Эрин Хантер - A Forest Divided

“But what are you doing on the moor?”

“I’ll explain later.” Gray Wing was too dazed by the fight to think up a good reason for being here. He couldn’t tell her about Fern—their conversation had to remain a secret while Slash threatened her. If word got out that she’d spoken to him, the vicious rogue might kill her. “Let’s get you back to your camp. You’re bleeding.”

Slate’s gaze flicked over him. “You’d better come with me. Your neck looks pretty bad. Reed can treat your wounds.”

“He knows about herbs?” Gray Wing blinked at her.

“I told you last time I visited.” Slate got stiffly to her paws and nudged him with her muzzle.

“You’re getting forgetful in your old age.”

Gray Wing nudged her back. “Who are you calling old?”

Slate’s whiskers twitched fondly. “Wait there.” She limped back to the gorse and dragged something out from beneath one of the bushes.

Grouse.

Its pungent scent touched his nose as she carried it toward him. Its wings dragged along the ground, and Slate struggled not to trip.

“Let me help.” Gray Wing fell in beside her and grabbed the bird’s tail in his jaws. Feathers pressed around his nose, his warm breath billowing through them.

Side by side, they carried Slate’s catch to Wind Runner’s camp. The scratches on Gray Wing’s neck stung like fire, but he held fast to the grouse. They’d fought hard to keep it.

Slate guided him along the secret passages that led to the clearing hidden in a wide patch of heather. As the trail narrowed, she tugged the grouse from him and pushed ahead. Gray Wing let go and fell in behind, slowing as the heather opened onto a small grassy clearing. Would Wind Runner welcome him? The last time he’d seen her, she had made it clear that her new home was closed to outsiders.

“Gray Wing!” Gorse Fur saw him first. The gray tabby tom clambered out of a heather nest and hurried across the grass. “How are you?” He paused, his nose twitching. “I smell blood. Are you okay?”

Slate dropped the grouse and pushed it beneath the heather. “I ran into a fox,” she explained.

“Gray Wing heard my screeches and came to help. Don’t worry, we chased it off. It won’t show its snout around here for a while.”

Small ears poked up above the rim of Gorse Fur’s nest.

“Who is it?” A kit clambered out of the nest and came charging across the clearing.

“Moth Flight!” Wind Runner sat up in a nest a tail-length away. “It’s too cold to be out of your nest. And Dust Muzzle will freeze on his own!”

“No I won’t!” A second head bobbed up.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping.” Wind Runner meowed with annoyance.

“We can sleep later!” Dust Muzzle climbed out of Gorse Fur’s nest and raced after his sister.

Wind Runner’s eyes shone in the dark, widening as they reached Gray Wing. She hopped out of her nest. “It’s you!”

“I’m sorry to disturb everyone.” Gray Wing dipped his head.

Wind Runner flicked her tail happily. “It’s good to see you.” She tasted the air. “You’re hurt!”

“Just scratches.” Slate shrugged.

“Slate lost a piece of her ear.” Gray Wing told her.

Wind Runner sniffed at Slate’s wound. “Reed had better look at it.” She called over her shoulder.

“Reed? Are you awake?”

“How can any cat sleep with this noise?” A silver tabby tom was stretching in his nest.

Gray Wing felt soft fur brush his forepaws. A tail flicked past his nose. He looked down. “Moth

Flight? Is that you?”

“Of course it’s me.” Moth Flight had grown. She was bigger than Dew Nose but still had her kit fluff. She gazed at Gray Wing with bright green eyes. “Who are you?”

“I’m Gray Wing.”

Moth Flight tipped her head. “You dug the graves for my sister and brother,” she mewed, “when we lived in the hollow.”

Gray Wing nodded, his pelt rippling uncomfortably as he saw grief glisten briefly in Wind Runner’s eyes.

She shifted her paws. “Moth Flight, take your brother back to the nest. You can speak to Gray Wing once it’s light. He has wounds that need treating.”

Reed had crossed the clearing and was already sniffing at Gray Wing’s neck. “I’d better put some herbs on those scratches before they turn bad.”

Gorse Fur grunted. “Fox bites are as sour as a badger’s.”

“I can help you, Reed!” Moth Flight offered.

“Me too!” Dust Muzzle pushed past his sister. The tom-kit’s gray pelt glowed in the moonlight.

Moth Flight pushed him away. “I offered first.”

Wind Runner growled. “ Neither of you is helping,” she told them firmly. “Go back to the nest and sleep.”

Moth Flight eyed her mother. “Can we have a bite of grouse first? It’s the best catch we’ve had in ages.”

Wind Runner gave her a stern look. “In the morning.”

Moth Flight turned and flounced back to the nest. “If I starve to death before dawn, it’ll be your fault.”

Dust Muzzle ran after her. “At least we can look forward to a meal when we wake up,” he mewed eagerly.

As the kits climbed back into their nest, Gray Wing scanned the camp. The cold wind hardly penetrated the little hollow among the heather bushes. The cats had built deep nests in the shade of their branches. It was far cozier than the hollow had been, but when the kits grew into nests of their own, it would be cramped.

Reed peered at the scratches on Gray Wing’s neck.

Gray Wing nosed him away. “Treat Slate’s ear first.”

The gray she-cat was acting as though her injury weren’t bothering her, but Gray Wing could sense her stiffness. She was brave, but she must still have been shocked by the ferocity of the fox’s attack. If I hadn’t been there, it could have killed her.

He pushed the thought away. He was not going to lose another cat.

“It’s a clean bite.” Reed sniffed at Slate’s ear. “It will heal neatly, but I’ll make some ointment to stop it from getting infected.” He sat back on his haunches and tipped his head sympathetically. “It’s a shame it got your good ear.”

Gray Wing blinked through the darkness and noticed that the tip of Slate’s other ear was torn at the top. He’d never noticed before. “They’re a better match now,” he meowed encouragingly.

Slate’s whiskers twitched. “Is that meant to be a compliment?”

Heat spread beneath Gray Wing’s pelt. “I—I just meant…”

Reed padded between them. “I’d better make some ointment.”

As the silver tabby crossed the camp, Gray Wing gazed into Slate’s eyes. “I only meant that you look fine,” he murmured shyly.

“Thanks.” Slate dipped her head.

Wind Runner paced around them. “How’s your new home, Gray Wing? Slate told us about the cats splitting up. I was surprised you’d choose that dank old forest. I thought you were a moor cat to your bones.”

Gorse Fur—who had hung back while Reed checked their wounds—leaned forward. “Tall Shadow must be happy.”

“She is,” Gray Wing purred. “The pine forest is peaceful and sheltered.”

“Slate told us that Thunder has gone to live with his father,” Gorse Fur went on. “Do you think the forest will be big enough for both of them?”

Wind Runner’s ear twitched. “Hush, Gorse. They’re Gray Wing’s kin.”

Gray Wing shrugged. “Clear Sky’s changed, and Thunder has matured… I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Gorse Fur sniffed. “A tabby doesn’t change its stripes.”

A shadow moved at the far edge of the clearing. A gray-and-white she-cat ducked out from beneath the heather and padded toward them. “Who’s this?” She eyed Gray Wing suspiciously.