The First Battle

Prologue

Wind glanced across the river toward the reed marshes and licked her lips. “Are you sure we couldn’t share some of those cats’ fresh-kill?”

Her companion, Branch, bristled. “You want to eat fish?”

“I’m so hungry I’d eat anything.” The sharp breeze whipping across the moor sliced through Wind’s fur. Snow clouds were piling at the moortop. Flakes whisked around her. Soon they would thicken and swallow the whole hillside, then wrap the forest in white.

“Don’t you trust me to find us food?” Branch huffed.

“We’ve been hunting all day.” Wind’s belly ached with hunger. The sudden chill had driven the moor prey underground. The group of cats who lived near the river had said that they had hunted fish before the river froze. But Branch had refused their kind offer to share their prey.

Even the sour taste of fish would be better than an empty belly, Wind thought.

“Come on.” Branch stalked across the grass, his mottled tabby pelt rippling as snowflakes caught in his fur. Wind knew that it wasn’t only the snow that was ruffling his pelt; she’d upset him. Branch had looked after her since her mother and sister had died of sickness in the last cold season. She knew that he felt responsible for her. He wanted to be the only one who hunted for her; why else would he have refused the fish?

Guiltily, she hurried after him. She and Branch would hunt together and make camp together. Perhaps, one day, they would even have kits together. He will always take care of me. Her heart felt warmed by the thought.

As she fell into step beside him, an ugly scent touched her nose. “Wait!” She stopped. “I smell dog.”

Branch swished his tail. “It’s a long way off,” he grunted. “The breeze is carrying the scent, that’s all.”

Wind opened her mouth. Snowflakes speckled her tongue and froze the roof of her mouth until she wasn’t sure what she could taste. Shaking out her fur, she hurried after him.

Branch had halted, his head turning as he scanned the moorside. As Wind stopped beside him, he nodded toward a brown shape bobbing across the grass.

Wind squinted through the snow, her mouth watering as she recognized the scent. Rabbit! She dropped into a crouch. Branch signaled with a sharp flick of his tail that he wanted her to stay where she was. They’d used this hunting technique before. She watched Branch trace a wide arc up and around the rabbit, stalking it from the far side.

The rabbit paused and sniffed the air, blinking through the snow, then bent to nibble at the grass.

Wind forced her paws to stay still. Her empty belly growled again as Branch crept closer. The rabbit would see him at any moment and then rush toward her. She huddled lower in the grass so that her brown pelt looked like no more than a shadow against the hillside.

The rabbit’s head jerked up, its eyes widening as it spotted Branch. Turning, it dashed away from him.

Wind stiffened with excitement, fixing her gaze on the rabbit as it fled toward her. Another few tail-lengths and she would pounce.

Suddenly the rabbit froze. Wind blinked with surprise. What was it doing? Branch was closing in on it. Come on! As Wind willed it closer, she saw Branch slither to a halt. What’s wrong with you both? Wind watched their gazes dart fearfully upslope. What are you staring at?

She spun around just in time to see snarling jaws lunge at her.

Dog!

Terror pulsed through her body, then pain as teeth clamped around her hind leg. Digging her claws into the grass, she tore out clumps of earth as the dog hauled her backward.

Her mind reeled, fear draining from her as she felt herself being shaken like fresh-kill. Numbness infused every hair on her pelt until she felt like she was watching from very far away. This must be what it was like for captured prey. Am I dead? Through her haze of shock, she heard Branch yowl. Then the dog let her go. She slumped onto the grass, vaguely aware of shrieking and barking beside her. Turning her head stiffly, she saw Branch clinging to the dog’s shoulders, his forepaws slashing at its face. Yelping in agony, the dog shook Branch off and fled up the hillside.

“Wind?” Branch was standing over her, panting. “Are you okay?”

She gazed at him helplessly, feeling the distant throb of pain. “My hind leg,” she croaked.

Branch turned to sniff it. “It’s a bad bite. We have to get you somewhere sheltered. Can you walk?”

“I’ll try.” Dazed, Wind struggled onto her three good legs. She felt Branch’s shoulder press into hers and leaned against it, grateful for his support. Dragging her hind leg, she began to limp beside him. Her pain was spiraling, growing sharper and hotter until she could hardly see the moor. Snow whipped her muzzle, but it did nothing to cool the agony burning through her body.

“We’re nearly there,” Branch puffed, guiding her out of the snow between stiff bushes of heather. Wind groaned with pain as the bristly branches scraped her wounded leg.

“Here.” Branch stopped and let her slide gently onto cold, peaty earth.

Wind collapsed, panting. “How bad is the wound?” She didn’t have the strength to look.

Branch’s gaze fixed on hers, glittering with fear.

Her heart quickened. “Am I going to die?”

“I’ll find some moss to make you more comfortable.” He turned away and disappeared through the heather.

Wind let her head drop onto her paws, her flank trembling as she felt the air strangely warm around her—as though the heat of her own body were filling the hollow. And yet she was still shivering, cold reaching her bones. She closed her eyes; perhaps if she slept, she’d heal more quickly. Her thoughts whirled. She heard Branch’s yowl as she saw the big dog chasing the rabbit. The images swirled and jumbled as she slid into unconsciousness.

She woke to the feeling of soft moss pressed around her. Someone had laid sprigs of heather over her so that she was warmly cocooned in a nest. “Branch?” She lifted her head weakly, relieved as she saw his eyes shining through the gloom. The sun must have set; pale moonlight filtered into the gloomy den.

“How do you feel?” Branch blinked at her slowly.

Wind leaned toward him, puzzled as he seemed to flinch away. “My leg hurts.” The pain was throbbing now, as though invisible jaws gnawed at her wound.

“Are you hungry?” Branch blinked again.

Wind shook her head.

“You’ll need food anyway,” Branch told her. “You should keep your strength up.”

Wind stared at him. There was hardness in his mew. Was he angry with her? She pushed the thought away. He’s just frightened. “I’ll be okay,” she reassured him. “I can hunt with you after I’ve rested.”

Branch straightened. “I’ll fetch you food now.”

Before Wind could reply, he had pushed his way through the heather, the tip of his tail snaking out of sight.

She laid her head on her paws and closed her eyes, relieved to be warm. She was lucky to have Branch. He’d bring her food until she was well enough to hunt for herself. He’d always looked after her. Giving in, she let pain swallow her and slid into darkness.

When she woke, there was no sign of the mottled tom.

Pale sunlight showed through the heather roof of the den. How long had he been gone? Her wounded leg stuck out stiffly, the fur dark and spiked where blood had dried. Then she spotted the carcass of a young rabbit lying beside her. Branch must have brought it. But where was he?

Pushing herself awkwardly up onto her forepaws, she stretched her muzzle forward and dragged the rabbit closer. She had no appetite, but Branch’s words rang in her ears. You should keep your strength up. She forced herself to tear off a piece of flesh and swallow it, her belly heaving as she did. She swallowed two more mouthfuls before collapsing.

She stared at the gap in the heather where Branch had disappeared. Had the dog attacked him too? A chill reached through her fur and she began to shiver. She could feel her breath hot on her paws. She must have a fever. Come back, Branch. I need you.

Wind lost track of the days. The rabbit carcass rotted beside her, but gradually she felt the pain in her leg loosen its grip and her fever subside. Branch had still not returned, and when Wind woke one morning, feeling brighter than she had since the dog attack, she forced herself to her paws. I must find him.

She shook the twigs and moss from her pelt, her paws trembling as she nosed her way through the heather, relieved to get away from the stench of sickness and death.

Her belly twisted with hunger. She was thirsty too and lapped greedily at the snow that lay on the ground. When she’d had enough, she scanned the hillside for paw tracks. The snow lay smooth and undisturbed; the sky was bright and blue above. Stiffly she struggled through the deep snow, her injured leg dragging behind. It was still too painful to put weight on. Limping around the wide swath of heather, she made her way back to the part of the slope where the dog had attacked. She sniffed cautiously.

There was no scent of dog on the crisp, icy air. Nor of Branch.

Neither of them had been here for days.

She halted, her heart aching. Did Branch leave me to die?

He wouldn’t.

But she remembered the hardness in his mew and the distant way he’d stared at her.

Had he left her the rabbit as a parting gift?

The thought stung. She tried to push it away. But doubt dragged like a stone in her belly. Every harsh glance and sharp word Branch had ever flashed at her burned suddenly like a fresh wound. She knew how he relished the freedom of the moor. Why would he want to be tied down with a lame companion?

Wind swayed on her paws. The glare of the snow seemed too bright to bear.

I’m alone! Fear broke over her like a wave of icy water.

No! She lifted her chin. Her leg would heal, and she could fend for herself. I can hunt, I can fight—I can survive!

She ignored the grief tearing at her heart. That would heal too. No cat would ever abandon her again, because she wouldn’t be dumb enough to trust again. Squaring her shoulders, she limped across the moor, crouching low against the freezing wind. Her thoughts narrowed to a single goal—find something to eat.

Chapter 1

Wind raced across the grass, a rabbit’s white tail bobbing ahead of her. Beyond it, the forest stood green against the bright, blue sky. Around her, the heather bloomed, filling the hot air with its sweet scent. It hadn’t rained in a moon, and the moor was as dry as old bone. But clouds were rolling in from the mountains, and Wind could feel the air thicken. She looked forward to the coming storm; its cooling rain would soften the grass and nourish the heather.

The rabbit raced as quickly as a bird over the moorside, but it would never outrun her. I’m as fast as the wind! She pushed harder against the coarse, dry grass, her injured hind leg healed now and as strong as ever. The rabbit’s scent, tainted with fear, bathed her tongue. As she drew near, the rabbit scooted down a burrow. Wind dived after it. Dirt sprayed her muzzle as the rabbit scrabbled to escape into the darkness. Wind hooked her claws into its haunches and dragged it out onto the moor, its squeals still echoing in the tunnel as, with one bite, she killed it.

The rich tang of its blood felt sweet on her tongue, and her belly rumbled with satisfaction. She’d grown strong since the sickness and near-starvation of leaf-bare. Feasting on the rich prey of the moor, she was hardly ever hungry. She wanted to eat as much as she could. There would be another leaf-bare soon enough, and she would face it alone. Hunger couldn’t frighten her so long as she ate well during the prey-rich moons.

Wind picked the rabbit up in her jaws and padded toward the holly tree that stood alone on the hillside. Thick gorse bushes crowded at one side, their spikes and narrow leaves sharper than ever, dried by the relentless heat. She dropped the rabbit on the shady earth on the other side, where a hollow among the roots would make a good place to eat. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She glanced up, pleased to see the storm clouds swallowing the blue. Cooling rain would arrive soon.

Licking her lips, she crouched to take a bite.

“Tansy! I’m hungry!” A small mew sounded from beneath the gorse.

“I smell rabbit!” Another mew rang out.

Wind pricked her ears. Kits?

“I know, my dears.” The soothing purr of a queen touched Wind’s ear fur. “I’ll hunt soon, when I’ve got my strength back.”

“Hunt now!” a mew demanded.

“I can’t run fast enough to catch anything yet.” The queen sounded apologetic.

“I’ll do it then!” The gorse rustled as a tiny gray tom ducked from under its shelter and stomped across the grass.

Wind narrowed her eyes. Rabbit scent was filling her nose. But she didn’t eat. She watched the kit stride across the moor. On the far horizon, lightning flashed against the darkening clouds.

A second kit popped out from beneath the gorse. She was a pale tabby with bright blue eyes. “Frog! Come back! Tansy said you were to stay near her!”

The tom glanced crossly over his shoulder. “If I stay with her, we’ll all starve. I’ll be back once I’ve caught something.”

Wind scrambled to her paws. The moor wasn’t safe for such a young kit. She glanced at the sky, checking for hawks. The tiny tom would make an easy meal for a hungry marsh harrier. She called out: “Wait!”

He turned and gaped at her, his pelt bushing. “Who are you?”

Wind dipped her head. “I’m Wind. I live on the moor.”

“Frog! Run! Tansy warned us about moor cats!” His sister’s mew was sharp with fear.

“I won’t hurt him.” Wind nodded toward her rabbit. “I have food if you’re hungry.” Instantly she felt a pang of doubt. Should she give her prey away so easily? Wind was used to looking after herself; she wasn’t sure if she wanted to look after other cats.

“See, Willow? I told you I smelled rabbit!” Frog was already padding toward her.

The she-kit stared at Wind with round eyes. “We are very hungry. Tansy’s milk has dried up and she’s too sick to hunt.”

Wind watched Frog sniff the rabbit. “What’s wrong with Tansy?” she asked distractedly.

“She got a thorn in her paw,” Willow mewed. “I managed to pull it out this morning, but her pad is all red and fat.”

“It’s probably infected. Now the thorn’s out, it should heal—as long as she washes it regularly.” Wind nudged Frog away from the rabbit. Perhaps she should just tear off a few strips for them, enough to keep their bellies from rumbling. After all, they weren’t her kits.

Frog stared at her defiantly. “You said we could have it.”

Wind prickled crossly. “Not all of it.”

Willow hurried to her brother’s side. “I’m sorry about Frog,” she mewed quickly. “He’s always been greedy. And it’s hard being hungry.”

Wind remembered with a jab of grief her first moon after Branch had abandoned her, lying through long, cold nights, too frightened to sleep in case she didn’t wake up. She had nearly starved. “You can have it.” Leaning down, she grabbed the rabbit between her jaws, then marched toward the gorse bush.

Tansy was squeezing out from under the branches as she approached. Spikes stuck out of the queen’s thick gray pelt, and she was holding a forepaw gingerly off the ground.

Wind dropped the rabbit in front of her. “I’m not surprised you get thorns in your paws if you make your nest under a gorse bush.” She frowned, irritated that any moor cat could be so mouse-brained.

“I didn’t know where else to shelter.” Tansy’s gaze was on the rabbit, her nose twitching eagerly. “We used to be strays in Twolegplace. I thought the moor would be a safer place to raise my kits.”

Wind snorted. “No place is safe for a cat who doesn’t know how to look after herself.”

Tansy bristled. “I’ll learn!”

“I hope so,” Wind answered darkly.

Frog and Willow crowded around the rabbit, their tails twitching excitedly.

Wind jerked her nose toward the wide swath of heather coating the moorside. “You should make your den in there. There are more dips and hollows than there are rabbits on the moor. And the heather sprigs make good nests.”

“Is that where your nest is?” Tansy asked her.

“I have no nest.” Wind flicked her tail. “I have no mate. Or kits. Why would I need a den?” She nudged the rabbit toward Tansy. “Here. Eat this.”

“All of it?” Tansy blinked at her, surprised.

Wind shrugged. “I can catch another.”

“Please share it with us,” Tansy begged. “You caught it, after all.”

Wind backed away. It had been so long since she’d shared prey with any cat, she felt more comfortable eating alone. “No, thanks.”

Willow looked up from the rabbit. “Why not?”

Frog was already tugging at its fur with his small, sharp teeth.

“I’m a loner,” Wind told the kit. “I don’t share.”

Tansy blinked at her. “But you shared this prey with us.”

“I gave it to you.” Wind turned away. She didn’t want to get involved with these cats. If they wanted to live on the moor, they’d have to learn how to survive just as she had.

“Thank you!”

She heard Tansy’s call but didn’t look back, heading back across the slope, her eyes scanning the grass for rabbit tracks.

“That was kind of you.”

A deep mew took her by surprise. She spun, pelt bristling, and saw a gray-striped tom stalking from the heather. His face was lean and handsome.

Wind narrowed her eyes. “I wasn’t being kind. Starving cats attract disease.”

The tom glanced at her, but he didn’t comment until thunder rumbled over the moortop. “I hope the rain arrives first.”

Wind was surprised. “First?”

“Before the lightning,” the tom explained. “I’ve seen the moor burn when the heather’s as dry as this.” He glanced back at the bushes, and Wind noticed for the first time that the tips of their branches had begun turning brown, as though already scorched. “Lightning will start a fire as easily as a careless Twoleg.”

Wind carried on walking. She didn’t want to waste her time chatting to a stranger—she had prey to find.

Paw steps followed her. “Let me help you catch another rabbit.”

Wind didn’t turn her head as the tom fell in beside her. “I prefer to hunt alone.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

She tried to stop her hackles lifting. Had he been watching her? “Who are you?”

“I’m Gorse.” The tom’s mew was friendly. “My mother must have known I’d end up living on the moor when she named me.” A purr rumbled in his throat.

“Weren’t you born on the moor?” Wind felt a flash of annoyance as she realized Gorse had drawn her into conversation.

“I was raised among the reed beds, beside the river. But I left them a few moons ago. I prefer it up here.” He swished his tail. “Plenty of fresh air and no fish.”

Wind’s whiskers twitched. “Do you hate fish too?”

“I like my prey dry,” Gorse rumbled.

Wind’s belly tightened. What was she doing? Talking to a strange tom! I’m a loner! She curled her claws. “I have to hunt now.”

“You’ll catch something quicker if I help you,” Gorse meowed cheerfully.

“I don’t need help,” she snapped, glaring at him.

Gorse dipped his head. “Okay.” Flicking the tip of his tail, he headed toward the heather. “See you around.”

Wind watched him go, her irritation growing. Not if I see you first!

Movement caught her eye. A lapwing was swooping low over the heather, then across the grass. Clouds of midges swarmed ahead of it. The lapwing cut through them and landed on a tussock. Wind’s tail twitched eagerly as the bird began to root through the coarse grass. A moment later it plucked out an earthworm.

Wind dropped into a hunting crouch and drew herself forward. She kept her tail still, lifting it above the ground so that she moved soundlessly over the grass. The lapwing dipped its beak again, searching for more worms. Wind was only a tail-length away. Another paw step and she could pounce. Her heart pounded harder. Why did Gorse think she needed help? What a mouse-brain! She bunched her hind legs beneath her, preparing to jump.

Lightning flickered at the edge of her vision. A moment later thunder crashed overhead. The lapwing cried in surprise and, unfolding its wings, struggled into the air.

Frustration scorched through Wind. She leaped desperately, catching the lapwing’s claws with an outstretched paw, but it flicked itself free and fluttered up, its wings beating the air as it flew away.

“Mouse dung!” Wind landed with an angry hiss. Why had she given the rabbit to those cats? They didn’t even belong on the moor. Another flash of lightning streaked through the air. She’d better take cover. The rain would come soon, and no creature would be dumb enough to stay out in a storm like this—not even prey.

As she hurried toward the heather, thunder rumbled overhead. Lightning split the air with a deafening crack. A roar exploded behind her. Wind spun, her pelt bushing. The gorse beside the holly tree was on fire! As the dry leaves crackled swiftly into flame, a shriek of terror sounded from beneath the branches. Wind froze.

The kits!

Chapter 2

Wind hared toward the burning gorse. Tansy had already limped from beneath the bush and was nosing Willow away from the flames.

The she-kit’s eyes were wide with terror. “Frog!”

Wind skidded to a halt beside them, flinching from the heat. The sound of the fire roared in her ears. “Get away!” She tried to nudge Tansy and Willow back, but they dug their claws in deep and stared in horror at the holly tree.

She followed their gaze. Frog was scrambling up the trunk. With a squeal of panic he reached the lowest branch and disappeared among the prickly leaves.

The flames from the gorse burned harder, sending sparks flashing up into the holly branches. If the sparks caught, the holly would blaze like dry heather.

Frog will be burned alive.

“Come down!” Tansy wailed.

Frog stuck his head through the spiky leaves, his eyes wild. “The fire will burn me!”

Wind forced herself closer to the heat. “If you don’t come down now, it’ll be too late!”

Frog disappeared, and Wind saw the branches shiver as he climbed higher.

Willow shrieked. “He’s climbing up, not down!”

“Get back!” Wind ordered Tansy. “Get Willow to safety.” She dodged around the flaming gorse and leaped at the holly trunk. Her claws sank deep into the gnarled bark, and she pulled herself upward.

“Stop!” Gorse’s cry rang behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw the gray-striped tom staring up at her from beside Tansy.

“You’ll be killed!” he yowled.

“I have to save Frog!” She dragged herself higher up the trunk. When she reached the lowest branch, she flung her forepaws over it, hauling herself up.

The heat from the fire grew fiercer. She coughed as smoke engulfed her. “Frog!” she cried desperately. “Where are you?” Her heart pounded in her ears. Her throat was raw with fear. Blindly she reached up and squirmed around the thick branches, climbing higher and higher, the prickly leaves scraping her fur.

As she cleared the worst of the smoke, she scanned the holly, trying to glimpse Frog’s gray pelt. Her eyes streamed, stinging like fury, but she blinked away her tears and pulled herself onto the next branch.

A panicked mewl sounded ahead, and she saw a scrap of gray fur near the very end of the branch. “Frog!” She began to pad toward him, the bough creaking beneath her paws.

Suddenly the tree jerked and trembled. Unbalanced, Wind dug her claws in, her heart lurching. She glanced over her shoulder, panic sparking in her chest.

Gorse!

The gray-striped tom was hauling himself up into the holly, his weight shaking the tree. “Stay where you are!” His gaze fixed on her, glittering with fear. “That branch is too thin. It might break!”

“I have to get to Frog!”

The kit was clinging to the very tip, which dipped under his weight.

“Wait!” Gorse nosed his way through the leaves, wincing, and began to pick his way along a sturdy branch below. “Keep him calm until I get below him,” he called up to her. “Make him trust you.”

Wind fixed her gaze on the frightened eyes of the kit, forcing her mew to remain calm. “We’re going to save you.”

Lightning flashed around them. Thunder cracked. Frog squealed with terror.

“You’ll be fine!” Wind called through the rising gusts. She dropped onto her belly and pulled herself along the branch, her breath stopping as it began to dip. Halting, she reached a forepaw toward Frog. The kit was trembling. “Gorse is right underneath you.”

Frog looked down as Gorse picked his way along the branch below. It seemed thicker, easily holding his weight as he neared the stretch below Frog.

The tree lit up as another crack of lightning split the air. The roar of the burning gorse swelled beneath them. Wind dared not look down to see if it had reached the trunk yet. Let the wind change, she pleaded silently. Make it blow the fire away from the tree!

“Frog!” Gorse was balancing on his haunches on the branch below, his belly showing as he lifted his forepaws toward the kit. “I’ll catch you!”

Wind nodded. “Let yourself drop, Frog,” she urged.

“I’ll fall right down to the ground!” Frog wailed.

“Gorse will catch you,” Wind promised.

“How do you know?”

“I just do!” Frustration wormed beneath Wind’s pelt. The flames were getting closer. “You can trust him.”

“I don’t know him!” Frog cried.

“You didn’t know me until today, but I gave you my rabbit!” Wind argued.

Frog looked at her, his eyes glistening with doubt.

“He’ll catch you,” Wind promised again. “Just let go.”

Her breath stopped in her throat as she saw Frog shift his paws. He was uncurling his claws from the bark. With a squeak, he let go and slithered down from the branch. She jerked her muzzle over the edge in time to see Gorse snatch Frog’s falling scruff in his teeth.

The gray-striped tom wobbled as the weight of the kit swung from his jaws. But his claws were dug firmly into the bark, and with a grunt he regained his balance.

Wind slithered down onto the branch below and stared at him. “Now what?” She glanced over her shoulder. The flames were licking the holly trunk. They couldn’t get down that way.

Gorse stared back at her. Fear glittered in his gaze as Frog squirmed beneath his chin.

He doesn’t know what to do! Wind squared her shoulders. “We’ll have to jump down.” She glanced toward the earth. It seemed so far away! But if they scrambled down through the branches to the lowest one, the leap to the ground wouldn’t be too hard. They just needed to make sure they landed on smooth earth. If they caught a paw on one of the gnarled roots snaking from the ground, they could really hurt themselves.

“Follow me.” As Wind hopped down onto the branch below, a gust of wind blew smoke into her face. She screwed up her eyes, digging her claws into the bark to keep her balance. A raindrop splashed onto her back.

Rain! She blinked her eyes open. Water was dripping down through the holly leaves. She peered out and saw the moor darkened by driving rain. Behind her she heard the fire crackle and hiss as the downpour smothered it.

Gorse landed on the branch beside her, hope sparking in his gaze. Did he think the rain would put out the fire right away?

Wind shook her head. “The rain won’t save us if the holly catches.”

“Put me down!” Frog squealed as he hung from the tom’s jaws.

“Not until we’re safe,” Wind told the kit firmly. She jumped down to the next branch, then the next, until there was nothing between the tree and the ground but air.

Gorse landed nimbly beside her and caught her eye.

“I’ll jump down first,” she told him. “Wait until I’ve found my paws. I’ll try and steady you as you land with Frog.”

Gorse blinked his agreement, and Wind peered over the edge. It was a long way down. Tansy and Willow stood trembling in the rain, their pelts slicked against their thin frames.

Wind took a deep breath, picked out a spot between the roots, and jumped.

Air rushed around her as she fell, but she was ready. As her paws hit the ground, she dropped into a crouch, her belly brushing the earth as she absorbed the landing. Pain spiked through her old injury, but her hind leg held firm.

Beyond the tree, the fire was crackling, trying to outlast the rain. Flames licked the trunk of the holly, climbing the bark like deadly ivy.

Wind looked up at Gorse through the downpour. “Hurry!”

Gorse jumped. Wind stepped back, reaching up as the tom and the kit fell toward her. She caught Frog between her paws, shielding him from the hard earth as Gorse thumped against the ground.

Paw steps pounded toward them.

“Is he hurt?” Tansy nosed past her, sniffing at her kit.

Frog tugged himself free of Gorse’s grasp and stood up. “I could have jumped by myself,” he mewed crossly.

Wind glanced at Gorse.

The gray tabby tom was panting, his pelt dripping with rain.

Worry sparked in Wind’s belly. “Are you hurt?”

Gorse’s eyes lit up with sudden mischief. “Do you care?”

Wind snorted and lifted her tail. “I’m not heartless!”

“I know. You just prefer to hunt alone,” Gorse teased gently.

Tansy nosed between them and brushed her muzzle along Wind’s cheek. “You saved my kit! I owe you so much.”

“Just get them to shelter,” Wind told her briskly. “Somewhere that’s not going to catch fire this time.” Before the queen could say any more, she headed across the grass.

“Wait!” Wind heard Gorse hurrying after her.

“What do you want?” Wind narrowed her eyes against the driving rain.

“To find some shelter from this rain,” Gorse told her.

Wind glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and kept walking. “Why are you following me, then?”

“I assume even loners need shelter.” He didn’t turn his head.

She huffed. “I’m independent, not dumb.”

“You’re brave and smart,” Gorse murmured softly.

Wind tried to ignore the admiration in his mew, but the warmth of it seemed to pierce her heart.

Gorse pulled ahead. “There’s a gap between the rocks in that stretch of heather.” He jerked his muzzle toward the great stones that stood like guards on the hillside.

Thunder rumbled from the dark clouds above them.

“Come on.” Gorse broke into a run and ducked into the heather.

Wind followed and found herself chasing him along a zigzagging path between the bushes until she reached the stones.

As he slid into the gap between the two largest, she skidded to a halt outside and peered into the shadowy cleft.

“It’s okay.” Gorse’s mew echoed from the darkness. “There’s no one here except me.”

Flattening her ears against the rain, Wind padded warily inside.

The earth was dry. The rocks met above their heads and closed at the far end, forming a shelter against the driving rain. Crushed heather stems lined the floor, springy beneath her paws. Now that she was free of the driving rain, exhaustion swept over her. She crouched on her belly, limp.

Gorse sat beside her, curling his tail across his paws. “Why don’t you sleep while the storm passes?”

Wind yawned. “Aren’t you tired?”

“No.” Gorse half closed his eyes. “I’m just happy to be out of the rain.”

Weariness dragged at Wind’s bones, and she let her head droop, feeling suddenly safer than she had in moons. Gorse was beside her, and she felt deep in her belly that she could trust him. She rested her nose on her forepaws and let herself slide into sleep.

When she woke, Gorse was gone.

Disappointment jabbed her belly. She sat up and shook out her pelt, which had dried while she’d slept. Of course he’s gone, she told herself briskly. It’s not like we’re friends. We were just sheltering from the storm while it passed. Her disappointment lingered. Stop being so soft! I walk alone! She flicked her tail and stretched. Her belly rumbled. She still hadn’t eaten today. She glanced at the dark rocks, suddenly aware that the thrumming of the rain had stopped. Prey would be returning to the moor. She could hunt.

As Wind headed for the entrance, heather rustled outside. She stiffened, tasting the air. “Gorse?” She smelled his scent a moment before he slid into the cave. He held a fresh rabbit in his teeth.

He dropped it at her paws. “I thought you’d be hungry.”

She blinked at him, suddenly realizing that she could smell his scent infusing the cave. Not just fresh scent, but stale, too, as though he’d slept here for moons. “Is this your den?” Hadn’t he taken a risk leading her—a stranger—to his home?

“Do you like it?” Gorse tipped his head to one side. “It’s warm and dry and easy to guard.” He nodded toward the opening they’d come through. It was too narrow for a dog, and unwelcome cats could be easily driven off with a few well-aimed jabs through the gap.

Wind dipped her head. “You must feel safe here.”

“I do.” Gorse nudged the rabbit closer. “Eat. You look hungry.”

Wind felt a purr rumble in her throat, surprised to feel how happy she felt.

Gorse came back.