Erin Hunter - The First Battle

Petal’s paws thrummed beside him. The dog’s foul breath washed over them.

The brambles loomed closer.

Petal glanced at him. “Through or around?”

Clear Sky nodded to the fox trail he knew cut through the middle. They could squeeze through it easily. The dog would have to go around.

Petal’s eyes lit as she saw the small gap in the prickly branches. Clear Sky slowed to let her dive through first and followed. Thorns scraped his pelt. Tendrils whipped his nose. He pressed on, Petal’s tail flicking a muzzle-length ahead. Swiveling his ears, he listened for the dog.

Big paws slewed to a halt at the bramble’s edge. The dog whined angrily before taking off again.

“It’s going around,” Petal warned.

“We’ll make it to the other side before it does,” Clear Sky promised.

“There are Twolegs on the moorside!” Petal screeched. “Let’s lead it there. They might distract it.”

“Okay.” He burst from the bramble a moment after Petal. They charged between the trees, the dog some way behind. It had been slowed by the detour around the bramble, but it was not giving up easily.

Ahead, light showed as the woods thinned. Another rise and they’d break cover from the trees.

Petal’s fur streamed in the wind as she ran. Clear Sky fought for breath, relief surging as they crested the rise and surged down the slope. Bursting from the trees, he saw a small pack of Twolegs.

In brightly colored pelts, they moved through the ferns on the moor slope.

“Let’s get as close to them as we can!” Clear Sky yowled. He plunged into the ferns as the dog exploded from the forest behind them.

The Twolegs spun, their pink faces reddening with surprise. One began to bellow; another put its paw to its lips and shrilled a piercing alarm call.

The dog’s head jerked toward the Twolegs. Its ears pricked, surprise lighting its gaze.

The Twolegs called louder.

With a rush of joy, Clear Sky saw the dog swerve. Paws skidding over the grass, it dived through the ferns and headed for the Twolegs.

“Let’s get out of here,” Petal puffed. She turned and raced back toward the forest. Clear Sky chased after her, relief pulsing so fiercely that he hardly heard the wind in his ears. She didn’t stop running until she reached the big beech.

Clear Sky stumbled to a halt behind her, heart pounding.

“Where are they?” Petal was darting back and forth across the slope, her pelt bristling. “Alder! Birch!”

A mournful squeak sounded from above. “Petal!”

Clear Sky looked up and saw Birch and Alder huddled in the crook of the lowest branch. Eyes wide, trembling, they were pressed together like fledglings.

“It’s safe to come down,” he told them.

Petal stopped beside him. “The dog’s gone,” she called gently.

Birch stretched his forepaws down the trunk and, clinging like a squirrel, slithered down headfirst. Alder lowered herself more gracefully tail-first, still trembling as she reached the ground.

“You’re safe.” Petal licked her roughly while Birch pressed hard against her.

“Can we go home now?” Birch begged.

Alder shook out her fur. The mud had dried into crumbs and she shuddered as they sprinkled onto the forest floor. “I’ve had enough of training.”

“Of course you have.” Petal wrapped her tail over the young kit’s spine. “Let’s get you home for a rest.”

As she led them downslope toward the camp, one on either side, Clear Sky caught his breath. “You’ve learned a lot for one day,” he called after them.

Birch glanced over his shoulder. “We learned how to climb trees.”

Alder pressed closer against Petal. “We were supposed to be learning how to attack other cats,” she told the she-cat shakily.

“Really?” Petal slowed and licked some of the mud from Alder’s pelt.

Alder nodded. “Clear Sky wanted me to jump out at Birch when he came looking for me.”

Clear Sky caught them up. “It’s important to know how to sneak up on an enemy.”

Petal glanced at him accusingly. “It might have been better to teach them how not to get snuck up on.” She scooped the kits closer with her tail. “They’re too young for battle training.”

Birch pulled away from her, chin high. “I’m not.”

Clear Sky purred. “Of course you’re not.” He shook out his pelt, his paws still sparking with exhilaration from the chase. He’d saved the kits, and protected his group—just as he had promised he would.

They’re too young for battle training. Petal’s words echoed in his ears. A growl rumbled in his throat. No cat’s too young to fight. Clear Sky paused, unease rippling beneath his pelt. Would Gray Wing agree? Or Quiet Rain? Or his beloved Bright Stream?

A sudden chill pierced his fur. He shivered and hurried to catch up with Petal and the kits.

Anxious yowls rang between the trees.

Clear Sky jerked up his head. Blinking away sleep, he scrambled to his paws. “What’s going on?” He scanned the camp from his nest in the hollow of the slope. His heart lurched. He’d only closed his eyes for an afternoon nap; now the clearing was golden in the setting sun. He screwed up his eyes as shafts of light sliced between the trees.

“Clear Sky!” Falling Feather was pacing near the brambles that edged the far end of the camp. Quick Water had climbed the slope above his nest and was peering into the trees. Fircone and Nettle stood in the middle of the clearing, square on, facing the gap where the brambles opened into forest. Beside them, Leaf showed his teeth, a growl rumbling in his throat.

Beyond the brambles, paw steps scuffed the earth. The scent of strange cats rolled into the clearing.

Clear Sky leaped from his nest and crossed it. Pushing between Fircone and Leaf, he glared at the opening.

Falling Feather stopped pacing, her hackles rising. Nettle hissed as two cats padded into camp.

A she-cat with short gray fur blinked at them with bright blue eyes.

Beside her, a mangy tom lifted his tail. “We’ve found you.”

Clear Sky marched forward. “Found us?”

“I’m Dew,” the gray she-cat told him. “This is Thorn.” She nodded to the tom.

He dipped his head, tufts of fur hanging from his brown pelt. “We were hoping you’d have space in your camp for two more rogues.”

Surprise pulsed through Clear Sky. “You want to join us?” Pride edged his mew. His reputation was clearly spreading.

Leaf narrowed his eyes. “We don’t need more cats.”

Quick Water scrambled down from the slope and stopped beside Falling Feather. “We have enough rogues, thanks.”

Nettle stared at Thorn. “He looks like he’s sick.”

Thorn lifted his head and shook out his pelt. Fur clouded around him. “I’m just molting.”

Clear Sky stood still. His thoughts whirled. New cats would mean more fighters. Of course, the tom would have to smarten himself up. The forest cats weren’t going to take in sickly strays.

Fircone paced around the two strangers, his gaze flitting over them. “We don’t need more mouths to feed.”

“We can feed ourselves, thanks,” Dew told him.

Clear Sky narrowed his eyes. We’ll need more territory if we have more cats. He swallowed back a purr.

Falling Feather padded to his side. “Shall I chase them off?” she asked quietly.

Clear Sky looked at her, rounding his eyes with surprise. “Why would I want you to chase them off? We need allies, and these cats look like they can take care of themselves.”

Falling Feather backed away, pelt pricking. “But I thought—”

“Let me do the thinking.” Clear Sky swished his tail. “I think we should consider their request.”

Leaf tipped his head. “Why?”