A few scents smelled tasty, others were sour, and some were bitter or rancid, but none tasted of fresh air. He would have to creep out of his hiding place and explore one tunnel at a time. Surely one must lead up into daylight?
Keeping low, he slipped along the wall to the front of a brightly lit den. A Twoleg padded out and headed across the cavern. Tigerheart hurried across the entrance and ducked around the far wall. A tunnel, lit by harsh light, opened ahead of him. He opened his jaws, hoping to taste fresh air that would guide him out, but only harsh scents landed on his tongue. It leads away from the cavern, though. Perhaps it would join another tunnel that would take him out of this warren.
The slick stone floor was cold beneath his paws, and he hurried, relieved that no Twolegs were using the tunnel. It opened quickly into another cavern, smaller and without Thundersnakes, but edged by more brightly lit dens. He scurried past each one, ignoring the surprised barks of Twolegs as he dodged around them. Mouth open, he tasted the air for the way out. He scanned the high walls, hoping to see a clear stretch that would show him the sky. But the walls were covered in strange images and shapes that gave no clue as to how he might get outside.
Suddenly a scent touched his tongue that made him freeze.
Cat.
Another cat was here! He smelled tom scent with a rush of surprise that made him scan the cavern more closely. The scent was both fresh and old, as though a cat visited this place regularly. Did a cat live here?
Accustomed now to the idea that the Twolegs here wouldn’t chase him, and that he only had to avoid their clumsy paws, he paused beside the opening of a brightly lit den and took a moment to analyze the tom’s scent. It was stale here, but fresher beyond the den entrance. He headed toward the fresher scent, pleased to find it so strong that he knew the tom must have passed this way very recently.
Tracking the smell, he wove through the stone columns that stood like trees around the cavern. The trail led him toward a small opening in the lower part of a wall. A hard mesh lay in front of it, as though it had fallen away from the opening. Tigerheart ducked inside, relieved to find it dark here, and the scent of the tom much stronger.
A hiss from the shadows made him freeze.
“I’m Tigerheart,” he mewed quickly. “I’m not here to fight. I just need some help.” He unsheathed his claws warily. This tom might not want to welcome a new cat onto his territory. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw a skinny black-and-white cat glaring at him through slitted eyes.
Back arched, the tom showed its teeth. “Get out or I’ll shred your muzzle.”
Tigerheart backed away. “Please,” he begged. “I just need to find my way out of this place.” He tried not to wrinkle his nose. The tom smelled like Twoleg leavings.
His gaze flitted over Tigerheart. Slowly his arched back relaxed. “You’re not here to steal food?”
“I don’t need to steal food,” Tigerheart told him. “I can hunt.”
“You don’t want to fight?” The tom sounded suspicious.
“No.” He waited while the tom breathed deeply, clearly testing his scent.
“You don’t smell like a rot pile cat,” he conceded.
“What’s a rot pile cat?” Tigerheart wondered if there were different Clans here too.
“There’s a gang of cats that hangs around the rot pile behind the station,” the tom explained. “They’re always trying to drive me away. I don’t know why. The Twolegs here leave enough trash for every cat.”
Rot pile? Station? Trash? This cat used odd words. He stared at the tom, suddenly aware how far from home he was. He didn’t even understand the language. His pelt prickled nervously. He puffed out his chest. “Why don’t you fight them?”
“There are three of them.” The tom looked at him like he was a mouse-brain. “There’s only one of me.”
“Don’t you have Clanmates here?”
“Clanmates?” The tom stared at him, puzzled.
Tigerheart groped for a word this cat could understand. “Kin.”
“I’m the only cat in the station.”
“Is that what this place is called?” Tigerheart pricked his ears. “I thought it was a Thundersnake nest.”
The tom blinked at him. “You’re not from the city at all, are you? Only outsiders call trains Thundersnakes.”
City? Tigerheart blinked back. “I’m from the forest. I’m looking for my friend.”
“Is your friend from the forest too?”
“Yes.”
The tom tipped his head. “I didn’t know there were strays in the forest.”
“We’re not strays,” Tigerheart corrected him. “We’re warriors.”
For the first time the tom looked interested. His gaze sharpened, glittering in the dingy light seeping into the den. “A warrior? Does that mean you fight?”
Tigerheart didn’t like the inquisitive edge in the tom’s mew. “I can fight if I have to,” he mewed cagily. What does he want?
The tom dipped his head. “I’m Dash, by the way. I live here.”
“I guessed.” Tigerheart wasn’t ready to warm to this prickly cat. He seemed to be planning something.
“So?” Dash leaned closer. “Do you know where your friend was heading?”
Tigerheart avoided answering Dash’s question directly. “Is there a big Twoleg den here with a roof that has gorse spines sticking up to the sky?”
Dash frowned. “Gorse spines?”
“Like this.” Tigerheart held up a paw and fanned out his claws.
Dash tipped his head. “There’s a big den with a couple small thorns, and one big thorn. It’s a Twoleg gathering place.”
A Twoleg gathering place! That’s what Ajax had called it! Could it be the gorse-spined den Dovewing had dreamed about? He had to check. “Is it near here?”
“It’s not far.”
“Can you show me?”
Dash looked down at his paws. “I can help you—if you help me.”
“You need help?” Tigerheart’s eyes narrowed. Dash sounded cagey. Was he going to ask Tigerheart to do something bad?
“I told you,” Dash meowed. “The rot pile cats have been trying to drive me away. If they thought I had a tough friend, they might leave me alone.”
“You want me to help fight them.” Why hadn’t he just asked straight out?
Dash looked away. “I’m not so good at fighting.”
“Of course you are. You’re a cat.”
“So are they,” Dash pointed out.
Tigerheart felt a glimmer of pity for the tom. No cat liked to be bullied. “Do they belong to a Clan?” He wanted to know what fighting skills they had.
“Clan?” Dash looked confused. “We don’t have Clans in the city. They’re just strays.”
Strays. Hopefully they wouldn’t know any warrior moves. Tigerheart jerked his nose toward the entrance to Dash’s den. “Can you show me where they are?”
“They’ll be around the rot piles.” Dash padded past him and slipped out into the cavern.
Tigerheart followed, relieved to have a guide this time. He trailed Dash as the station cat skirted a long wall, then turned to climb a tunnel that sloped upward. Twolegs streamed past them, unheeding, as the tunnel divided and then turned sharply. Tigerheart was met by fresher scents, and his fur prickled with excitement, even though they were slightly tainted by monster stench. Dovewing might be out there—she might be nearby. And if he could deal with these rot pile cats, Dash would take him to look for her.