Path Of Stars

Chapter 11

Gray Wing narrowed his eyes against the fine rain as he scanned the moortop.

Slate pressed closer to his flank. “Are you sure you should be out in this weather?”

“Yes.” Three days in his nest, struggling to breathe, had been enough for Gray Wing. When he’d woken this morning and found that the tightness in his chest had eased at last, he’d scrambled from his den and begged Wind Runner to let him join the hunting patrol.

She’d agreed, but not until Gorse Fur had shown him the battle moves they’d learned at the four trees hollow. The whole group had been practicing hard—harder after Thunder had visited to warn them that the rogues were planning to attack. The day before, Reed and Minnow had spent all afternoon drilling Moth Flight and Dust Muzzle on the new fighting techniques, and the kits had taken to the training so eagerly that they were still practicing long after the sun had dipped below the horizon. It had warmed Gray Wing’s heart to see the young cats working so hard. Matching the cats with assigned trainers had brought out the best in all of them. I knew they’d underestimated you, Moth Flight.

Now he stood on the moortop and watched the rest of the patrol—Wind Runner, Gorse Fur, and Dust Muzzle—sniffing at the burrows that dotted the grass. Lifting his head, he relished the freshness of the wind and the rain whipping his whiskers. The chill that had gripped the moor had eased with the coming of cloud. He hoped the rough weather would keep the rogues in their camp.

He glanced down the slope, alert for unfamiliar pelts moving against the grass.

Slate was scanning the slope too. “I wish they’d just attack,” she growled. “Waiting is making everyone anxious.”

Gray Wing flicked his tail. “I’m just glad they haven’t stolen prey for a while.” Every rabbit, mouse, and bird his campmates had caught in the past few days had been brought back to the camp.

Prey was still scarce, but at least they didn’t have to share it with a bunch of mangy rogues.

Gray Wing glanced downslope, his pelt pricking uneasily. Were the rogues watching them now?

He tried to ignore the queasy fear in his belly. Slate was right. Waiting for the attack was worse than fighting.

Movement caught his eye. He turned his gaze toward the moortop warren just as Dust Muzzle disappeared into a burrow. A few moments later, a rabbit burst from a hole farther along the slope.

Wind Runner started forward, her gaze flashing with excitement, but Gorse Fur blocked her way. The gray tabby tom’s eyes were fixed on the hole the rabbit had shot from. He lifted his tail as Dust

Muzzle darted out. The young tom skimmed the grass, as fast as the wind, closing the gap on his quarry. With a leap, he soared and landed squarely on its back. Rolling over, he grasped it in his paws and bit down on its neck.

Gray Wing purred. “Dust Muzzle is a great hunter.”

Slate swished her tail. “It’s hard to believe he’s only six moons old. He hunts as well as any of his campmates.”

Wind Runner and Gorse Fur bounded toward them, Dust Muzzle running ahead. As they neared, Gray Wing heard the call of a grouse from beyond a swath of heather farther downslope.

Gorse Fur must have heard it too. He snapped his gaze toward the sound, his ears pricking.

Dust Muzzle slithered to a halt in front of Gray Wing. Pride glowed in his gaze as the rabbit swung from his jaws.

Its warm scent bathed Gray Wing’s nose. “Well done,” he purred.

As Wind Runner caught up, she nodded to Dust Muzzle. “Go and tuck it into the grass over there.”

She pointed to a tangled clump a few tail-lengths away. “We can pick it up on the way back to camp.”

Gorse Fur was still staring downslope. “Did you hear the grouse?”

“Of course.” Wind Runner headed toward the heather as Dust Muzzle slid the rabbit beneath the straggly grass. As she reached it, she lifted her forepaws off the ground and peered over the frost-browned bushes.

She turned and, with a flick of her tail, beckoned the others to join her. Gray Wing hurried eagerly toward her. Moth Flight, Minnow, Reed, and Spotted Fur would be pleased when they returned to camp with two fat pieces of prey.

“It’s on the grass beyond this patch of heather,” Wind Runner whispered. She nodded to Gray Wing. “I want you to sneak around it. Drive it toward the heather. The rest of us will be waiting in the bushes. Once you’ve chased it toward us, we can make the kill.”

Gray Wing’s pelt pricked irritably. Didn’t she trust him to make the kill?

She spoke again, as though reading his thoughts. “We can’t risk losing it,” she told him. “Someone has to make sure it flies toward the heather.”

But why me? Gray Wing wanted to argue, but he knew the answer she’d have to give, no matter how reluctantly. Because you’re not fit enough to hunt. Even the short run downslope had left him breathless. How could he catch prey? He grunted and headed around the heather patch, tracing a wide circle as he reached the grass beyond. The grouse was pecking at the ground a few tail-lengths from the heather. Gray Wing dropped low and slowed his pace as he crept behind it. It lifted its head warily. Gray Wing froze. His heart quickened. Then the grouse began to peck at the ground once more. Moving even more cautiously, he scanned the heather. Wind Runner and the others must be in place by now. Fixing his gaze on the grouse, he crept toward it. He picked up speed. His paws hardly made a sound on the rain-soaked grass. The grouse kept pecking, oblivious to his approach. Perhaps he could make the kill himself after all. One leap and he’d be on it. He could pin it to the ground and kill it with a single bite.

Now!

He leaped, pelt bristling with excitement.

Yowls exploded behind him. Startled, he landed clumsily. Angry screeches split the air around him. The grouse fluttered upward, shedding feathers as it fled.

Gray Wing turned.

Eight rogues were streaming toward him, ranged across the hillside, teeth bared. Wind flattened their ears and their fur, blowing back their whiskers and stealing their scent so that he recognized none of them.

Shock flared beneath his pelt. “Wind Runner!”

Bushes rustled. Paw steps thrummed around him as, stiff with shock, Gray Wing watched the rogues pelt closer. Wind Runner, Gorse Fur, and Slate exploded from the heather. Gray Wing reared as an orange she-cat flew at him. Her weight hit him hard and sent him stumbling backward. As he thumped onto his back, he felt a paw press his throat. I can’t breathe! He met the rogue’s vicious stare as she pressed harder. Fighting panic, Gray Wing curled his hind legs in and tucked them beneath her belly. He felt his head throbbing as she choked him. Gurgling, he shoved out hard with his back paws. The orange tabby gripped with her claws. Pain spiked through his pelt as he flung her away. He felt his fur rip and saw clumps of it snagged in her claws as she flipped midair and landed nimbly on the grass.

Gray Wing jumped up, fear turning to energy as the rogue she-cat raced toward him again. She lunged at him. Gray Wing saw her gaze flick to his shoulder. Star Flower’s move flashed in his mind, the one Gorse Fur had shown him earlier. She’s going to try to lame me! Quickly he slammed his forepaw on top of her shoulder before she could lift hers.

Surprise flashed in her amber gaze. Her paw buckled beneath her, and she tumbled to the ground.

Around him, shrieks and yowls filled the air. Slate reared as an orange tom and a tortoiseshell she-cat swiped blows at her head. Dust Muzzle wrestled on the grass with a black tom. Wind Runner was backing slowly away from three toms.

One of them was Slash. The rogue’s eyes glinted with triumph as his campmates fanned out and began to circle her, cutting off her escape. “If we kill her,” he snarled, “the others will give up.” Eyes wild with panic, Wind Runner jerked one way then the other, spitting as she lashed out with her forepaws.

“Go for her throat, Splinter.” Slash nodded to a black-and-white tom.

Gray Wing raced to help, but as he neared, Gorse Fur streaked in front of him. His gaze was fixed on a gap between the toms. He raced through it, shoving Splinter aside. Gray Wing saw Gorse Fur catch Wind Runner’s eye. She blinked back at him, as though words had silently passed between them, then ducked away from Slash and raked her claws along Splinter’s flank. Streaking away, she glanced over her shoulder. Splinter hissed at her and gave chase. Gorse Fur tore after him, and Gray Wing stared in surprise as the two moor cats hared across the moorside, the rogue between them.

Who’s chasing and who’s being chased? He looked back toward Slash. The rogue was staring after Gorse Fur, confusion darkening his gaze for a moment. Then he turned and narrowed his eyes.

Signaling to his companion with a nod, he lunged toward Slate. Gray Wing watched in horror as four rogues piled on top of her, hissing and spitting. Paws whirled. Tails lashed. From beneath the frenzied mass of squirming bodies, he heard Slate’s terrified yowl.

He plunged into the fight, claws stretched. Pushing his way to the middle, he flipped over and began hitting out with every paw. He felt a soft body beneath him and smelled fear-scent. Slate! He fought harder, wincing as claws hooked into his pelt and scratched his cheek. Screwing up his eyes, he lashed out, desperate with fear. He felt Slate wriggle from underneath him. Suddenly she was on her paws, pressing against his flank as faces snarled around them.

“Tail to tail!” Slate hissed.

Gray Wing seemed to read her thoughts. As he reared, she reared, and he pressed his spine against hers. Back to back, they battered their attackers with a flurry of paws. Rain lashing his face, Gray Wing flung one hefty blow after another, bracing himself against Slate as she braced against him. Gradually, the blur of claws and faces grew clearer. Slash swung a paw at him, then turned to a black-and-brown tom. “Go for the legs, Beetle!” he hissed.

Gray Wing moved just in time as the rogue dived at his hind leg. Balancing on a single paw, he kicked out, slashing his hind claws against the rogue’s cheek. The tom ducked away, yelping with pain, and reared, fury in his eyes.

Gray Wing felt his breath tighten. No! Panic gripped him. Not now! He had to keep fighting. Slate was fending off the other two rogues behind him. A black tom was on top of Dust Muzzle, who shrieked with pain as the orange she-cat jerked his hind leg between her jaws. He’s using all the right moves, but he’s too young to fight off two grown cats. Horror hollowed Gray Wing’s belly. He wheezed, fighting for air.

“Wind Runner!” Hope sparked in Slate’s mew.

The camp leader burst from the heather, Gorse Fur at her heels. She leaped toward Dust Muzzle and hooked her claws into one of the rogue tom’s shoulders. With a grunt, she heaved him off and wrestled him to the ground.

Dust Muzzle struggled from beneath the black tom and turned on him, paws flailing.

Gorse Fur barged between Slash and his campmates. Rearing, he moved between Slate and Gray Wing and began swiping at the rogues. “We chased Splinter off!” he shouted, struggling to be heard over the sounds of battle. “He won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

That’s one gone. Gray Wing thought grimly. Only seven to go. He raised a paw as Slash swung a blow toward his cheek. He blocked it and pressed harder against Gorse Fur and Slate. His hind paws felt weak as he struggled for breath. I need air! Claws raked his nose as his concentration slipped for a moment. How long could he keep this up? Gorse Fur lashed out at Beetle while Slate fended off the orange tom. Gray Wing glanced down as the tortoiseshell she-cat dived for his hind leg. He snatched it away, but too slowly. Her teeth sank into his flesh. Pain shot like lightning through his leg. With a grunt, he collapsed onto the grass. Paws slammed onto his flank. Rank breath billowed past his cheek.

Slash was on top of him.

Help!

As he flailed desperately, a familiar yowl rang through the air.

Reed! Through a flurry of paws, he glimpsed his campmate’s silver fur streaking from the heather.

Minnow, Spotted Fur, and Moth Flight hurtled out after him. The air seemed to explode as they crashed into the attacking rogues.

Gray Wing dug his hind paws into Slash’s belly and heaved. But Slash was clinging hard with thorn-sharp claws. Slash snarled in his ear as he sank his teeth into Gray Wing’s neck and rolled him across the grass. Gray Wing thrashed in terror. He gulped for breath, but his chest was so tight he couldn’t draw in air. The world seemed to shrink as darkness closed around him. Breathe! I must breathe! He struggled to stay conscious, hardly aware of Slash or the pain.

Suddenly the weight of the rogue was gone. Gray Wing lay as helpless as a fish hooked from the river. As he gasped for breath, his mind reeled. What if he couldn’t get enough air? Around him, the yowl of battle ebbed away; darkness clouded his vision as rain soaked his pelt. Am I dying? Then, slowly, the stone jaws clasping his chest began to loosen. He drew in shallow breaths, which deepened one by one. His panic eased as he felt the world open around him once more. The grass beneath his cheek swam into vision. Lying limply on his side, he became aware of Slate.

“Gray Wing?” She was leaning over him, her warm breath on his muzzle. “Gray Wing!” Fear edged her mew.

He grunted, wanting desperately to reassure her.

Paws slithered to a halt beside him. “We chased them off.” Wind Runner sounded pleased. “They won’t come back in a hurry.”

“Is Gray Wing okay?” Moth Flight’s voice sounded beside him.

“I don’t know!” Slate was trembling.

Gray Wing pulled in a shuddering breath and blinked at her. “I’ll be fine,” he whispered hoarsely.

Moth Flight was sniffing his pelt. “Slash has given him a nasty bite, but it will clean up nicely.”

“It’s a good thing you pulled Slash off him when you did, Slate.” Wind Runner peered down at him, her eyes dark with concern.

Numb, Gray Wing rolled onto his paws and crouched, belly to the grass. He wanted to stand but didn’t have the strength.

“Just rest there,” Slate soothed.

“Thank you,” Gray Wing wheezed. “For saving me.”

“I had to,” Slate purred. “I couldn’t let anything happen to the father of my kits.”

Gray Wing stiffened. “Your kits?” Confused, he stared at her. Turtle Tail was the mother of his kits. And they weren’t really his kits. Hazily, he tried to understand.

“I’m going to have your kits,” Slate explained softly.

Shock heated Gray Wing’s pelt.

“Is it so surprising?” Slate purred.

Gray Wing lifted his chin and gazed at her in wonder. “My kits,” he breathed. Joy flooded his heart like sunshine filling the sky. He was going to be a father. He purred a clumsy, wheezing purr.

“My love,” he murmured, burying his nose in Slate’s thick, warm fur. “Thank you.”