened his ears.
“It’s okay.” Jackdaw’s Cry stepped forward, his glance flicking toward Falling Feather. “I’ll stay if that’s what it takes.”
Clear Sky’s paws pricked with satisfaction. “Good.” He flicked his tail toward his camp mates. “If anything does happen to me at the meeting, you can decide what to do with Jackdaw’s Cry.” He noticed Thunder’s pelt ripple uneasily and his satisfaction deepened. “Don’t worry,” he purred to his son. “I’m sure they’ll be fair.” He dipped his head. The meeting had gone better than he’d hoped. “Thank you for coming. You can leave now. And Jackdaw’s Cry—” He turned his head toward the young black tom. Jackdaw’s Cry lifted his chin defiantly, but unease glittered in his gaze. “We appreciate your staying with us. We’ll make sure you’re well fed and safe. And we’ll only keep you until after I come home from the meeting.” There was no harm in making sure that Thunder understood the importance of his returning from the four trees safely.
Thunder curled his lip. “You can trust Gray Wing.” There was insolence in his mew.
Clear Sky watched him head out of camp. “Tell my brother that next time he should bring his message himself!” he called as Thunder disappeared behind the brambles. “Only kits hide.”
Clear Sky padded to the oak, clawing his way up the trunk, past the low branch he’d been sitting on earlier and up to the next. He leaned back and gazed to the top. This was the highest tree around, thick with leaves. Jumping to the next branch, then the next, he climbed higher and higher, his long claws hooking easily into the rugged bark. As the thick branches gave way to slender stems, he paused and peered through the leaves. From here, he could see the forest stretch to Twolegplace and beyond, the land curve toward the rolling horizon. There was more territory than he could ever have imagined while he lived among the craggy peaks of the mountains. And every tail-length teemed with prey. Here he could build a tribe of healthy, strong cats. No kit need ever go hungry; no mother need starve until her milk dried up. His heart quickened. Why did no cat seem to understand that this was all he wanted? He’d never wanted to do harm.
But he would do whatever it took to keep his cats safe.
If I’d known Misty had been fighting to protect Alder and Birch, I’d have gone easier on her. Agonizing emptiness opened in Clear Sky’s chest. Instead he’d killed her, and now Gray Wing and the other cats on the moor believed he’d killed Bumble too. How could he make peace with cats who believed he was a murderer? He closed his eyes, his thoughts spinning.
All I can do now is protect my own cats. He clung tight to the tree. There was no hope now of peacefully sharing this land. Determination surged through him. Unhooking his claws, he dropped onto the branch beneath. Slithering down the trunk, he called to Petal. She was sitting near the yew, Alder and Birch at her side. “Gather every cat!” She leaped to her paws. “We must prepare for battle!”
“Are you sure?” Petal stared as he leaped from the trunk and landed heavily on the ground. Her eyes were wide.
Clear Sky strode across the clearing, not even meeting her gaze. “Just do it.”
Chapter 8
The sun had burned the mist from the moor by the time Thunder reached the boundary between Clear Sky and Gray Wing’s territory. He leaped up the slope, swishing through the ferns. At the top, he paused. Heather stretched toward the wide, blue sky. He relished the sun’s warmth on his pelt after the extended shade of the forest. What would Jackdaw’s Cry be doing? Would Falling Feather help him build a temporary nest? He glanced back at the trees uneasily.
Should I have left him?
I had no choice. Jackdaw’s Cry had volunteered. His sister was with him. And Clear Sky had promised to keep the tom safe until the meeting at the four trees. Thunder quickened his pace. He pushed through a patch of heather, following a sheep trail that cut between the springy branches. It led out onto a smooth stretch of grass. He breathed the sweet scent of heather blossom and broke into a run.
As Thunder was lost in his own thoughts, paws slammed hard into his flank.
Yowling with surprise, Thunder flew sprawling onto the grass. The stench of tom filled his nose. Thunder unsheathed his claws and twisted to face his attacker, whose copper fur blotted out the sky. The tom crashed into him again, heavier than a badger. Claws latched onto his pelt as the cat rolled him over in the grass. Blood pounded in Thunder’s ears as he struggled to bend his hind legs and rake the tom’s belly. But paws held him too tight. The world spun. Panic rising, Thunder dragged a forepaw free and slashed the tom’s nose. His claws ripped flesh. The tom screeched and let go. Thunder was suddenly rolling alone across the grass. He dug his wide paws in and leaped up, turning on his attacker.
The copper-colored tom was sitting back on his haunches a tail-length away, rubbing his nose. “What did you do that for?” he demanded ruefully. “I was just playing!”
“Playing?” Thunder glared at him. “You sheathe claws when you’re playing!”
The tom licked his paw and ran it over his face, cleaning the blood from his dark moleskin muzzle. He sat up straight and met Thunder’s gaze. A fresh drop of blood welled on his wound.
Thunder snorted. The wound might teach him some manners. The tom was as big as Thunder, but there was no sign of muscle rippling under his pelt. His wide flanks bulged and his belly sagged around his paws. His pelt looked as silky as kit fur. Thunder narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t seen him on the moor before. “Who are you?”
“Tom.”
“I know you’re a tom.” This cat really was dumb. “What’s your name?” Thunder paused as he noticed something shiny glinting at the tom’s throat. A twine was caught around his neck.