Moth Flight’s Vision

Chapter 1

“What are you mumbling about?”

Dust Muzzle’s mew jerked Moth Flight awake. She blinked open her eyes, narrowing them at once as bright afternoon sunshine sliced over the gorse wall of the camp. “Was I mumbling?” The dream of the blue-gray she-cat and the moth were still sharp in her mind. Had she been calling out in her sleep?

Dust Muzzle paced in front of her. “You said you wanted to go with someone.”

Spotted Fur stopped beside Dust Muzzle, his eyes warm with affection. “I thought only old cats took afternoon naps.” He nudged Dust Muzzle. “Your sister has been hanging out with Rocky too long.”

Rocky looked up as he heard his name. The old ginger-and-white tom blinked from his nest in the long grass beside the sandy hollow. “She could learn a lot from me,” he grunted.

“I’ve seen more moons than the three of you put together.” The kittypet had been with the Clan for only a few moons—he’d arrived shortly after Gray Wing had called the groups of cats Clans for the first time, a word that had seemed right the moment Gray Wing had said it—but Rocky had taken to Clan life like a frog to swimming. He didn’t hunt as much as the younger cats, complaining that his paws were too slow for chasing. But he loved to help Holly and Eagle Feather with their tunneling. Holly was always planning new tunnels, digging through old rabbit runs to make shortcuts to new ones.

Moth Flight scrambled to her paws. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the sun was so warm.” Leafbare was finally loosening its grip on the moor and the newleaf sun felt luxurious after hard moons of frost and ice. Panic jolted through her.

“Where are Slate’s kits?” She scanned the clearing, her heart lurching. Slate had asked Moth Flight to watch White Tail, Silver Stripe, and Black Ear. They’d been playing in the sandy hollow when Moth Flight’s eyes had begun to grow heavy.

She’d only closed them for a moment and now the kits were nowhere to be seen.

She caught Holly’s eye across the camp. The black she-cat was washing dirt from her fur, while Eagle Feather shook out his dusty pelt beside his mother.

Holly frowned. “Is everything okay, Moth Flight?” she called. “You look worried.”

Moth Flight forced herself to blink brightly. “I’m fine,” she assured Holly.

Dust Muzzle flashed her a look. “Apart from losing Slate’s kits,” he breathed.

“Hush!” Moth Flight headed across the tussocky grass.

“Perhaps they’re near the stones.” The kits liked to chase one another around the smooth flat rocks near the camp entrance.

“I saw them earlier,” Rocky called.

Moth Flight spun to face him. “Where?” Before he could call his answer across the camp for everyone to hear, she dashed to his nest and stopped, panting, beside him. “Where were they?” she begged.

“I saw them playing outside camp when we came out of the tunnel,” Rocky told her.

“Whereabouts?” Fear prickled through Moth Flight’s pelt.

“Near the RiverClan border.”

“You mean the gorge?” Moth Flight’s throat tightened. A

deep ravine cut through the moor there, a river churning at the bottom. It was a dangerous place for kits.

“Not very near,” Rocky reassured her. “They’re too sensible to go close to the edge.”

“They’re only two moons old!” Moth Flight was fighting panic. Slate had trusted her to watch her beloved kits. Still mourning the loss of her mate, Gray Wing, the gray she-cat often rested after sunhigh, weary from her grief. I’ve let her down! What if Silver Stripe fell into the gorge? Or a buzzard carried off White Tail? Or Black Ear—stop! Moth Flight forced her thoughts to slow. “Why didn’t you bring them home with you?” She glared at Rocky.

“I thought you’d sent them out there.” Rocky blinked at her.

“Why would I do that?” Moth Flight lowered her voice to a hiss. “They’re too young to be out of camp. They can’t look after themselves.”

Rocky met her gaze steadily. “I thought that’s what you were supposed to be doing,” he grunted.

A disdainful snort sounded from behind Moth Flight.

She glanced around to where the heather wall of the camp shaded a soft grassy border.

Swift Minnow was eyeing her harshly. “I can tell you haven’t been with us long, Rocky,” the gray-and-white she-cat meowed. “You clearly don’t know Moth Flight very well.”

“What does that mean?” Moth Flight glared at the other cat, her belly twisting as she guessed what Swift Minnow was going to say before she’d finished her question.

“You never do what you’re supposed to.” Swift Minnow sniffed. “Wind Runner sent you out to catch voles yesterday and you came back with leaves from some stinking plant.”

“It wasn’t stinking!” Moth Flight defended herself. “And I had to bring it back. I’d never smelled leaves like that before.”

“Leaves don’t feed a Clan,” Swift Minnow shot back.

Rocky pushed himself to his paws and gazed gently at the gray-and-white she-cat. “Don’t be too harsh, Swift Minnow.

Moth Flight’s hardly more than a kit herself. Kits get distracted.

Everything is new to them.” He shrugged and shambled toward a sunny patch of clearing, his pelt twitching along his spine where tunnel mud caked his fur.

“Don’t worry.” Spotted Fur’s mew stirred Moth Flight’s ear fur. The golden tom leaned closer, his dappled pelt glowing in the afternoon sun. “The kits will be fine. I’ll help you look for them.”

Swift Minnow glanced toward the shady hollow in the heather wall where Slate was sleeping. “You’d better find them before their mother wakes up. She’s had enough grief.”

Moth Flight lifted her chin. “I’ll find them!” Wishing she felt as sure as she sounded, she marched toward the camp entrance.

Spotted Fur hurried after her.

Moth Flight glanced back at Dust Muzzle. “Aren’t you coming to help?”

Dust Muzzle rolled his eyes. “Not again! I’m always helping you out of trouble. You’ve got Spotted Fur to help you.

I’m tired from hunting. Let me rest.”

Moth Flight flicked her tail crossly. But he was right. Her brother was always helping her out of scrapes. Last half-moon, Wind Runner had sent her looking for cobwebs to dress Dew

Nose’s scratched paw, but the night had been so starry, Moth Flight had been distracted by the reflection of the sky glittering in a puddle. It had been Dust Muzzle who’d come to hurry her up and who had finally found a clump of cobwebs among a pile of rocks while she’d been spotting patterns in the stars.

I must learn to focus on what I’m supposed to be doing!

Otherwise, I’ll never—

“Should we head for the gorge?” Spotted Fur’s mew cut into her thoughts.

“The gorge?” she stopped outside the camp entrance and frowned for a moment. Then she hissed, angry with herself. Her thoughts had wandered again! Promising herself she would try harder, she nodded. “Of course. That’s where Rocky saw the kits last.”

She stared across the wide swaths of brown heather rippling softly in the newleaf breeze. Full moon was in two days, and in another half-moon, the moor would be green with budding leaves, something she had only heard older cats talk about.

Moth Flight could hardly wait for the fresh, clean scent of new life. This would be her first newleaf. All she could remember was snow and ice and the slow dying of the moorland in the moons before leafbare. Now it was all going to come back to life again. Excitement fizzed in her paws.

“Moth Flight!” Spotted Fur’s mew was stern this time. “We need to find the kits!”

She shook out her fur, feeling guiltier than ever. Why did there have to be so many things to distract her? “The kits.” She curled her claws into the grass, determined that this time she would stay focused on finding them.

The heather rustled ahead of them and Willow Tail slid out from beneath the bushes, a mouse hanging from her jaws. She dropped it and looked at Spotted Fur. “What’s this about kits?”

“I’ve lost Slate’s—”

Spotted Fur cut Moth Flight off before she could finish her confession. “Slate’s kits have wandered out of camp and we’re going to find them.”

Moth Flight glanced gratefully at her friend. “Rocky said he’d seen them near the gorge,” she added.

Willow Tail’s eyes rounded with worry. “I’d better come with you. Three noses are better than one.” Leaving her mouse, she began to hurry down the slope, breaking into a run as she weaved between the clumps of heather. Spotted Fur hurried after her and Moth Flight ran behind.

“Keep your mouths open to taste for their scent,” Willow

Tail called over her shoulder.

Moth Flight caught up with Spotted Fur, opening her jaws to let the moor scents bathe her tongue. The smell of warm peat filled her mouth. She narrowed her eyes, peering at the slope below, hoping to see a flash of familiar fur. “Can you smell them?” she puffed.

Spotted Fur’s gaze was fixed ahead. “Not yet, but with Willow Tail helping we’re bound to find them quickly.”

Willow Tail had slowed as the slope steepened toward the gorge. She darted this way and that, sniffing the grass around the edge of a gorse patch. “Check that stretch of heather,” she called to Spotted Fur.

“Where should I look?” Moth Flight called.

“Stay with Spotted Fur,” Willow Tail called back. “We don’t want you getting lost too.”

Moth Flight’s pelt prickled. Did every cat in WindClan think she was as useless as thistledown? Obediently, she slid between the heather bushes after Spotted Fur.

A distant tang touched her nose. “I can smell the river.”

“From here?” Spotted Fur turned to face her, heather crowding in on either side and arching over their heads.

“I can smell the water plants that line it.” Moth Flight felt a pang of longing. “I’ve always wanted to go and see them up close and pick a few. Water plants are so interesting. Why don’t they drown? Don’t they need wind like moor plants?”

“You can’t go picking plants in RiverClan territory,” Spotted Fur warned her. “Wind Runner says if there’s to be peace between the Clans, then we have to stay on our own lands.”

Moth Flight felt a prickle of frustration. “How will we learn anything if we just stick to what we know?”

As she spoke, she saw Spotted Fur stiffen. Alarm sparked in his gaze.

“What’s wrong?” Fear pricked her paws.

“Listen!” Spotted Fur’s ears were stretched.

Moth Flight stretched hers too, straining to hear what he had heard.

The faint wail of a kit sounded through the heather.

Then Willow Tail’s frightened yowl sounded from downslope. “Spotted Fur! Come quickly!”

“The kits are in trouble!” Spotted Fur plunged through the heather.

Heart pounding in her ears, Moth Flight raced after him.