Erin Hunter - The First Battle

She woke to the feeling of soft moss pressed around her. Someone had laid sprigs of heather over her so that she was warmly cocooned in a nest. “Branch?” She lifted her head weakly, relieved as she saw his eyes shining through the gloom. The sun must have set; pale moonlight filtered into the gloomy den.

“How do you feel?” Branch blinked at her slowly.

Wind leaned toward him, puzzled as he seemed to flinch away. “My leg hurts.” The pain was throbbing now, as though invisible jaws gnawed at her wound.

“Are you hungry?” Branch blinked again.

Wind shook her head.

“You’ll need food anyway,” Branch told her. “You should keep your strength up.”

Wind stared at him. There was hardness in his mew. Was he angry with her? She pushed the thought away. He’s just frightened . “I’ll be okay,” she reassured him. “I can hunt with you after I’ve rested.”

Branch straightened. “I’ll fetch you food now.”

Before Wind could reply, he had pushed his way through the heather, the tip of his tail snaking out of sight.

She laid her head on her paws and closed her eyes, relieved to be warm. She was lucky to have Branch. He’d bring her food until she was well enough to hunt for herself. He’d always looked after her. Giving in, she let pain swallow her and slid into darkness.

When she woke, there was no sign of the mottled tom.

Pale sunlight showed through the heather roof of the den. How long had he been gone? Her wounded leg stuck out stiffly, the fur dark and spiked where blood had dried. Then she spotted the carcass of a young rabbit lying beside her. Branch must have brought it. But where was he?

Pushing herself awkwardly up onto her forepaws, she stretched her muzzle forward and dragged the rabbit closer. She had no appetite, but Branch’s words rang in her ears. You should keep your strength up. She forced herself to tear off a piece of flesh and swallow it, her belly heaving as she did. She swallowed two more mouthfuls before collapsing.

She stared at the gap in the heather where Branch had disappeared. Had the dog attacked him too? A chill reached through her fur and she began to shiver. She could feel her breath hot on her paws. She must have a fever. Come back, Branch. I need you.

Wind lost track of the days. The rabbit carcass rotted beside her, but gradually she felt the pain in her leg loosen its grip and her fever subside. Branch had still not returned, and when Wind woke one morning, feeling brighter than she had since the dog attack, she forced herself to her paws. I must find him.

She shook the twigs and moss from her pelt, her paws trembling as she nosed her way through the heather, relieved to get away from the stench of sickness and death.

Her belly twisted with hunger. She was thirsty too and lapped greedily at the snow that lay on the ground. When she’d had enough, she scanned the hillside for paw tracks. The snow lay smooth and undisturbed; the sky was bright and blue above. Stiffly she struggled through the deep snow, her injured leg dragging behind. It was still too painful to put weight on. Limping around the wide swath of heather, she made her way back to the part of the slope where the dog had attacked. She sniffed cautiously.

There was no scent of dog on the crisp, icy air. Nor of Branch.

Neither of them had been here for days.

She halted, her heart aching. Did Branch leave me to die?

He wouldn’t.

But she remembered the hardness in his mew and the distant way he’d stared at her.

Had he left her the rabbit as a parting gift?

The thought stung. She tried to push it away. But doubt dragged like a stone in her belly. Every harsh glance and sharp word Branch had ever flashed at her burned suddenly like a fresh wound. She knew how he relished the freedom of the moor. Why would he want to be tied down with a lame companion?

Wind swayed on her paws. The glare of the snow seemed too bright to bear.

I’m alone! Fear broke over her like a wave of icy water.

No! She lifted her chin. Her leg would heal, and she could fend for herself. I can hunt, I can fight—I can survive!

She ignored the grief tearing at her heart. That would heal too. No cat would ever abandon her again, because she wouldn’t be dumb enough to trust again. Squaring her shoulders, she limped across the moor, crouching low against the freezing wind. Her thoughts narrowed to a single goal— find something to eat.

Wind raced across the grass, a rabbit’s white tail bobbing ahead of her. Beyond it, the forest stood green against the bright, blue sky. Around her, the heather bloomed, filling the hot air with its sweet scent. It hadn’t rained in a moon, and the moor was as dry as old bone. But clouds were rolling in from the mountains, and Wind could feel the air thicken. She looked forward to the coming storm; its cooling rain would soften the grass and nourish the heather.

The rabbit raced as quickly as a bird over the moorside, but it would never outrun her. I’m as fast as the wind! She pushed harder against the coarse, dry grass, her injured hind leg healed now and as strong as ever. The rabbit’s scent, tainted with fear, bathed her tongue. As she drew near, the rabbit scooted down a burrow. Wind dived after it. Dirt sprayed her muzzle as the rabbit scrabbled to escape into the darkness. Wind hooked her claws into its haunches and dragged it out onto the moor, its squeals still echoing in the tunnel as, with one bite, she killed it.

The rich tang of its blood felt sweet on her tongue, and her belly rumbled with satisfaction. She’d grown strong since the sickness and near-starvation of leaf-bare. Feasting on the rich prey of the moor, she was hardly ever hungry. She wanted to eat as much as she could. There would be another leaf-bare soon enough, and she would face it alone. Hunger couldn’t frighten her so long as she ate well during the prey-rich moons.

Wind picked the rabbit up in her jaws and padded toward the holly tree that stood alone on the hillside. Thick gorse bushes crowded at one side, their spikes and narrow leaves sharper than ever, dried by the relentless heat. She dropped the rabbit on the shady earth on the other side, where a hollow among the roots would make a good place to eat. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She glanced up, pleased to see the storm clouds swallowing the blue. Cooling rain would arrive soon.

Licking her lips, she crouched to take a bite.

“Tansy! I’m hungry!” A small mew sounded from beneath the gorse.

“I smell rabbit!” Another mew rang out.

Wind pricked her ears. Kits?

“I know, my dears.” The soothing purr of a queen touched Wind’s ear fur. “I’ll hunt soon, when I’ve got my strength back.”

“Hunt now !” a mew demanded.

“I can’t run fast enough to catch anything yet.” The queen sounded apologetic.

“I’ll do it then!” The gorse rustled as a tiny gray tom ducked from under its shelter and stomped across the grass.

Wind narrowed her eyes. Rabbit scent was filling her nose. But she didn’t eat. She watched the kit stride across the moor. On the far horizon, lightning flashed against the darkening clouds.

A second kit popped out from beneath the gorse. She was a pale tabby with bright blue eyes. “Frog! Come back! Tansy said you were to stay near her!”

The tom glanced crossly over his shoulder. “If I stay with her, we’ll all starve. I’ll be back once I’ve caught something.”