Gray Wing crouched at the top of the hollow, the faint sounds of his sleeping denmates just barely reaching his ears. The fat, white circle of the moon floated above his head, casting a frosty light over the moorland grass.
A gentle breeze ruffled Gray Wing’s pelt. His eyes grew heavy, and he opened his jaws wide in a yawn.
He was sitting in the cave behind the waterfall. The gushing cascade glittered in the moonlight, and tiny specks of silver whirled across the walls and floor of the cavern. I’m back in our mountain cave! he thought. It’s been so many moons since we left!
Movement beside the far wall caught Gray Wing’s gaze. Stoneteller, the Tribe’s Healer, was pacing toward the tunnel at the back of the cave, which led to her den. Her paw steps were unsteady with age, her body scrawny and her pelt thin. She’s so old, Gray Wing thought. I can’t count how many seasons she’s seen.
Gray Wing glanced around. He saw his mother, Quiet Rain, curled up in her sleeping hollow, and the rest of his Tribemates were asleep too.
There’s Dewy Leaf . . . oh, she’s had her kits! Three of them, and theylook so strong and healthy. And there’s Snow Hare. She used to tell such wonderful stories.
Curiosity swept over Gray Wing. When he lived in the cave he had never entered the Healer’s private den. But I’m dreaming! he realized. Maybe I can follow her now, and she’ll never know. He rose to his paws and padded after her.
