Эрин Хантер - Moth Flight’s Vision

“Moth Flight, look at me!”

Silver Stripe’s mew sounded behind her. Shaking leaf crumbs from her paws, Moth Flight turned impatiently to watch the pale gray she-kit.

Silver Stripe was wedged into the prickly gorse halfway up the wall of her den. Black Ear was tugging at his sister’s tail, while White Tail was trying to climb up beside her.

“Please, get down!” Moth Flight marched across the freshly dug floor of her den and snatched Silver Stripe’s scruff in her teeth.

It was Wind Runner who had suggested hollowing out a den especially for Moth Flight. Storm Pelt, Reed Tail, Fern Leaf, Holly, and Dew Nose had spent days digging out a dip beneath the stems and tearing away branches to shape a cave in the heart of the thickest part of the gorse wall. The floor was wide enough for three nests. One for herself, and two for any sick cats who might need to be watched. The branches would make a great place to store the plants she collected. She could slot her herbs among the spiny stems and keep them sheltered from the weather.

Moth Flight dropped the kit on the ground. “If you want to climb, go outside.”

Silver Stripe blinked at her. “But Slate told us to stay with you.”

Moth Flight glanced back at the piles of leaves she’d collected. She was hoping to sort them and store them among the gorse stems at the back of her den before sunhigh.

Black Ear followed her gaze and hurried toward the piles.

He began sniffing them, sneezing as he reached a pungent heap and scattering leaves across the floor of the den. “Sorry!”

Moth Flight swallowed back frustration. I have to tell Slate that she needs to find another cat to watch her kits now that I’m a medicine cat. Moth Flight loved the kits, but she had new responsibilities now.

In the days since the full-moon Gathering, she’d gradually become used to the strange new way her Clanmates treated her.

When she disappeared into thought, Swift Minnow no longer teased her. When she brought plants back to camp, Wind Runner was the first to ask her if she’d found something interesting. Jagged Peak nodded a respectful greeting whenever she passed him. Only Slate didn’t seem to have noticed the change, still lost in her grief for Gray Wing.

The entrance rustled as Reed Tail poked his head in. “Do you need any help?”

“Can you look after these three?” Moth Flight grabbed Black Ear’s tail and hauled him away from the herbs.

“Swift Minnow’s just back from hunting,” Reed Tail told her. “I’ll see if she can watch them.”

White Tail frowned. “But we want to stay in Moth Flight’s cave!”

“Kits need fresh air and sunshine.” Reed Tail slid into the den and nosed the gray-and-white tom-kit toward the entrance.

“Wait!” Black Ear was sniffing the herb piles again. “What’s this?” He wrinkled his nose at a lush green leaf.

Moth Flight’s ears twitched. “Horsetail.” I think. She was having trouble remembering all the names.

Silver Stripe pushed past her brother and sniffed it. “What’s it for?”

Moth Flight frowned. “It cures twisted tails,” she guessed.

Reed Tail blinked at her sympathetically. “It’s chervil and it’s good for bellyache.” He padded past Silver Stripe and hooked a leaf with his claw. “But the root is better than the leaves. They aren’t really strong enough.”

Moth Flight’s pelt grew hot. “Of course!” She remembered now. Reed Tail had told her yesterday when he’d taken her out collecting herbs. Why couldn’t she remember the simplest things?

White Tail stared at her with wide eyes. “I thought you were our medicine cat?”

“Maybe Reed Tail should be the medicine cat,” Silver Stripe suggested.

Moth Flight shifted her paws uneasily. Perhaps the kit was right. How was she ever going to learn everything she’d need to know? She wondered for a moment if the spirit-cats had made a mistake choosing her. I’m too featherbrained.

Reed Tail shooed White Tail toward the entrance and nudged Silver Stripe and Black Ear after them. “Go and find

Swift Minnow. Tell her I sent you.”

“It’s not fair,” Silver Stripe complained.

“We were only helping,” added Black Ear.

As the kits disappeared, grumbling, from the cave, Moth

Flight looked gratefully at Reed Tail. “You know so much more than me about herbs and healing. Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps you should be WindClan’s medicine cat.”

Reed Tail gazed at her fondly. “The spirit-cats chose you for a reason. I think they wanted someone who could do more than remember herbs.”

“Like what?” Moth Flight felt lost. She was up to her ears in plants and names and had no idea how she’d ever know the right herb in an emergency. What if a Clanmate died because she couldn’t remember? Panic sparked in her paws.

“You’ve only just begun,” Reed Tail told her softly.

Outside, Holly’s yowl rang across the clearing. “Where do you three think you’re going?”

“The kits!” Reed Tail headed for the entrance. “They’re probably trying to sneak out of camp again.” The gorse swished as he squeezed out of the den.

Moth Flight looked back at her herb piles, and began pushing the scattered leaves back together.

A cough sounded outside.

Rocky.

The old tom had been coughing for a few days. Moth Flight glanced at the empty nest at the side of the den, freshly woven from heather by Storm Pelt and Eagle Feather. It would be cozier than Rocky’s nest in the long grass. Even though newleaf was warming the moor, the nights were still chilly and the wind relentless. Perhaps a few nights’ sleep in the shelter of her den was all Rocky needed to recover. She hoped so; the tansy she’d given him last night clearly hadn’t worked and she didn’t know any other herb that might cure him.

“Rocky!” Moth Flight slid out of her den and crossed the clearing.

Rocky was weaving slowly among the tussocks, heading for the prey pile. He paused as she stopped beside him.

“How are you feeling?”

“Not bad. I thought I might feel better if I had something to eat—” Rocky broke off, coughing. His shaggy shoulders heaved with the effort. Struggling to catch his breath, he looked at her, his gaze clouded with exhaustion.

Moth Flight pushed away worry. She must focus on curing Rocky; fretting wouldn’t help. Her thoughts quickened. He’d been heading for food. A hungry cat is a healthy cat. Her mother used to say that when she returned home with prey for Moth Flight and Dust Muzzle. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.” Rocky shrugged. “I just thought a small bite of shrew might help.” He gazed at her bleakly.

“I think you’d better move into my den,” Moth Flight mewed briskly. “There’s a nice, clean nest for you and it’ll be warm.” And I can keep an eye on you. His lack of appetite worried her. Perhaps I need to give him more tansy. She wished Dappled Pelt were here. Or Pebble Heart. They might know what to do. I bet even Micah knows more than me. As she steered Rocky gently toward her den, she thought of the yellow tom. Her pelt prickled with warmth. She’d be seeing him before long, at the half-moon gathering at Highstones. She paused and waited for Rocky to squeeze into her den. Following, she pointed her muzzle to the heather nest. “Rest there while I fetch you more tansy.”

As Rocky climbed in and began to knead the heather, Moth

Flight turned toward her herbs. Perhaps I gave him the wrong one. She sniffed at the curly green leaves she’d shredded for him last night. It was definitely tansy. She felt sure. She grabbed a bunch between her jaws and crossed the den. Dropping it on the edge of Rocky’s nest, she leaned close and felt heat pulsing from his pelt. He has a fever. “Eat these.” She pushed the tansy closer and headed back to her herbs. Frustration tightened her belly. She knew there must be something here to help his fever, but what?