The First Battle

Chapter 8

The sun had burned the mist from the moor by the time Thunder reached the boundary between Clear Sky and Gray Wing’s territory. He leaped up the slope, swishing through the ferns. At the top, he paused. Heather stretched toward the wide, blue sky. He relished the sun’s warmth on his pelt after the extended shade of the forest. What would Jackdaw’s Cry be doing? Would Falling Feather help him build a temporary nest? He glanced back at the trees uneasily.

Should I have left him?

I had no choice. Jackdaw’s Cry had volunteered. His sister was with him. And Clear Sky had promised to keep the tom safe until the meeting at the four trees. Thunder quickened his pace. He pushed through a patch of heather, following a sheep trail that cut between the springy branches. It led out onto a smooth stretch of grass. He breathed the sweet scent of heather blossom and broke into a run.

As Thunder was lost in his own thoughts, paws slammed hard into his flank.

Yowling with surprise, Thunder flew sprawling onto the grass. The stench of tom filled his nose. Thunder unsheathed his claws and twisted to face his attacker, whose copper fur blotted out the sky. The tom crashed into him again, heavier than a badger. Claws latched onto his pelt as the cat rolled him over in the grass. Blood pounded in Thunder’s ears as he struggled to bend his hind legs and rake the tom’s belly. But paws held him too tight. The world spun. Panic rising, Thunder dragged a forepaw free and slashed the tom’s nose. His claws ripped flesh. The tom screeched and let go. Thunder was suddenly rolling alone across the grass. He dug his wide paws in and leaped up, turning on his attacker.

The copper-colored tom was sitting back on his haunches a tail-length away, rubbing his nose. “What did you do that for?” he demanded ruefully. “I was just playing!”

“Playing?” Thunder glared at him. “You sheathe claws when you’re playing!”

The tom licked his paw and ran it over his face, cleaning the blood from his dark moleskin muzzle. He sat up straight and met Thunder’s gaze. A fresh drop of blood welled on his wound.

Thunder snorted. The wound might teach him some manners. The tom was as big as Thunder, but there was no sign of muscle rippling under his pelt. His wide flanks bulged and his belly sagged around his paws. His pelt looked as silky as kit fur. Thunder narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t seen him on the moor before. “Who are you?”

“Tom.”

“I know you’re a tom.” This cat really was dumb. “What’s your name?” Thunder paused as he noticed something shiny glinting at the tom’s throat. A twine was caught around his neck.

“What’s that?” Thunder jerked his muzzle toward the band digging into the tom’s fur.

The tom frowned. “What’s what?”

“The thing around your neck?” Hadn’t he noticed?

“It’s my collar.” Now the tom stared at Thunder as though he were stupid.

Thunder grunted. Of course! I’m the dumb one! This soft, fat cat with no manners was a kittypet. I should have guessed. “Your name is Tom.”

Tom shrugged. “That’s what my housefolk call me.”

Housefolk? He must mean Twolegs. Thunder knew that Turtle Tail had stayed with Twolegs for a while. Had they named her She-cat?

Tom delicately flicked a grass seed from his ear with a paw. Then he stuck out his tongue and licked his nose, the tip touching the blood still welling there. “Did you have to scratch me?” he mewed irritably. “I hope it doesn’t leave a scar. My housefolk will be sad.”

“Why?” Thunder frowned. “It’s not their nose that’s scratched.”

“They like me to look handsome.” Tom stared across the heather. “Do you live around here?” His mew was casual, but his gaze was taking in every flickering stem and trembling sprig of heather.

Thunder’s paws pricked with unease. This cat was after something. “Why are you here?”

Tom blinked at him slowly. “I’m looking for a friend.”

Thunder’s fur began to lift along his spine.

“Someone I used to know.” Tom gave a long sigh and stretched his forepaws out, bending his back till his round belly touched the earth. A shiver ran along his tail. “Her name’s Bumble. We used to play together.”

Thunder stiffened. “Bumble?” He realized this cat had no idea that his friend was dead.

“I’m bored without her,” Tom meowed absently. “I thought it might be nice to find her and play with her again.”

Thunder dropped his gaze. How could he tell this cat that Bumble had been killed? “I—I’m sorry,” he began awkwardly.

Tom’s gaze snapped toward him. “Sorry? About what?”

“Your friend, Bumble.” Thunder shifted his weight from paw to paw. “She’s dead.”

“Dead?” Tom jabbed his muzzle forward. “How can she be dead? What happened?”

Thunder’s thoughts whirled. “We don’t really know.” He glanced down the slope to where they’d found Bumble dying. “Do you want to see her grave?”

“Her grave?” Tom’s sleek fur was fluffed out now, his eyes sparking with disbelief.

“They buried her,” Thunder explained. “Gray Wing and the others. They were the ones who found her.”

“Found her?”

“I’ll show you.” Thunder headed for the heather and pushed through, following a rabbit trail toward the patch of land where Bumble had been killed. He heard branches swish behind as Tom followed. “Here.” He stopped as he reached the grassy clearing. The grass was still stained with blood. A mound of freshly dug earth marked Bumble’s grave. Thunder shuddered at the lingering scent of death.

Tom paced around the bloody markings, his nose trailing over the grass.

Thunder watched him sadly. “When they found her it was too late to save her.”

The tom didn’t seem to hear. He was murmuring to himself. “I can make out…” He darted to another patch. “I can make out…” He lifted his head, his eyes lighting. “Badger! Is that what killed her?”

Thunder shook his head, sorrow for this poor dumb cat welling in his chest. “It’s fox scent,” he corrected. “It attacked her. She couldn’t—”

Tom interrupted. “There’s another smell.” He was sniffing a fresh patch of grass. “A cat, right? A tom?” He stared at Thunder.

Thunder’s tail twitched. Should he mention Clear Sky? He’d been here after she’d died. And before.

Tom sniffed the grass again. “I know this smell. It’s that vicious rogue, right? The one that’s been making borders everywhere. The one the other kittypets have been talking about.”

Pain clawed Thunder’s heart. My father, a vicious rogue? “Maybe.”

Tom padded closer. “Why did you mountain cats have to come here? You’ve been nothing but trouble. Even Turtle Tail! She came to live with us, then ran away, carrying my kits.” A sneer twisted his lip.

Thunder showed his teeth as the tom’s stinking breath bathed his muzzle. “She didn’t just ‘run away.’ Turtle Tail came home. Where she belonged!”

Tom growled. “She stole what was mine.” He began to pace, shoulders low, tail twitching angrily. “And Bumble followed her, the mouse-brain!” He glanced angrily at Bumble’s grave. “She was worried about her. And it got her killed.” He halted. His agitated gaze suddenly softened.

Thunder watched him warily. This cat was forcing himself to appear calm. Why?

“You sound like you know Turtle Tail.” His mew was suddenly as sweet as blossom scent.

Thunder nodded cautiously.

“Will you take me to meet her?”

Thunder hesitated.

“Bumble was so worried about her,” Tom pleaded, rounding his eyes. “She died trying to find out if she and the kits were okay. The kits are okay, aren’t they?”

“They’re fine.” Thunder swallowed. He should leave before this tom asked any more questions. Something wasn’t right. “I have to go.”

“Then you know where they are?” Tom pressed. “And Turtle Tail?”

“Someone’s waiting for me.” Gray Wing would want to hear how the meeting with Clear Sky had gone.

“Will you take me to her?” Tom didn’t blink. “She was very fond of me. I know she’d like to see me again.”

“I’ll tell her I saw you.” Thunder backed away.

Tom’s eyes lit up. “Tell her I’m here.” He sat down on Bumble’s grave. “Tell her I’m not going anywhere till I’ve seen her. Tell her I’ll wait for as long as it takes.”

A chill rippled through Thunder’s fur. “Okay.” He glanced up the slope. He could see the hollow in the hillside where the camp nestled, and felt relieved that swaths of heather shielded it from view. A dark sense of foreboding told him that this tom shouldn’t know where Turtle Tail lived. “I’ll tell her.” He raced up the hill, plunging through the heather. He zigzagged, following the freshest rabbit tracks, hoping their dung would put Tom off his scent trail if he tried to track him later.

As he neared the hollow, he imagined Gray Wing waiting. Excitement began to prick in his paws. Clear Sky had agreed to a meeting. There was going to be peace after all.