Thunder’s belly tightened. Too soon? Were the rogue and her kits going to die?
He looked toward the bramble, bright with yellow flowers.
“Any news?” Turtle Tail called from her nest. Owl Eyes, Pebble Heart, and Sparrow Fur blinked sleepily beside her. Gray Wing was hauling himself to his paws.
Thunder headed toward her. “Cloud Spots is with her. Dappled Pelt went to fetch herbs.” He stiffened as another yowl sounded from the bramble. “Rainswept Flower says the kits are coming too soon.”
Turtle Tail frowned. “By the look of her belly, she wasn’t due for another moon.” She hopped from the nest.
Thunder glanced anxiously at Gray Wing as he remembered helping him back to camp. The gray tom looked weary, his golden eyes dull. And Thunder could still hear him wheezing with every breath. “How are you?” He leaned closer.
“Better,” Gray Wing rasped.
“He’s going to rest,” Turtle Tail meowed briskly.
Sparrow Fur was there, looking at her mother with eager eyes. “We’ll look after him.”
“Thank you, dear,” Turtle Tail told her fondly. “Let him be.” She nudged Sparrow Fur from the nest, scooping Pebble Heart after her before swinging Owl Eyes out by his scruff. “The best thing for you three to do is to play over there in the long grass. I want to go check on Wind Runner.” She leaned close to Sparrow Fur. “Come and check on Gray Wing every now and then,” she whispered. “But don’t wake him if he’s sleeping, and if his wheezing gets worse, come and find me, okay?”
Sparrow Fur nodded earnestly, before turning and nudging her brothers away. “You heard her,” she told them.
“I should be the one to check him,” Pebble Heart complained as they scampered away. “I know more about herbs than you do.”
Turtle Tail called after them. “You can take turns.” She faced Gray Wing. “You will rest, won’t you?”
Gray Wing nodded. He looked as though he could do little else.
“Can you sit with him for a while?” Turtle Tail begged Thunder. “I don’t like leaving him—”
Wind Runner wailed again.
Turtle Tail bounded away. “I must see how she’s doing,” she called over her shoulder.
Thunder shook out his fur. The rising sun was beginning to burn away the gray mist swathing the hollow, but there was still an early-morning chill. “Lie down,” he told Gray Wing. “You look exhausted.”
Gray Wing didn’t argue, curling into the heather with a sigh. Thunder’s pelt pricked. It wasn’t like Gray Wing to give in so easily. He must be really ill. “Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Are you hungry? Do you need prey?”
Gray Wing didn’t answer, his gaze following Turtle Tail as she disappeared behind the screen of yellow flowers. “This is no time for kits to be born.”
Thunder shivered at the darkness in his tone. “New life brings hope and joy,” he argued. “You said it yourself.”
“That was before,” Gray Wing answered grimly.
“Before what?” Thunder searched his gaze, but the gray tom’s eyelids were drooping.
“There’s danger.” Gray Wing’s mew was barely a whisper as he rested his nose on his paws and closed his eyes. “But you will lead us through it, Thunder. I know you will…” His mew died away.
Thunder leaned closer, relieved to hear Gray Wing’s steady breath. He’d just fallen asleep. “Get better,” he whispered. “We need you.”
He turned, Gray Wing’s words echoing in his ears. There’s danger. But you will lead us through it. What did he mean? Was he talking about the threat from Clear Sky? How will I lead us through it? Surely it was Gray Wing who was going to prevent battle by meeting Clear Sky?
Another yowl sounded from beneath the bramble, louder than before.
Turtle Tail burst from drooping branches. “Thunder!” She raced toward him. “Fetch a stick.”
“A stick?” Thunder blinked at her. “What for?”
“Just fetch one. It’s for Wind Runner!” Turtle Tail ordered. “A sturdy one that won’t snap or crumble.” She nosed him toward the gap in the heather. “Hurry! I’ll get someone else to sit with Gray Wing.”
Thunder charged from the camp, his paws sliding on the wet grass outside. He scanned the moor. There was only heather and grass here. For a sturdy stick he’d need to go to the forest. Dare he risk crossing Clear Sky’s border? He pictured Turtle Tail’s anxious face. Another agonized yowl drifted from the camp. He had to.
Haring across the moor, he plunged through the heather, swerving past a thorny gorse bush and bursting onto the slope beyond. He raced to the border, not even hesitating as he crossed the scent line. The tang of it touched his tongue. Fircone had marked this part. He scanned for a sign of the mottled brown-and-white tom, but nothing moved beyond the trees.
Pushing through ferns, he crept between the trees. Ears pricked, he searched the forest floor. A long stick lay beneath a birch. He sniffed it. A sturdy one. He remembered Turtle Tail’s orders and clamped his jaws around the gnarled bark. The old wood disintegrated between his teeth. Snorting with frustration, Thunder searched again. A thicker stick lay nearby. He darted toward it and bit down. It fell to splinters in his mouth. Spitting out wood chips, he looked up. If he wanted a stick that wasn’t half rotten, he’d have to pick a fresh one.
His heart sank. Climbing trees wasn’t his best skill. His heart twisted as memory flooded back. He’d practiced tree climbing with Clear Sky. His father had instructed him to leap from tree to tree. He shuddered as he recalled the branches wobbling beneath his paws, dipping with every paw step. He’d lost his balance and fallen. He’d been smaller then; how would the branches hold his weight now?
He pushed away his doubts. Wind Runner needed a stick. Hunkering down, he fixed his gaze on the trunk of an oak. The bark was old and knobby. It should be easy to get a grip. He leaped, hooking the trunk with his claws. They stung as he dangled, clinging on desperately. How do squirrels make this look so easy? Digging in his hind claws he pushed himself up and flung his forepaws over a low branch. It was thick and he managed to clamber onto it, relief loosing his muscles as he felt it solid beneath his paws. Catching his breath, he glanced along it. Shoots sprouted at the end. They looked thick. They’d be solid branches one day, but now were still young and pliable. They wouldn’t crumble or splinter under pressure. He just hoped he had the strength to snap one off.
Padding along the branch, he stopped beside a thick green stem sprouting from a knot in the bark. He grabbed it with his forepaws and curled his claws around it. Grunting, he heaved. The stem bent. He heaved again. The stem trembled in his claws. Break, you dumb stick! He whined with effort, his muscles trembling as he pulled on the stem.
Crack!
The stem snapped. Thunder lost his balance. Belly flipping, he tumbled from the branch and hurtled toward the ground. Terror surged beneath his pelt. He flailed his paws and flicked his tail, turning in the air a moment before he hit the ground. He landed heavily on his paws, gasping with surprise. The stem clattered down beside him.
I knew I wasn’t cut out for tree climbing! He shook out his pelt. But I’m great at falling.
He inspected the stem, pleased to see that it had snapped at the base. It looked sturdy. He just hoped Turtle Tail would agree. Grabbing it between his jaws, he headed for the border.
Breathing deeply, he checked for scents, hoping the forest cats wouldn’t notice his when they patrolled the border later. If they did, he hoped they’d assume it was simply lingering from yesterday’s visit. He pushed through the ferns, the stick catching among the thick fronds. He sank his teeth into one end and heaved it free, then dragged it toward the border.