Rainswept Flower dipped her head to Tall Shadow. “Unite or die,” she breathed.
One by one, the spirit-cats began to pad away.
Wind Runner’s eyes glistened with sadness as Emberkit trotted after Turtle Tail.
“Good-bye, Gray Wing,” Turtle Tail called fondly over her shoulder as she disappeared into the ferns, Emberkit at her heels.
Grief ripped through Clear Sky. He could see the ferns through Storm’s vanishing pelt. “Don’t go. . . .”
She glanced back at him, her gaze growing pale. “Return to the four trees next full moon,” she told him. “Be ready.”
Clear Sky swallowed. For what?
A breeze swept through the hollow and, like mist, the spirit-cats disappeared.
Clear Sky drew in a deep breath, the tang of blood bathing his tongue once more. He blinked at the dead bodies, lying as still as stones, in the clearing. The wind ruffled his fur as it strengthened, and he wrinkled his nose as he smelled rain. The cloud that had covered the moon was thickening, rolling in from the moor.
As the first drop of rain touched his pelt, he watched Gray Wing weave his way between the bodies. Tall Shadow followed him, her tail drooping as her gaze slid mournfully over her fallen camp mates.
Uncertainty suddenly pricked in Clear Sky’s paws. “What did we just see?” he called.
Gray Wing turned to look at him. “I’m . . . not sure.”
Rain began to thrum the hard earth.
River Ripple padded to the great rock and settled in its shadow, flattening his ears against the squall. “Did the dead walk among you in the mountains?”
Tall Shadow shook her head. “Stoneteller shared with our ancestors. We never saw them.”
“Perhaps you never needed to,” River Ripple murmured.
“Because you never died like this before.” Thunder padded heavily to Hawk Swoop’s body and, nudging it with his nose, moved her so that she looked as though she were curled asleep. Gently, he lifted her tail and draped it over her muzzle. Then he settled beside her and, as the rain drenched his pelt, pressed his flank to hers.
“What do we do now?” Clear Sky called through the downpour.
“I don’t know.” Wind Runner nodded toward the bodies as the rain washed the blood from their pelts. “Whatever we decide, we have been given hope. We know that we can make a better future than this.”
“We can.” Tall Shadow shook out her sodden fur. “But first, we must bury the dead.”
Bonus Scene
PROLOGUE
Wind glanced across the river toward the reed marshes and licked her lips. “Are you sure we couldn’t share some of those cats’ fresh-kill?”
Her companion, Branch, bristled. “You want to eat fish?”
“I’m so hungry I’d eat anything.” The sharp breeze whipping across the moor sliced through Wind’s fur. Snow clouds were piling at the moortop. Flakes whisked around her. Soon they would thicken and swallow the whole hillside, then wrap the forest in white.
“Don’t you trust me to find us food?” Branch huffed.
“We’ve been hunting all day.” Wind’s belly ached with hunger. The sudden chill had driven the moor prey underground. The group of cats who lived near the river had said that they had hunted fish before the river froze. But Branch had refused their kind offer to share their prey.
Even the sour taste of fish would be better than an empty belly, Wind thought.
“Come on.” Branch stalked across the grass, his mottled tabby pelt rippling as snowflakes caught in his fur. Wind knew that it wasn’t only the snow that was ruffling his pelt; she’d upset him. Branch had looked after her since her mother and sister had died of sickness in the last cold season. She knew that he felt responsible for her. He wanted to be the only one who hunted for her; why else would he have refused the fish?
Guiltily, she hurried after him. She and Branch would hunt together and make camp together. Perhaps, one day, they would even have kits together. He will always take care of me. Her heart felt warmed by the thought.
As she fell into step beside him, an ugly scent touched her nose. “Wait!” She stopped. “I smell dog.”
Branch swished his tail. “It’s a long way off,” he grunted. “The breeze is carrying the scent, that’s all.”
Wind opened her mouth. Snowflakes speckled her tongue and froze the roof of her mouth until she wasn’t sure what she could taste. Shaking out her fur, she hurried after him.
Branch had halted, his head turning as he scanned the moorside. As Wind stopped beside him, he nodded toward a brown shape bobbing across the grass.
Wind squinted through the snow, her mouth watering as she recognized the scent. Rabbit! She dropped into a crouch. Branch signaled with a sharp flick of his tail that he wanted her to stay where she was. They’d used this hunting technique before. She watched Branch trace a wide arc up and around the rabbit, stalking it from the far side.
The rabbit paused and sniffed the air, blinking through the snow, then bent to nibble at the grass.
Wind forced her paws to stay still. Her empty belly growled again as Branch crept closer. The rabbit would see him at any moment and then rush toward her. She huddled lower in the grass so that her brown pelt looked like no more than a shadow against the hillside.
The rabbit’s head jerked up, its eyes widening as it spotted Branch. Turning, it dashed away from him.
Wind stiffened with excitement, fixing her gaze on the rabbit as it fled toward her. Another few tail-lengths and she would pounce.
Suddenly the rabbit froze. Wind blinked with surprise. What was it doing? Branch was closing in on it. Come on! As Wind willed it closer, she saw Branch slither to a halt. What’s wrong with you both? Wind watched their gazes dart fearfully upslope. What are you staring at?
She spun around just in time to see snarling jaws lunge at her.
Dog!
Terror pulsed through her body, then pain as teeth clamped around her hind leg. Digging her claws into the grass, she tore out clumps of earth as the dog hauled her backward.
Her mind reeled, fear draining from her as she felt herself being shaken like fresh-kill. Numbness infused every hair on her pelt until she felt like she was watching from very far away. This must be what it was like for captured prey. Am I dead? Through her haze of shock, she heard Branch yowl. Then the dog let her go. She slumped onto the grass, vaguely aware of shrieking and barking beside her. Turning her head stiffly, she saw Branch clinging to the dog’s shoulders, his forepaws slashing at its face. Yelping in agony, the dog shook Branch off and fled up the hillside.
“Wind?” Branch was standing over her, panting. “Are you okay?”
She gazed at him helplessly, feeling the distant throb of pain. “My hind leg,” she croaked.
Branch turned to sniff it. “It’s a bad bite. We have to get you somewhere sheltered. Can you walk?”
“I’ll try.” Dazed, Wind struggled onto her three good legs. She felt Branch’s shoulder press into hers and leaned against it, grateful for his support. Dragging her hind leg, she began to limp beside him. Her pain was spiraling, growing sharper and hotter until she could hardly see the moor. Snow whipped her muzzle, but it did nothing to cool the agony burning through her body.
“We’re nearly there,” Branch puffed, guiding her out of the snow between stiff bushes of heather. Wind groaned with pain as the bristly branches scraped her wounded leg.
“Here.” Branch stopped and let her slide gently onto cold, peaty earth.
Wind collapsed, panting. “How bad is the wound?” She didn’t have the strength to look.
Branch’s gaze fixed on hers, glittering with fear.
Her heart quickened. “Am I going to die?”
“I’ll find some moss to make you more comfortable.” He turned away and disappeared through the heather.
Wind let her head drop onto her paws, her flank trembling as she felt the air strangely warm around her—as though the heat of her own body were filling th
e hollow. And yet she was still shivering, cold reaching her bones. She closed her eyes; perhaps if she slept, she’d heal more quickly. Her thoughts whirled. She heard Branch’s yowl as she saw the big dog chasing the rabbit. The images swirled and jumbled as she slid into unconsciousness.
She woke to the feeling of soft moss pressed around her. Someone had laid sprigs of heather over her so that she was warmly cocooned in a nest. “Branch?” She lifted her head weakly, relieved as she saw his eyes shining through the gloom. The sun must have set; pale moonlight filtered into the gloomy den.
“How do you feel?” Branch blinked at her slowly.
Wind leaned toward him, puzzled as he seemed to flinch away. “My leg hurts.” The pain was throbbing now, as though invisible jaws gnawed at her wound.
“Are you hungry?” Branch blinked again.
Wind shook her head.
“You’ll need food anyway,” Branch told her. “You should keep your strength up.”
Wind stared at him. There was hardness in his mew. Was he angry with her? She pushed the thought away. He’s just frightened. “I’ll be okay,” she reassured him. “I can hunt with you after I’ve rested.”
Branch straightened. “I’ll fetch you food now.”
Before Wind could reply, he had pushed his way through the heather, the tip of his tail snaking out of sight.
She laid her head on her paws and closed her eyes, relieved to be warm. She was lucky to have Branch. He’d bring her food until she was well enough to hunt for herself. He’d always looked after her. Giving in, she let pain swallow her and slid into darkness.
When she woke, there was no sign of the mottled tom.
Pale sunlight showed through the heather roof of the den. How long had he been gone? Her wounded leg stuck out stiffly, the fur dark and spiked where blood had dried. Then she spotted the carcass of a young rabbit lying beside her. Branch must have brought it. But where was he?
Pushing herself awkwardly up onto her forepaws, she stretched her muzzle forward and dragged the rabbit closer. She had no appetite, but Branch’s words rang in her ears. You should keep your strength up. She forced herself to tear off a piece of flesh and swallow it, her belly heaving as she did. She swallowed two more mouthfuls before collapsing.
She stared at the gap in the heather where Branch had disappeared. Had the dog attacked him too? A chill reached through her fur and she began to shiver. She could feel her breath hot on her paws. She must have a fever. Come back, Branch. I need you.
Wind lost track of the days. The rabbit carcass rotted beside her, but gradually she felt the pain in her leg loosen its grip and her fever subside. Branch had still not returned, and when Wind woke one morning, feeling brighter than she had since the dog attack, she forced herself to her paws. I must find him.
She shook the twigs and moss from her pelt, her paws trembling as she nosed her way through the heather, relieved to get away from the stench of sickness and death.
Her belly twisted with hunger. She was thirsty too and lapped greedily at the snow that lay on the ground. When she’d had enough, she scanned the hillside for paw tracks. The snow lay smooth and undisturbed; the sky was bright and blue above. Stiffly she struggled through the deep snow, her injured leg dragging behind. It was still too painful to put weight on. Limping around the wide swath of heather, she made her way back to the part of the slope where the dog had attacked. She sniffed cautiously.
There was no scent of dog on the crisp, icy air. Nor of Branch.
Neither of them had been here for days.
She halted, her heart aching. Did Branch leave me to die?
He wouldn’t.
But she remembered the hardness in his mew and the distant way he’d stared at her.
Had he left her the rabbit as a parting gift?
The thought stung. She tried to push it away. But doubt dragged like a stone in her belly. Every harsh glance and sharp word Branch had ever flashed at her burned suddenly like a fresh wound. She knew how he relished the freedom of the moor. Why would he want to be tied down with a lame companion?
Wind swayed on her paws. The glare of the snow seemed too bright to bear.
I’m alone! Fear broke over her like a wave of icy water.
No! She lifted her chin. Her leg would heal, and she could fend for herself. I can hunt, I can fight—I can survive!
She ignored the grief tearing at her heart. That would heal too. No cat would ever abandon her again, because she wouldn’t be dumb enough to trust again. Squaring her shoulders, she limped across the moor, crouching low against the freezing wind. Her thoughts narrowed to a single goal—find something to eat.
CHAPTER 1
Wind raced across the grass, a rabbit’s white tail bobbing ahead of her. Beyond it, the forest stood green against the bright, blue sky. Around her, the heather bloomed, filling the hot air with its sweet scent. It hadn’t rained in a moon, and the moor was as dry as old bone. But clouds were rolling in from the mountains, and Wind could feel the air thicken. She looked forward to the coming storm; its cooling rain would soften the grass and nourish the heather.
The rabbit raced as quickly as a bird over the moorside, but it would never outrun her. I’m as fast as the wind! She pushed harder against the coarse, dry grass, her injured hind leg healed now and as strong as ever. The rabbit’s scent, tainted with fear, bathed her tongue. As she drew near, the rabbit scooted down a burrow. Wind dived after it. Dirt sprayed her muzzle as the rabbit scrabbled to escape into the darkness. Wind hooked her claws into its haunches and dragged it out onto the moor, its squeals still echoing in the tunnel as, with one bite, she killed it.
The rich tang of its blood felt sweet on her tongue, and her belly rumbled with satisfaction. She’d grown strong since the sickness and near-starvation of leaf-bare. Feasting on the rich prey of the moor, she was hardly ever hungry. She wanted to eat as much as she could. There would be another leaf-bare soon enough, and she would face it alone. Hunger couldn’t frighten her so long as she ate well during the prey-rich moons.
Wind picked the rabbit up in her jaws and padded toward the holly tree that stood alone on the hillside. Thick gorse bushes crowded at one side, their spikes and narrow leaves sharper than ever, dried by the relentless heat. She dropped the rabbit on the shady earth on the other side, where a hollow among the roots would make a good place to eat. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She glanced up, pleased to see the storm clouds swallowing the blue. Cooling rain would arrive soon.
Licking her lips, she crouched to take a bite.
“Tansy! I’m hungry!” A small mew sounded from beneath the gorse.
“I smell rabbit!” Another mew rang out.
Wind pricked her ears. Kits?
“I know, my dears.” The soothing purr of a queen touched Wind’s ear fur. “I’ll hunt soon, when I’ve got my strength back.”
“Hunt now!” a mew demanded.
“I can’t run fast enough to catch anything yet.” The queen sounded apologetic.
“I’ll do it then!” The gorse rustled as a tiny gray tom ducked from under its shelter and stomped across the grass.
Wind narrowed her eyes. Rabbit scent was filling her nose. But she didn’t eat. She watched the kit stride across the moor. On the far horizon, lightning flashed against the darkening clouds.
A second kit popped out from beneath the gorse. She was a pale tabby with bright blue eyes. “Frog! Come back! Tansy said you were to stay near her!”
The tom glanced crossly over his shoulder. “If I stay with her, we’ll all starve. I’ll be back once I’ve caught something.”
Wind scrambled to her paws. The moor wasn’t safe for such a young kit. She glanced at the sky, checking for hawks. The tiny tom would make an easy meal for a hungry marsh harrier. She called out: “Wait!”
He turned and gaped at her, his pelt bushing. “Who are you?”
Wind dipped her head. “I’m Wind. I live on the moor.”
“Frog! Run! Tansy warned us abo
ut moor cats!” His sister’s mew was sharp with fear.
“I won’t hurt him.” Wind nodded toward her rabbit. “I have food if you’re hungry.” Instantly she felt a pang of doubt. Should she give her prey away so easily? Wind was used to looking after herself; she wasn’t sure if she wanted to look after other cats.
“See, Willow? I told you I smelled rabbit!” Frog was already padding toward her.
The she-kit stared at Wind with round eyes. “We are very hungry. Tansy’s milk has dried up and she’s too sick to hunt.”
Wind watched Frog sniff the rabbit. “What’s wrong with Tansy?” she asked distractedly.
“She got a thorn in her paw,” Willow mewed. “I managed to pull it out this morning, but her pad is all red and fat.”
“It’s probably infected. Now the thorn’s out, it should heal—as long as she washes it regularly.” Wind nudged Frog away from the rabbit. Perhaps she should just tear off a few strips for them, enough to keep their bellies from rumbling. After all, they weren’t her kits.
Frog stared at her defiantly. “You said we could have it.”
Wind prickled crossly. “Not all of it.”
Willow hurried to her brother’s side. “I’m sorry about Frog,” she mewed quickly. “He’s always been greedy. And it’s hard being hungry.”
Wind remembered with a jab of grief her first moon after Branch had abandoned her, lying through long, cold nights, too frightened to sleep in case she didn’t wake up. She had nearly starved. “You can have it.” Leaning down, she grabbed the rabbit between her jaws, then marched toward the gorse bush.
Tansy was squeezing out from under the branches as she approached. Spikes stuck out of the queen’s thick gray pelt, and she was holding a forepaw gingerly off the ground.
Wind dropped the rabbit in front of her. “I’m not surprised you get thorns in your paws if you make your nest under a gorse bush.” She frowned, irritated that any moor cat could be so mouse-brained.
“I didn’t know where else to shelter.” Tansy’s gaze was on the rabbit, her nose twitching eagerly. “We used to be strays in Twolegplace. I thought the moor would be a safer place to raise my kits.”