Эрин Хантер - Moth Flight’s Vision

“Good.” He took another bite of fish. “I snore too.”

Dappled Pelt rolled her eyes. “Great,” she muttered.

When they’d finished the chub, she led them to her den.

Rain was thrumming the earth as dusk gave way to night, and Moth Flight was relieved to slip into the shelter of the tree stump. She crossed the dark den and climbed into the reed nest on the far side, surprised to find the stems silky beneath her paws. All the sharp ends had been carefully tucked underneath so that curling into it felt almost as good as curling into her heather nest at home. She wriggled to one side, leaving room for Micah.

He squeezed in beside her. “Do you have enough room?”

“Yes.” Moth Flight purred as Micah’s warm pelt pressed against her.

Dappled Pelt’s golden gaze shone through the darkness.

“Are you both comfortable?”

“I am,” Micah purred.

“Me too.” Moth Flight snuggled deeper into the reeds. She yawned, suddenly sleepy. “I hope I remember everything I’ve learned today.”

“You will.” Micah shifted beside her, tucking his paws close to his belly.

Moth Flight blinked at him through the darkness. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing Drizzle come back to life.”

“She was never dead,” Dappled Pelt meowed across the den.

“She just needed air in her chest instead of water.”

Moth Flight suddenly remembered her dream of the blue-gray she-cat. She’d come back to life too. Perhaps she hadn’t been dead either. Moth Flight frowned. But no cat had pumped her chest, and she hadn’t coughed up water.

Beside her, Micah’s breathing began to slow and deepen. He was drifting into sleep. Moth Flight rested her muzzle on her paws and watched him. Her fur tingled where his breath stirred her pelt. Gradually, her eyes grew heavy and closed and darkness swirled around her.

A familiar stone tang touched Moth Flight’s nose. She opened her eyes as the scent of the Moonstone cave washed her tongue. Leaping to her paws, she gazed around. How did I get back—

Before she could finish her thought, two cats padded into the cave. A large, dark tabby, the one she’d seen with the gray she-cat the day she’d come back to life, headed for the Moonstone, his eyes fixed on the dull rock. He glanced at the hole in the roof, the watery starlight reflecting in his yellow eyes.

Moth Flight shivered. There was coldness in this tom’s gaze, and a stiffness in his broad shoulders that frightened her. He seemed to be waiting for the moon to light the rock, impatience rippling along his spine.

The gray tom, who’d entered the cave with him, stopped at the dark tabby’s side. The tabby jerked his muzzle around, snarling as the gray tom spoke. There was no friendship between these cats. Then why are they here together?

The dark tabby sank stiffly onto his belly and touched his nose to the rock a moment before moonlight set it alight.

Moth Flight screwed up her eyes, flinching as brightness blinded her.

The stone beneath her paws turned to squelchy moss. She blinked open her eyes eagerly. Was she back on StarClan’s hunting grounds?

Darkness pressed on every side. She turned her head sharply.

Trees loomed around her. This wasn’t StarClan’s land. She recognized the dank scent of rotting wood, sharpened by the smell of pinesap. This was ShadowClan territory.

Feline shapes moved among the trees, their shadowy pelts glittering with starlight. Spirit-cats! She scanned the starry cats, hoping to see a familiar pelt, but these weren’t the StarClan cats she knew. Heart racing, she backed toward a tree, hoping she couldn’t be seen. Her fur rippled with fear. These cats moved with solemn purpose and the dark tabby seemed to be waiting for them, his gaze blazing expectantly in the darkness.

His eyes narrowed as a sparkling tom approached him. Moth

Flight saw the spirit-cat speak, but she couldn’t make out the words. As the tom stepped away, a small ginger she-cat took his place. The she-cat spoke and the dark tabby answered, disdain sparking in his gaze.

Doesn’t he respect his ancestors? Moth Flight leaned closer, pelt pricking with interest.

The she-cat reached her muzzle forward and touched the dark tabby’s head.

The tabby jerked as though agony flared through him.

This is like the time I saw the blue-gray cat in the cave!

Moth Flight remembered her dream. Why did the touch of these spirit-cats seem to cause so much pain?

Moth Flight narrowed her eyes, her breath quickening as one after another, the spirit-cats stepped forward and touched the dark tabby. Each time, he stiffened, his pelt spiking, but he did not give ground. He met each new touch, his eyes burning with hunger.

Finally, the last spirit-cat stepped away and the dark tabby lifted his muzzle. Moth Flight looked into his eyes, searching for some clue as to what the spirit-cats had shared with him, but she saw only pride.

Around him, the spirit-cats’ mouths moved. They seemed to be chanting something. Moth Flight pricked her ears, trying to make out the words, but she couldn’t. One StarClan tom broke off, his mouth frozen as he stared at the dark tabby.

Moth Flight swallowed as she saw dread darken the spirit-cat’s gaze.

She jolted awake, cold with fear.

“Moth Flight?” Micah jerked his head up as she stared, blinking, around Dappled Pelt’s den.

The sound of his mew soothed her and she turned and met his gaze.

“Bad dream?” he asked.

As she nodded, he leaned forward and touched his muzzle to her cheek. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured softly. “We’re safe here.”

Obediently, she rested her nose on her paws and closed her eyes. She felt his tongue lap her ear until weariness muddled her thoughts.

“It was only a dream.” Micah stopped and tucked his muzzle beside hers.

These aren’t dreams. They’re visions. As his breath deepened into gentle snores, worry pulled Moth Flight back from the brink of sleep. But what are they about? And why do they make me feel so uneasy?

Early-morning light washed the reed beds. The rain that had drenched the camp for the past two days had finally lifted and sunshine was breaking through the clouds. On the other side of the clearing, River Ripple stretched outside his den. Moss Tail and Dawn Mist were stirring sleepily in their nest while Drizzle and Pine Needle charged across the camp, trying to catch each other’s tails.

Dappled Pelt blinked kindly at Moth Flight and Micah. “I’ve taught you all I know.”

Micah whisked his tail. “You know lots!”

“I can’t wait to use some of the stuff I’ve learned!” Moth

Flight’s pelt prickled with excitement. I hope I can find goatweed on the moor! It was one of the herbs Dappled Pelt had shown them. A few leaves, given daily, might lift Slate’s grief.

Her paws itched to go home, and yet the thought of leaving Micah made her heart ache.

Micah glanced around the RiverClan camp. “I’m going to miss it here,” he murmured. “I was getting used to the sound of the river lulling me to sleep.”

I was getting used to the sound of your breathing. Moth Flight glanced at him shyly. Her own nest would seem chilly without him.

Drizzle skidded to a halt between them. “Are you leaving?”

Pine Needle stared at Micah with round eyes. “You can’t go yet! I haven’t taught you how to fish.”

Micah nudged the kit’s cheek with his nose. “You need to learn how to swim first.”