Эрин Хантер - Moth Flight’s Vision

Disappointment swamped her as she looked around to see Wind Runner shaking her head sadly.

Gorse Fur hurried toward her. “Great try, Moth Flight.”

Dust Muzzle followed close at his father’s paws. “Lapwings are hard to catch,” he sympathized.

Gorse Fur stopped beside her. “Your tail gave you away,” he told her gently. “No matter how excited you feel, you must keep it still and lift it just above the ground so you can move silently.

We might be smarter than prey, but prey knows what to listen for and, if it hears anything unusual, instinct will send it fleeing in the blink of an eye.”

Moth Flight hung her head. “I let it get away.”

“Don’t worry,” Gorse Fur told her cheerfully. “You’ve learned something. That’s what’s important. You’ll be catching lapwings before long.”

“Dust Muzzle caught one a few days ago,” Moth Flight mumbled miserably.

“Dust Muzzle’s had more practice than you,” Gorse Fur reassured her.

I’m so sorry. Moth Flight knew that Gorse Fur must feel as disappointed in her as Wind Runner, despite his kind words. She shook out her fur and looked at him as brightly as she could manage. “I’ll get better, I promise.”

He purred. “Of course you will.”

She glanced toward Wind Runner, but her mother was crouching beside a burrow entrance, her ears pricked and her gaze fixed on the dark opening.

Gorse Fur followed her gaze. “I’d better go and help,” he meowed. “Why don’t you join me?” He glanced from Moth

Flight to Dust Muzzle, but Dust Muzzle’s attention was fixed on the grassy slope. His ears were pricked and he opened his mouth as though tasting for prey.

“I’ll be back after I’ve caught that vole,” he whispered, heading downslope. He crossed the grass, his paw steps silent, his tail still.

Gorse Fur nudged Moth Flight toward the rabbit burrows.

“If you see a rabbit running, do you remember what to do?”

Moth Flight frowned. “Chase it?” she offered hopefully.

Gorse Fur’s ear twitched. “Head where it’s looking and cut off its escape route. Outrunning a rabbit is hard. Outthinking it is easy.”

He quickened his pace, breaking into a trot. Moth Flight followed slowly, sighing as her father caught up with Wind Runner. The Clan leader beckoned her mate on with a flick of her muzzle and he raced away to another hole farther along the rise.

Moth Flight wound her way around the burrows dotting the rise. She wanted to keep her distance from Wind Runner. If her mother managed to flush out a young rabbit, she didn’t want to scare it down another hole.

The sun was touching Highstones, turning the peaks orange.

Moth Flight shivered as the evening chill reached through her fur. She remembered her dream. It had been so vivid it was hard to believe that she hadn’t actually been there while the blue-gray cat died beside her friends. But she didn’t die! Moth Flight frowned. She came back to life… after she looked so lifeless.

She remembered the fear in the eyes of the flame-pelted tom and the dark, unreadable gaze of the tabby. She could almost believe that these cats were real, not just figments of her imagination. When the blue-gray cat had suddenly twitched after such stillness, none of the cats had seemed shocked—only relieved. It was as if they knew it would happen!

“Moth Flight!”

Wind Runner’s cry sounded at the edge of her thoughts, no more than the rushing of the wind. She hardly heard her mother.

Her thoughts were filled with her dream. The blood on the blue-gray cat’s fur had spread so quickly through her matted pelt.

How could any cat have survived such a wound?

“ Moth Flight! ” Wind Runner’s angry yowl pierced her ear fur. A rabbit pelted past her, then her mother’s pelt flashed at the edge of her vision and she heard grass tear beneath skidding claws as Wind Runner slowed to a halt a tail-length away. The rabbit veered downslope, easily avoiding Gorse Fur, who was crouched beyond the rise, and darted down a hole.

“You birdbrain!” Wind Runner turned on Moth Flight, her mew hot with rage. She seemed to be swallowing back a snarl.

“If you weren’t going to catch it, you should have gotten out of my way so I could have driven it into Gorse Fur’s paws!”

Moth Flight stared at her, stricken with horror. I’ve done it again! Panic flashed through her. Why do I always get it wrong?

“I’m so sorry!”

Wind Runner seemed to be trying to stop herself from shaking as she glared at her daughter. “You were supposed to be helping ,” she meowed slowly, her words clipped.

“I know.” Moth Flight stared dejectedly at her paws. “I was just remembering a dream I had. It was so vivid, I sort of…”

She searched for words, knowing that no matter what she said, her mother wouldn’t understand. “…I sort of got lost in it.”

Gorse Fur galloped toward them. “Moth Flight.” There was more pity than anger in his mew. “You need to try to pay attention.”

“How many times do I have to remind you?” As Wind Runner started another lecture, Moth Flight’s shoulders sank. “A hungry clan is a vulnerable clan. With empty bellies, we are prey to disease and attacks from rogues. What if a dog is loose on the moor? Our cats need the strength to outrun it.”

Moth Flight lifted her head to meet her mother’s gaze. “I’m sorr—” She stopped, her breath catching in her throat. Wide, green wings were fluttering a tail-length away.

The moth!

There it was! Dancing over the grass, whipped one way then the other by the buffeting wind. Just like the one in my dream!

Moth Flight’s heart soared. Suddenly she was swamped by the same longing to follow the beautiful moth that had filled her dream. Her paws itched to run after it. I have to catch up with it!

With a purr of delight, she pelted after it.

“Moth Flight!”

She hardly heard her mother’s yowl. Wind rushed past her ears as she chased the moth across the grass.

Moth Flight ran. She could hear Wind Runner and Gorse Fur calling, but her eyes were fixed on the moth’s great, green wings. She had to chase it. The moth wanted to show her something. She just knew it!

The ground sloped steeply beneath her paws and she skidded, straining to keep her balance as she bounded down the hillside where the moor dropped into the valley.

The sun, burning orange on the peaks of Highstones, made a halo around the moth, illuminating its great wings as it fluttered above the ground.

The coarse grass of the moor turned soft as it dipped toward the valley, growing lush as the land flattened. Suddenly Moth Flight felt hard stone beneath her paws; the stench of the Thunderpath touched her nose. She paused, wary.

The moth paused too, wheeling in the air and flying back toward her. It swooped above her head.

It’s beckoning to me! She knew the moth wanted her to keep following.

“I’m coming!”

The moth began to head away, moving toward fields beyond the Thunderpath. A breeze lifted it, swirling it sideways.

Moth Flight leaped, paws outstretched, hoping to touch its soft wings.

As she arched her back, straining to reach it, hard muscle slammed into her flank and knocked her rolling across the black stone of the Thunderpath.

Surprise flared through her as she tumbled onto the grass verge on the far side. A roar exploded in her ears and wind tore at her fur. The foul stench of a monster swept over her, burning her throat, as grit pelted her flank. Wailing in terror, she screwed up her eyes and flinched from the stinging shower.