A Forest Divided (17 page)

“Should one of us sit guard?” Lightning Tail asked.

“I can do it,” Owl Eyes offered. “I can sit on the cliff top and look out for intruders.”

Leaf's nose was twitching. “Perhaps we should hunt before we sleep.”

Thunder looked around at the cats huddled together in the shelter of the bracken. “No cat is hunting or guarding,” he told them. “There's no scent of fox or other cats. We can sleep safely until morning, and then we can hunt.”

Murmurs of agreement stirred around him in the darkness.

One by one, his campmates closed their eyes.

Thunder gazed across the clearing, grateful they'd found shelter for the night. Beside him, Lightning Tail's breath
softened into sleep. Thistle and Clover stopped fidgeting beside Milkweed. Leaf's eyes closed, and Cloud Spots began to snore gently.

These were
his
cats now. Anxiety jabbed in his belly.
How can I protect them all?

Thunder gazed at the tall oak, squinting against the sunshine spearing through its branches. He could see a wide gap far up the trunk.

Owl hole?

He climbed over the roots, satisfied when he saw a pellet of bones and fur lying among them. An owl definitely lived here. Prey must be rich in this part of the forest. He padded across the shaded stretch of ground and headed down the slope beyond. It felt good to be hunting alone, away from the responsibilities of the camp.
If we hunt together, then we will be less tempted to keep our catch to ourselves.
Clear Sky's words rang in his head. How could his father believe he would eat before the cats in his camp had full bellies?

In the days that had passed since they'd discovered the ravine, they had made more nests among the bracken. The frost that had first come on the night they'd arrived had returned again and again. But sunshine pooled in the small, sheltered spot and warmed the camp by day. It had seemed foolish to look for another home. Milkweed had begun weaving brambles into a den for her kits in case snow came. She had also hunted, bringing back as much prey as Leaf. Her eyes flashed with satisfaction each time she dropped her catch
among the other pieces of fresh-kill.

Pink Eyes had watched the kits while she'd been gone. Thunder was pleased to see how at ease the old tom was in his new home. He could hardly believe that this was the same cat who'd snapped at Birch and Alder for playing with his tail. Now, he would lie patiently in the sun-warmed clearing while Thistle and Clover clambered over him or played moss-ball nearby. From time to time he'd venture out of the ravine, hunting with Owl Eyes or helping Cloud Spots collect herbs. His delicate sense of smell could detect fragrant leaves so well hidden that they were unharmed by the frosts.

Yet the hunting wasn't easy. The sickness had clearly reached this deep into the forest. Prey was as scarce as it had been in Clear Sky's territory, and with kits to feed, finding enough each day was a challenge.

Worry itched beneath Thunder's pelt as he padded down the slope. Had Clear Sky been right about hunting the forest dry before newleaf? What if the prey ran out? He pricked his ears. Water chattered ahead. He could see the river glittering between the trees. He licked his lips, suddenly realizing how thirsty he was, and headed for the bank. The river was sluggish here at the boundary of River Ripple's marshland, lapping the edge of the forest.

As he neared, movement caught his eye. He froze. A sparrow was hopping among the roots of a rowan, digging its beak deep into the leaf litter to rummage for bugs.

Thunder dropped into a hunting crouch and pulled himself forward, paw by paw. He lifted his tail to make sure it
didn't drag over the rustling leaves.

The sparrow lifted its head and gulped down a morsel.

Thunder paused, waiting until it plunged its beak back among the leaves.

He narrowed his eyes. The sparrow was only a few tail-lengths away. Could he risk leaping from here?
No need.
It seemed busy with its hunt for food. He drew himself forward a few more paw steps, his heartbeat quickening as the sparrow looked up and shook out its feathers. It hopped onto a root and glanced at the branches above.

It's going to fly away!

As the sparrow spread its small wings, Thunder leaped, stretching high to bat the small, brown bird down before it could flutter into the air.

The sparrow fell to the ground. Thunder lunged, killing it with a quick bite. It was thin, but it would feed the kits. He carried it to the river and laid it down on the sandy shore before he bent to drink.

Leaves rustled behind him.

More prey?

He turned, water dripping from his chin.

Two amber eyes watched from the woods.

Blinking against the sunshine, Thunder unsheathed his claws. He smelled tom. Tasting the air, he detected the odd scent of frost and stone. This cat wasn't from around here. He narrowed his eyes, glimpsing the dark shape of a black cat, and growled as the stranger's gaze flicked toward the sparrow. “Catch your own prey,” he warned.

“That
was
my prey.” The tom padded forward, his paws clumsily scuffing the sandy earth as he stepped from the trees.

Thunder's pelt pricked. “What do you mean?”

“I was stalking it when you caught it.”

Unease flashed through Thunder. He hadn't even realized he was being watched. He needed to be more careful on this new territory.

But the tom did not seem angry. Thunder suddenly saw how his pelt hung off his skinny frame, and how his shoulders jutted like twigs beneath his fur. He recognized the look of hunger hollowing the cat's eyes and glanced guiltily at the sparrow. “I didn't realize.” Should he give up his catch? What about Thistle and Clover? They were hungry too. “Where are you from?” Thunder tipped his head. Was this cat from Twolegplace?

“We come from far away.” The tom stared boldly now at the sparrow as it lay on the bank, hope sparking in his dull gaze.

We?
Thunder scanned the forest edging the river, shifting his paws uneasily. Were there more cats watching him?

“We come from the mountains,” the tom went on.

Interest sparked in Thunder's belly. When he was a kit, Gray Wing had told him stories of the journey he and some of the others had made from the mountains. From what Thunder could remember, it had been a long, dangerous trek. No wonder this cat looked so worn out. “How many of you are there?” he asked.

“I'll show you.” The tom headed back into the shadow of the trees.

Thunder hesitated. Was this a trap? He could see the tom's pelt moving like a shadow between the trunks.
No.
They could have attacked him on the bank and taken his catch.

He picked up the sparrow and followed.

Beneath the trees once more, it took a moment for his eyes to readjust to the gloom. He halted and scanned the forest. The black tom was climbing over a fallen trunk, heading for a glade near the owl's tree.

Thunder hurried after him, leaping the trunk and weaving his way past the stumps of shriveled ferns. The tom was already climbing the far side of the glade. He stopped beside a long-dead beech tree. A split in the trunk showed a hollow inside. The tom whispered something into the shadows; as Thunder approached, he saw two blue eyes blinking in the darkness, and smelled the scent of a she-cat. She carried the same tang of frost and stone as her companion.

“Who's this?” The she-cat glared from her nest in the hollow trunk.

The tom dipped his head. “I don't know. I found him drinking by the river.”

“Does he know them? Has he seen where they—” The she-cat began to cough, her frail body shuddering with each desperate hack.

The tom leaned down and began to lap her flank, trying to soothe her.

Thunder smelled the stench of infection and crept closer.

The she-cat's gray, speckled pelt was matted, her bones showing even sharper through her fur than the tom's. She
crouched, trembling as her coughing eased, and Thunder saw a blackened wound at the top of her hind leg.

He dropped the sparrow. “You're injured.”

“It's nothing,” she rasped.

“I know a cat who could give you herbs to help it heal,” Thunder offered. Should he get Cloud Spots?

“It will heal by itself,” the she-cat muttered.

Thunder nosed the sparrow toward her. “Perhaps a little food will give you the strength to recover more quickly.” This she-cat was old, far older than her traveling companion. White specks of fur showed around her muzzle.

She blinked at him in disbelief. “You'd give me your prey?”

“It was your friend's prey, really,” Thunder told her. “He spotted it first.”

The black tom blinked at him gratefully. “Eat it, Quiet Rain.” He pawed the sparrow closer to the she-cat.

“This is the first kindness we've met since our journey began,” Quiet Rain murmured.

Thunder dipped his head. “Prey has been scarce since the sickness.”

“What sickness?” Quiet Rain lifted her head sharply, anxiety showing in her blue gaze.

“It has passed now,” Thunder reassured her. “But it killed much of our prey before leaf-bare.”

Quiet Rain glanced at her companion. “Sun Shadow and I thought we were coming to a land of plenty,” she mewed bitterly.

“It will be, once newleaf has brought the woods and moor
back to life,” Thunder promised.

Sun Shadow gazed at the sparrow hungrily. “How long will it be until ‘newleaf'?”

Thunder felt a jab of pity for the skinny tom. Then curiosity rippled through his pelt.

She called him Sun Shadow.

Didn't Tall Shadow once have a brother called Moon Shadow? He'd died on the journey from the mountains. Could this be another littermate?

Quiet Rain ripped a mouthful of flesh from the sparrow. “What's your name?” she asked, chewing noisily.

“Thunder,” he replied, wondering if she could read his thoughts.

Quiet Rain's eyes narrowed as she exchanged a glance with Sun Shadow. She swallowed, a feather clinging to her whiskers as she turned back to Thunder. “Have you met a cat called Gray Wing?” she asked, her mew tight with pain. “Or Jagged Peak? Or Clear Sky?”

Sun Shadow leaned forward. “Have you met Moon Shadow? He's my father.”

Thunder's belly tightened. These cats were from the Tribe! What could he tell them? They had come so far to see their Tribemates. “I know Tall Shadow,” he told them cautiously.

Sun Shadow's eyes shone. “She's my father's littermate!”

“And what of Gray Wing?” Quiet Rain's eyes lit up. “Clear Sky? Jagged Peak?”

Thunder's tail trembled. “How do you know them?”

“I am their mother.”

Thunder searched for words. How could he tell this old she-cat that her sons now lived more as rivals than as littermates? Memories of the great battle crowded his mind.

“Well?” Quiet Rain stared at him expectantly.

“Gray Wing and Jagged Peak live on the far side of this forest with Tall Shadow,” he told her, thinking he could lead them to the pines. He wasn't eager to return to his father's camp yet, so he did not mention Clear Sky. “I can take you to see them.”

Quiet Rain struggled to her paws, her eyes glistening. “Are they well?”

“Yes.”

“What about my father?” Sun Shadow leaned forward eagerly.

Thunder avoided the tom's gaze. “Tall Shadow knows more than me,” he mumbled. “She can tell you everything when you reach her camp.”

“We must leave!” Quiet Rain stepped over the half-eaten sparrow, her paws trembling.

Sun Shadow glanced at her anxiously. “You should rest for a while first.”

Thunder nodded. “It's a long trek,” he told her. “Finish your meal. We can go when you've got your strength back.”

Thunder watched Quiet Rain return to
her meal. Worry jabbed his chest. Each bite seemed to pain her. Her ears flattened as she chewed, and she winced with each swallow. Was she strong enough to make the journey? The pines were beyond the Thunderpath.

Doubt gnawed at him.
Perhaps I should take them back to my camp?
He nudged Sun Shadow aside. “I think Quiet Rain's wounds need treating before we leave,” he hissed. Cloud Spots would know what to do.

“She won't wait for that,” Sun Shadow whispered back. “Not now that she knows her sons are near.”

“But she's so weak.”

“She made the journey from the mountains, didn't she? It can't be much farther to the pine forest.”

Quiet Rain jerked up her muzzle. “What are you two whispering about?”

Thunder met her gaze. “You should come back to my camp to rest, and let Cloud Spots help you.” He hoped the mention of her old friend from the mountains might convince her, but
Quiet Rain only paused for a moment, then returned to her meal.

“I don't want to waste any more time,” she mewed, having clearly said all that she wanted to on the matter.

Thunder exchanged looks with Sun Shadow.

“Don't bother arguing,” the black tom murmured. “Once Quiet Rain has made up her mind, it stays made up.”

Thunder gazed between the trees. He was a short run from the ravine. He should at least warn his campmates that he was heading for Tall Shadow's territory. They'd worry if he was late returning to camp. He dipped his head to Sun Shadow. “I must tell the others that I'm leaving.”

Distrust sharpened the tom's gaze.

“It's okay,” Thunder reassured him. “I'll come back.”

“Alone?” Sun Shadow narrowed his eyes.

“Alone,” he promised. The long journey had clearly left these cats wary. Who knew what cruelty they'd witnessed? “My campmates are busy hunting.” Thunder kept his mew reassuringly light. “I'll be back soon.”

Leaving the mountain cats crouched at the foot of the beech, he bounded between the trees. His paws thrummed over the frozen earth as he headed for the ravine. Cutting between brambles and leaping fallen trees, he raced until his chest hurt, only slowing as the slope steepened toward the camp.

“Thunder?” Milkweed's call surprised him before he reached the top.

He slowed to a halt, scanning the thick undergrowth until he caught sight of her ginger-and-black pelt. She stared at him from a patch of wood sorrel, its leaves closed against the cold. “Are you hunting?” Thunder asked.

Milkweed rolled her eyes. “No,” she mewed sarcastically. “I just felt like a stroll.”

Thunder's whiskers twitched. Now that her kits had a safe den and she could hunt once more, Milkweed showed as much spirit as any cat. The hunger she'd suffered still showed in her thin frame, but her eyes were bright and her cough had cleared. “Have you caught anything yet?” he asked.

“I buried a mouse back near the brambles.” She nodded over her shoulder. “I'll dig it up on the way back to camp. What about you?” Her nose twitched curiously and she stiffened. “You smell strange.”

Thunder whisked his tail. “I found two cats from the mountains,” he told her. “They're looking for their kin.”

Milkweed tipped her head. “Their
kin
?”

“Gray Wing, Jagged Peak, and Tall Shadow.” He didn't mention his father's name. He didn't want to explain why he was taking them all the way to the pines. “I promised to show them the way.”

“But why?” Milkweed blinked. “You have your own cats to look after now.”

“These cats are starving and one of them is sick,” he told her. “They need my help.”

Milkweed gazed at him softly, nodding once. “Of course.”

“Can the group spare me?” He glanced at the sky. The sun was climbing. It would be dusk before he returned.

“How long will you be gone?”

“I'll be back by tonight,” Thunder promised.

“I guess we can hunt without you,” Milkweed told him.

Thunder shifted his paws guiltily. “I
have
to go.”

“It's okay.” Milkweed padded from the sorrel. “We followed you because we trusted you to do the right thing. And if you are helping these mountain cats, it must be the right thing.”

Gratitude flooded beneath Thunder's pelt. He gazed warmly at the mottled queen. “Thank you.”

“You'd better get back to them,” Milkweed prompted. “It sounds like they need you.”

As Thunder turned, she called after him. “If you find any prey on your travels, bring it back to camp.”

“I will!” Thunder whisked his tail as he headed back to Sun Shadow and Quiet Rain.

They were waiting for him, eyes bright with hope. Sun Shadow paced in front of the beech while Quiet Rain peered from the hollow trunk.

He could hear her rasping breath as he neared. “We'll skirt the edge of the forest and cross the moor,” he told them as he stopped beside Sun Shadow. A journey through the forest would be too arduous for such weakened cats—leaping gullies and fallen trees would exhaust them.

And we might meet Clear Sky.

He pushed the thought away. “Follow me.”

He headed for the river, leading them out from the shelter of the trees and onto the sandy shore.

The sun glittered on the water as a freezing wind whisked over it. Thunder felt it through his thick fur. He glanced at Quiet Rain and Sun Shadow. They padded side by side, keeping their paws clear of the water. “Are you cold?” he asked.

Quiet Rain caught his eye. “Cold? In
this
wind?” She snorted. “We come from the mountains, remember?”

“Of course.” Thunder's whiskers twitched. Quiet Rain might walk with a limp and need to stop to cough every now and then, but there was nothing wrong with her tongue.

They walked in silence as the sun crossed the sky, the sand turning to pebbles beneath Thunder's paws. He tensed when he caught the scent of Clear Sky's markers, tainting the breeze. They were passing his father's territory. He glanced nervously into the forest, searching for movement among the trees. A blackbird chittered in the branches, but there was no sign of a patrol. Thunder was suddenly thankful that Clear Sky kept his cats confined to camp. He quickened his pace. He could see where the forest ended and the river bent toward the gorge. They could leave the shore and forest behind and head straight onto the moor.

“Not so fast!” Quiet Rain croaked. He glanced back, realizing that the mountain cats were falling behind.

He hurried back and took a spot beside Quiet Rain, shielding her from the forest while Sun Shadow flanked her other side. The sooner they were past Clear Sky's land, the better.

“Tell me about the mountains,” he meowed softly, one ear twisted toward the woods.

“You must know of it already if you know Gray Wing and Tall Shadow,” Quiet Rain answered. “Surely they've told you stories of their old home?”

“They've told stories,” Thunder agreed. “But I don't know how much is real and how much imagined.”

“What did they tell you?” Quiet Rain asked.

“That the snow fell so thick and so fast, it could drown a cat caught out in a blizzard,” Thunder told her.

“That much is true.” Quiet Rain flicked her thin tail. “Did they tell you about the eagles that can carry off a full-grown tom? And the drops so sheer, and valleys so deep, that if a stone fell, you would not hear it land?”

“What did you hunt?” Thunder only knew that hunger had driven Gray Wing and the others to the moor. “Are there mice and voles in the mountains?”

Sun Shadow purred. “There are mice everywhere. And in the warm season we can hunt the lower slopes for rabbits and small birds.”

“What do you hunt when the snows come?” Thunder asked, wondering how these cats could ever survive the rocky crags.

“Whatever we can,” Sun Shadow told him. “Sometimes we find the carcass of a deer left by a sharptooth.”

“A
sharptooth
?” Thunder's pelt lifted along his spine.

“They're giant cats,” Sun Shadow told him. “They are rare, but
far
more deadly than eagles.”

“Why do you stay there?” Thunder asked.

Sun Shadow shrugged. “It's our home.”

Thunder didn't understand. “But it sounds so cold and prey-poor.”

“Stoneteller found it,” Sun Shadow explained.

Thunder remembered Gray Wing and Clear Sky talking about Stoneteller. “Is that your leader?”

“She is more than a leader,” Quiet Rain rasped. “She is ancient, and speaks with the ancients who died before her. She tells us what is and what will be.”

Thunder could only blink. These certainly were strange cats.

Sun Shadow went on. “Long ago, she journeyed from far away, and the mountains were the first place to welcome her.”

Welcome her?
Thunder didn't comment. If these cats thought snowy mountains full of eagles and sharptooths were welcoming, they were even stranger than he'd thought.

Pebbles swished beneath their paws. The shore widened and the forest thinned beside them as the river curved away toward the gorge. Thunder could hear the faint roar of water where the river tumbled down between the cliffs. He could see the stepping-stones that crossed from the moor onto River Ripple's marshes.

Stones turned to grass as they climbed toward the moor. Wind streamed through his whiskers and he smelled the scent of heather. For a moment, memories swamped him. He was hunting with Lightning Tail, veering across the windblown grass as his friend drove a rabbit toward him. Hawk Swoop was calling them back to camp. Acorn Fur was pacing sulkily
at the entrance to the hollow, complaining that they'd left her behind.

“Thunder!” A familiar call jerked him back into the present.

He turned his head.

River Ripple's silver pelt showed on the shore behind them.

“Who's that?” Sun Shadow's pelt bristled along his spine. Quiet Rain flattened her ears.

“Don't worry.” Thunder hailed the river cat with a flick of his tail. “He's a friend.”

River Ripple bounded from the shore and hurried up the grassy slope after them. He slowed and stopped a few paces behind, his gaze flashing from Quiet Rain to Sun Shadow.

Quiet Rain's eyes narrowed to slits. “You smell of water,” she hissed.

River Rippled dipped his head. “I live beside the river.”

Quiet Rain wrinkled her nose. “What cat would live beside water?”

“The fishing is good,” River Ripple told her.

Quiet Rain's gaze flicked along his sleek, plump flank. “You catch
fish
?” she gasped. “How?”

“I swim.”

Quiet Rain turned to Sun Shadow, her eyes wide. “What kind of place have we come to?”

“A place like any other.” River Ripple's mew was polite. “Where are you heading?”

“To the pine forest.” Thunder jerked his head toward the distant horizon.

“Why cross the moor?” River Ripple padded to his side.
“You could have cut through the forest.”

Quiet Rain narrowed her eyes. “Is that true?”

Thunder stiffened. River Ripple didn't know that he'd left Clear Sky to set up his own camp—and he didn't want to explain now. Quiet Rain might demand he take them back to meet her son. “Sun Shadow and Quiet Rain are weak from their journey from the mountains. I thought the moor would be easier to cross.”

River Ripple's gaze glittered with interest. “You come from the mountains?”

“We come in search of kin,” Sun Shadow told him.

Thunder added quickly, “I'm taking them to Tall Shadow's camp.” He nodded toward Sun Shadow. “This cat is Moon Shadow's son.”

River Ripple dipped his head. “Moon Shadow was a fine cat.”

Sun Shadow stiffened. “He . . .
was
. . . ?”