Эрин Хантер - Moth Flight’s Vision

There are plenty!”

Moth Flight shook her head. She had a long journey ahead.

The moth still had something to show her, she was sure of it.

And if her dreams could be trusted, she assumed it had something to do with the spirit-cats. She must prove that she was strong enough for the task. “I’ll catch my own prey, thanks.” She glanced past Cow, snatching a look at Micah. I don’t want him thinking that I can’t hunt for myself, she thought, her pelt growing hot.

Cow jerked her nose toward the shadows. “Help yourself.”

Micah padded past her. “Let’s hunt together,” he suggested.

“That chase has made me hungry.”

“We’ll all hunt.” Cow stood up.

Moth Flight felt a jab of disappointment. She wanted a moment alone with Micah to ask about his dreams. Were they like hers?

“Come on!” Cow marched toward the back of the loft.

Micah leaped onto one of the stacks of hay and disappeared down the other side.

Moth Flight wondered whether to follow him, but Cow was beckoning her into the shadows.

“Here’s a great spot,” Cow lowered her voice. “There are always plenty of mice who can’t resist a nibble on the straw, even up here.”

She dropped into a crouch. Moth Flight sank down beside her and stared into the gloom. Dust filled her nose but, through it, she could taste the musky scent of prey.

Her belly growled again.

Cow stifled a purr. “I’ll let you go first,” she whispered.

“Thanks.” Moth Flight crept forward, her eyes adjusting to the gloom. Between two lumps of hay, movement flickered.

Concentrating, Moth Flight remembered Gorse Fur’s advice, realizing as she did how many times he’d told her the same thing. Move slowly. Lift your tail. Put your pads down softly.

Her father’s words ringing in her mind, she stalked forward, ears pricked. Excitement tingled in her belly. As she neared the hay lumps, she could make out the small, round haunches of a mouse. Holding her breath, she padded closer, then halted.

Bunching the muscles in her hind legs, she prepared to pounce.

For a moment, she was aware of absolute stillness and silence.

Then she leaped.

The mouse darted away, but Moth Flight was quick. She landed a whisker away from the hay lump and thrust her paw into it, moving faster than she’d ever moved in her life. Triumph flared through her as her claws sank into warm flesh. Quick as a flash, she hooked the mouse out and killed it with a single bite.

Black-and-white fur pelted past her. Hay dust exploded around her as Cow thumped against one of the lumps, scrabbling under it for a moment before dragging out her own catch.

Her eyes shone at Moth Flight as she killed the mouse she’d caught, then nodded approvingly at Moth Flight’s. “There’s no better place to live than a barn,” she purred loudly.

Moth Flight met her gaze, grateful for this cat’s warmth. But she couldn’t agree. For a moment she imagined the wind on the high moor, sweeping through her fur as she chased rabbits with Dust Muzzle. One day I’ll catch one . Happiness swelled in her chest as she imagined the impressed look on her brother’s face.

“Come on.” Cow was padding back to the sunny opening of the loft, her mew muffled by her mouse.

Moth Flight scooped up her own catch and followed.

Mouse was already eating. Micah appeared a moment later, scrambling over the stack of hay and landing lightly beside them, a mouse dangling from his jaws.

Moth Flight bit into her mouse, relishing the sweet flavor.

She remembered, with a grimace, last night’s toad. How could

RiverClan eat frogs every day? Perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps they saved them as a treat ! She shuddered.

Soft breath brushed her ear. “You said you dream as well.”

Micah’s mew broke into Moth Flight’s thoughts. He’d moved close, laying his mouse beside hers.

“Yes,” she murmured.

Cow was busy eating. Mouse had already finished and was starting a leisurely wash a tail-length away.

Micah took a bite of his mouse. “What do you dream about?” he asked, his mouth full. “Me?”

Moth Flight shook her head, trying not to purr. Micah clearly was not a modest cat. “I dream about a moth, and spirit-cats. They’re so vivid it’s like they’re real.”

“ Spirit -cats?” Micah stared at her.

“Dead cats who visit the living.” Moth Flight wondered suddenly if farm cats were visited by their ancestors too? By the puzzled look on Micah’s face, she guessed not. She pressed on.

“Do you dream the same? About moths and other cats?”

Perhaps he didn’t know that the cats in his dreams were dead.

She stared at him eagerly, hardly smelling the warm scent of prey wafting from her mouse. Hope sparked in her chest. Would

Micah know what the moth meant and who the gray she-cat was?

He shook his head, then swallowed. “I just dream about you.” A frown wrinkled his brow. “Just you. Playing with a young gray tabby tom—”

“Dust Muzzle?” Moth Flight interrupted.

“I don’t know his name. Sometimes you’re playing Catch the Tail, sometimes you’re out on a wide stretch of grass, hunting. Sometimes you’re with different cats—another gray tom, thinner and older than the Muzzle one.”

“Gorse Fur!” Moth Flight’s pelt stood up along her spine.

This cat had really seen her in his dreams!

Micah shrugged. “If you say so. And there’s a wiry brown she-cat. She always looks cross.”

“That’s Wind Runner, my mother,” Moth Flight told him.

Micah took another mouthful of mouse. “I was taken from my mother when I was a kit. But if mothers are that stern, I’m happy I had Cow instead.” He glanced fondly toward the plump she-cat. Her eyes were glazed with contentment as she chewed the last of her catch. Micah’s whiskers twitched suddenly. “Why are you always taking plants back to your den?”

“You saw that?” Moth Flight stared at him.

“The other cats tease you, but every hunting trip, you bring back a plant instead of prey. It drives your mother crazy.”

Moth Flight purred loudly. Micah made it sound funny. Then she paused. “Are you surprised to see me in real life?”

He narrowed his eyes, as though thinking. “My dreams have always seemed real, so it seems natural that I’d meet you one day.”

Moth Flight nodded eagerly. “I know just what you mean.

My dreams aren’t about you, but they seem so real . They have to be real, right? ”

Micah eyed her, dubiously. “Green moths and spirit-cats?”

Moth Flight gazed into his bright green eyes. “You dreamed of me when you’d never met me,” she told him. “So anything’s possible.”

Micah’s ear twitched. “I guess.” He held her gaze and warmth flooded her pelt.

She stared back, feeling suddenly as if she had always known him. Her fur tingled. Is this cat part of my journey?

Moth Flight sneezed herself awake. Sniffling, she blinked open her eyes and saw the stacks of hay towering around her. She could see the flattened nests of straw where Cow, Mouse, and Micah had slept. Warmth still radiated from them.

She sat up, wondering where they’d gone. It was light, but no direct sunshine sliced through the barn walls. Moth Flight tasted the air and, through the musty scent of hay dust, smelled rain. She stood and stretched, feeling energy surging through her muscles. She had slept soundly and comfortably, her belly full. As she pressed her chest to the floor, her tail quivered with satisfaction and she straightened and fluffed out her sleep-flattened fur.