Moth Flight’s Vision

Chapter 19

Dappled Pelt darted past her Clanmate. Micah hared after her.

Panic flashing beneath her pelt, Moth Flight followed.

Dappled Pelt was already skidding through a gap in the camp wall as Moth Flight reached the clearing. Micah raced at her heels. Moth Flight gave chase, blood roaring in her ears. She leaped through the gap and pulled up sharply as the river loomed in front of her.

Dawn Mist was standing at the water’s edge, her eyes hollow with dread. Water dripped from her fur and she trembled like frightened prey. A sodden scrap of fur lay at her paws.

Drizzle! Moth Flight’s heart leaped into her throat.

Dappled Pelt dropped into a crouch beside the unmoving kit.

Micah leaned close. “Is she dead?”

Dappled Pelt jerked her nose toward Dawn Mist. “Keep her warm. She’s in shock.”

Micah hurried to Dawn Mist’s side and pressed against her.

Moth Flight’s paws seemed frozen to the ground as she stared at Drizzle. The tiny kit’s flank wasn’t moving. “She’s not breathing!” She stared at Dappled Pelt. Why did the RiverClan medicine cat look so calm?

Dappled Pelt’s gaze flitted over Drizzle’s body, then she lifted her forepaws and rested them on the she-kit’s chest.

Moth Flight watched, eyes stretched wide, as Dappled Pelt began pumping the kit with rapid jerks of her paws. “What are you doing?” How could squashing the poor kit help?

Dappled Pelt ignored her. She paused and leaned down, sniffing at Drizzle’s muzzle. Then, straightening, she began to pump the kit’s chest again.

Drizzle’s body shuddered with each jolt, her paws flapping limply, like the paws of a dead rabbit.

Dappled Pelt paused again and sniffed at Drizzle’s nose.

Dawn Mist let out a low moan. “She’s dead!”

“No,” Dappled Pelt, growled fiercely. “Not yet.” Once more she rested her paws on Drizzle’s chest and began pumping.

Suddenly, with a splutter, Drizzle jerked and began coughing up water. Dappled Pelt quickly rolled the kit onto her side, stroking her chest fiercely as Drizzle brought up more water.

“Drizzle?” Dawn Mist’s mew was no more than a breath.

Drizzle stopped vomiting and blinked at her mother. “What happened?” she croaked weakly.

Pine Needle stuck his nose out from behind a clump of reeds. “Is she okay?” His eyes were bright with terror.

Dawn Mist beckoned him closer. “She’s fine.” She looked anxiously at Dappled Pelt. “Isn’t she?”

“Yes. Now that she’s coughed up the water, she’ll be able to breathe again,” Dappled Pelt told her briskly.

Moth Flight stared at the River Clan medicine cat. She wasn’t even trembling. How does she stay so calm?

Pine Needle hurried to his mother’s side and pressed against her flank. “She wanted to see if she could catch her own fish.

But she disappeared under the water,” he mewed shakily. “I called Night when she didn’t come up again.”

“She needs to learn to swim before she catches a fish.” River Ripple brushed past Moth Flight.

She spun, her heart lurching at the sight of the RiverClan leader. She hadn’t heard his paw steps.

He touched his muzzle to Dawn Mist’s cheek. “Start teaching them as soon as Drizzle has recovered.”

Dawn Mist met his gaze, her eyes glistening. “I wanted to wait until they were stronger.”

“Fish swim the moment they are born,” River Ripple murmured. “It’s never too soon for a RiverClan kit to learn.”

Drizzle pushed herself uncertainly to her paws.

Dawn Mist leaned down and lapped her cheek. “Let’s get you into my nest and warm you up.” She nosed the kit toward the clearing.

River Ripple ran his tail along Pine Needle’s spiked fur.

“You did well to fetch help.”

“I only called to Night.”

“That was the right thing to do,” River Ripple told him.

Pine Needle stared at him uncertainly. “I shouldn’t have let her go into the water.”

River Ripple touched his muzzle to the kit’s head.

“Sometimes we can’t stop others from making mistakes. But we can help them when they do. And that’s what you did.” He nosed the kit after his mother, who was lifting Drizzle into a reed nest on the far side of the clearing.

Dappled Pelt watched her leader as he guided Pine Needle away. “He’s so good with the kits,” she murmured. “It’s a shame he doesn’t have any of his own.”

Moth Flight hardly heard her. “How did you know what to do?”

“River Ripple taught me,” she explained. “He’s lived near the water all his life and he knows that you can push water out of a cat’s chest as easily as a cat can suck it in.”

Micah swished his tail through the air. “You were fantastic! I thought Drizzle was dead.”

Dappled Pelt gazed at the river as it swirled past. “It’s a trick every RiverClan cat should know.”

Admiration surged beneath Moth Flight’s pelt. I hope I’m as calm and skilled as Dappled Pelt one day! How must it feel to save another cat’s life? She wondered if Half Moon had been watching. I’ll try to become as good as she is, she promised silently.

Clouds hid the setting sun. A thin drizzle misted the river and a breeze rustled the reeds around camp.

Moth Flight shifted closer to Micah as the damp wind licked her pelt. She eyed Night, who was watching them warily from the other side of the clearing. Dawn Mist was still curled in her nest, tucked among the rushes. River Ripple had gone hunting for shrews in the reed beds with Dawn Mist’s mate, Swift. “Are you sure we should stay the night?” Moth Flight whispered.

“Of course!” Micah looked up from washing his belly.

“Look how much we learned today! Tomorrow we’ll learn even more.”

Moth Flight was glad he was with her. She liked the RiverClan cats, but it felt strange to be away from the hollow.

After she’d returned from the valley, she thought she’d never leave her Clanmates again. “Do you think River Ripple will catch a shrew?” she mewed hopefully.

Dappled Pelt had slipped into the river as the sun began to sink, promising to bring them back a juicy trout.

Micah blinked at her. “Don’t you want to taste fish?”

Moth Flight wrinkled her nose. She’d smelled nothing but fish and herbs all afternoon. She was looking forward to tasting the sweet, familiar flesh of prey with legs. Before she could answer, water splashed behind them and Dappled Pelt waded out from the river.

Moth Flight’s heart sank as she saw a fish between the tortoiseshell’s jaws. It thrashed as she padded onto land, its scales glittering through the rain. Dappled Pelt stopped in front of them and dropped it on the ground.

Moth Flight hopped backward as it wriggled, spattering mud onto her paws.

Purring with amusement, Dappled Pelt stilled it with a forepaw and leaned to give a killing bite. “At least you know it’s fresh,” she meowed, looking up.

Micah glanced at Moth Flight. “Do you want the first taste?”

She flattened her ears and sniffed uneasily at the fish. “Is this a trout?”

Dappled Pelt’s eyes flashed. “It’s called a chub.”

Moth Flight stifled a shiver. “Does it taste anything like toad?”

“No!” Dappled Pelt snorted. “Who eats toads?”

“They taste like mud!” Micah spluttered.

Heat spread beneath Moth Flight’s pelt. There was no way she was going to tell Micah and Dappled Pelt that she’d shared one with Spotted Fur. She touched the chub gingerly with a paw.

Micah caught her eye. “Do you want to wait and see if River Ripple brings back a shrew?”

“No.” Moth Flight lifted her chin. She wasn’t a coward.

Besides, it would be rude to refuse Dappled Pelt’s gift. “I want to taste fish.” She leaned down and sank her teeth into the soft flank of the chub, delighted to find the texture meatier than the rubbery toad flesh. As she tore away a chunk, the flavor sang on her tongue. She blinked at Dappled Pelt in surprise. “It’s nice!”

Chewing, she relished the soft flesh. It tasted of fresh water.

“It’s delicious!”

“Don’t tell Wind Runner you like RiverClan food,” Micah joked. He took a mouthful, his eyes brightening as he chewed.

“Oh, you’re right! It’s great!”

As he spoke, River Ripple nosed his way through the reed wall of the camp, a water vole dangling from his jaws. Swift followed him, carrying a shrew. They stopped when they saw

Moth Flight and Micah.

River Ripple dropped the vole. “You’re eating fish!”

“It’s tasty!” Moth Flight ripped off another mouthful.

River Ripple nodded toward the shrew dangling from Swift’s jaws. “You might as well share that with the kits.”

The dark brown tom dipped his head and carried his catch toward the nest where Dawn Mist was curled with Drizzle and Pine Needle. Placing it beside the tightly woven bundle of reeds, he stuck his nose in and nudged Dawn Mist’s pelt.

She jerked her head up, blinking.

“How’s Drizzle?” Swift asked.

“I’m fine!” Drizzle sat up, ears pricked.

“I smell vole!” Pine Needle clambered onto his mother’s back and peered from the nest. Nose twitching, his gaze flashed toward River Ripple’s catch. He scrambled out of the nest and raced toward it. “Can I taste it?” He glanced at the RiverClan leader.

“Of course.” As River Ripple pushed the vole toward Pine

Needle, Drizzle leaped from the nest and hurried to her brother’s side.

“I want to taste it too!”

River Ripple purred. “It’s good to see you looking better.”

Drizzle stuck her tail up indignantly. “I wasn’t sick. I only went for a swim!”

River Ripple’s whiskers twitched. Water beaded along them as the rain grew heavier. He glanced up at the darkening sky.

“I’m going to my nest.” He headed toward a den, woven among the roots of another tree stump.

Moth Flight felt rain seeping through her pelt. “Where should we sleep?” she called after the RiverClan leader.

He paused and nodded toward Dappled Pelt’s den. “Is there room enough there?”

Dappled Leaf nodded. “They can share the spare nest.”

As River Ripple disappeared inside his den, Moth Flight glanced shyly at Micah. She’d only shared a nest with her brother before. Dust Muzzle had always teased her that it was like sleeping next to a badger. “I’m afraid I snore.”

“Good.” He took another bite of fish. “I snore too.”

Dappled Pelt rolled her eyes. “Great,” she muttered.

When they’d finished the chub, she led them to her den.

Rain was thrumming the earth as dusk gave way to night, and Moth Flight was relieved to slip into the shelter of the tree stump. She crossed the dark den and climbed into the reed nest on the far side, surprised to find the stems silky beneath her paws. All the sharp ends had been carefully tucked underneath so that curling into it felt almost as good as curling into her heather nest at home. She wriggled to one side, leaving room for Micah.

He squeezed in beside her. “Do you have enough room?”

“Yes.” Moth Flight purred as Micah’s warm pelt pressed against her.

Dappled Pelt’s golden gaze shone through the darkness.

“Are you both comfortable?”

“I am,” Micah purred.

“Me too.” Moth Flight snuggled deeper into the reeds. She yawned, suddenly sleepy. “I hope I remember everything I’ve learned today.”

“You will.” Micah shifted beside her, tucking his paws close to his belly.

Moth Flight blinked at him through the darkness. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget seeing Drizzle come back to life.”

“She was never dead,” Dappled Pelt meowed across the den.

“She just needed air in her chest instead of water.”

Moth Flight suddenly remembered her dream of the blue-gray she-cat. She’d come back to life too. Perhaps she hadn’t been dead either. Moth Flight frowned. But no cat had pumped her chest, and she hadn’t coughed up water.

Beside her, Micah’s breathing began to slow and deepen. He was drifting into sleep. Moth Flight rested her muzzle on her paws and watched him. Her fur tingled where his breath stirred her pelt. Gradually, her eyes grew heavy and closed and darkness swirled around her.

A familiar stone tang touched Moth Flight’s nose. She opened her eyes as the scent of the Moonstone cave washed her tongue. Leaping to her paws, she gazed around. How did I get back—

Before she could finish her thought, two cats padded into the cave. A large, dark tabby, the one she’d seen with the gray she-cat the day she’d come back to life, headed for the Moonstone, his eyes fixed on the dull rock. He glanced at the hole in the roof, the watery starlight reflecting in his yellow eyes.

Moth Flight shivered. There was coldness in this tom’s gaze, and a stiffness in his broad shoulders that frightened her. He seemed to be waiting for the moon to light the rock, impatience rippling along his spine.

The gray tom, who’d entered the cave with him, stopped at the dark tabby’s side. The tabby jerked his muzzle around, snarling as the gray tom spoke. There was no friendship between these cats. Then why are they here together?

The dark tabby sank stiffly onto his belly and touched his nose to the rock a moment before moonlight set it alight.

Moth Flight screwed up her eyes, flinching as brightness blinded her.

The stone beneath her paws turned to squelchy moss. She blinked open her eyes eagerly. Was she back on StarClan’s hunting grounds?

Darkness pressed on every side. She turned her head sharply.

Trees loomed around her. This wasn’t StarClan’s land. She recognized the dank scent of rotting wood, sharpened by the smell of pinesap. This was ShadowClan territory.

Feline shapes moved among the trees, their shadowy pelts glittering with starlight. Spirit-cats! She scanned the starry cats, hoping to see a familiar pelt, but these weren’t the StarClan cats she knew. Heart racing, she backed toward a tree, hoping she couldn’t be seen. Her fur rippled with fear. These cats moved with solemn purpose and the dark tabby seemed to be waiting for them, his gaze blazing expectantly in the darkness.

His eyes narrowed as a sparkling tom approached him. Moth

Flight saw the spirit-cat speak, but she couldn’t make out the words. As the tom stepped away, a small ginger she-cat took his place. The she-cat spoke and the dark tabby answered, disdain sparking in his gaze.

Doesn’t he respect his ancestors? Moth Flight leaned closer, pelt pricking with interest.

The she-cat reached her muzzle forward and touched the dark tabby’s head.

The tabby jerked as though agony flared through him.

This is like the time I saw the blue-gray cat in the cave!

Moth Flight remembered her dream. Why did the touch of these spirit-cats seem to cause so much pain?

Moth Flight narrowed her eyes, her breath quickening as one after another, the spirit-cats stepped forward and touched the dark tabby. Each time, he stiffened, his pelt spiking, but he did not give ground. He met each new touch, his eyes burning with hunger.

Finally, the last spirit-cat stepped away and the dark tabby lifted his muzzle. Moth Flight looked into his eyes, searching for some clue as to what the spirit-cats had shared with him, but she saw only pride.

Around him, the spirit-cats’ mouths moved. They seemed to be chanting something. Moth Flight pricked her ears, trying to make out the words, but she couldn’t. One StarClan tom broke off, his mouth frozen as he stared at the dark tabby.

Moth Flight swallowed as she saw dread darken the spirit-cat’s gaze.

She jolted awake, cold with fear.

“Moth Flight?” Micah jerked his head up as she stared, blinking, around Dappled Pelt’s den.

The sound of his mew soothed her and she turned and met his gaze.

“Bad dream?” he asked.

As she nodded, he leaned forward and touched his muzzle to her cheek. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured softly. “We’re safe here.”

Obediently, she rested her nose on her paws and closed her eyes. She felt his tongue lap her ear until weariness muddled her thoughts.

“It was only a dream.” Micah stopped and tucked his muzzle beside hers.

These aren’t dreams. They’re visions. As his breath deepened into gentle snores, worry pulled Moth Flight back from the brink of sleep. But what are they about? And why do they make me feel so uneasy?