Leafpool’s Wish

Chapter 8

The badger took one step forward and lowered its head, ready to charge. Suddenly there was a ferocious roar behind them and Leafpool glanced around to see a big red fox explode from the nearest burrow. For a moment Leafpool waited to be crushed between fox and badger. Then there was a rush of stinking air as the fox leaped over her head and launched itself at the black-and-white intruder. Squirrelflight threw herself against Leafpool and bundled her into the nearest burrow. Around them, the ground shook and sand fell from the walls as the two animals battled outside. The she-cats crawled deeper into the burrow and curled into a corner, huge-eyed with terror, too frightened to speak.

At last they heard the fox bark in triumph, and the sound of the badger lumbering away. Leafpool began to stand up but Squirrelflight stopped her. “Wait,” she urged in a whisper. “We won’t be able to find shelter in the dark, and it’s still raining. It’s dry inside, and the tunnel is too small for the fox to follow us down. I think we should stay here for the night.”

Leafpool stared at her sister in alarm. Sleep next to a fox hole? Had Squirrelflight lost her mind? But then she saw the exhaustion in her sister’s eyes, and knew that Squirrelflight couldn’t walk another step. From the scent of blood drifting down the burrow, she guessed that the fox had been badly hurt, hopefully enough to make it lose any interest in hunting a couple of cats. “Okay,” she meowed, lying down again. “Let’s get some rest.”

Squirrelflight fell asleep almost at once and began to snore gently, just audible above the patter of rain overhead. The kits in Leafpool’s belly were wide awake, wriggling and wrestling to change position, and sleep seemed a long way off. With a grunt, Leafpool hauled herself to her paws. If she stayed here, tossing and twitching, she would disturb Squirrelflight. A cold breeze whispered down the burrow, making Leafpool reluctant to go outside. Instead she turned deeper into the tunnel, carefully testing with her whiskers to see where the walls were.

A tiny beam of moonlight shone through a hole in the roof ahead of her, casting a silvery gleam onto the sand below. Leafpool padded forward and found herself at the opening to a much larger burrow. The scent of fox almost sent her fleeing back to the open air, but she steadied herself and peered into the half-light. The big fox was here, smelling of blood and anger, but fast asleep now. Her body was curled around three cubs, each not much larger than a kit. In spite of her wounds, the she-fox had tucked them close to her belly, and as one of the cubs stirred, she reached out and nudged it back to the warmth of her fur.

Leafpool felt a strange sensation of joy swell inside her. I know how this fox feels. Even asleep, she is still their mother. Soon I will have babies of my own to guard with my life, to love with every beat of my heart. With one more look at the she-fox, this time with a mix of admiration and envy, Leafpool turned and tiptoed back to her sister.

“Leafpool, wake up! It’s light outside. We should leave before the fox scents us.” Squirrelflight prodded Leafpool with her paw.

Leafpool rolled over and opened her eyes. Her kits had settled at last and she had gone to sleep dreaming of gentle foxes and milk-scented dens. She stood up, and gasped as her belly swung below her.

Squirrelflight jumped to her side. “What’s wrong?”

Leafpool found her balance and took a deep breath. “I think the kits will come today,” she mewed.

She waited for her sister to panic, but instead Squirrelflight looked calm and determined. “Okay. Well, you can’t have them here! We need to get you as far from this fox hole as possible and find some shelter.” She helped Leafpool up the sandy tunnel and into the cold, clear air. It had stopped raining, and the forest was quiet save for dripping leaves.

Leafpool could hear Squirrelflight’s belly rumbling with hunger but she was relieved when her sister didn’t suggest stopping to hunt. Leafpool didn’t think she could eat a mouthful. She just wanted to find a safe place to have her babies. Squirrelflight sniffed at a clump of ferns and stuck her head inside.

“It looks dry in here,” she called, her voice muffled.

“Not if it rains again,” Leafpool replied. She staggered on, almost falling when a bramble snagged her fur.

“What about underneath this thicket?” Squirrelflight suggested as she helped Leafpool free from the prickly tendril.

“Do you want my kits to be full of thorns?” Leafpool meowed.

Squirrelflight said nothing, just walked on. “How about next to that fallen tree?” She pointed with her tail to an oak that lay on its side.

Leafpool wrinkled her nose. “It smells bad.” She could tell Squirrelflight was about to explode. Then she stumbled to a halt as a spasm of pain gripped her belly. “Oh! I think they’re coming!”

In an instant Squirrelflight was pressed against her. “Not yet, Leafpool! We have to find somewhere safe for them.”

Leafpool looked up and saw a gnarled tree in front of them, so old and twisted that she couldn’t tell if it had been an oak or an elm to begin with. It was smothered in ivy, and a dark shadow that ran down its length showed that it had been hollowed out by a blast of lightning many moons ago. She felt a pull toward it as if it had reached out and grabbed the scruff of her neck.

“That is the place,” she whispered as another wave of agony rippled through her. “That is where my kits will be born.”