Эрин Хантер - Ravenpaw’s Farewell

“Nonsense!” spat Violet. “This is my brother, Barley, and his friend Ravenpaw. They are welcome anywhere, do you understand?” She flattened her ears at the tabby tom.

“Anywhere.”

The tabby hissed, but he flicked his tail at the cats who had kept pace with him. “Come on,” he growled. “I don’t think they’ll bother us again.” He narrowed his eyes at Ravenpaw. “You’re way out of your depth here, old cat,” he jeered. “Go back to your nest.”

Violet stepped in front of him. “Enough,” she snapped.

With a final growl, the hostile cats turned and trotted away.

Violet tipped her head to one side, studying Barley and Ravenpaw. “Well, you two looked better the last time I saw you.”

Barley shrugged. “Our bones are getting a little old for this kind of thing,” he admitted. His eyes brightened, and he rubbed his head against Violet’s cheek. “It’s been too long, sister! How are you?”

“I’m well!” she declared. “And I have something to show you!” She led the way to a hole at the foot of the fence.

Before squeezing through, she glanced back at Ravenpaw.

“Are you okay? Did one of those cats injure you?”

Ravenpaw shook his head, still breathless.

They ducked through the fence and emerged into an enclosed space of smooth green grass edged with strong-smelling bushes. Ravenpaw felt his skin prickle. A Twoleg den was the last place he wanted to be.

“It’s okay,” Violet mewed as if she sensed his hesitation.

“We’re not going inside, and my housefolk aren’t home anyway.”

She bounded across the grass and jumped onto a wooden platform that stretched along the side of the red stone den. There was a bundle of soft, brightly colored pelts at one side. As Ravenpaw drew nearer, he saw the pelts quiver, and he picked up a scent he hadn’t smelled in a long, long time…

“I’m back, poppets!” Violet called.

Several tiny faces burrowed out of the pelts. Kits!

Ravenpaw was whisked back to memories of the nursery: the smell of milk clinging to his fur, the looming, gentle shape of his mother.

“Oh, wow,” breathed Barley as sturdy little bodies swarmed around him, mewling and purring and tugging at his fur with tiny sharp teeth.

“This is my brother, Barley,” Violet announced. “And his friend Ravenpaw. Be gentle, Bella!” she pleaded as a pale orange she-kit reached up and fastened her claws into

Ravenpaw’s ear.

Ravenpaw used his front paw to pry her off and placed her back on the ground. Huge green eyes stared up at him curiously. She looks just like Firestar!

“Do you and Barley have kits?” she mewed.

“Er, no,” Ravenpaw answered.

She tipped her head to one side. “Where do you live?

What are your housefolk like? Why haven’t you come to see us before?”

“So many questions!” chided Violet, sweeping her tail around her daughter. “Ravenpaw, this is Bella. She started talking before any of the others, and I’m not sure when she’ll stop.” Her voice was warm and full of love as she gazed down at the little orange cat.

Ravenpaw felt something tugging at his tail. A gray tabby tom clutched the tip between his paws and grappled with it. Ravenpaw flicked his tail and the kit rolled away. He almost fell off the wooden platform, and Violet had to leap to stop him.

“Oh, Riley,” she sighed. “Can you try to be a bit less clumsy, please?”

“It was my fault,” Ravenpaw mewed quickly. “Good fighting,” he commented to Riley, who was tottering back on sturdy legs to have another go at his tail. In his mind, Ravenpaw pictured Graystripe as a kit, almost exactly the same color, except that his eyes had been amber while

Riley’s were a clear, piercing blue.

Barley was trying to remove a pair of kits from the top of his head.

“Lulu, Patch, get down!” Violet ordered. She shot an exasperated glance at Ravenpaw. “I’m so sorry. I think they’re a bit overexcited by your visit.”

“We should be going anyway,” meowed Barley. “It’s a long way back to the farm.”

“The farm?” echoed Bella. “What’s that?”

“It’s where we live,” mewed Ravenpaw. “Far away, on the other side of the Thunderpath. It’s a place with sheep and cows, and lots of fields.”

Riley screwed up his face. “What is a sheep and cow?

And a field?”

“We’ll visit them one day,” Violet promised, touching the tip of her tail to his dark gray ear. “Now go lie down for your nap.” She herded the kits back to the pile of pelts.

“I’m not even the tiniest bit sleepy,” Ravenpaw heard Bella declare.

Violet shooed them into a huddle of furry bodies, then returned to Barley and Ravenpaw. “It was really good to see you,” she meowed. “Please, come again any time. Or maybe we’ll visit you!”

Barley purred. “You would be very welcome.” He reached out and touched his chin to the top of his sister’s head. “You’re a wonderful mother. I’m so pleased for you.”

“Thank you.” Violet glanced at her kits, squirming and snuffling among the pelts. “They mean the world to me. Now go safely, and try to stay out of Madric’s way. I’d like to say that he’s all snarl and no bite, but I don’t trust him.”

“We won’t go back that way,” Ravenpaw promised. He stroked Violet’s flank with the tip of his tail. “Good-bye, and don’t let those kits wear you out!” Then he turned to Barley.

His paws ached with tiredness and his belly was still sore, but the thought of returning to the barn gave him energy.

“We’ve had enough adventures for a lifetime today! Let’s go home.”

Leaf-bare rattled the last dry leaves from the trees and hedges and covered the fields in a thick pelt of snow.

Ravenpaw and Barley peeped out at the dense white flakes tumbling silently from the sky. There were still plenty of mice to eat inside the barn, and as the stock of hay shrank, hunting became easier, with fewer places for prey to hide.

The pain in Ravenpaw’s belly became a familiar throb, worse if he ate too much or slept in a cold draft. He could forget about it most of the time. A wrench to his shoulder, from an overzealous game of chase up and down the hay with Barley, was more of a nuisance. Ravenpaw had missed his footing and fallen several fox-lengths onto the stone floor. Barley was beside him in a heartbeat, licking his flank, urging him to keep still.

Ravenpaw flexed each paw in turn and opened his eyes.

“I’ll live,” he grunted. But when he stood up, his shoulder burned, and he could hardly put his paw to the ground.

Barley helped him to their nest and curled his body around him, soft and hay-scented and comforting.

Ravenpaw sighed. “I’m getting old.”

“Mouse-brain,” Barley purred affectionately. “I’ve seen at least two more leaf-bares than you, and I’m not old!”

Ravenpaw let his eyes close. “Stay with me while I sleep?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Barley promised, settling his chin more comfortably into Ravenpaw’s black fur.

Neither am I, Ravenpaw thought.

Leaf-bare passed, the snow melted, and the days grew almost imperceptibly longer, bringing the hint of new green leaves along the hedgerows. Ravenpaw’s shoulder healed, and he and Barley started to hunt outside again, prowling the fields at twilight as huge brown-and-white owls swooped over their heads.

One evening, as they were making the most of the first genuinely warm day of sunshine, they were startled by a muffled yowl.