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Description
A tawny cat prowled through the lush woodland, her mottled brown paws making no noise. She drew the scents of the woods to her; a scent of a dog and its Furtop hung in the air, but it was stale. She recognised another scent, mouse. As she started to stalk it, a shadow fell over her. She stopped stalking and sat in the undergrowth, waiting. The falcon swooped down, uttering the terrible cry to petrify its prey, killed it with one blow. Quick as an otter, another cat, a grey tom, leapt onto the falcon, holding it down with his strong, white fore paws as the tawny finished it, and the mouse, off.
“Great catch, Clovenear!” The tom purred to his mate.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Greyrock!” Clovenear twined her tail with his.
“Ah, but you finished it off! I’ll tell the Leader; maybe he’ll let you be a Tutor!” Greyrock flicked his white tipped tail at her.
“And falcons might walk! Silvertree won’t let me be the Tutor of one of his kittens!” Clovenear mewed, washing her ears.
“You never know.” Greyrock meowed. “I could have a word with my brother, for you.”
“No thanks.” Clovenear knew that Greyrock’s brother, Stoneclaw, was deputy and could suggest her as a Tutor, but she wanted Silvertree to notice her to be Tutor quality for himself.

* * *

“Cats of Woodland, gather in the clearing for a meeting.” Silvertree called from Nest Tree, in abandoned falcon’s nest where he slept. “New Tutors are needed,” he caterwauled, “for my offspring have reached their fifth day of weaning.” He paused, jumping down from Nest Tree. “Whitetail, you shall be Thorn’s Tutor.” He beckoned his largest kit, a bulky ginger tom. “Tigerfur, you shall be Stripe’s Tutor. Shaleclaw, you will be Oak’s Tutor.” He beckoned first a white kitten with brown stripes then a ginger kitten with oak brown eyes. “And lastly, Silver’s Tutor will be, Clovenear.” Clovenear could not believe her ears, she was a Tutor! She stepped out of the crowd to see a copy of Silvertree. Silver’s fur was exactly the same as Silvertree’s, but she had a slighter, smaller build and her eyes were miniature suns, burning with anticipation and pride.
“You talked to Stoneclaw, didn’t you?” She mewed to her mate.
“No, I didn’t.” Greyrock replied. “Ask him yourself. You won’t get a different answer” He added as she gave him a disbelieving look.
“Can we start training now?” Silver pleaded.
“Coming?” Clovenear asked Greyrock.
“Sure!” Greyrock purred. He and Silver flanked Clovenear, as they headed out of the ferns, and trees, that sheltered camp.

* * *

“This is the Moorland boarder. This stream separates us from the Moorland cats.” Clovenear told her learner, as they stopped by a small stream. Silver breathed in their scent; it was the faintest scent of all the groups of cats in the hollow. They had gone around the long way, so as not to put Silver at risk of the foxes that had taken up residence of the old badger set. Silvertree would drive them out the next day, but for now they had to take the long way; past Twisted Rock and Training Area. Silver had not stopped asking her questions. She had more energy than a hyperactive hare! The Marshland border was the most dangerous, as the river flowed fast and fierce, with a current, only the Marshland cats could swim. And then, only at their full strength. Clovenear decided to take the route to the Meeting Cove; showing Silver the way to the Land Meetings, they would show her the way which would keep her paws driest. They bounded past Tall Oak, towards the paw smoothed route to Meeting Cove.
“Will we see the Marshland border today?” Silver paused at the top of a slope.
“Yes,” Clovenear mewed, as she caught up, “We’ll go after we’ve been to Meeting Cove.”
“You won’t get to go to Sky Tree though.” Greyrock put in. “You’re too young.”
“I can do anything you can!” Silver sniffed. “Can we train tomorrow?” she asked Clovenear. “I want to learn how to fight!”
“We can do some hunting training now.” Clovenear replied. “Can you scent that mouse?”
“Yes; it’s over there” Silver pointed her tail to a small holly bush.
“Watch me,” Clovenear whispered under her breath, “and do as I do.” Clovenear fell into a hunting crouch, and crept up on her prey, her paws making no noise. The mouse scuttled out of the bush, strait towards her. Clovenear killed it with one blow of her paw, gave thanks to her ancestors and buried the mouse.
“Next one’s yours, Silver.” Clovenear flicked her tail at her learner.

* * *

By sundown they had collected plenty of prey, enough to fill all their cats’ bellies. Silver was an exceptional hunter, a few tweaks here and there; she would be perfect. She dropped her prey on the pile, a white cat with dark brown stripes padded up to her.
“Guess what!” she mewed, as she neared.
“What?” The excitement was coming off the white she-cat in waves. “What, Tigerfur, what?”
“I’m having Shaleclaw’s kits!” Tigerfur mewed happily.
“That’s great!” Clovenear purred. “But,” Clovenear asked, hating herself for having to bring her friend back to earth, “who’s going to look after your learner while you’re in the nursery?”
“Greyrock offered to take Stripe along with you and Silver.” She purred. “He doesn’t have a learner of his own; he said he’ll train him, while I’m in the nursery.”
“That’s brilliant!”
“I know! You chose the right tom, there.” Tigerfur’s brown-tipped tail twitched at her.
“I think I did.” Clovenear replied, uncertainly. “I still feel that I hurt Whitepelt, but cats of Skyland must have destined me and Greyrock to be together.”
“Well, our ancestors and our destinies lead us where we must go.” Tigerfur meowed. “No-one can change their will.”
Tigerfur padded away, Clovenear chose a small rabbit from the pile and trotted over to Greyrock; lay beside him and began to eat. Greyrock’s ear twitched. “What’s that?”
“Smells like…” Clovenear stopped. What did it smell of? Answering her thought question, a small, brown, tabby cat appeared through the ferns that surrounded camp. It did not have the scent of any of the cats of the area she, at least Clovenear thought it was a she, bounded down, then, seeing the angry woodland cats, skidded to a fearful halt.
“What do you want?” Silvertree demanded, but not harshly. “Why are you here?”
The she-cat shuffled her paws, looking sheepish. “I’m lost.” As her head bent, an old wound opened up, and a fountain of blood oozed, staining the ground. She collapsed, got up, and collapsed again. Clovenear went up to her. “My kittens…” The tabby mewled, pitifully.
“I’ll get them.” Clovenear rushed out of camp, the way the tabby had come. The two kittens were under a bush, their eyes open and staring. “Come with me.” The kittens followed Clovenear into camp. They were the same, small, compact build of their mother, but the bigger had a flowing, silver coat, and the smaller, was a silvery blue. “Come to the nursery,” she meowed to the tabby, “You and your kittens will be safe there.”
The tabby got up, painfully. “What is your name?”
“Clovenear. And yours?”
“Fluffy.” The tabby padded towards the nursery, leaning on Clovenear.

* * *

Once Fluffy was settled in, Clovenear got her some prey. A plump starling caught her eye. “Here,” she put it down in front of her, “eat it.” Fluffy refused. “Can I give some to your kittens?”
Fluffy thought for a long while. “Yes.” She mewed at last.
Clovenear chewed up half the starling. “Eat some of this.” She mewed to the kits. The smallest didn’t seem keen on it.
“I’ll try it!” The biggest kit padded up, tried a small mouthful then, leaving some for her sister, wolfed it down. “It’s good! Try it!” She purred to her sibling.
The younger timidly tried some and, finishing it neatly, begged Fluffy to try some too. “Oh, please mama!” she mewled. “Try some, mama, try some!”
The accent was hard to understand; it hit her. Mama meant mother! “Don’t pester her.” She scolded the kittens. “Your mother needs her sleep!” Fluffy’s breathing was fast and shallow; she would need to be seen by the healer, Goldenroot. She would see him about it when Fluffy awoke. “What are your names?” She asked the kittens, the kittens that woodland cats had did not have proper names, but these might.
“We don’t have any.” The bigger kit replied. “What are cats our age called here?”
“We don’t name you, but we call you buy your size and the colour of your fur. Until you’re weaned for five days, then you become a learner, and get a proper name.”
“What does ‘weaned’ mean?” the smaller kitten enquired.
“Weaned means you’re not drinking your mother’s milk anymore.”
“I haven’t for,” the older kit paused, counting up in her head, “three whole days! And she,” she flicked her tail at her sister, “hasn’t for two-and-a-half! Would that count as three too?”
“Yes, I think it would. Anyway, while you’re kittens we’ll call you medium-silver and small-blue. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes!” The two newly named kittens squeaked in unison.
“Now,” she meowed, good-naturedly, “I’ll take you to see my learner, Silver; she’ll show you some good hunting positions.” She escorted the kittens to Silver, but, as she watched them, she couldn’t help wondering: Would Silvertree let them join us? They’re skilled and enthusiastic, but they’re not from here… She pondered the thought, but could find no answer. It was late. Clovenear padded to her nest, and fell into a fitful sleep.

Description
A tawny cat prowled through the lush woodland, her mottled brown paws making no noise. She drew the scents of the woods to her; a scent of a dog and its Furtop hung in the air, but it was stale. She recognised another scent, mouse. As she started to stalk it, a shadow fell over her. She stopped stalking and sat in the undergrowth, waiting. The falcon swooped down, uttering the terrible cry to petrify its prey, killed it with one blow. Quick as an otter, another cat, a grey tom, leapt onto the falcon, holding it down with his strong, white fore paws as the tawny finished it, and the mouse, off.
“Great catch, Clovenear!” The tom purred to his mate.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Greyrock!” Clovenear twined her tail with his.
“Ah, but you finished it off! I’ll tell the Leader; maybe he’ll let you be a Tutor!” Greyrock flicked his white tipped tail at her.
“And falcons might walk! Silvertree won’t let me be the Tutor of one of his kittens!” Clovenear mewed, washing her ears.
“You never know.” Greyrock meowed. “I could have a word with my brother, for you.”
“No thanks.” Clovenear knew that Greyrock’s brother, Stoneclaw, was deputy and could suggest her as a Tutor, but she wanted Silvertree to notice her to be Tutor quality for himself.

* * *

“Cats of Woodland, gather in the clearing for a meeting.” Silvertree called from Nest Tree, in abandoned falcon’s nest where he slept. “New Tutors are needed,” he caterwauled, “for my offspring have reached their fifth day of weaning.” He paused, jumping down from Nest Tree. “Whitetail, you shall be Thorn’s Tutor.” He beckoned his largest kit, a bulky ginger tom. “Tigerfur, you shall be Stripe’s Tutor. Shaleclaw, you will be Oak’s Tutor.” He beckoned first a white kitten with brown stripes then a ginger kitten with oak brown eyes. “And lastly, Silver’s Tutor will be, Clovenear.” Clovenear could not believe her ears, she was a Tutor! She stepped out of the crowd to see a copy of Silvertree. Silver’s fur was exactly the same as Silvertree’s, but she had a slighter, smaller build and her eyes were miniature suns, burning with anticipation and pride.
“You talked to Stoneclaw, didn’t you?” She mewed to her mate.
“No, I didn’t.” Greyrock replied. “Ask him yourself. You won’t get a different answer” He added as she gave him a disbelieving look.
“Can we start training now?” Silver pleaded.
“Coming?” Clovenear asked Greyrock.
“Sure!” Greyrock purred. He and Silver flanked Clovenear, as they headed out of the ferns, and trees, that sheltered camp.

* * *

“This is the Moorland boarder. This stream separates us from the Moorland cats.” Clovenear told her learner, as they stopped by a small stream. Silver breathed in their scent; it was the faintest scent of all the groups of cats in the hollow. They had gone around the long way, so as not to put Silver at risk of the foxes that had taken up residence of the old badger set. Silvertree would drive them out the next day, but for now they had to take the long way; past Twisted Rock and Training Area. Silver had not stopped asking her questions. She had more energy than a hyperactive hare! The Marshland border was the most dangerous, as the river flowed fast and fierce, with a current, only the Marshland cats could swim. And then, only at their full strength. Clovenear decided to take the route to the Meeting Cove; showing Silver the way to the Land Meetings, they would show her the way which would keep her paws driest. They bounded past Tall Oak, towards the paw smoothed route to Meeting Cove.
“Will we see the Marshland border today?” Silver paused at the top of a slope.
“Yes,” Clovenear mewed, as she caught up, “We’ll go after we’ve been to Meeting Cove.”
“You won’t get to go to Sky Tree though.” Greyrock put in. “You’re too young.”
“I can do anything you can!” Silver sniffed. “Can we train tomorrow?” she asked Clovenear. “I want to learn how to fight!”
“We can do some hunting training now.” Clovenear replied. “Can you scent that mouse?”
“Yes; it’s over there” Silver pointed her tail to a small holly bush.
“Watch me,” Clovenear whispered under her breath, “and do as I do.” Clovenear fell into a hunting crouch, and crept up on her prey, her paws making no noise. The mouse scuttled out of the bush, strait towards her. Clovenear killed it with one blow of her paw, gave thanks to her ancestors and buried the mouse.
“Next one’s yours, Silver.” Clovenear flicked her tail at her learner.

* * *

By sundown they had collected plenty of prey, enough to fill all their cats’ bellies. Silver was an exceptional hunter, a few tweaks here and there; she would be perfect. She dropped her prey on the pile, a white cat with dark brown stripes padded up to her.
“Guess what!” she mewed, as she neared.
“What?” The excitement was coming off the white she-cat in waves. “What, Tigerfur, what?”
“I’m having Shaleclaw’s kits!” Tigerfur mewed happily.
“That’s great!” Clovenear purred. “But,” Clovenear asked, hating herself for having to bring her friend back to earth, “who’s going to look after your learner while you’re in the nursery?”
“Greyrock offered to take Stripe along with you and Silver.” She purred. “He doesn’t have a learner of his own; he said he’ll train him, while I’m in the nursery.”
“That’s brilliant!”
“I know! You chose the right tom, there.” Tigerfur’s brown-tipped tail twitched at her.
“I think I did.” Clovenear replied, uncertainly. “I still feel that I hurt Whitepelt, but cats of Skyland must have destined me and Greyrock to be together.”
“Well, our ancestors and our destinies lead us where we must go.” Tigerfur meowed. “No-one can change their will.”
Tigerfur padded away, Clovenear chose a small rabbit from the pile and trotted over to Greyrock; lay beside him and began to eat. Greyrock’s ear twitched. “What’s that?”
“Smells like…” Clovenear stopped. What did it smell of? Answering her thought question, a small, brown, tabby cat appeared through the ferns that surrounded camp. It did not have the scent of any of the cats of the area she, at least Clovenear thought it was a she, bounded down, then, seeing the angry woodland cats, skidded to a fearful halt.
“What do you want?” Silvertree demanded, but not harshly. “Why are you here?”
The she-cat shuffled her paws, looking sheepish. “I’m lost.” As her head bent, an old wound opened up, and a fountain of blood oozed, staining the ground. She collapsed, got up, and collapsed again. Clovenear went up to her. “My kittens…” The tabby mewled, pitifully.
“I’ll get them.” Clovenear rushed out of camp, the way the tabby had come. The two kittens were under a bush, their eyes open and staring. “Come with me.” The kittens followed Clovenear into camp. They were the same, small, compact build of their mother, but the bigger had a flowing, silver coat, and the smaller, was a silvery blue. “Come to the nursery,” she meowed to the tabby, “You and your kittens will be safe there.”
The tabby got up, painfully. “What is your name?”
“Clovenear. And yours?”
“Fluffy.” The tabby padded towards the nursery, leaning on Clovenear.

* * *

Once Fluffy was settled in, Clovenear got her some prey. A plump starling caught her eye. “Here,” she put it down in front of her, “eat it.” Fluffy refused. “Can I give some to your kittens?”
Fluffy thought for a long while. “Yes.” She mewed at last.
Clovenear chewed up half the starling. “Eat some of this.” She mewed to the kits. The smallest didn’t seem keen on it.
“I’ll try it!” The biggest kit padded up, tried a small mouthful then, leaving some for her sister, wolfed it down. “It’s good! Try it!” She purred to her sibling.
The younger timidly tried some and, finishing it neatly, begged Fluffy to try some too. “Oh, please mama!” she mewled. “Try some, mama, try some!”
The accent was hard to understand; it hit her. Mama meant mother! “Don’t pester her.” She scolded the kittens. “Your mother needs her sleep!” Fluffy’s breathing was fast and shallow; she would need to be seen by the healer, Goldenroot. She would see him about it when Fluffy awoke. “What are your names?” She asked the kittens, the kittens that woodland cats had did not have proper names, but these might.
“We don’t have any.” The bigger kit replied. “What are cats our age called here?”
“We don’t name you, but we call you buy your size and the colour of your fur. Until you’re weaned for five days, then you become a learner, and get a proper name.”
“What does ‘weaned’ mean?” the smaller kitten enquired.
“Weaned means you’re not drinking your mother’s milk anymore.”
“I haven’t for,” the older kit paused, counting up in her head, “three whole days! And she,” she flicked her tail at her sister, “hasn’t for two-and-a-half! Would that count as three too?”
“Yes, I think it would. Anyway, while you’re kittens we’ll call you medium-silver and small-blue. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes!” The two newly named kittens squeaked in unison.
“Now,” she meowed, good-naturedly, “I’ll take you to see my learner, Silver; she’ll show you some good hunting positions.” She escorted the kittens to Silver, but, as she watched them, she couldn’t help wondering: Would Silvertree let them join us? They’re skilled and enthusiastic, but they’re not from here… She pondered the thought, but could find no answer. It was late. Clovenear padded to her nest, and fell into a fitful sleep.