Эрин Хантер - A Forest Divided

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?”