Erin Hunter - The First Battle

Wind scrambled to her paws. The moor wasn’t safe for such a young kit. She glanced at the sky, checking for hawks. The tiny tom would make an easy meal for a hungry marsh harrier. She called out: “Wait!”

He turned and gaped at her, his pelt bushing. “Who are you?”

Wind dipped her head. “I’m Wind. I live on the moor.”

“Frog! Run! Tansy warned us about moor cats!” His sister’s mew was sharp with fear.

“I won’t hurt him.” Wind nodded toward her rabbit. “I have food if you’re hungry.” Instantly she felt a pang of doubt. Should she give her prey away so easily? Wind was used to looking after herself; she wasn’t sure if she wanted to look after other cats.

“See, Willow? I told you I smelled rabbit!” Frog was already padding toward her.

The she-kit stared at Wind with round eyes. “We are very hungry. Tansy’s milk has dried up and she’s too sick to hunt.”

Wind watched Frog sniff the rabbit. “What’s wrong with Tansy?” she asked distractedly.

“She got a thorn in her paw,” Willow mewed. “I managed to pull it out this morning, but her pad is all red and fat.”

“It’s probably infected. Now the thorn’s out, it should heal—as long as she washes it regularly.” Wind nudged Frog away from the rabbit. Perhaps she should just tear off a few strips for them, enough to keep their bellies from rumbling. After all, they weren’t her kits.

Frog stared at her defiantly. “You said we could have it.”

Wind prickled crossly. “Not all of it.”

Willow hurried to her brother’s side. “I’m sorry about Frog,” she mewed quickly. “He’s always been greedy. And it’s hard being hungry.”

Wind remembered with a jab of grief her first moon after Branch had abandoned her, lying through long, cold nights, too frightened to sleep in case she didn’t wake up. She had nearly starved. “You can have it.” Leaning down, she grabbed the rabbit between her jaws, then marched toward the gorse bush.

Tansy was squeezing out from under the branches as she approached. Spikes stuck out of the queen’s thick gray pelt, and she was holding a forepaw gingerly off the ground.

Wind dropped the rabbit in front of her. “I’m not surprised you get thorns in your paws if you make your nest under a gorse bush.” She frowned, irritated that any moor cat could be so mouse-brained.

“I didn’t know where else to shelter.” Tansy’s gaze was on the rabbit, her nose twitching eagerly. “We used to be strays in Twolegplace. I thought the moor would be a safer place to raise my kits.”

Wind snorted. “No place is safe for a cat who doesn’t know how to look after herself.”

Tansy bristled. “I’ll learn!”

“I hope so,” Wind answered darkly.

Frog and Willow crowded around the rabbit, their tails twitching excitedly.

Wind jerked her nose toward the wide swath of heather coating the moorside. “You should make your den in there. There are more dips and hollows than there are rabbits on the moor. And the heather sprigs make good nests.”

“Is that where your nest is?” Tansy asked her.

“I have no nest.” Wind flicked her tail. “I have no mate. Or kits. Why would I need a den?” She nudged the rabbit toward Tansy. “Here. Eat this.”

“All of it?” Tansy blinked at her, surprised.

Wind shrugged. “I can catch another.”

“Please share it with us,” Tansy begged. “You caught it, after all.”

Wind backed away. It had been so long since she’d shared prey with any cat, she felt more comfortable eating alone. “No, thanks.”

Willow looked up from the rabbit. “Why not?”

Frog was already tugging at its fur with his small, sharp teeth.

“I’m a loner,” Wind told the kit. “I don’t share.”

Tansy blinked at her. “But you shared this prey with us.”

“I gave it to you.” Wind turned away. She didn’t want to get involved with these cats. If they wanted to live on the moor, they’d have to learn how to survive just as she had.

“Thank you!”

She heard Tansy’s call but didn’t look back, heading back across the slope, her eyes scanning the grass for rabbit tracks.

“That was kind of you.”

A deep mew took her by surprise. She spun, pelt bristling, and saw a gray-striped tom stalking from the heather. His face was lean and handsome.

Wind narrowed her eyes. “I wasn’t being kind. Starving cats attract disease.”

The tom glanced at her, but he didn’t comment until thunder rumbled over the moortop. “I hope the rain arrives first.”

Wind was surprised. “First?”

“Before the lightning,” the tom explained. “I’ve seen the moor burn when the heather’s as dry as this.” He glanced back at the bushes, and Wind noticed for the first time that the tips of their branches had begun turning brown, as though already scorched. “Lightning will start a fire as easily as a careless Twoleg.”

Wind carried on walking. She didn’t want to waste her time chatting to a stranger—she had prey to find.

Paw steps followed her. “Let me help you catch another rabbit.”

Wind didn’t turn her head as the tom fell in beside her. “I prefer to hunt alone.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

She tried to stop her hackles lifting. Had he been watching her? “Who are you?”

“I’m Gorse.” The tom’s mew was friendly. “My mother must have known I’d end up living on the moor when she named me.” A purr rumbled in his throat.

“Weren’t you born on the moor?” Wind felt a flash of annoyance as she realized Gorse had drawn her into conversation.

“I was raised among the reed beds, beside the river. But I left them a few moons ago. I prefer it up here.” He swished his tail. “Plenty of fresh air and no fish.”

Wind’s whiskers twitched. “Do you hate fish too?”

“I like my prey dry,” Gorse rumbled.

Wind’s belly tightened. What was she doing ? Talking to a strange tom! I’m a loner! She curled her claws. “I have to hunt now.”

“You’ll catch something quicker if I help you,” Gorse meowed cheerfully.

“I don’t need help,” she snapped, glaring at him.

Gorse dipped his head. “Okay.” Flicking the tip of his tail, he headed toward the heather. “See you around.”

Wind watched him go, her irritation growing. Not if I see you first!

Movement caught her eye. A lapwing was swooping low over the heather, then across the grass. Clouds of midges swarmed ahead of it. The lapwing cut through them and landed on a tussock. Wind’s tail twitched eagerly as the bird began to root through the coarse grass. A moment later it plucked out an earthworm.

Wind dropped into a hunting crouch and drew herself forward. She kept her tail still, lifting it above the ground so that she moved soundlessly over the grass. The lapwing dipped its beak again, searching for more worms. Wind was only a tail-length away. Another paw step and she could pounce. Her heart pounded harder. Why did Gorse think she needed help ? What a mouse-brain! She bunched her hind legs beneath her, preparing to jump.

Lightning flickered at the edge of her vision. A moment later thunder crashed overhead. The lapwing cried in surprise and, unfolding its wings, struggled into the air.

Frustration scorched through Wind. She leaped desperately, catching the lapwing’s claws with an outstretched paw, but it flicked itself free and fluttered up, its wings beating the air as it flew away.

“Mouse dung!” Wind landed with an angry hiss. Why had she given the rabbit to those cats? They didn’t even belong on the moor. Another flash of lightning streaked through the air. She’d better take cover. The rain would come soon, and no creature would be dumb enough to stay out in a storm like this—not even prey.