Ravenpaw's Farewell Read Free

their trunks Ravenpaw glimpsed the pale swath of wooden fence that marked the boundary with Twolegplace. As they drew closer, pungent scents of Twoleg dens, monster fumes, and kittypets washed over them.
    â€œThey still don’t come very far into the forest,” Ravenpaw commented as he paused by a tree stump to sniff a kittypet mark.
    Barley glanced over his shoulder at the dense tangle of trees. “I can’t imagine it looks more inviting now than it did when the Clans were here. Kittypets have everything theywant from their Twolegs, don’t they? Food, shelter, company, all without having to make any effort.”
    Ravenpaw looked sideways at his friend. “Kind of like us, then,” he teased.
    Barley bristled. “At least we catch our own prey!”
    Ravenpaw purred, though another jab of pain in his belly reminded him that he needed to be more careful about what he ate. The barn provided good hunting, but he couldn’t assume that every catch would make good fresh-kill.
    They padded side by side through the long grass at the base of the wooden fence. It felt cool and welcoming under Ravenpaw’s feet, and he reflected that it had been a long time since he had walked this far. Life on the farm had made him soft!
    Suddenly there was a hiss above their heads.
    â€œOi! You down there! What are you doing?”
    Ravenpaw and Barley looked up. A ragged-furred brown tabby was crouched on top of the fence, glaring down at them. A scar across his muzzle and notches in his ears suggested that he wasn’t afraid of a fight.
    â€œWe’re just passing through,” Barley called. “Don’t worry.”
    In a flash the tabby tom sprang down from the fence and blocked their path. His tail lashed. “I’ll decide what I worry about, thank you,” he growled. He stretched out his neck and sniffed. “You’re not from around here. You don’t smell like kittypets, but you don’t smell like the woods, either. Who are you?”
    â€œWe live on a farm,” Barley began, but Ravenpaw cut him off.
    â€œCalm down. We’re not doing anyone any harm,” he meowed.
    The tabby curled his lip. “I don’t like the look of you,” he snarled. “This is my home”—he nodded to the Twoleg den on the other side of the fence—“and I claim all hunting rights in this part of the woods. You’re not welcome.”
    And you’re ridiculous, thought Ravenpaw. But he was tired and his belly hurt, and a fight was the last thing he wanted. “Come on,” he muttered to Barley. “Let’s go.”
    They started to walk around the kittypet, but he sprang after them, claws unsheathed. “You don’t think you’re getting away that easily, do you?” He let out a yowl, and in a heartbeat more faces popped up along the fence.
    Ravenpaw scanned them in alarm. Kittypets, yes, but also one or two who looked too mean and scrawny to share Twoleg dens.
    â€œI think we should get out of here,” he whispered to Barley, who nodded.
    â€œNo need for a fight,” Barley announced. “We’re leaving.”
    Ravenpaw and Barley set off again, but the wooden fence rattled behind them as several cats jumped down into the forest.
    â€œRun!” screeched Ravenpaw, and without looking back, he and Barley pelted along the edge of the trees. Ravenpaw felt his chest start to burn, and the ache in his belly sharpened with every footstep. From the noises behind them he could tell that some of the cats had given up, but enough stayed in pursuit to keep Ravenpaw in flight. His fighting days werelong gone; all he wanted to do was get out of this place, back to the safety of the barn.
    They followed the long curve of the fence until the woods fell away and the ground dropped down beside them to the vast, stench-filled Thunderpath. They were running along a narrow strip of earth now, trapped by the high fence on one side and a