Moth Flight’s Vision

Chapter 8

“Follow me!” The plump she-cat was climbing a steep slope, scrambling up the wooden slats that crisscrossed it.

Moth Flight hurried toward her, crossing the straw-covered floor, nervous at finding herself inside a huge Twoleg den. It towered around her, the roof high above her head. The brown tom trotted after them, not even glancing at the large black-and-white creatures that shifted and huffed at one end of the den.

“Are they dangerous?” Moth Flight whispered, eying them warily.

“Cows? Dangerous?” The tom shrugged. “They’re clumsy, but not mean. Stay away from their hooves and you’ll be okay.”

The she-cat had already made it to the top of the slope and peered down from a broad ledge where big lumps of dried grass were stacked.

Moth Flight paused at the bottom of the slatted slope, paws twitching with unease. “What is this place? Are there Twolegs here?”

The tom nudged her onto the first rung. “This is the barn.

The Twolegs store their hay in the loft and keep their cows below. But they’re used to us being here and they don’t bother us.”

Are these cats kittypets? Moth Flight clung onto the next slat and pulled herself up. One of her hind paws slipped and hit the tom on the muzzle. “Sorry!” She hauled herself up. “I’ve never seen a slope like this before.”

The tom snorted and shook his fur out. “Ladders are only hard to climb the first time,” he assured her. “Just keep going.”

Moth Flight scrambled over the top, onto the ledge where the she-cat waited. She sneezed, hay dust filling her nose. This must be the loft.

As Moth Flight sniffled, the she-cat purred with amusement.

“You’ll get used to that too.”

Moth Flight wasn’t so sure. Her eyes stung. The air was thick with dust; she could see it clouding in the shafts of sunlight that sliced through every gap in the high wooden walls of the barn. The loft stretched into shadow where it reached to the back wall of the huge den. Stacks of hay crowded every side.

The tom landed next to her. “You’re safe up here. Dogs can’t climb ladders. They’re all paws and no sense.”

“What about Micah?” She could still hear the dog barking angrily in the distance.

“Micah is the fastest and cleverest cat I know.” The plump she-cat sat down and began licking her belly fur.

“No dog ever gets near him,” the tom assured her.

The she-cat looked up from her washing. “What are you called, dear?”

“Moth Flight.” She glanced around the stacks of hay, her nose twitching as she smelled prey in the shadows. Her belly growled. She was hungry.

“Moth Flight?” The she-cat blinked at her. “Is that a kittypet name?”

Moth Flight lifted her chin sharply. “I’m no kittypet!” She snorted indignantly. Then she hesitated, guilt pricking her pelt.

Were these cats kittypets? The tom hadn’t answered her question. She didn’t want to offend them after they’d been so kind. She tipped her head apologetically. “Are you?”

The tom lay down and stretched in a strip of sunshine.

“We’re farm cats. We share our territory with Twolegs, but we look after ourselves.” He yawned.

The black-and-white she-cat straightened. “My name’s Cow and that’s Mouse.”

Moth Flight swallowed back a purr. Such odd names!

“Where are you from, dear?” Cow pressed.

Moth Flight’s purr caught in her throat as she remembered the WindClan camp. “I come from the moor. I live there with my Clan.” Homesickness swept her so fiercely, she swayed on her paws.

Cow leaned forward to steady her with a soft shoulder. “You must be hungry, you poor thing. You’ve strayed a long way from home.” She glanced at Mouse. “The moor’s that great hill looming in front of the sunrise, isn’t it?”

Mouse nodded. “Is your Clan your family?” he asked Moth

Flight.

“Kind of.” Her heart ached as she remembered Dust Muzzle and Gorse Fur, and even harder as she pictured Wind Runner. I wish I could make her proud of me.

Moth Flight heard paws pattering over the ground below.

She turned in time to catch sight of yellow fur, then heard scrabbling on the ladder. Moments later Micah jumped into the loft. His striped pelt gleamed in a streak of sunlight and his green eyes flashed as he met Cow’s gaze. “That dog will be picking thorns out of its paws for days.” A purr rumbled in his throat.

“Did you lead it through the bramble patch again?” Cow’s whiskers twitched with amusement.

“Of course!”

Moth Flight stared at him. “You sound like you do this a lot!”

“There’s not a dog in the whole valley that can catch me.”

Micah whisked his tail in the air. “And if they did, I’d give them such a clawing, they’d regret it.”

Mouse rolled onto his back, drowsily. “It must be a new one.

The old farm dogs know better than to chase you, Micah.”

Moth Flight gazed in admiration at the yellow tom. He stared back at her, his eyes widening.

She shifted her paws uneasily. He was staring at her as though she had green fur. “What’s wrong?” Self-consciously, she smoothed a paw over her ears, wondering if one of them was bent inside out.

“It’s you!” Micah’s pelt ruffled along his spine. His mew was thick with disbelief. “What are you doing here? This isn’t where you belong!”

Cow blinked at him. “What are you talking about, Micah?

She’s a stranger.”

“But I know her!” Micah insisted.

Mouse pushed himself to his paws. “You’ve been on this farm since you were a kit. How can you know her? She’s never been here before.”

“I’ve seen her in my dreams!” Micah murmured, half breathless, his eyes wide.

Cow whisked her tail over her paws. “Don’t be mouse-brained. She’s real!”

Moth Flight hardly heard the she-cat. She was staring at Micah. “Do you have dreams too?”

Mouse sniffed. “Every cat has dreams.”

Micah glanced at him. “I’ve heard you talking about your dreams, Mouse. You do nothing but chase mice and rats.”

“That’s not true,” Mouse sniffed. “Sometimes I dream that they’re chasing me!”

“But my dreams feel like they’re real!” Micah insisted.

“Mine too!” Moth Flight’s belly tightened with excitement.

Cow weaved between them, tail high. “Poor Moth Flight is starving. Let’s eat first and talk later.” She nodded toward the shadows at the back of the loft. “Shall I catch a mouse for you?

There are plenty!”

Moth Flight shook her head. She had a long journey ahead.

The moth still had something to show her, she was sure of it.

And if her dreams could be trusted, she assumed it had something to do with the spirit-cats. She must prove that she was strong enough for the task. “I’ll catch my own prey, thanks.” She glanced past Cow, snatching a look at Micah. I don’t want him thinking that I can’t hunt for myself, she thought, her pelt growing hot.

Cow jerked her nose toward the shadows. “Help yourself.”

Micah padded past her. “Let’s hunt together,” he suggested.

“That chase has made me hungry.”

“We’ll all hunt.” Cow stood up.

Moth Flight felt a jab of disappointment. She wanted a moment alone with Micah to ask about his dreams. Were they like hers?

“Come on!” Cow marched toward the back of the loft.

Micah leaped onto one of the stacks of hay and disappeared down the other side.

Moth Flight wondered whether to follow him, but Cow was beckoning her into the shadows.

“Here’s a great spot,” Cow lowered her voice. “There are always plenty of mice who can’t resist a nibble on the straw, even up here.”

She dropped into a crouch. Moth Flight sank down beside her and stared into the gloom. Dust filled her nose but, through it, she could taste the musky scent of prey.

Her belly growled again.

Cow stifled a purr. “I’ll let you go first,” she whispered.

“Thanks.” Moth Flight crept forward, her eyes adjusting to the gloom. Between two lumps of hay, movement flickered.

Concentrating, Moth Flight remembered Gorse Fur’s advice, realizing as she did how many times he’d told her the same thing. Move slowly. Lift your tail. Put your pads down softly.

Her father’s words ringing in her mind, she stalked forward, ears pricked. Excitement tingled in her belly. As she neared the hay lumps, she could make out the small, round haunches of a mouse. Holding her breath, she padded closer, then halted.

Bunching the muscles in her hind legs, she prepared to pounce.

For a moment, she was aware of absolute stillness and silence.

Then she leaped.

The mouse darted away, but Moth Flight was quick. She landed a whisker away from the hay lump and thrust her paw into it, moving faster than she’d ever moved in her life. Triumph flared through her as her claws sank into warm flesh. Quick as a flash, she hooked the mouse out and killed it with a single bite.

Black-and-white fur pelted past her. Hay dust exploded around her as Cow thumped against one of the lumps, scrabbling under it for a moment before dragging out her own catch.

Her eyes shone at Moth Flight as she killed the mouse she’d caught, then nodded approvingly at Moth Flight’s. “There’s no better place to live than a barn,” she purred loudly.

Moth Flight met her gaze, grateful for this cat’s warmth. But she couldn’t agree. For a moment she imagined the wind on the high moor, sweeping through her fur as she chased rabbits with Dust Muzzle. One day I’ll catch one. Happiness swelled in her chest as she imagined the impressed look on her brother’s face.

“Come on.” Cow was padding back to the sunny opening of the loft, her mew muffled by her mouse.

Moth Flight scooped up her own catch and followed.

Mouse was already eating. Micah appeared a moment later, scrambling over the stack of hay and landing lightly beside them, a mouse dangling from his jaws.

Moth Flight bit into her mouse, relishing the sweet flavor.

She remembered, with a grimace, last night’s toad. How could

RiverClan eat frogs every day? Perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps they saved them as a treat! She shuddered.

Soft breath brushed her ear. “You said you dream as well.”

Micah’s mew broke into Moth Flight’s thoughts. He’d moved close, laying his mouse beside hers.

“Yes,” she murmured.

Cow was busy eating. Mouse had already finished and was starting a leisurely wash a tail-length away.

Micah took a bite of his mouse. “What do you dream about?” he asked, his mouth full. “Me?”

Moth Flight shook her head, trying not to purr. Micah clearly was not a modest cat. “I dream about a moth, and spirit-cats. They’re so vivid it’s like they’re real.”

“Spirit-cats?” Micah stared at her.

“Dead cats who visit the living.” Moth Flight wondered suddenly if farm cats were visited by their ancestors too? By the puzzled look on Micah’s face, she guessed not. She pressed on.

“Do you dream the same? About moths and other cats?”

Perhaps he didn’t know that the cats in his dreams were dead.

She stared at him eagerly, hardly smelling the warm scent of prey wafting from her mouse. Hope sparked in her chest. Would

Micah know what the moth meant and who the gray she-cat was?

He shook his head, then swallowed. “I just dream about you.” A frown wrinkled his brow. “Just you. Playing with a young gray tabby tom—”

“Dust Muzzle?” Moth Flight interrupted.

“I don’t know his name. Sometimes you’re playing Catch the Tail, sometimes you’re out on a wide stretch of grass, hunting. Sometimes you’re with different cats—another gray tom, thinner and older than the Muzzle one.”

“Gorse Fur!” Moth Flight’s pelt stood up along her spine.

This cat had really seen her in his dreams!

Micah shrugged. “If you say so. And there’s a wiry brown she-cat. She always looks cross.”

“That’s Wind Runner, my mother,” Moth Flight told him.

Micah took another mouthful of mouse. “I was taken from my mother when I was a kit. But if mothers are that stern, I’m happy I had Cow instead.” He glanced fondly toward the plump she-cat. Her eyes were glazed with contentment as she chewed the last of her catch. Micah’s whiskers twitched suddenly. “Why are you always taking plants back to your den?”

“You saw that?” Moth Flight stared at him.

“The other cats tease you, but every hunting trip, you bring back a plant instead of prey. It drives your mother crazy.”

Moth Flight purred loudly. Micah made it sound funny. Then she paused. “Are you surprised to see me in real life?”

He narrowed his eyes, as though thinking. “My dreams have always seemed real, so it seems natural that I’d meet you one day.”

Moth Flight nodded eagerly. “I know just what you mean.

My dreams aren’t about you, but they seem so real. They have to be real, right? ”

Micah eyed her, dubiously. “Green moths and spirit-cats?”

Moth Flight gazed into his bright green eyes. “You dreamed of me when you’d never met me,” she told him. “So anything’s possible.”

Micah’s ear twitched. “I guess.” He held her gaze and warmth flooded her pelt.

She stared back, feeling suddenly as if she had always known him. Her fur tingled. Is this cat part of my journey?