Эрин Хантер - A Forest Divided

Gorse Fur looked at his mate. “We could take her in,” he suggested. “Just for a moon or so.”

The fur on Wind Runner’s shoulders bristled with annoyance. “We left the hollow to get away from other cats,” she pointed out. “To protect our kits. And now you want to take in some flea-bitten rogue?”

“Excuse me!” Slate struggled to sit up, all her early dislike of Wind Runner rushing back. “I don’t want to come to your camp. I’ve no interest in joining a group like yours.”

“Why not?” Gorse Fur asked, his ears pricking up curiously.

“Because all you do is fight,” Slate retorted, repeating what Cricket had said so often. “And you take prey from the cats who were born here.”

“ We were born here, thank you very much,” Wind Runner put in.

Cloud Spots waved his tail, gesturing for silence. “Then what do you want to do?” he asked Slate.

“Do you have kin who could look after you?”

An overpowering pang of grief for Cricket shook Slate from her ears to her tail-tip, but she did her best to hide it. She shook her head. “I’ll look after myself,” she responded, putting out all her strength to draw herself to her paws.

She tried to stalk off casually, but after a single step she felt as if her legs had turned to water. She collapsed, her head spinning. “Oh…” she murmured.

Gorse Fur bounded to her side. “We’ll take her in,” he meowed with a pointed look at Wind Runner. “We have to. Remember, she’s some cat’s kit.”

Slate looked up at Wind Runner, who let out an annoyed growl, then shrugged in resignation. “All right,” she told Slate. “But you cannot stay too long. We’re not looking for more cats.”

Slate glared at her. “I’m not looking to become one of your cats.”

Cloud Spots’s whiskers twitched in amusement. “Very well,” he meowed. “Something tells me you two will have lots to talk about.”

Slate crouched in a patch of sunlight, her paws tucked under her and her eyes slitted as she basked in the warmth. A half moon had passed since her fight with the fox, and the wound in her belly was healing well. But she didn’t think that the wound in her heart, from the loss of Cricket, would ever heal. She still missed her brother every day.

A patter of small paws roused Slate and she opened her eyes to see the white she-kit, Moth Flight, scampering up to her. The little kit cast an approving glance over the rabbit bones scattered beside

Slate’s nest.

“You’re eating better,” she mewed.

“Yes,” Slate agreed. “I’m feeling much stronger now.”

Moth Flight’s whiskers drooped sadly at her words. “That means you’ll have to leave soon. My mother says you can only stay in our camp until you’re strong again.”

“I know,” Slate responded.

Moth Flight lifted her voice in a wail. “But I’ll miss you so much!”

“Maybe I can come to visit,” Slate suggested, curling her tail gently around the white kit.

“It won’t be the same,” Moth Flight protested, leaning her head against Slate’s shoulder. “You’re the only one who will play with me. Wind Runner and Gorse Fur are too busy hunting all the time, and Dust Muzzle says I’m too silly.”

“Maybe Dust Muzzle is right,” Slate mewed. “But there are times when it’s okay to be silly. It’s part of who you are.”

Moth Flight’s only response was a sigh.

“So where is Wind Runner?” Slate asked, trying to change the subject. “It’s almost sunhigh, and I haven’t seen her or Gorse Fur today.”

Moth Flight looked up at her, stretching her eyes wide in mingled excitement and fear. “They’re tracking the fox!” she whispered.

“The fox?” At first Slate didn’t understand.

“Wind Runner spotted it outside the camp just before dawn,” Moth Flight explained. “And when she and Gorse Fur went to check it out, they found a dead stoat a little way across the moor, covered in fox scent.”

“A stoat?” Slate asked, beginning to be worried. “That’s a tough fighter for a fox to kill.”

Moth Flight nodded eagerly. “I heard them talking about how the fox must be starving, because it’s getting bolder. Look what it did to you!”

Slate nodded gravely. Look what it did to Cricket! she thought, but she did not speak the words aloud in front of the kit.

Before she could ask Moth Flight any more questions, Wind Runner appeared from behind the boulders that surrounded the camp, with Gorse Fur hard on her paws. Both cats had serious expressions; Slate could guess what was bothering them.

As they approached Slate, Wind Runner flicked her tail at Moth Flight. “Go and find Dust Muzzle and play,” she ordered. “We have to talk to Slate.”

For a heartbeat Moth Flight seemed as if she was about to protest; then she met her mother’s fierce amber gaze and bounded off.

“Slate, we haven’t asked you any favors until now,” Gorse Fur began. Slate got the impression that his speech had been carefully rehearsed. “But we have taken very good care of you. We’ve kept you well fed, in spite of how hard it’s been to hunt since the sickness came, and—”

“That’s true,” Slate interrupted. “Are you saying that you want me to go?”

“No!” Gorse Fur responded immediately, looking horrified at the thought.

“Not yet ,” Wind Runner put in sharply. “But we need a favor. We’ve seen the fox that attacked you, several times, close to the camp,” she continued. “This morning we found a stoat killed just a few tail-lengths away. I’m afraid it won’t be long before the fox decides to try its luck with cats again. And with the kits so young and vulnerable…” Her voice trailed off.

“What are you planning to do?” Slate asked, mystified.

“We mean to kill it before it comes after us.” Wind Runner’s eyes and voice were full of resolve, and cold as a frozen stream. “We need you to watch the kits tomorrow. We’re going to track it to its den and attack it while it sleeps.”

Anxiety like clouds of dark mist rose around Slate as she listened to Wind Runner’s plan. “You don’t know what you’re in for,” she meowed. “This fox is dangerous . It killed my littermate!”

“But we have more experience in fighting than Cricket did,” Wind Runner retorted, unmoved by Slate’s warning.

Slate let out a snort. “Oh, yes, you group cats! Always play fighting. This is not like that.” She didn’t know how to describe to them how fast and vicious the fox had been.

Wind Runner’s tail-tip twitched irritably. “We’re grateful for your concern,” she mewed, clearly struggling to bite back an angry response. “But all we need is for you to watch the kits.”

Slate was not reassured. Gorse Fur looked anxious, as though her words had reached him. “If you and Wind Runner both go to attack the fox,” she began, turning to him, “and if the worst happens, then you’ll be leaving your kits all alone to fend for themselves.” She faced Wind Runner again. “Do you want that to happen?”

Wind Runner sighed, her tail drooping. Slate realized that appealing to her love for her kits was what it took to make her listen.

“No,” the brown she-cat meowed wearily. “But what else can you suggest?”

“Let me kill the fox.” As Slate spoke, she realized that more than anything in the world she wanted to sink her claws into the vicious creature and see its life gush out. “That fox killed the cat I loved best.” She spoke her final words through gritted teeth, with all the force of her hatred. “I want to be the one to kill it!”