The First Battle

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Water cascaded beyond the cave mouth. A gray tom watched it tumble past. It muffled the wind and softened the jagged peaks beyond, before disappearing far below into a rainbow of spray.

Cats moved behind him, hardly more than shadows in the dappled light of their cavern. Longing misted the gray tom’s eyes. Twisting back his ears, he listened to their murmuring.

“Stones in my nest!” An elder croaked irritably. “Always stones in my nest.”

“I’ll pick them out.” Tiny paws skipped across the cave.

“Come back, Jay Frost,” a queen called anxiously. “Your pads are too soft for sharp stones.”

“They’ll need to toughen up sooner or later,” the elder muttered.

The gray tom turned, his sleek pelt pricking.

“Try it, Misty Water.” An old ginger tom was nosing a scrawny mouse toward a dull-pelted she-cat.

Misty Water peered at the prey from her nest in the dimpled cavern floor. “Give it to a younger cat.” She nodded toward Jay Frost as he picked grit from the elder’s nest.

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