Эрин Хантер - Moth Flight’s Vision

Moth Flight scanned the camp for Wind Runner before answering. There was no sign of the WindClan leader.

“You look worried.” Spotted Fur stopped in front of her.

“Slate’s got redcough,” Moth Flight told him. “I’m going to get some of that bark I got for Rocky when—” She stopped, her breath catching in her throat. She swayed on her paws. When Micah died. She’d been so worried about Slate, she hadn’t thought about it until now. Grief wrenched her heart.

“I’m coming with you.” Spotted Fur brushed against her flank, steadying her.

Moth Flight looked at him, feeling suddenly sick. I can’t go back there. “Wind Runner will be angry if we cross the border,” she murmured numbly.

“So will Clear Sky if he catches us.” Spotted Fur’s gaze didn’t waver. “We just have to make sure we don’t get caught.”

Moth Flight stared into his amber eyes. Her thoughts slowed. She steadied her breath. She must get the bark. Slate needed it.

She lifted her chin. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Spotted Fur turned and called to Swift Minnow. “We need to gather herbs! Can you look after the kits?”

Swift Minnow stretched languidly. “Of course!”

Gorse Fur clambered to his paws, kicking the remains of the rabbit toward Storm Pelt. “I’ll watch them,” he offered. “I can show them some hunting moves.”

Bubbling Stream looked up from the prey pile excitedly.

“Will you take us up to the burrows?”

“Not today,” Gorse Fur purred.

Moth Flight’s heart was fluttering like caught prey. Micah!

How could she go back there? Panic spiraled in her mind.

“Come on.” She needed to run before fear crippled her. She raced for the camp entrance and burst onto the moorside.

Spotted Fur’s paws pounded behind her as she raced down the slope and shouldered her way into the heather.

“Moth Flight!” Spotted Fur called. “Use the trails!” She headed blindly for his voice, crashing through the purple branches until she glimpsed him. Ducking behind, she followed as he swerved among the stems.

As she exploded onto the grass, she pushed hard against the earth, her gaze fixed on the forest where the SkyClan border edged the moor. She was panting by the time they reached it, her pelt spiked by the wind.

“Slowly!” Spotted Fur pulled up.

Moth Flight spun, her paws skidding on the smooth grass.

“Let’s be careful,” Spotted Fur warned.

“Nothing’s going to stop me from getting the bark!” Moth

Flight glared at him. Micah would understand how she felt!

He’d been with her last time she’d made this trip. Her heart swelled with fresh grief.

Spotted Fur glanced along the border, his nose twitching as he scented for patrols.

He stiffened, his gaze flashing toward striped fur showing amid the ferns. “Wait,” he hissed. Crouching, he pulled himself toward the tabby pelt.

Moth Flight watched him, frustrated by the delay.

Suddenly his shoulders loosened and he straightened. “It’s only Willow Tail.”

As he spoke, the WindClan she-cat padded from the fronds.

“What are you doing here?” Spotted Fur asked her.

Willow Tail sniffed. “I’m just making sure those prey-stealers haven’t crossed the border again.” She narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“We’ve come to get bark for Slate.” Moth Flight marched past her. “She’s got redcough.”

“I’ll come with you.” Willow Tail sounded excited.

“Wait.” Spotted Fur ducked in front of Moth Flight, blocking her path. “We can’t all go rushing onto SkyClan’s land.

They’ll think it’s an invasion.” He tipped his head, his gaze resting on Willow Tail. “We need you to wait here. If we don’t come back, fetch help.”

Willow Tail’s eyes widened eagerly. “Good idea.”

Moth Flight headed through the ferns. Well done, Spotted Fur. The last thing she needed was another cat under her paws.

A pointless mission would keep Willow Tail busy.

She headed through the forest, forcing herself to remember the route Micah had taken last time they were here. She recognized a fallen log and scrambled over it, her heart twisting inside her chest as she pictured Micah leaping it with ease.

“Are we going the right way?” Spotted Fur hissed under his breath. The golden tom’s ears were pricked, his mouth open for warning scents.

“Yes.” Moth Flight pushed on, each paw step feeling heavier than the last until the trees thinned and she saw the hollow where Micah had died.

Her paws turned to stone. She stopped and stared down, grief swamping her. A few shards of splintered branch still flecked the ground.

Spotted Fur’s pelt brushed hers. “Slate needs that bark,” he murmured.

She dragged her gaze toward the highest branches of the tree at the center of the glade. “Up there,” she murmured hoarsely.

“We need to get it from the top, where the bark is the softest.”

“You wait here.” Spotted Fur bounded down the slope and leaped for the trunk. Heaving himself into the branches, he disappeared among the leaves.

Moth Flight watched the tree tremble as he climbed. Her heart seemed to beat in her throat. Sorrow—as suffocating as the day Micah had died—pressed in her chest. She stood motionless, as though her paws had sprouted roots and fixed her to the earth.

She shook out her pelt. Mourning Micah again won’t change anything. He’d be proud I came here. This felt like his tree now.

The leaves rustled and Spotted Fur’s pelt showed beneath them. A moment later, he was scooting down the trunk, strips of bark clasped between his jaws. He hurried toward her. The tang of sap sent thorns of pain jabbing through her heart. It was the scent she’d smelled as Micah died.

Spotted Fur nudged her from the glade. His eyes were half closed, streaming from the pungent scent. Moth Flight led him through the woods, staying close to guide him past stray brambles and rutted earth.

As they neared the border, she scented heather and quickened her pace.

Paw steps scuffed the earth behind them. Moth Flight froze.

“Where are you going?”

A hostile mew made her turn. Nettle was staring at her across a patch of blueberries. Birch and Alder flanked him, their eyes narrowed aggressively.

Spotted Fur spat out the bark, his hackles lifting. He pushed in front of Moth Flight and faced the SkyClan cats. “She’s come to get medicine for a sick Clanmate.”

“I thought Wind Runner didn’t recognize SkyClan anymore.” There was a sneer in Nettle’s mew. “Yet you still come to steal from us.”

Moth Flight stepped forward. “We’re not stealing! We’re taking bark, not prey! Just let us go. Slate might die without it!”

Alder curled her lip. “No one is allowed to help SkyClan, but SkyClan must help you?”

“We should all help each other!” Rage pulsed beneath Moth

Flight’s pelt.

Birch tipped his head, his eyes glittering with curiosity.

“Don’t you agree with Wind Runner?”

Of course I don’t agree! Moth Flight held her tongue. She wasn’t going to betray her mother, or her Clan.

“Just pretend you haven’t seen us,” Spotted Fur reasoned. “It makes no difference to you whether we take the bark or not.”

Birch narrowed his eyes. “I’m sick of WindClan telling us what to do.”

Alder padded closer. “You’ll come back to camp with us.

And don’t try to run. Clear Sky will only send a bigger patrol to fetch you. He’ll want to know what you’re doing on our land.”

“But my Clanmate’s sick!” Moth Flight fought the urge to rake the gray-and-white she-cat’s nose.