Эрин Хантер - The Sun Trail

“I’m coming, Storm!” Gray Wing yowled.

For a moment his gaze met Storm’s. Then the yellow monster took another bite out of the wall. The whole den tilted sideways, beginning to collapse, and the silver she-cat vanished from sight.

Gray Wing and Turtle Tail crouched close to the ground as the stone crashed down. The roaring was so loud that pain clawed at Gray Wing’s ears. Surging clouds of dust blotted out the den and the monster.

Gradually the sound died away. Gray Wing looked up, realizing the monster had stopped its terrible feeding. Staggering to his paws, he raced forward into the debris. Through the dreadful dust and rumble of settling stones, he heard a feeble cry.

“Storm!” he called. “I’m coming!”

Frantically he dug into the rubble. Scraping away shards of stone, he touched silver fur, and cleared away the debris with desperate paws until Storm’s body lay exposed. Her legs were stretched out stiffly and her eyes were closed. Dust clotted in her fur. Beside her, half buried in the wreckage, were the three limp bodies of the kits she had tried to protect.

Oh, Storm…

Gray Wing bent his head to lick her fur, and at that moment Storm’s green eyes flickered open. She blinked, focusing on Gray Wing, then raised her head a little to see the three bodies of her kits.

“My kits…” she whispered brokenly. “I just wanted to keep them safe!”

“You did all you could.” Gray Wing comforted her.

“Tell Clear Sky… I’m sorry…” Storm’s faint whisper died away. Her head flopped back and her eyes closed.

Gray Wing rested a paw on her chest and bent his head toward her muzzle, but she wasn’t breathing. Good-bye, Storm … he thought, numb with grief. Feeling his heart breaking, he collected loose stones to pile gently on her body.

A tiny movement in the dust alerted him. He turned his head in disbelief to see that one of the kits—a sturdy ginger tom—was stirring a little.

He’s not dead!

A renewed rumbling told Gray Wing that the remaining walls of the den were shaking around him. He dug away the rubble that partly covered the kit’s body and grabbed him by the scruff. As the walls collapsed, he dragged him clear, stumbling out onto the path in a chaos of rolling dust and flying splinters of stone.

“This way!” Darting forward, Turtle Tail shoved Gray Wing around the corner and out of the worst of the dust. “Where’s Storm?” she asked.

Gray Wing set the kit down gently. “Dead,” he choked out. “And the other two kits. But this one’s alive… just.”

Crouching side by side, Gray Wing and Turtle Tail licked vigorously at the little ginger tom until he began to squirm feebly and let out a tiny wail.

“He’s going to live,” Turtle Tail meowed. “Come on, I’ll help you carry him back to the forest.”

Ignoring Gray Wing’s protests that he could manage, Turtle Tail lifted the kit gently by his scruff and set off down the path, Gray Wing limping alongside her. They didn’t stop until they left the Twolegplace behind and reached the outlying trees.

“Let’s catch our breath,” Turtle Tail suggested, puffing out a sigh as she set the kit down.

Gray Wing sank to the ground. His pelt was matted and filthy, and his pads stung from walking over the splintered stone. He couldn’t forget the look in Storm’s eyes as she gazed at him with the den falling around her.

If only I’d gotten there sooner, I might have saved her!

“I know you’re blaming yourself,” Turtle Tail murmured, her sympathetic gaze resting on him. “It wasn’t your fault.” She hesitated, then added, “You’re thinking of Bright Stream, aren’t you? But this time is different: there’s a survivor. Clear Sky has a son.” She bent her head to lick the tiny kit’s ear. “You must take him to his father.”

Instinctively Gray Wing reached out a paw to scoop the kit toward himself. He didn’t want to lose this last connection to Storm. “I loved Storm too,” he whispered.

“I know.” Turtle Tail’s voice was gentle. “But this kit is not your son.”

Gray Wing let out a sigh; in the midst of his grief, he knew that Turtle Tail was right. “I don’t even know what to call him!” he mewed.

Turtle Tail bent her face close to the kit’s and brushed her muzzle against his. “What’s your name, little one?” she asked.

The kit looked up at her, bewildered. “I don’t know,” he squeaked.

“Maybe Storm hadn’t decided on names yet,” Gray Wing meowed.

Turtle Tail glanced back at the Twolegplace, as if she was picturing the collapsed den. “What about Thunder?” she suggested. “He was born of Storm, in the midst of a storm of stones and dust, yet he has survived.”

The ginger kit let out a high-pitched mew.

“I think he agrees!” Turtle Tail exclaimed, her gaze warm.

Taking a deep breath, Gray Wing rose to his paws. “Come on, little Thunder,” he meowed. “It’s time to meet your father.”

Turtle Tail bade Gray Wing farewell and headed back into the Twolegplace. Picking up Thunder by his scruff, Gray Wing plunged deeper into the woods, staggering from exhaustion as he found the track that would lead him to Clear Sky’s camp.

Before he reached it, there was a rustle in the undergrowth and three cats stepped in front of him: Frost, Petal, and a black-and-white tom Gray Wing didn’t recognize.

“You’re not welcome here,” Frost growled, his neck fur bristling.

Petal fixed him with a hostile gaze. “You killed Fox.”

“It was an accident,” Gray Wing replied, speaking with difficulty around the kit he was carrying. He remembered that Petal was Fox’s sister, and couldn’t blame her for her anger. “Clear Sky knows that.”

“And who is this kit?” The black-and-white tom pushed up close to Thunder, who whimpered and tried to shrink away from him.

“I’ll tell Clear Sky, not you.”

For a heartbeat the three cats glared at Gray Wing. I can’t fight all of them , he thought despairingly. And I’m so tired of all this hostility . “Just take me to my brother,” he asked.

At first the three cats didn’t move. Then Petal stepped back, beckoning him with her tail. “Okay,” she mewed. “But don’t even think about putting a paw wrong, or you’ll wish you’d never been kitted.”

The black-and-white tom stayed on guard, while Frost and Petal escorted Gray Wing along the track, one on each side.

It’s like they think we’re spies, or we’re their prisoners .

Clear Sky leaped down from a tree as Gray Wing and the others entered the camp. He bounded across the clearing and faced Gray Wing. “What do you want?” he demanded.

Gray Wing glanced at the other cats, and Clear Sky waved them back with his tail. When they had retreated to the edge of the clearing, Gray Wing set Thunder down at Clear Sky’s paws. “This kit is your son.”

Thunder dipped his head and blinked shyly up at his father.

Clear Sky’s shocked blue gaze was fixed on Gray Wing. “Where’s Storm?” he asked hoarsely.

Gray Wing bowed his head. “Storm is dead.” While Clear Sky stared at him, stunned, he told of how Turtle Tail had warned him, and how they had reached the collapsing den in time to witness the death of Storm and the other kits. “She spoke to me before she died,” he finished. “She asked me to tell you she was sorry.”

Clear Sky shook his head, bewildered, his blue eyes filled with pain. “I can’t believe this…” he breathed out. “Not Storm… not such a dreadful death.” He paced away for a few paw steps, then turned back toward Gray Wing and his son.

“Take him away,” he meowed. “There’s no place for him here.”