Chapter 9/ Beast
"Come on, Ratkit. Get up."
"No."
"Now."
"Why?"
"I said, now," she growled, softly.
Grumbling, Ratkit squirmed in his nest, before finally standing up.
Plumpoppy sat before him, smiling.
"Come on, son. You've been looking forward to this for more than a moon!" she exclaimed, dark blue eyes shining.
Ratkit glanced at his nest, and back to his mother, frustrated, "Fine. But not for too long."
He trudged out of his nest, twigs clinging to his fur. Onto the gathering platform, Ratkit trailed behind Plumpoppy. He ignored the conflicted stares from his fellow islanders, whom stared at him with sorrow and pity. Ratkit hurried to Plumpoppy's side, "Mom, why are they all looking at me like that?" The queen wrapped her tail around her kit. Her gentle voice sounded as soft as the breezes.
"Son, they're sad. Sure, because of Snaketail dying. But mourning kits are sad, too. They feel bad for you, Ratkit. They're sad because you're sad."
The walk down the tunnel was silent. Only their paws scraping the ground and their breathing could be heard.
A burst of sunlight made them squint. Sunlight reflected off the fresh snow, intensifying the glare.
"Where are we going?" asked Ratkit, paws crunching in the snow. Plumpoppy flicked her ears and scanned the area.
"You're three moons old, Ratkit. Traditionally, kits begin to learn to hunt, from one of their parents," she glanced at him warmly, "Today you'll begin."
Ratkit's eyes lit up, "Hunting?! Really? Right now?"
"Yes."
"Moonkit and Squirrelkit brag so much about how much they know about hunting. They said they can flip fish out of water, and snatch birds from their nests," exclaimed Ratkit.
Plumpoppy rolled her eyes.
"They're exaggerating," she leaned in, "Between you and me, I don't think Squirrelkit could catch a fish if it flopped right in front of him."
Ratkit giggled.
"But, anyway, lets start."
Ratkit stared at her expectantly.
"Do you know a hunting crouch?"
"No..."
"Of course, I know, I'll show you," Plumpoppy crouched down, her pale belly brushing the frost.
"...Like this."
Ratkit leaned down awkwardly, "Like this?"
Plumpoppy purred, "No. A hunting crouch isn't some new special position. Just lower your flanks in a natural way."
Ratkit tried again.
"Perfect! Just lower your chest a bit more, and keep your tail leveled above the ground."
Ratkit adjusted his stance.
"This is a common hunting crouch. The point of it is be able to stalk without making a sound. Try it."
On the first try, the clumsy kit dawdled through the snow. It took a couple of tries. But he soon managed to pull it together and crawl silently across the snow.
Plumpoppy beamed at her son, "Wow, you caught on a lot fast than I thought you would."
Ratkit smiled proudly.
She went on, "Yeah. I didn't think I'd be able to teach you it at all."
Ratkit cocked his head, "You didn't?"
"I didn't. I've always wanted to be a mother, but teaching, and hunting is something I'd always thought I'd have your father do," she sighed, staring into the snow.
"Well, I think you're a good teacher, mom," mewed Ratkit.
"You know, Ratkit, that means a lot coming—"
They froze.
The air became silent.
A cloud draped over the sun.
Ratkit's eyes widened and his hackles rose.
But Plumpoppy didn't jump. She turned, scanned the area, and crept forward, in the direction of the river. With a flick of her dappled tail, she beckoned Ratkit forward.
"Mom, what's going—"
"Shh!"
Her eyes brightened with wonder. She started towards the river, in a hunting crouch, moving briskly closer to the icy riverside. The river's roar grew louder.
Behind her, Ratkit trailed in her pawsteps. His paws pressed further in the snow.
Finally, Plumpoppy stopped at the riverbank, next to the frosty boulders, which lined the shoreline many miles down.
Even though ice formed on the edges of the river, surges of water still rippled downstream. The waves crashed against the boulders. This created massive, icy splashes.
"Come on!" exclaimed Plumpoppy, starting to climb the wet rocks.
Ratkit tried to climb, but kept slipping on his chin.
"Use your claws, son!" called Plumpoppy, looking down from the top of the boulder.
Ratkit huffed and puffed as he struggled, "Mom? What's so important up there that I have to climb this?"
"You just gotta get up here and see this."
"I don't get what's so—" Ratkit stopped, lifting his head to see it. Plumpoppy nudged him from behind so he could get his footing on the now frozen boulder.
In the distance, downriver, two great brown beasts stood in the middle of the river. They were enormous! Ten times as big as any of the islanders, even Coppertail! The bears trudged through the river, rippling their massive limbs. They shook their huge hairy from side to side, and lunged at fish with blood-curdling jaws. One of them swiftly grabbed a fish from the air. Another as a wave hit the boulders downriver.
"Oh my goodness, Mom, what the heck are those?" asked Ratkit, shaking.
"Those are bears. The older cats call them beasts. Pretty rare around here. Whatever you call them, they're quite a sight, aren't they?"
"They sure are."
Plumpoppy's face saddened, "Sadly, those two bears probably won't make it much longer."
Ratkit looked up at her, "Why not? They're so much bigger than us! And stronger, and faster,"
"That's true. They could crush a cat's spine with one nip. They're true beasts."
"Then why won't they make it?"
"Well, you see son, bears hibernate in the winter. They eat as much as they can find in the fall, so they can sleep through the moons of snow. Being big means more food."
"And?"
"I'm getting there. It's dangerous for a bear to be awake in winter, because now their precious supply of body fat is in danger of dwindling. Look how closely the fur clings to their bodies. Those bears are starving."
Now that she'd pointed it out, the limbs of the bears looked skinny, compared to their bodies. Desperation shown in their big dark eyes as they dove for fish.
"Even though they're strong and tough, they're even more vulnerable than you and me right now."
This was hard to believe, seeing how big they were. But maybe she was right. Ratkit suddenly felt lucky to have the mountain for protection, and his fellow islanders for care, loyalty and companionship. And mostly, that he had such a great mother.
"But we'll get through this winter, Ratkit," she touched her nose to his, "You'll get through the storm." Ratkit knew she was referring to the grief, and guilt. But how could he get over causing Snaketail to die?
Plumpoppy got to her fours, preparing to jump from the boulder, "Ready to go back?"
Ratkit nodded, slowly crawling down the rock.
As mother and son walked back, they felt great comfort in one another's company. Ratkit was just happy he had experienced at least one trip away from the mountain not ending in disaster.
That is, until he heard a rumbling in the distance.
"Hey mom, do you hear—"
And without any warning, the ground began to shake. It violently shook harder and harder, throwing the cats off their paws.
Around him, Ratkit heard and felt trees and rocks tumbling around him and the ground seemed to churn, and all he could hear was the roar of the earth.
"Mom! Mother! Mother!" he squealed. No response.
Plants, stones and logs were tossed like bits of prey on the island. Was the world ending?
And just as quickly as it started, the shaking ceased.
Anxious, Ratkit cautiously crawled out from underneath a log that was thrown on top of him—if it weren't for a dip in the ground, Ratkit would have been squashed.
Ratkit placed one paw in front of the other, glancing around him in fear. His whiskers quivered in the sunlight. The whole forest seemed to be uprooted, turned upside down. Vegetation, trees and rocks were scattered and thrown across the landscape, making the riverside look like a wasteland. He took a step, and winced. His front paw was injured.
"Mom!" screamed Ratkit, his mew echoing through the upturned forest. He scampered over some debris, tucking his paw under his belly.
"Mom! Mom, where are you?" Silence. Panic rose in his throat, growing heavy.
"Mom! Mom!"
The little tabby bounded over lumps of wood and through ripped shrubs. No sign of Plumpoppy.
"Plumpoppy!" he called once more. He waited, in a hushed, tense moment, ears pricked, listening for any trace of his mother.
No response.
Ratkit's eyes welled with tears, and whimpered quietly, alone in a torn forest. Plumpoppy couldn't be gone! No, it couldn't be happening, first Snaketail, now Plumpoppy? This couldn't be! Ratkit cried harder, tears coming down as fast as the river.
And then, in the distant mist, a twig snapped.
Ratkit jerked his head in the direction of the sound. Was it?
And into the sun, stepped a battered and dazed Plumpoppy.
"Mom!" yowled Ratkit, the sunlight shining off his shed tears. He scrambled to his paws and sprinted over to his mother, burying his face in her tangled fur. She wrapped herself around her kit.
"Oh my goodness, Ratkit! I was so scared! Are you ok? Are you hurt?"
Ratkit showed her his paw. Plumpoppy's eyes widened, "Oh my, I think your paw might be broken! We have to get you back to the mountain!"
Ratkit felt too dizzy to speak. He let Plumpoppy help him walk, ever so slowly back to the mountain. Ratkit's limping made the journey slower.
Soon, the tense silence was interrupted.
"Plumpoppy! Plumpoppy? Is that you?" a yowl rang through the trees.
"Hello? Who is it? Come quick!" called back Plumpoppy.
Soon, the muscular shape of Coppertail became visible in the trees, bounding towards them.
"Coppertail? Thank goodness! Come quick! Ratkit's hurt! Faster! Is there anyone with you? What—"
"Plumpoppy!" yowled Coppertail again, more urgently. He stopped in front of them, out of breath.
"What's wrong, Coppertail? Is everyone ok at the mountain?"
Coppertail struggled to catch his breath, "Plum...Plumpoppy, you have to come quick! The mountain is collapsing!"