Erin Hunter - The First Battle

Beyond the tree, the fire was crackling, trying to outlast the rain. Flames licked the trunk of the holly, climbing the bark like deadly ivy.

Wind looked up at Gorse through the downpour. “Hurry!”

Gorse jumped. Wind stepped back, reaching up as the tom and the kit fell toward her. She caught Frog between her paws, shielding him from the hard earth as Gorse thumped against the ground.

Paw steps pounded toward them.

“Is he hurt?” Tansy nosed past her, sniffing at her kit.

Frog tugged himself free of Gorse’s grasp and stood up. “I could have jumped by myself,” he mewed crossly.

Wind glanced at Gorse.

The gray tabby tom was panting, his pelt dripping with rain.

Worry sparked in Wind’s belly. “Are you hurt?”

Gorse’s eyes lit up with sudden mischief. “Do you care?”

Wind snorted and lifted her tail. “I’m not heartless!”

“I know. You just prefer to hunt alone,” Gorse teased gently.

Tansy nosed between them and brushed her muzzle along Wind’s cheek. “You saved my kit! I owe you so much.”

“Just get them to shelter,” Wind told her briskly. “Somewhere that’s not going to catch fire this time.” Before the queen could say any more, she headed across the grass.

“Wait!” Wind heard Gorse hurrying after her.

“What do you want?” Wind narrowed her eyes against the driving rain.

“To find some shelter from this rain,” Gorse told her.

Wind glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and kept walking. “Why are you following me, then?”

“I assume even loners need shelter.” He didn’t turn his head.

She huffed. “I’m independent, not dumb.”

“You’re brave and smart,” Gorse murmured softly.

Wind tried to ignore the admiration in his mew, but the warmth of it seemed to pierce her heart.

Gorse pulled ahead. “There’s a gap between the rocks in that stretch of heather.” He jerked his muzzle toward the great stones that stood like guards on the hillside.

Thunder rumbled from the dark clouds above them.

“Come on.” Gorse broke into a run and ducked into the heather.

Wind followed and found herself chasing him along a zigzagging path between the bushes until she reached the stones.

As he slid into the gap between the two largest, she skidded to a halt outside and peered into the shadowy cleft.

“It’s okay.” Gorse’s mew echoed from the darkness. “There’s no one here except me.”

Flattening her ears against the rain, Wind padded warily inside.

The earth was dry. The rocks met above their heads and closed at the far end, forming a shelter against the driving rain. Crushed heather stems lined the floor, springy beneath her paws. Now that she was free of the driving rain, exhaustion swept over her. She crouched on her belly, limp.

Gorse sat beside her, curling his tail across his paws. “Why don’t you sleep while the storm passes?”

Wind yawned. “Aren’t you tired?”

“No.” Gorse half closed his eyes. “I’m just happy to be out of the rain.”

Weariness dragged at Wind’s bones, and she let her head droop, feeling suddenly safer than she had in moons. Gorse was beside her, and she felt deep in her belly that she could trust him. She rested her nose on her forepaws and let herself slide into sleep.

When she woke, Gorse was gone.

Disappointment jabbed her belly. She sat up and shook out her pelt, which had dried while she’d slept. Of course he’s gone, she told herself briskly. It’s not like we’re friends. We were just sheltering from the storm while it passed. Her disappointment lingered. Stop being so soft! I walk alone! She flicked her tail and stretched. Her belly rumbled. She still hadn’t eaten today. She glanced at the dark rocks, suddenly aware that the thrumming of the rain had stopped. Prey would be returning to the moor. She could hunt.

As Wind headed for the entrance, heather rustled outside. She stiffened, tasting the air. “Gorse?” She smelled his scent a moment before he slid into the cave. He held a fresh rabbit in his teeth.

He dropped it at her paws. “I thought you’d be hungry.”

She blinked at him, suddenly realizing that she could smell his scent infusing the cave. Not just fresh scent, but stale, too, as though he’d slept here for moons. “Is this your den ?” Hadn’t he taken a risk leading her—a stranger—to his home?

“Do you like it?” Gorse tipped his head to one side. “It’s warm and dry and easy to guard.” He nodded toward the opening they’d come through. It was too narrow for a dog, and unwelcome cats could be easily driven off with a few well-aimed jabs through the gap.

Wind dipped her head. “You must feel safe here.”

“I do.” Gorse nudged the rabbit closer. “Eat. You look hungry.”

Wind felt a purr rumble in her throat, surprised to feel how happy she felt.

Gorse came back.