Outcast

Prologue

“Prey-stealers! This is our territory.” A gray tomcat spat out the words. His neck fur bristled and his lips were drawn back in a snarl. His gaze raked over the group of cats who crouched below him on the steep path. Their claws were unsheathed and their eyes were bright and hungry. One of them had a limp rabbit dangling from her jaws. “Our territory and our prey.”

A silver tabby tom gave him an insolent stare. “If it’s your territory, why are there no border markings? The prey here belongs to every cat.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” A black she-cat stood close to the gray tom’s shoulder, her tail lashing. “Get out now!”

From the side of her mouth she added in a low mutter, “Crag, we can’t fight them. Remember what happened last time.”

“I know, Night,” the gray tom replied. “But what else can we do?”

On Crag’s other side a huge brown tabby tom thrust his way forward, letting out a hiss of fury. “Take one more paw step and we’ll rip your fur off,” he growled.

Crag touched him on the shoulder with the tip of his tail.

“Steady, Talon,” he warned. “Let’s get out of this without ripping fur if we can.”

More cats appeared around a curve in the path, filling the narrow space behind the silver tabby.

“Sheer.” Crag summoned a small tabby tom with a flick of his ears. “Get back to the cave, quickly. Tell them the invaders are back.”

“But—” Sheer was obviously reluctant to leave his friends when they were already outnumbered.

“Now!” Crag snapped.

Sheer turned and fled up the path.

The sun was going down. Rocks cast long shadows over the rough ground, stained red as blood. The faint sound of tumbling water broke the silence, and from the sky came the harsh cry of a hawk.

“This is as far as you go,” Crag meowed. “Turn back and find somewhere else to hunt.”

“Who’s going to make us?” the silver tabby sneered.

“Try staying here, and you’ll see,” Talon hissed.

Crag’s patrol pressed up beside him, blocking the path.

But the intruders began fanning out, scrambling onto the boulders on either side. Crag crouched, tensing his muscles.

He would fight if he had to, in spite of what had happened last time.

“Stop!”

A brown tabby tom shouldered his way through Crag’s patrol to stand in front of the invaders. Though his muzzle was gray with age, his muscles were still wiry and powerful and he held his head high.

“I am Stoneteller, Tribe-Healer of the Tribe of Rushing Water,” he announced, his voice echoing hoarsely off the rocks. “This is our territory, and you are not welcome here.”

“Territory only belongs to cats who can defend it,” the silver tabby retorted.

“Remember how we drove you out, before the time of frozen water?” Stoneteller growled. “We will do the same again, unless you leave now.”

The silver tabby narrowed his eyes. “Drove us out? That’s not how I remember it.”

“We chose to leave,” a brown-and-white she-cat added from where she crouched on top of a boulder. “We found a better place to spend leaf-bare, with more prey.”

“And now we choose to come back.” The tabby tom lashed his tail. “A few scrawny, flea-ridden excuses for cats aren’t going to stop us.” He flexed his claws, scraping the stones.

“The Tribe of Rushing Water has always made its home in these mountains,” Stoneteller meowed. “We—”

His words were lost in a yowl of fury as the brown-and-white she-cat launched herself from the boulder and fastened her claws in Night’s shoulder. The tabby tom let out a fearsome screech and hurled himself at Crag. As Crag rolled over and over, clawing at his attacker, the air filled with the shrieks of battling cats.

Far above, the Tribe of Endless Hunting looked on helplessly.