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Chapter 10: Shadow

Shadowpelt followed the Storm Treaders, Prey Hunters, and Rock Climbers across the stony ground. Hunting on the mountain was harder than he'd thought. The three differently trained cats had to work together to bring in prey. Shadowpelt had been useless except when a single skinny mouse had darted across their path. Now he carried his meager catch in his mouth as the others moved easily, compared to his noisy scrambling that dislodged pebbles.

Their jaws full of squirrels, birds, fish, rabbits and something called a chinchilla they continued their relentless sprint. They had traveled a long time, running hard, to reach the some-what inhabited part of the mountain. When Shadowpelt had asked why they didn't head north, where the mountains gave way to valleys in less time it took to reach there, they had shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

Now, he could see the entrance to the cave. For at least a moon, the Clan cats had been growing stronger, physically and mentally, thought they had lost the Hunting Cat elder and the injured Hunting Cat guard. Everyone else, though, seemed to be recovering. Already the temporary leaders had decided to leave in two days. Those that wanted to stay behind were welcome.

Shadowpelt pushed his way into the cave and took his catch to his nest. This was all he had caught, this was all he would eat. He wasn't very hungry anyway. Thunderfoot padded up to him, and lay at his side. "We told the cats. Some, mostly queens, have decided to stay. The rest will come." Shadowpelt nodded to his brother. It still felt weird to be calling this tom his brother.

"Thanks. I don't know why, but I didn't want to be here when they found out. They were so upset by the deaths of your cats. They had grown close."

Thunderfoot nodded. "Oh, yes, I arranged a meeting with Crag and the leaders. About the thing we discussed earlier." Shadowpelt blinked, he'd almost forgotten. "Good," he murmured, "when?" Thunderfoot studied him for a moment, then grunted, "The night before we leave."

Riverstripe watched her sister and friend stare listlessly at the plump mountain chinchilla at her paws. She had lost weight after Whitefoot's death, not eating unless she was forced and barely sleeping. Her grief for her foster mother ran deep. Riverstripe had no idea how she was going to keep her going during the trip. They were leaving in the morning and she needed food.

Padding over to the tabby she voice her thoughts, only to be answered by a small grunt.

"Windheart," Riverstripe began awkwardly, crouching beside her sister. She was no good at these kinds of things. "Whitefoot wouldn't have wanted you to ruin yourself like this. We need you to finish this journey. And that's what she wanted. For us to get through this."

Windheart stared at her with hollow eyes and didn't reply. Frustrated Riverstripe snarled, "If she could see you now, she would be ashamed! This isn't how she raised you!" Stalking away, she felt a twinge of guilt. If only she could keep a reign on her temper! About to turn around, she saw out of the corner of her eye, her sister bend down and start eating.

"You called this meeting Lords of the Low Lands? What is it you want?" Snake glared at them. They might have been accepted by the other cats, but he still didn't trust them. Shadowpelt watched the slinky black tom suspiciously. He didn't trust him either. Thunderfoot spoke. Beside him Windheart, looking better since, according to Riverstripe, she had forced her to eat, watched intently.

"We need to ask. Did you, your Blacksmith, Forger, or their apprentices, ever teach anyone about fire?"

The gray tom, Forger, spoke up. "A few moons back, almost a year, a bunch of our branches went missing. We don't know what happened to them. It couldn't have been the apprentices. We would have known." Blacksmith, the orange tom, spoke grimly, "I think its time we brought in our little friend."

Shadowpelt padded to his nest later that night, head reeling. They had learned a little from the assassin, but it was enough. He himself had snuck into the Forge that day. He had been among the small group that had taken shelter there. He had read the script of images carved into the wall that only a fully fledged Forger or Blacksmith knew. He had tamed fire. As to how he had come to know the language he wouldn't say. The more they had pressed, the more antsy he had become. He must have extreme loyalty, which Shadowpelt doubted, or his leader threatened him with something gruesome. But before they left, the two Fire-Keepers had told them something else.
How to tame fire.
Thunderfoot glanced over his shoulder at the line of cats following him. At the end, Shadowpelt and Riverstripe make sure no cats fell behind. He turned back and followed the Storm Treaders paw -steps. Ahead, Rock Climbers scouted while Prey Hunters looked for food. "How far did you say you were escorting us?" Thunderfoot asked. The Storm Treader glanced at him. "We will take you to the edge of the Valley of Thorns. That is over our western border, but we will move quickly." He hesitated then added, "My advice is to tread carefully and whatever you do, stay out of the valley. Strange cats are said to live their. We avoid it as much as possible." Thunderfoot shuddered instinctively, then shook it off. They had other problems besides kit's tales.
"We will camp here for the night. In the morning we will reach the Valley of Thorns." The Storm Treader rang clearly through the night air. Over a week had passed since they left the Cave and the climate had grown warmer, the prey more bountiful, and the snow less and less. Thunderfoot wondered why the Mountain Cats didn't live here. But whenever he asked, they turned away, looking scared. The only thing he had gotten was out of the Storm Treader on the second day. He found it coincidental that that very cat no longer had any duties with him.
Riverstripe groaned as she stared at the mouse in front of her. The heights and sudden change of climate were making her sick. But mostly the heights.

It didn't help that camp that night was stationed on a small outcropping that overlooked a deep valley-like-chasm that seemed to have no bottom.

"Come on," Windheart urged. Unlike her sister she looked great. Although still sad about Whitefoot, she seemed to have taken hope from the warmer climate and abundant prey. Just being on the move again seemed to give her once again thick coat an extra gloss.

"You have to eat something. Boulder says that it gets worse on an empty stomach." Sighing, Riverstripe bent and took a bite.

The next morning, Riverstripe rose, limbs protesting. She had spent the whole night vomiting up what little of the mouse she had eaten, or tossing and turning uncomfortably. Wren, who had stayed by her side all night, was no better off.

"I am exhausted," he yawned. "At least we'll be off this mountain today." Realizing what he had said, a new hope sparked in Riverstripe's chest. No more cliffs or rocks or snow. No more mountains. After a brief break in which they all ate Riverstripe fell in at the end of the line.

Thunderfoot started forward to speak with one of the guides, to see why that had stopped, only to be stopped himself by Mouse. "Thunderfoot," she mewed, "I have a feeling something bad is going to happen. Ever since we set out there's been this- this growing feeling of dread. We shouldn't go this way." Mouse looked so concerned that Thunderfoot hesitated. "I'll speak to the guide. See if there's another way."

His apprentice nodded, looking relieved, when a yowl split through the air, Wren's "I smell Highlanders, heading this way!"

Yowling for a halt the guides stopped, lifting their noses to the wind. Eyes widening in surprise, they tore up the path the Clan cats had just come from. Curious, Thunderfoot followed suit and the scent that met his nose was sickeningly familiar, a scent he was becoming used to. Blood.

Windheart watched as five bloody, tired cats trudged down the ridge. Mountain cats. She winced at the blood that smeared their coats, the wounds that made them limp and gasp. She had a nasty feeling as to what had happened. The search parties had caught up.

Shaking her head she padded forward, gently pushing aside two playing apprentices, a Hunting Clan cat and Running Clan cat. She wasn't even surprised by these kind of things any more. The Clan boundaries were quickly disappearing.

Fernpelt, Bristle, and Moren were checking on the five cats when she approached. "… came out of nowhere. Others made it out. Most did, actually, but a few were killed. I don't know where they went, and I don't fancy wandering the mountains with them on the loose. We'll stick with you."

At this Windheart's hear sank into her stomach. She had been expecting this, but a small part of her had hoped it wasn't true.

"If this continues, they'll catch up with us soon," Shadowpelt growled. "They must have found the body of the tom and followed it upriver to our scents." As if in answer, a distant howl sent a shiver through all the cats spines, but common sense told them not to run. Knowing the cats had seen what these wolves could do, Windheart was proud they had not bolted.

"We should flee into the valley," Windheart mewed as she sat by them.

"No," the mountain cats answered immediately. "Strange cats live there. We would be killed"

It was Wren, sitting beside Riverstripe and Thunderfoot, who answered. "At least in the valley we'll have a chance. We'll die if we stay up here."

The party said nothing, but looked down into the black vastness of the gorge. An apprentice accidentally dislodged a pebble, which fell, swallowed up in shadow.

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