Эрин Хантер - Moth Flight’s Vision

Pine Needle stuck out his chin. “I swam a whole tail-length yesterday!”

Drizzle snorted. “With Dawn Mist holding your scruff!”

“At least I didn’t try to swallow half the river!”

“Hush.” Dappled Pelt silenced Pine Needle with a look.

“Micah and Moth Flight need to return to their Clans.”

“Why can’t they stay here with us?” Drizzle mewed.

“My Clan needs me,” Micah told her.

A twinge jabbed Moth Flight’s heart. I need you. She pushed the rabbit-brained thought away. “Mine too.”

Drizzle’s tail drooped. “Okay.”

“Will you come and visit again?” Pine Needle asked.

“Of course.” Moth Flight swished her tail. “When we have new skills to share.”

Dappled Pelt’s eyes shone. “I hope it won’t be long.” Her gaze flitted past them.

Moth Flight turned, following it. River Ripple was heading toward them. She dipped her head as he neared. “Thank you for letting us stay.”

“It was an honor.”

Micah nudged Moth Flight as the RiverClan leader blinked at her respectfully. “See what happens when you get chosen by StarClan?” he teased.

“I must get back to my herbs.” Dappled Pelt turned toward her den. “They won’t sort themselves.”

“Thanks!” Moth Flight called as she disappeared inside.

Micah gazed across the reed beds thoughtfully. “Do we have to go home right away?”

Moth Flight shot him a look. “Don’t you want to go back to SkyClan?”

“Eventually.” Micah leaned close to her ear. “But I like hanging out with you,” he whispered.

Moth Flight snatched her gaze away, her pelt growing hot. “I like hanging out with you too,” she mumbled.

River Ripple looked away, his whiskers twitching. Moth

Flight wondered if he’d heard.

“Perhaps Cloud Spots can teach you about woodland herbs,” River Ripple meowed vaguely as he stared toward the forest.

“ThunderClan camp isn’t far.”

Micah blinked at him. “That’s a good idea! It’ll be fun. And we can tell Cloud Spots what we’ve learned from Dappled Pelt.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.” River Ripple kept his gaze on the trees.

Moth Flight shifted her paws self-consciously. “Maybe.”

She felt guilty about staying away from the moor for so long.

And with Micah. “But what about WindClan? They might need me.”

River Ripple blinked at her. “You’ve got a whole lifetime to take care of your Clan. Have fun while you can.”

She glanced at Micah. If River Ripple thought visiting ThunderClan was okay, then it must be. “Let’s do it.”

Micah purred. “Great!”

River Ripple’s tail twitched. “Do you want me to show you the way?”

And miss walking alone with Micah? “No,” Moth Flight told him quickly.

“We’ll find it,” Micah assured him.

“I thought you’d say that.” A teasing glint flashed in River Ripple’s eyes. Moth Flight’s paws prickled with embarrassment.

He had guessed they wanted to be alone.

River Rippled turned his muzzle toward the forest. “The camp’s in a ravine,” he told them. “It’s hard to see from the top, so follow your noses.”

Micah dipped his head and padded toward the camp entrance. “Thanks.”

“Yes, thank you, River Ripple,” Moth Flight called as she hurried after Micah.

They followed the trail through the reeds until it opened onto the riverbank. Moth Flight could see the stepping-stones, which crossed to the tree-lined shore beyond. She trotted happily toward them. Dappled Pelt had led her over them so many times in the past few days that she no longer thought twice about getting her paws wet. She knew this stretch of river and the herbs that grew along it as well as she knew the moortop. She beat Micah to the first stone and bounded across, landing at the far side, her chest bursting with happiness.

She purred as Micah landed beside her. “Which way now?”

Micah gazed among the trees, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the shadows. “I don’t know this part of the forest.”

“Let’s explore it together.” Moth Flight marched from the shore and hopped over an oak root jutting from the ground. She brushed past a fern, its fresh leaves glowing in the dappled light that glittered through the canopy. Musty scents bathed her muzzle and, for the first time since leaving the moor, she smelled mouse. Her belly rumbled. They hadn’t eaten since last night, when Moss Tail had brought them a trout. She longed to taste furry prey again and she scanned the undergrowth, hoping to catch sight of movement among the leaves.

“We mustn’t hunt,” Micah reminded her. His nose was twitching. “Can’t you smell the border scents?”

Moth Flight had been too busy sniffing for prey. She lifted her muzzle and breathed in the scent of ThunderClan cats.

“Perhaps we can catch a fish. I’m sure River Ripple won’t mind.” Her belly growled again.

“Can you swim?” Micah stared at her.

“No.” Moth Flight glanced back at the river. “But sometimes they come close to the shore. We might be able to wade in and grab one.”

“Or we could wait here for a bird to fly into our paws.”

Moth Flight lifted her tail and brushed past Micah, huffily.

“It was just a suggestion .”

He purred and padded after her. “I love your suggestions.”

Moth Flight tried not to purr. Micah was so sweet.

He fell in step beside her. “Let’s find the camp. Hopefully ThunderClan will share their prey.”

Moth Flight followed Micah, pelt pricking uneasily. Had

Cloud Spots warned Thunder that StarClan wanted the medicine cats to share their knowledge? She knew that the ThunderClan leader was Clear Sky’s son; did that mean he’d be as suspicious as SkyClan’s leader?

They followed a rabbit trail between brambles and bracken as the forest floor rose beneath their paws. It steepened as the trees grew thicker, the shadows deepening around them.

“Do you know where you’re going?” she asked Micah hopefully.

“No.” Micah scrambled over a rotting log and paused on the other side.

Moth Flight dropped down beside him and gazed between the trees. They seemed to stretch on forever, sunlight piercing the leaves here and there, illuminating spots of woodland with brilliant shafts of light. She pointed her nose toward a thick path of brambles some way ahead. “Do you think that could be the camp wall?”

“Let’s check.” Micah headed toward it, stumbling as a root tripped him.

Moth Flight steadied him with her muzzle. “I thought you were used to forests,” she teased.

“I’m used to farms ,” Micah reminded her. “I don’t know if I’ll ever stop stubbing my paws on roots.”

“Of course you will. You just nee—” Moth Flight yelped as she trod on a patch of young nettles. Pain shot through her paw and she hopped clear, lifting it protectively.

“Wait.” Micah glanced at the nettles then began to scan the forest floor, his eyes lighting up. He dashed toward a clump of leaves sprouting beside an ash. Tearing one off with his teeth, he carried it back to Moth Flight.

She stared at it. “What’s that?”

“Dock.” Micah laid it upside-down on the ground in front of her. “Rub your paw on it.”

Moth Flight pressed her throbbing pad to the soft leaf.

“Rub it hard,” Micah urged.

Moth Flight squashed the leaf beneath her paw until she felt its juices bathe the sting. To her surprise, the pain eased. “That’s great!” She stared at Micah with round eyes.

“I learned it from Cow,” Micah told her.

“I wonder if dock grows on the moor,” Moth Flight murmured.

A deep mew sounded from between the trees. “If nettles grow there, dock won’t be far away.”