Read Online Mistystar's Omen by Erin Hunter - Free Book Online Page A

keeping her head below the top of the bank. Her fur was soon slicked with reddish-brown mud, and her paws kept slipping. Behind her, Icewing fared better because she was more lightly built and seemed able to leap between patches of less sodden grass. Her denmate Grasspelt plodded grimly along at the rear, cursing under his breath every time he lost his footing.
    At last Mistystar’s pads were so clogged with wet soil that she couldn’t keep a grip on the bank any longer. She scrambled up to the top and peered over the edge. Huge expanses of flat land, rippling with dark green grass, stretched away on both sides of the stream. Feeling very exposed under the vast gray sky, Mistystar reared up on her hind legs and peered over the stems. The stretch of grass ended at a row of cloud-colored Twoleg dens, three of them side by side with dark-leaved plants growing up the walls. As Mistystar stared, she spotted a flash of movement beside one of the dens, a blur of gray-brown fur.
    â€œKittypets!” growled Grasspelt beside her. “Two of them, by the looks of it.”
    A second shape had joined the other; then both vanished around the side of the den.
    â€œIf there are other cats around, there might be less prey for us out here,” Icewing warned. Her fur stood on end, and she was clearly uncomfortable about being so far outside their territory in such an open, unprotected place.
    Mistystar lifted her muzzle and sniffed the air. “I can’t smell any trace of them,” she commented. “Wouldn’t kittypets be too lazy to come all the way over here if they have enough slop to eat from their Twolegs?”
    â€œProbably,” grunted Grasspelt. He started nosing through the grass, his ears pricking. “This way!” he whispered over his shoulder.
    Mistystar and Icewing tracked him along the edge of the grass to a bramble thicket that hung over the bank of the stream. Grasspelt slowed down as they approached the brambles, lowering his belly until it almost hung on the ground, before he plunged forward with both front paws outstretched. The air was split with squeals; Mistystar and Icewing raced up to see him looming over a nest of young, hairless mice. They dove in, killing the baby mice with swift, careful blows so as not to spoil the delicate bodies.
    When everything was quiet, they stood back and looked down at the instant fresh-kill pile. “That was a good find,” Mistystar praised Grasspelt.
    Her Clanmate shrugged. “It’s hardly enough to replace a lake full of fish.”
    â€œBut it’s a start,” mewed Icewing. She scooped up the mice, gathering the tails in her teeth. The others helped her, and they began to make their way back down the stream, holding their prey out of the mud as they struggled to keep their footing.
    Back in the camp, their Clanmates fell hungrily on their catch. “Mice are almost as yummy as trout!” Podkit declared, munching a soft, pink ear.
    There were enough mice for every cat to have half each. Mistystar watched her Clanmates eating and felt a surge of satisfaction. Perhaps hunting farther upstream would be the answer until the fish came back. She looked up at the sky, wondering if her warrior ancestors agreed. If Mothwing can’t hear you, could you send a sign to Willowshine instead?
    She became aware of raised voices at the edge of the fresh-kill pile. “You can’t have another one, Mossypaw,” Reedwhisker was saying. “Hollowpaw and Rushpaw haven’t had theirs yet.”
    â€œThey should be here, then!” Mossypaw argued.
    â€œHere they come,” mewed Graymist. The two apprentices were trotting through the entrance.
    â€œLook!” called Mallownose. “Fresh mice!”
    â€œGreat,” mewed Hollowpaw, sounding less than excited.
    â€œHow was your battle practice?” Mistystar asked. She watched the young cats closely, mindful of what Mothwing had said about their private