Эрин Хантер - Tigerheart’s Shadow

“Foxes only come out at night, when the Twolegs have gone,” Tigerheart pointed out.

“What do you know, outsider?” For the first time, the she-cat’s eyes rounded, betraying unease. Pelt ruffled, she nodded to her companions. “Come on. Let’s try somewhere else.” She shot Tigerheart a look. “Don’t get too comfortable. You don’t belong here. I can still smell the grass on your paws.” Turning her tail on him, she padded away down the alley. The others followed, glancing reproachfully over their shoulders.

“Well done.” Fierce blinked at Tigerheart warmly.

“You saved us a fight.” Cinnamon looked relieved.

For now. Tigerheart watched the city cats disappear around the corner. Don’t get too comfortable. The gray cat’s parting threat made him feel this confrontation might just be the beginning.

Back at the gathering-place den, the guardian cats clustered around the patrol as they dropped the scraps they’d collected. Tigerheart eased himself away from the crowd and glanced toward his nest. He was relieved to see that Dovewing and the kits were sleeping.

“Those smell like good scraps.”

Spire’s mew took him by surprise.

The skinny black tom was sitting in the shadow of a wooden ledge, watching Blaze scramble for food with the others. Tigerheart had avoided Spire as much as possible since the strange healer cat had told him Shadowkit would be able to see into the shadows. He hadn’t told Dovewing of Spire’s prediction, even after she’d named the tom-kit. “Shadowkit, in honor of your Clan,” she had explained. How could he have argued with her? The coincidence had unnerved him, though, and he’d kept clear of Spire in case the tom announced any more alarming visions.

Now Spire watched the guardian cats with a clear, even gaze. “How are your kits?”

“Fine,” Tigerheart answered quickly. “I was thinking of catching some real food for them.”

“Food is food,” Spire mewed casually.

“Scraps aren’t warrior food.” They’re crow-food. Tigerheart didn’t meet the healer’s gaze. “Warriors eat fresh-kill.”

“And your kits will be warriors.” The healer’s tone was matter-of-fact.

Tigerheart felt Spire’s gaze burning into his pelt. Unable to resist, he turned to meet it. Did this strange cat know for sure that his kits would be warriors? Or am I just taking him seriously because he’s saying something I want to hear?

He gave the tom a questioning look.

“What else could they be with Dovewing and you as their parents?” Spire got to his paws and padded toward Blaze.

Blaze met him, greasy scraps hanging from his mouth. The young tom’s eyes shone brightly as he dropped them at Spire’s paws. “Look what I got for us!”

Tigerheart looked up at the den entrance. Determination hardened his belly. He would catch fresh-kill for his kits. Was there time before they woke? Quickly he leaped onto the wooden ledge and up through the gap in the wall.

Outside, pigeons fluttered around the great spike sticking up from the thorn den. Hope pricked in Tigerheart’s paws as one swooped low, but a passing monster sent it rushing upward once more, and his heart sank as it nestled beside its companions on the roof.

Pelt itching with frustration, he stalked between the stone slabs. The frost on the grass had melted, and icy water seeped into his paws. This grassy stretch around the gathering den was the only green he’d seen since arriving in the city. His heart ached for the crunch of pine needles beneath his paws. He longed for the scent of sap and the familiar smells of home. Had Rowanstar chased the shadows away yet? Was ShadowClan back to normal? Was it safe for him to return without blocking the sun? Even if it was, he knew the kits were too young for such a journey.

A loud chirrup sounded nearby. Tigerheart jerked his muzzle toward it. A thrush was hopping along the branch of a cherry tree. The colored walls of the gathering place glittered behind it.

Tigerheart sank into the grass. Dampness soaked his belly fur as he fixed his gaze on the thrush. Keeping as still as one of the stone slabs, he waited. The thrush chirped again. A warning cry? Had it spotted him? Tigerheart’s chest tightened. He glanced at the trunk, wondering if he could climb without being seen. But the branches had been stripped bare by the cold. The thrush would see any movement.

Frustrated, Tigerheart flexed his claws, longing for the shadows of the pine forest. Feeling helpless, he watched the thrush flutter onto a higher branch. It pecked at the bark, then hopped to a spot of moss farther along and began pecking again.

Disappointment dropped in Tigerheart’s belly like a stone. There was no way to reach the thrush without scaring it off. His kits would eat crow-food again today. Guilt tugged him toward his nest. If they woke, he wanted to be there to share crow-food with them at least. As they ate, he could reassure them that one day they’d eat real prey.

Movement jerked him from his thoughts. The thrush dived suddenly down and landed in front of one of the slabs. It began rummaging in the grass with its beak. Hope sparked beneath Tigerheart’s pelt. Slowly, he drew himself to his paws and began to creep toward it. The stone slabs hid his approach. He quickened his pace. He had to reach the thrush before it fluttered away again. Slow down, he told himself. He couldn’t let desperation make him mess this up.

Stopping behind the slab where the thrush was digging for worms, Tigerheart steadied his breath. He peered around the edge. The thrush hadn’t noticed him. As he eased into the open, Tigerheart’s belly fluttered with excitement. Whiskers twitching, he pounced and slapped his paws onto the thrush a moment before it could flap away in panic. Pinning it to the earth, he grabbed its neck between his jaws and killed it fast. Thank you, StarClan. Happiness surged through him at the taste of blood. He picked it up in his teeth, relishing its warm prey-scent as he hurried back to the den.

“Wake up!” He dropped his catch at the side of Dovewing’s nest.

Dovewing lifted her head, her nose twitching. “Thrush!” Pleasure sparked in her green gaze as she sat up and looked from Tigerheart to the limp bird. She prodded the kits, still snuggling against her belly. “Wake up, Pouncekit! Lightkit, wake up.” She lapped Shadowkit between the ears. “Tigerheart’s brought food.”

Blinking in the sunshine, which flooded the den, Pouncekit peered over the side of the nest. Her shoulders drooped as she saw the thrush. “That’s not food,” she mewed sadly. “It’s just a bird.”

“It’s prey!” Tigerheart bristled angrily. “And you’re going to eat it.”

Lightkit scrambled out of the den, her brown tabby kit fluff ruffled by sleep. She sniffed at the thrush. “It smells sweet.”

Shadowkit balanced on the edge of the nest, his nose twitching suspiciously. “Weren’t there any scraps?” He looked across the den to where the guardian cats were lounging, the scraps they’d gathered gone.

Pouncekit followed his gaze, sniffing. “I can smell meat.” She scanned the den.

“ This is meat.” Tigerheart poked the thrush.

“It’s all feathers.” Pouncekit dismissed it with a flick of her muzzle.

Tigerheart’s belly tightened. Why wasn’t the scent of fresh-kill making them hungry?

Dovewing climbed out of the nest and began to tear the thrush into strips as the kits watched with a look of horrified fascination. Putting the feathery parts aside, she laid a small, meaty strip in front of each of them.

Irritation clawed Tigerheart’s belly. “Tawnypelt never had to tear my food up when I was a kit.”

Dovewing shot him a look. “Of course she did. They’re only two moons old. You can’t expect them to rip up their own prey.”