Moth Flight’s Vision

Chapter 18

As sunhigh neared, Moth Flight pulled a mouse from the prey pile. She wasn’t very hungry, but she didn’t want her belly rumbling when she met Micah. And who knew what they’d be offered to eat in the RiverClan camp? She shuddered, remembering the toad she’d caught, and hoped there’d be more to eat among the reed beds than river prey.

She padded past Swift Minnow, who was washing in the long grass beside Reed Tail. Jagged Peak and Holly were repairing gaps in their den wall by threading heather—which

Eagle Feather and Dew Nose had fetched from the moor—tightly between the stems. Gorse Fur and Wind Runner sat at the edge of the sandy hollow, their heads bent close as they talked.

Slate sat beside Fern Leaf and Willow Tail, blinking in the sunshine while Black Ear, White Tail, and Silver Stripe climbed the gorse wall behind her.

Warm prey scent bathed Moth Flight’s nose as she carried the mouse into the shade of the camp wall where Dust Muzzle and Spotted Fur were lounging in the thick grass, a half-eaten rabbit lying between them. As she dropped her mouse beside them and bent to take a bite, she noticed Spotted Fur’s tail twitching crossly from the corner of her eye. She ripped a lump of flesh from the mouse and looked at him. “What’s up?” she asked, her mouth full.

He frowned. “Dust Muzzle says you’re going to visit

RiverClan with Micah.”

Moth Flight swallowed. “StarClan wants the medicine cats to learn from each other.”

“Can’t you visit RiverClan by yourself?” Spotted Fur asked.

“Micah needs to learn too.” Moth Flight cocked her head as she chewed. Why was he being so crabby?

“Why can’t you travel with Pebble Heart or Cloud Spots?”

Spotted Fur asked accusingly.

Dust Muzzle hooked the rabbit closer with a claw. “Moth

Flight can travel with whomever she likes,” he meowed absently.

Spotted Fur got to his paws and shook out his pelt. “I don’t know if spending time with other Clans is a good idea,” he meowed loudly.

Holly glanced over her shoulder, a sprig of heather in her paws.

Moth Flight stiffened. The golden tom was attracting attention from their Clanmates.

Fern Leaf jerked her muzzle around. “So it’s true! You’re really going to visit RiverClan?”

“Yes.” Moth Flight shifted her paws uneasily.

Wind Runner looked up, eyes narrowing.

“Is that a good idea?” Holly dropped the sprig of heather and headed across the clearing. “Rocky’s still sick.”

“Reed Tail’s promised to watch him,” Moth Flight defended herself.

Swift Minnow flashed her mate a look. “You didn’t tell me!”

“He’s not that sick.” Reed Tail pushed himself to his paws.

“He’s just enjoying his cozy nest in Moth Flight’s den.”

Slate’s eyes rounded with worry. “What if one of my kits gets ill?”

Silver Stripe called down from the gorse wall. “We never get sick!”

“But what if you do?” Slate fretted.

“Reed Tail will know what to do,” Moth Flight promised the queen. He probably knows more than than I do. “Besides, I’m only going to RiverClan. Someone can come and fetch me if you need me.”

Willow Tail’s ears twitched. “It’s just asking for trouble, crossing another Clan’s borders.”

“Dappled Pelt invited me!” Impatience tightened Moth

Flight’s belly. Willow Tail was only trying to make a point because of Red Claw. She felt a surge of anger toward the pale tabby she-cat; with all this talk of borders, she was getting as bad as Clear Sky! “Besides, I’m a medicine cat. I’m going there to learn, not to hunt!”

Wind Runner padded to the center of the clearing. “StarClan has told the medicine cats to learn from each other.” Her gaze swept the Clan.

Moth Flight felt a ripple of relief. Wind Runner wasn’t going to stand in her way.

Gorse Fur nodded solemnly. “What Moth Flight learns from the other medicine cats will help us.”

Jagged Peak stepped out from the shadow of his den, heather sticking out of his pelt. “Mixing with other Clans is dangerous,” he growled.

Moth Flight bristled. “Why? You’ve lived with the forest cats and on the moor and in the pine marsh with Tall Shadow!”

“Which means I’ve learned how important it is to remain in one place.” Jagged Peak met her gaze. “Your loyalty should be with us.”

“It is with you!” Moth Flight snapped. “Visiting the RiverClan camp won’t change that.”

“But you’re going because StarClan ordered you to, not Wind Runner,” Holly chipped in. “Are you a WindClan cat or a

StarClan cat?”

Moth Flight stared in dismay at her Clanmates. How could any cat doubt her loyalty? Her mother was the Clan leader!

Wind Runner lashed her tail. “Stop all this mouse-brained chatter!” she growled. “I realize that we are not used to having a medicine cat among us. And it feels strange to take orders from spirit-cats. But Moth Flight only has the good of the Clan in her heart. She is going to learn so that she can take care of us better.” She fixed her gaze on Slate. “If one of your kits falls ill, wouldn’t you want Moth Flight to know as much as she can about healing?” She turned to Jagged Peak, her gaze hardening.

“Never suggest that Moth Flight’s loyalties are divided! She was born a WindClan cat and, whatever happens, her heart will belong with her Clanmates.”

Moth Flight felt a surge of gratitude toward her mother. But Spotted Fur’s accusing gaze still burned her pelt. She stared at her paws. He’s jealous of Micah. Guilt wormed in her belly. Was it disloyal of her to like the SkyClan medicine cat so much?

She left her mouse and padded across the clearing. “I promised I’d meet Micah at sunhigh.” She avoided her Clanmates’ stares. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, but if there’s an emergency, send for me.”

Ignoring the hushed murmurs behind her, she slid out of camp, relieved to feel the cool wind in her fur.

Moth Flight headed for the RiverClan border. As she climbed down the steep path that led to the river, she saw

Micah, seated on a stepping-stone. He was silhouetted, still and strong, against the flashing water. He looked up as she neared and she narrowed her eyes against the glare of the sparkling ripples.

Behind him, the river split, cutting through the reed beds to create an island in the middle. She knew from listening to her Clanmates talk that RiverClan made their camp there and she wondered what it would feel like to be entirely surrounded by water.

“It’s so peaceful here!” Micah’s purr rumbled over the chattering stream.

Moth Flight jumped gingerly onto the first stepping-stone, watching the water as it swirled around her. She flinched as a ripple broke over the edge of the stone and splashed her forepaw.

Micah purred louder. “You might have to get used to getting your paws wet in RiverClan.”

“I hope not.” She shook the water off.

It felt good to be away from camp. The newleaf sun warmed her pelt. The river was sheltered from the wind by the forest on one side and the cliffs on the other. Pungent scents filled her nose and the birds chattered over the babbling of the river. She blinked happily at Micah. Alone here, with him, she didn’t need to impress Wind Runner, or know how to treat Black Ear’s bellyache or Storm Pelt’s itchy ears.

She crossed the stepping-stones until she reached Micah, then lifted her face to the sun and half closed her eyes. The wind whisked the reed beds on the far shore, stirring the rushes until they rippled like water.

Downstream, a black she-cat padded onto the shore. An orange she-cat passed her, wading into the shallows until the water streamed through her belly fur. She dipped her head, then plunged beneath the surface.

Moth Flight froze. “She sank!”

Micah leaned forward, ears pricked. “Wait.” He watched the water until suddenly, with a splash, the RiverClan she-cat broke the surface a few tail-lengths away, a fish clamped between her jaws. She swam back to shore, then hauled herself out and disappeared among the reeds. Her Clanmate gave a mrrow of approval, then followed.

Moth Flight shivered. “I hope Dappled Pelt doesn’t try to teach us to do that!”

Micah purred. “If she does, you can threaten to teach her how to hunt in your tunnels.”

“I hate tunnel-hunting,” Moth Flight confessed. “It’s Dust

Muzzle’s specialty, not mine.”

“You’re a medicine cat,” Micah reminded her. “You have your own special skills.”

“I wish.”

“That’s why we came here.” Micah jumped onto the next stone and crossed to the far shore. He glanced back at Moth Flight. “We’ll know plenty by the time we leave. But we’d better hurry up. Those cats probably told Dappled Pelt we’re on our way.”

Ruefully, Moth Flight followed. She wished she could spend all afternoon watching the river with Micah. But he was right.

Dappled Pelt would be expecting them. She landed on the sandy shore and followed Micah along a trail that wove among the reeds. The earth was muddy and squelched between her claws.

As the trail widened, she caught up with Micah. “What did Clear Sky say when you told him you were visiting RiverClan?”

“He wasn’t happy.” Micah kept his gaze fixed ahead.

“Did he try and stop you?” Moth Flight scanned Micah’s pelt for scratches.

“He wanted to know why,” Micah told her. “It took a while to convince him that it was for the good of SkyClan but, in the end, he agreed.”

“Wind Runner thought you’d never convince him.” Moth

Flight felt a glimmer of satisfaction that Micah had proved her mother wrong.

“I think Clear Sky likes cats who stand up to him,” Micah told her. “And it helped that Star Flower was there. Since I helped Tiny Branch, she wants me to learn as much as I can—in case Dew Petal or Flower Foot gets sick.”

“How’s Tiny Branch’s cough?”

“It seems to get better one day and worse the next,” Micah murmured thoughtfully. “I wonder if there’s something in the forest that aggravates it.”

“Silver Stripe always sneezes when she’s been playing near heather flowers,” Moth Flight commented. “Maybe you could follow Tiny Branch for a day and see where he plays.”

“I wish I had time for that,” Micah meowed. “Clear Sky keeps me busy treating flea bites and gathering herbs.”

“But you have Acorn Fur to help you.” Moth Flight ignored the jealousy pricking beneath her fur. “Couldn’t she take your duties for a day?”

“Clear Sky insists she never leave my side when we’re on SkyClan territory.”

Moth Flight blinked. “Never?”

Before Micah could answer, the reeds ahead shivered and a black she-cat slid out and blocked the path—the same one they’d seen on the shore downstream. She eyed Micah and Moth Flight suspiciously. “What are you two doing here?”

“Hi!” Micah greeted her cheerfully. “Didn’t Dappled Pelt warn you? She invited us to come and learn what she knows about healing.”

“Night!” A mew sounded farther along the trail. Dawn Mist appeared from among the rushes. Her orange-and-white pelt was wet, slicked against her slender frame. “Dappled Pelt said that if it’s Micah and Moth Flight, you’re to escort them to her den.”

Night narrowed her eyes. “I still think it’s a bad idea to let other Clan cats into our camp.”

“River Ripple says it’s okay,” Dawn Mist argued. “And they’re only medicine cats. What’s the worst they can do? Cure you?”

Night snorted and turned her tail on them. “Follow me,” she huffed.

Moth Flight padded beside Micah, following the she-cat along the winding path.

Dawn Mist fell in beside her Clanmate and glanced over her shoulder. “I wish I could visit the other Clans,” she mewed. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to live on the moor or in the forest.”

Moth Flight’s paws slithered on the muddy earth. “It’s dry,” she muttered.

As Dawn Mist purred with amusement, the reeds opened up and Moth Flight saw a clearing ahead. Fish scent washed her muzzle as two kits bounded across the sandy soil and bundled into Dawn Mist.

“Dawn Mist!” The gray-and-white she-kit bounced around the orange queen. “Pine Needle ate more of the trout than me!

It’s not fair.”

The black tom-kit dug his paws into the earth. “I did not!

She’s just being greedy!”

“Poor Drizzle.” Dawn Mist licked the gray she-kit’s head.

“I’ll catch another fish soon,” she promised.

“Can we have one each?” Pine Needle asked.

Drizzle blinked eagerly. “I want the biggest one!”

“You two are greedier than foxes,” Dawn Mist purred. She nosed the kits away. “Go and play. I’m helping Night show our guests to Dappled Pelt’s den.”

Drizzle’s eyes opened wide as she spotted Moth Flight and Micah. “What are they doing here?”

“Invasion!” Pine Needle fluffed out his fur. “Should I warn

River Ripple?”

A deep purr rumbled at the side of the clearing. “There’s no need to warn me. I was expecting them.”

Moth Flight jerked her nose around and saw the RiverClan leader sitting in the shade of the reed wall.

He stood and crossed the camp, dipping his head as he neared. “I’m glad you’re here. Dappled Pelt’s in her den.” He pointed his muzzle to the foot of a long-dead tree. Its roots snaked into the earth, forming a cave beneath the stump, where countless moons of wind and water had hollowed out the earth.

Night flashed Moth Flight a look. “I hope you can hunt for yourselves,” she growled. “I’m not feeding WindClan or SkyClan cats.”

River Ripple blinked calmly at his Clanmate. “It doesn’t matter what Clan they’re from; their hunger is no different from yours.”

Night snorted and stalked away.

Dawn Mist whisked her tail. “Don’t worry about her,” she whispered to Moth Flight. “She enjoys being bad-tempered.”

Drizzle pricked her ears. “Yesterday she said that I was as dumb as a water vole. But I’m not.”

“Of course you’re not!” Pine Needle’s whiskers twitched mischievously. “You’re dumber.”

“Hey!” Fluffing her fur out indignantly, Drizzle leaped at her brother. Pine Needle ducked out of the way and hared across the camp.

“I’ll get you for that!” Drizzle hurtled after him.

“When they’re not eating, they’re fighting.” Dawn Mist rolled her eyes. “I’d better fetch them more prey.” She headed toward a gap in the reeds where the river lapped the edge of the clearing. Without pausing, she slid into the river and disappeared beneath the surface.

Moth Flight glanced at Micah. The RiverClan cats seemed more like otters than cats. Micah was gazing around the camp.

Shattered Ice lay in a patch of sunshine at the far end of the clearing. Swift, a dark brown tom, washed himself beside the camp wall.

River Ripple flicked his tail toward Dappled Pelt’s den.

“She’s been looking forward to your arrival.”

Micah dipped his head to the RiverClan leader and headed toward the tree stump. Moth Flight hurried after him, her nose twitching as the stink of fish grew stronger. She could see that the gaps between the roots of Dappled Pelt’s den had been woven with reeds. Feathers were threaded between them and fluttered in the soft breeze.

Dappled Pelt stuck her head out from under an arching root.

“You’re here at last!” she purred. “Come in! I’ve just finished sorting my herbs.”

As the RiverClan medicine cat ducked back into the shadows, Moth Flight followed her down the short slope that led into the den. She shivered. The reed walls screened out the bright sunshine and the shadows felt cold and damp. Reeds were strewn over the floor. They shifted beneath Moth Flight’s paws.

She blinked, adjusting her eyes to the half-light. “You’ve got plenty of space!” She paused in the center and looked around.

There was room enough for four nests here, though she could only see two, both woven from rushes. She looked up and saw shadow where the roof disappeared into the rotting stump. A

spider was spinning a web at one corner. “You’ll always have cobwebs to dress wounds!” she mewed, delighted. Perhaps I should catch spiders and try to persuade them to nest in my den!

Micah slid under the root and padded inside. “Does it flood?” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Not unless the whole island floods,” Dappled Pelt told him.

Moth Flight blinked, alarmed. “Has that ever happened?”

“It happened once, during a storm that came after moons of rain.” Dappled Pelt patted a stray rush into the nest beside her.

“River Ripple says if there’s rain like that again, we’ll shelter in the forest until it passes.”

Micah was peering into the shadows behind Dappled Pelt, where an earth wall formed the back of the den. “Is that where you keep your herbs?”

Moth Flight followed his gaze. Small holes had been hollowed from the mud, and green leaves stuck out here and there.

“There’s a different hole for each herb.” Dappled Pelt’s eyes shone proudly.

“Doesn’t the damp air make them rot?” Moth Flight was used to the dry winds that scoured the moor.

“It’s airy enough,” Dappled Pelt told her. “The breeze from the river keeps it cool, which seems to preserve fresh leaves, and I find that fresh leaves are more effective than dried leaves.”

Micah frowned. “It’s a shame,” he murmured. “Leafbare brings more illness. But by then, all we’ll have left in our supplies are dried leaves.”

“Seeds and berries keep their strength.” Dappled Pelt reached into one of the holes and pulled out a pawful of dark berries. She dropped them at Moth Flight’s paws.

As Dappled Pelt drew out one herb after another, telling them where they could be gathered and what they treated—juniper for bellyache, poppy to ease pain—Moth Flight tried hard to remember them, sniffing their pungent leaves, rolling their seeds beneath her paw, fixing the scents in her mind. She couldn’t wait to get home and start scouring the moor.

Micah nosed past Dappled Pelt and sniffed a wide, furry leaf. “What’s this?”

As Dappled Pelt turned to see, a yowl split the air outside the den.

“Help!”

Moth Flight froze as Night skidded down the slope into the den. Her eyes were wide with terror. “You have to come! I just pulled Drizzle from the river—she’s not breathing!”