A Forest Divided

Prologue

Slate skidded to a halt, panting, and gazed around, her ears pricked. The moorland stretched away from her in all directions, the short, springy grass dotted with clumps of reeds, gorse bushes, and outcrops of rock. Nothing moved in all the landscape.

“Cricket!” Slate yowled, her pelt prickling with worry. “Cricket, where are you?”

There was no reply, no glimpse of her brother’s orange tabby fur.

I thought he was right behind me…

Slate and her brother, Cricket, had been racing toward a big jutting boulder that reared up from the flat moorland in front of them. Slate had been winning, and when she’d glanced over her shoulder to see how close her brother was, he had vanished.

It was stupid of me to get so far ahead, Slate thought. What if something happened to him?

Cricket is always getting into mischief. There were foxes and badgers on the moors, she knew, not to mention those aggressive cats who had appeared out of nowhere a few seasons before and settled down in huge groups as if they owned the place. What if Cricket had run into them?

Though they were littermates, Slate and Cricket were completely different cats. Slate had amber eyes and thick gray fur, quite unlike Cricket’s orange tabby pelt. Cricket was lighthearted, always joking and playing around, while Slate was more serious and liked to plan ahead.

Once they had been part of a happy family. But the sickness that stalked the moor had taken their mother and their sister, leaving Slate and Cricket alone.

We only have each other, Slate thought. I have to find him!

“YAAAHHHHH!” Slate let out a terrified yowl as something heavy landed on her back and she felt four sets of claws digging into her pelt. Instinctively she hit the ground and rolled, sliding out her claws and bracing her muscles for a fight. But her attacker still clung on, and Slate heard bubbling mrrow s of laughter coming from him.

“Cricket!” she spat. “You stupid furball!”

Cricket leaped away from her, and Slate scrambled to her paws to see him standing close beside her, his green eyes bright.

“You frightened me out of my fur!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, I really got you.” Cricket’s tail curled with amusement. “You should have seen your face!”

Slate drew her lips back in the beginning of a snarl, then a moment later relaxed and swatted at her brother, brushing his ear with her claws sheathed. I can’t get angry with him. I love him too much.

“We can’t mess around all day,” she meowed. “We need to hunt.”

Cricket nodded vigorously. “My belly has never felt this empty.”

“Come on, then. I bet I catch something first.”

“We’ll see about that,” Cricket retorted.

The two cats split up. Cricket disappeared around a scatter of boulders, while Slate prowled across the moor, heading for the clumps of longer grass that grew around a pool. That’s a good place for prey to hide.

Slate parted her jaws to taste the air, and picked up the scent of mouse. When she angled her ears forward, she heard tiny sounds of scuffling from the long grass and saw the stems twitching as a mouse pushed its way between them. Setting her paws down lightly, Slate crept up on her prey, then bunched her muscles for a pounce. Her paws slammed down on the terrified creature and she grabbed it in her claws.

Suddenly a yowl of alarm came from behind the boulders where Cricket had disappeared. Slate paused, her head raised, the mouse wriggling desperately in her grip.

Is Cricket playing another joke? she wondered. I’ll make him sorry if I lose this mouse and we don’t eat today.

Sniffing, she caught a trace of rank scent drifting toward her. Fox! Releasing the mouse, she spun around in time to hear another yowl as Cricket burst into the open from behind the clump of boulders.

A big fox was hard on his paws, jaws wide to grab him.

My brother is not your prey!

Her heart thumping hard, Slate raced across the grass and hurled herself at the fox, swiping at its shoulder with her claws extended. The fox whipped around, faster than Slate had thought possible.

She screeched as the fox’s teeth sank into her ear and pain flooded her senses.

Slate pulled back, horrified to feel the tip of her ear tear away. For a couple of heartbeats darkness covered her eyes and her legs wobbled unsteadily.

When her vision cleared, Slate saw Cricket and the fox circling each other, both poised for the next blow. For a brief moment she realized how hungry the fox must be, now that the sickness on the moor had wiped out so much of the prey. It needs food, just like us.

Then she saw the blood pouring from her brother’s shoulder, and any sympathy she might have felt for the fox vanished like dew under hot sunlight. She lunged again, raking her claws down its side, then leaped back out of range as the fox turned toward her, snarling. Cricket dashed up behind it, nipping at its hind paws.

Slate wanted to reach her brother so that they could attack together, but the fox was too wily for that. It kept its body between the two cats, attacking so viciously, so fast, to one side and then the other, that Slate and Cricket couldn’t join up to fight side by side.

It could kill us, Slate realized, cold terror trickling down her spine.

She made one final attempt to dart around the fox, slashing it across the snout with both her forepaws as she lunged. For a heartbeat she thought she had made it past the bigger animal. Then searing pain tore across her belly, and she realized that she had left herself vulnerable to the fox’s powerful claws.

Slate let out a shriek. Her paws slipped on her own blood and she collapsed onto her side.

“Slate!” Cricket screeched, a look of horror on his face.

For a moment he stood frozen, staring, as the fox swung back toward him.

“Cricket!” Slate choked out in warning, afraid that he was too shocked to defend himself.

But Cricket recovered just in time to meet the fox as it sprang toward him. He raised one paw and scratched the fox along the side of its face. The fox yowled in pain as Cricket’s claws sank into its eye. It drew back, stumbling and shaking its head from side to side as blood streamed down its face.

It can’t see out of that eye, Slate thought. I can attack it from that side, slash its throat, and end all this.

But as Slate tried to heave herself to her paws, she realized with horror that she couldn’t move anymore. The blood from the wound in her belly was soaking the grass all around her. Dark mist was creeping up on her from every side.

A screech of rage reached her ears, seeming to come from far, far away. As her vision blurred, she made out a blocky shape—she couldn’t even tell whether it was Cricket or the fox—hurling itself toward the other in a furious attack. Then the mist swirled around her, thicker and thicker, until with a defeated whimper Slate gave herself up to darkness.

Chapter One

Huge green eyes peered into Slate’s and whiskers brushed across her face as she blinked groggily awake. With great effort she managed to raise her head, her torn ear aching with pain.

At her movement, the cat who was bending over her, a thin gray tabby tom, leaped back, startled.

He looked vaguely familiar, but for the moment Slate couldn’t remember where she’d seen him before.

“You’re alive!” he exclaimed, relief in his voice.

Slate barely paid any attention to his words. She had spotted some fur lying in the grass just beyond him: the most familiar fur in the world. The orange tabby fur of her brother, Cricket. Slate closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight of her littermate’s fur strewn in a mess of grass and blood.

“No…” she choked out.

The gray tabby followed her glance, and moved to stand between her and Cricket, fluffing out his fur to block her view. “You friend wasn’t so lucky,” he mewed, his voice soft and regretful. “I was out hunting and found you… and the remains of him,” he added after a moment’s pause. “The fox had gone by then.”

Slate closed her eyes as grief washed over her like a cold wave, sweeping her away to drown in darkness. Cricket gone… it’s not possible. She seemed to live the moment over again when she could have saved him, could have killed the fox or driven it off, if only she could have moved. I failed my brother. It’s my fault he’s dead.

The touch of a paw on her forehead roused Slate. She opened her eyes to see the tabby tom bending over her again, concern in his green eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he meowed, “and to be honest, you don’t look too good, either. You’ve lost a lot of blood. I know a cat who can help, but you need to stay alive while I go to fetch him. Okay?” He blinked encouragingly. “Promise?”

Slate forced herself to nod in response, but she had no interest in staying alive. What can the world possibly have to offer me now?

“I don’t mean to offend you,” the gray tabby mewed, “but that wasn’t much of a nod. I’m not sure I believe you.” He thought for a moment, then went on. “Right, new plan. I’ll send my mate and kits to keep an eye on you while I get help. They will make sure that no dangerous animals come near, too.

Okay?”

This time he didn’t wait for Slate to respond, just bounded off across the moor.

Slate knew the tom was being kind, but she wished he would just leave her alone. What did it matter if she died? She could join Cricket, then. She closed her eyes again, inviting the blackness to take her, sinking into it with a sigh of relief as her senses whirled away.

But Slate could not stay in the comforting darkness for long. She was roused by the sensation of being prodded all over by tiny paws. Forcing her eyes open, she saw two bright-eyed kits staring at her: a white she-cat and a gray tom.

“She’s dead,” the white kit mewed, sounding disappointed.

“She’s not,” the little gray tom retorted. “See, she’s looking at you.”

The white kit let out a gasp of excitement. “Her eyes are open!” Taking a step forward, she peered more closely at Slate and added, “Hello. Do you want to be friends?”

“Get away from her!” A sharp voice sounded in the distance; Slate couldn’t see the cat it was coming from. “We don’t know what kind of diseases that rogue might have.”

Instantly the kits backed away and were replaced by a wiry brown she-cat; like the tom, she looked vaguely familiar to Slate. She halted several tail-lengths away and looked Slate up and down, her yellow eyes unimpressed.

Slate flexed her claws in annoyance at the she-cat’s rudeness. I don’t know why I should care.

All I want is to die in peace… but I’d like to claw that sneering look off her face. She was offended, too, that the she-cat had called her a rogue.

Now I remember who these cats are, she thought. They’re part of the group Cricket was always complaining about. Cricket had been outraged by the way these cats had appeared on the moor and settled down there and in the nearby forest, making it harder for the local cats to find prey. And they’d called the cats who had always lived here rogues.

“They want to fight all the time,” Cricket had said scornfully. “They’re violent prey-stealers, and I don’t want anything to do with them.”

Slate raised her head and glared back at the brown she-cat. “Hello,” she meowed pointedly. “I can hear you, you know.”

The she-cat narrowed her eyes. “So you’re alive,” she snorted, not sounding happy about it. “You don’t have the sickness, do you?”

No, just this gaping wound in my belly, Slate thought. Aloud, she replied, “No, I don’t have the sickness. My name is Slate,” she added.

The brown she-cat whisked her tail. “I’m Wind Runner.”

“And the kits?” Slate asked.

Wind Runner eyed her warily. “You don’t need to know their names.”

Lovely, Slate thought. What a delightful cat to share my dying moments with. She cast a disdainful look toward Wind Runner. The brown she-cat was ignoring Slate now, instead clawing up moss. When she had a mouthful, she trotted off with it in her jaws. A few heartbeats later she returned, with the moss dripping wet.

“Here,” she growled, dumping the moss beside Slate’s head. “Drink.”

Slate stretched out her tongue and lapped at the moss. The water was cool and fresh, and Slate thought she had never tasted anything so delicious in her entire life.

While she was drinking, Wind Runner scraped together a bundle of grass, leaves, and more moss, and tucked it under Slate’s head to prop her up.

“What happened?” she asked brusquely.

Slate was bewildered by the contrast between Wind Runner’s kind actions and the roughness of her speech. “It was a fox,” she replied at last. “It attacked me and my brother, Cricket.” Her voice shook as she added, “Cricket was killed.”

Wind Runner looked stricken at the news. “I’ve noticed that fox lurking around the edges of our camp,” she meowed. She turned toward her kits, who were play wrestling a little way away on the moor, and beckoned them with her tail. “Come closer!” she yowled.

The kits broke apart and scrambled to their paws. “You told us to get away from that sick cat,” the white she-kit reminded her mother.

Wind Runner twitched her tail-tip in exasperation. “Come a little closer, then, but not too close,” she meowed. “Do you have kits?” she asked, turning back to Slate as the kits scampered up.

“I’ve never seemed to have the time,” Slate replied. She hadn’t met a tom she wanted to have kits with, either, but she didn’t feel like telling Wind Runner that.

She expected Wind Runner to say something comforting about how Slate would have kits someday, but instead the brown she-cat just snorted.

“You’re lucky in a way,” she continued after a moment. “Kits are exhausting. I haven’t slept a single night through since they were born.”

“They must be very needy, then,” Slate mewed.

Wind Runner shook her head, her hard yellow gaze growing soft and affectionate. “No, it’s my problem,” she admitted. “I love them too much.”

She’s not unkind at all, Slate thought, rapidly revising her opinion of the she-cat. Just tough on the outside—but there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Before she could say any more, the gray tabby tom reappeared, followed by a long-furred black tom with white on his ears, chest, and paws. He was carrying a bundle of leaves in his jaws.

“Oh, you’ve kept her awake,” the gray tom meowed, bounding up to Wind Runner and pressing his muzzle to her shoulder. “That’s great.” Turning back to Slate, he added, “I’m Gorse Fur. Wind Runner’s my mate. And this”—he waved his tail at the long-furred tom—“is Cloud Spots. He knows a lot about herbs and treating wounds, and he’s come to help you.”

Slate closed her eyes as Cloud Spots padded up and began to examine her. She was vaguely aware of him sniffing at her wound and touching her belly with gentle paws, but she kept drifting away into unconsciousness. This time, though, the darkness wasn’t as alluring. Perhaps she wasn’t going to join her brother in death yet after all.

Finally Slate came back to full consciousness to hear Wind Runner, Gorse Fur, and Cloud Spots talking together, the sharp tones of an argument in their voices. She opened her eyes and turned her head toward them, struggling to make out what they were saying.

“What did you expect?” Cloud Spots was asking Wind Runner. “That you’d just leave her lying here in the grass? She’s lost a lot of blood. I’ve patched her wound with cobweb and put on a poultice of chervil to fight infection, but she’s very weak. She needs watching.”

“Then you should take her back to the hollow,” Wind Runner snapped.

The hollow? What does she mean? Slate wondered, confused.

“I can’t move her that far,” Cloud Spots retorted. “Her wound would break open again. Wind Runner, your camp is just the other side of that gorse thicket.”

Gorse Fur looked at his mate. “We could take her in,” he suggested. “Just for a moon or so.”

The fur on Wind Runner’s shoulders bristled with annoyance. “We left the hollow to get away from other cats,” she pointed out. “To protect our kits. And now you want to take in some flea-bitten rogue?”

“Excuse me!” Slate struggled to sit up, all her early dislike of Wind Runner rushing back. “I don’t want to come to your camp. I’ve no interest in joining a group like yours.”

“Why not?” Gorse Fur asked, his ears pricking up curiously.

“Because all you do is fight,” Slate retorted, repeating what Cricket had said so often. “And you take prey from the cats who were born here.”

“We were born here, thank you very much,” Wind Runner put in.

Cloud Spots waved his tail, gesturing for silence. “Then what do you want to do?” he asked Slate.

“Do you have kin who could look after you?”

An overpowering pang of grief for Cricket shook Slate from her ears to her tail-tip, but she did her best to hide it. She shook her head. “I’ll look after myself,” she responded, putting out all her strength to draw herself to her paws.

She tried to stalk off casually, but after a single step she felt as if her legs had turned to water. She collapsed, her head spinning. “Oh…” she murmured.

Gorse Fur bounded to her side. “We’ll take her in,” he meowed with a pointed look at Wind Runner. “We have to. Remember, she’s some cat’s kit.”

Slate looked up at Wind Runner, who let out an annoyed growl, then shrugged in resignation. “All right,” she told Slate. “But you cannot stay too long. We’re not looking for more cats.”

Slate glared at her. “I’m not looking to become one of your cats.”

Cloud Spots’s whiskers twitched in amusement. “Very well,” he meowed. “Something tells me you two will have lots to talk about.”

Chapter Two

Slate crouched in a patch of sunlight, her paws tucked under her and her eyes slitted as she basked in the warmth. A half moon had passed since her fight with the fox, and the wound in her belly was healing well. But she didn’t think that the wound in her heart, from the loss of Cricket, would ever heal. She still missed her brother every day.

A patter of small paws roused Slate and she opened her eyes to see the white she-kit, Moth Flight, scampering up to her. The little kit cast an approving glance over the rabbit bones scattered beside

Slate’s nest.

“You’re eating better,” she mewed.

“Yes,” Slate agreed. “I’m feeling much stronger now.”

Moth Flight’s whiskers drooped sadly at her words. “That means you’ll have to leave soon. My mother says you can only stay in our camp until you’re strong again.”

“I know,” Slate responded.

Moth Flight lifted her voice in a wail. “But I’ll miss you so much!”

“Maybe I can come to visit,” Slate suggested, curling her tail gently around the white kit.

“It won’t be the same,” Moth Flight protested, leaning her head against Slate’s shoulder. “You’re the only one who will play with me. Wind Runner and Gorse Fur are too busy hunting all the time, and Dust Muzzle says I’m too silly.”

“Maybe Dust Muzzle is right,” Slate mewed. “But there are times when it’s okay to be silly. It’s part of who you are.”

Moth Flight’s only response was a sigh.

“So where is Wind Runner?” Slate asked, trying to change the subject. “It’s almost sunhigh, and I haven’t seen her or Gorse Fur today.”

Moth Flight looked up at her, stretching her eyes wide in mingled excitement and fear. “They’re tracking the fox!” she whispered.

“The fox?” At first Slate didn’t understand.

“Wind Runner spotted it outside the camp just before dawn,” Moth Flight explained. “And when she and Gorse Fur went to check it out, they found a dead stoat a little way across the moor, covered in fox scent.”

“A stoat?” Slate asked, beginning to be worried. “That’s a tough fighter for a fox to kill.”

Moth Flight nodded eagerly. “I heard them talking about how the fox must be starving, because it’s getting bolder. Look what it did to you!”

Slate nodded gravely. Look what it did to Cricket! she thought, but she did not speak the words aloud in front of the kit.

Before she could ask Moth Flight any more questions, Wind Runner appeared from behind the boulders that surrounded the camp, with Gorse Fur hard on her paws. Both cats had serious expressions; Slate could guess what was bothering them.

As they approached Slate, Wind Runner flicked her tail at Moth Flight. “Go and find Dust Muzzle and play,” she ordered. “We have to talk to Slate.”

For a heartbeat Moth Flight seemed as if she was about to protest; then she met her mother’s fierce amber gaze and bounded off.

“Slate, we haven’t asked you any favors until now,” Gorse Fur began. Slate got the impression that his speech had been carefully rehearsed. “But we have taken very good care of you. We’ve kept you well fed, in spite of how hard it’s been to hunt since the sickness came, and—”

“That’s true,” Slate interrupted. “Are you saying that you want me to go?”

“No!” Gorse Fur responded immediately, looking horrified at the thought.

“Not yet,” Wind Runner put in sharply. “But we need a favor. We’ve seen the fox that attacked you, several times, close to the camp,” she continued. “This morning we found a stoat killed just a few tail-lengths away. I’m afraid it won’t be long before the fox decides to try its luck with cats again. And with the kits so young and vulnerable…” Her voice trailed off.

“What are you planning to do?” Slate asked, mystified.

“We mean to kill it before it comes after us.” Wind Runner’s eyes and voice were full of resolve, and cold as a frozen stream. “We need you to watch the kits tomorrow. We’re going to track it to its den and attack it while it sleeps.”

Anxiety like clouds of dark mist rose around Slate as she listened to Wind Runner’s plan. “You don’t know what you’re in for,” she meowed. “This fox is dangerous. It killed my littermate!”

“But we have more experience in fighting than Cricket did,” Wind Runner retorted, unmoved by Slate’s warning.

Slate let out a snort. “Oh, yes, you group cats! Always play fighting. This is not like that.” She didn’t know how to describe to them how fast and vicious the fox had been.

Wind Runner’s tail-tip twitched irritably. “We’re grateful for your concern,” she mewed, clearly struggling to bite back an angry response. “But all we need is for you to watch the kits.”

Slate was not reassured. Gorse Fur looked anxious, as though her words had reached him. “If you and Wind Runner both go to attack the fox,” she began, turning to him, “and if the worst happens, then you’ll be leaving your kits all alone to fend for themselves.” She faced Wind Runner again. “Do you want that to happen?”

Wind Runner sighed, her tail drooping. Slate realized that appealing to her love for her kits was what it took to make her listen.

“No,” the brown she-cat meowed wearily. “But what else can you suggest?”

“Let me kill the fox.” As Slate spoke, she realized that more than anything in the world she wanted to sink her claws into the vicious creature and see its life gush out. “That fox killed the cat I loved best.” She spoke her final words through gritted teeth, with all the force of her hatred. “I want to be the one to kill it!”

Gorse Fur and Wind Runner exchanged a startled glance, as if they hadn’t expected such a fierce reply. Then their gazes became more thoughtful.

“We can’t let the fox keep coming around, getting closer and closer,” Gorse Fur mewed. To Slate, he added, “Do you really think you can kill it?”

A strong sense of purpose flooded through Slate. Now she realized why she hadn’t let herself die on the moor after Gorse Fur found her. It was because I need to kill that fox! “I will avenge my littermate,” she assured Gorse Fur.

“I’ll go with her,” Wind Runner told Gorse Fur, authority in her voice. “I’m the stronger fighter.

You stay with the kits.”

Gorse Fur hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. “Okay. But please be careful.”

“We will,” Wind Runner replied briskly. “Slate, we’ll leave before dawn tomorrow. Better get a good rest before then.”

“Wind Runner!” Dust Muzzle’s voice rose from behind a rock. “Moth Flight bit my tail!”

Wind Runner heaved a sigh. “Kits!” With a whisk of her tail, she was gone.

Gorse Fur was left with Slate, his green gaze fixed on her. “Thank you,” he meowed, his voice heavy with meaning. “You know,” he added, “even if you kill the fox, I can’t guarantee that Wind Runner will let you stay here.”

“I don’t want to stay here,” Slate retorted, surprised.

Gorse Fur nodded and walked off.

As she watched him go, Slate realized for the first time that she wasn’t sure she meant what she had said.

Slate felt a paw prodding her shoulder and opened her eyes to see Wind Runner standing over her.

“It’s time,” the brown she-cat meowed.

Stretching her jaws in a vast yawn, Slate stumbled to her paws. Overhead the stars were growing pale at the approach of dawn. She shivered in the chilly breeze that whispered over the moor.

“The fox was skulking around here again last night,” Wind Runner continued as she led Slate between two boulders and out onto the moor. “I’ve picked up its scent.”

“A rabbit without a nose couldn’t miss that stink,” Slate muttered as the rank smell caught her in the throat. “It should be easy to track.”

Side by side the two she-cats followed the fox’s trail across the moor. White mist wreathed over the ground, and the tough moorland grass was heavy with dew. The moisture damped down the fox scent, and sometimes they lost the trail altogether where the fox had crossed a stream, but they quickly picked it up again. The fox was heading directly toward the forest.

“That’s where its den must be,” Slate murmured, pausing and raising her head to survey the dark barrier of trees that lay ahead.

Wind Runner paused at Slate’s side, shifting her paws uncomfortably. Slate turned toward her, aware that the brown she-cat wanted to say something but was finding it hard.

“We’re both grateful to you,” Wind Runner mewed at last. “But I’m not sure why you’re doing this. You know we can’t give you anything in return.”

“I don’t want anything,” Slate responded. “Only to kill that fox.”

Though she said nothing to Wind Runner, Slate admitted to herself that she didn’t expect to survive the fight. She wasn’t even sure that she cared. Killing the fox and protecting the kits—and yes, Wind Runner and Gorse Fur—would be enough. It will be a noble death. And I won’t have to go on trying to cope in a world without Cricket.

But as they continued toward the trees, a tiny thorn of doubt still stuck in her heart.

The sky was milky pale with dawn by the time Slate and Wind Runner reached the forest, and a golden glow on the horizon showed them where the sun would rise. But shadows still lay deep under the trees. The fox scent led the two cats around a bramble thicket and then as far as a gaping black hole among the roots of an oak tree.

“It’s in there,” Slate murmured, gagging on the hot reek that flowed out of the den.

“Now what do we do?” Wind Runner twitched her tail angrily. “I don’t mind chasing rabbits down their burrows, but I’m not going in there.”

“We have to get the fox to come out,” Slate meowed, thinking hard. “I know what to do. You go and hide in that clump of bracken.”

Wind Runner hesitated as if she was going to ask a question, then gave a single lash of her tail and slid out of sight among the ferns.

Once she had gone, Slate collapsed on one side just outside the den. “Help me! Help me!” she whimpered. “I’ve hurt my paw…”

She knew that the fox wouldn’t be able to understand her, but she hoped that the pain and fear in her voice would be clear enough to entice it into the open. Her heart was pounding so hard that she thought the fox must be able to hear that too. I’ve never been so scared.

At first there was no movement in the black mouth of the den. But after a few moments Slate heard a scuffling sound, and a sharp snout poked into the open, sniffing. Then the fox’s whole head appeared, its malignant eyes fixed on her.

Slate let out another piteous cry. But as the fox launched itself toward her, she rolled away and sprang to her paws, hissing defiance. In the same heartbeat Wind Runner exploded out of the bracken and hurled herself at the fox. Slate leaped in to attack it from the other side.

For a few moments the fox seemed bewildered, too surprised to fight back. But it quickly recovered, snapping at Wind Runner with all the viciousness Slate remembered.

Slate jerked back, too scared of getting her paws, or worse, her neck, caught between the fox’s jaws to battle with it up close. She could see that Wind Runner shared her fear, darting in to rake her claws across the creature’s pelt, then leaping back out of range. Slate concentrated, waiting until

Wind Runner had drawn the fox in one direction, then attacking from the other. She swiped at the fox’s hindquarters, but it whipped around and snapped at her, forcing her back.

Slate waited until the fox turned away again. Then she lurched forward, stretching out her foreclaws to dig them deep into the fox’s side, trying to open up a gash like the one it had made in her belly. The fox snarled and turned, stretching its jaws wide to snap at her. Slate ducked aside, wincing as she felt the fox tear out a chunk of her neck fur. She staggered backward, warm blood running down her neck, as Wind Runner threw herself at the fox again.

To her horror Slate saw the fox raise a forepaw and slam it across Wind Runner’s head. Wind Runner let out a yowl of pain and tumbled to the ground, rolling over and over, her legs and tail waving helplessly.

As the fox loomed over Wind Runner, Slate recovered her balance and charged forward, expecting to draw her enemy away. But the fox did not react. Its eye on the side facing her was cloudy and half-closed. It’s the eye Cricket hurt, Slate realized, remembering her brother’s claws ripping at the fox’s face. The fox couldn’t see her attacking from the side because of its wounded eye.

That’s the key to defeating it!

Slate took a deep breath, then flung herself at the fox from that side, keeping low to stay out of the way of its vicious jaws. As her claws sank into its fur, the half-blind fox turned to meet her, but Slate stayed out of its line of vision by attacking from under its jaws. She had a clear path to its neck, and plunged her foreclaws into the softer fur, tearing at the fox’s throat with every scrap of strength she could muster.

Panicking, the fox thrashed and snarled, desperate to escape Slate’s grip. Wind Runner scrambled back onto her paws and lunged at the fox from the other side. Together the two she-cats forced the fox to the ground, its struggles growing weaker.

Slate held on tight, ripping and tearing at the fox’s throat until blood sprayed upward, splashing her muzzle. The feeling of triumph was all she had hoped for.

“That’s for Cricket!” she snarled through clenched teeth.

As she watched the light die out from the fox’s eyes, Slate became dimly aware of Wind Runner yowling urgently.

Another fox? she thought. Does this one have a mate that’s charging to its rescue?

Slate released the fox and stepped away from it, trying to brace herself for another attack. She swayed on her paws, looking around for the new enemy. But all she saw was Wind Runner, staring at her with a look of horror in her yellow eyes.

“Your wound!” Wind Runner cried, gesturing toward Slate’s belly.

Slate looked down and saw blood—a lot of blood—seeping from the gash in her belly. Cold fear washed over her as she sank to the ground, turning her head toward Wind Runner.

“Help me,” she begged.

Blackness beckoned to her, coaxing her to sink down into its comforting depths. Slate fought against it, realizing that she had been wrong when she thought she would be content to give up her life in the fight.

I don’t want to die…

But the blackness was too strong for her. The echoing dark was all around her, and Slate was falling, falling into a pit that had no bottom, where the light of day would never come.

Slate felt the touch of a tiny paw on her forehead. She opened her eyes to see a small white face with bright eyes, so close to her that the kit’s whiskers tickled Slate’s ears.

“She’s alive!” Moth Flight called. “I told you she wouldn’t die!”

Moth Flight pulled back, and Slate looked around to see Gorse Fur, Wind Runner, Dust Muzzle, and Cloud Spots all gazing down at her. She realized that she was back in her nest in Wind Runner’s camp.

Wind Runner took a pace forward and rubbed her cheek against Slate’s. “I was so afraid,” she confessed. “You didn’t wake up, even when we dragged you home.”

Cloud Spots appeared behind Wind Runner, his eyes warm with relief. “I’m not surprised,” he meowed. “I could tell when I first met you, Slate, that you’re a fighter.”

Slate looked down at her belly and saw that Cloud Spots had sealed her wound again with a wad of cobwebs. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you all so much.”

“It’s the least we could do,” Gorse Fur responded. “You saved us from the fox.”

“I couldn’t have done it without Wind Runner,” Slate mewed. Turning to the brown she-cat, she went on, “I’m sorry I’ve gotten myself injured again. I wasn’t aiming to stay in your camp forever. I’ll leave as soon as I’m feeling stronger.”

Gorse Fur and Wind Runner exchanged a glance. “Actually,” Gorse Fur began, “we’ve been talking—”

“You can’t leave!” Wind Runner blurted out suddenly, her eyes filled with emotion.

Gorse Fur nodded. “You’re family now,” he agreed.

“That is,” Wind Runner added, twitching her ear, “if you’d ever want to become a group cat.”

Slate looked from the excited kits to Cloud Spots, to Gorse Fur, and finally back to Wind Runner.

Half a moon ago, I wouldn’t have believed this was possible. But now…

“I do,” she meowed, warmth flooding through her from ears to tail-tip. “I want to be part of this family.”