Chapter 6 – Heading Home

The Trade, A Resurgence Chronicles tale

Bright Feather leapt to a nearby tree, claws sinking into bark as she scaled to the lower limbs. Her village a distant trek, she loped along the boughs, steady but alert, eyes flicking for predators or pitfalls. The forbidden mounds lingered in her thoughts—punishment loomed if the Elders learned how close she’d strayed. She slowed, tail twitching, paws gripping the branch. A sharp word? A lash? Banishment, alone beyond the clan? Dread clawed at her chest, but she shook it off, fur bristling with youthful defiance, and pressed on.

Soon, her stomach rumbled, clawing at her ribs. She veered to the nearest trunk, retractable claws biting into rough bark as she climbed higher. Each pull sharpened the hunger, a growl echoing the hours since dawn’s meal. The limbs thinned beneath her, swaying under her weight. Through the thinning canopy, dark clouds bruised the sky far beyond Spirit Top, a silent threat swelling over the distant peak. She squinted—no flyers circled close, no threats loomed near, but the sun dipped past its zenith, later than she’d guessed. Doubling back, she slunk down the trunk, senses sharp.

A blaze of green flared on a nearby limb, feathers glinting as it settled. She crouched, hunger still gnawing, until her stomach’s growl jolted the bird into flight. Hissing at her own noise, she sprang, tail ruddering her arc. Claws snagged the prey mid-air, sinking deep as she aimed for the branch. Her feet dug into the wood, prehensile tail coiling tight for balance. Pinning the bird, she bit its neck—quick, clean—blood warm on her lips. The scent hit her first: iron and heat, tangled with the smell of wet bark and sun-scorched leaves. Wind stirred the branches, carrying the scent of flowering moss and distant rain. She laid the bird gently on the bough, sitting back on her haunches. Paws to her heart, then over the bird, back to her chest, and up to the sky, she purred thanks—for its life, for the world’s gift. She ate swiftly, licking feathers from her fur, then loped onward.

The tree highways stretched wide, and she made good time, crossing the clan’s outer bounds. A prickle along her spine slowed her—she was watched. From above, the cry of a Deathwing echoed far off. She purred back, steadying her stance as a shadow leapt from a hollowed trunk, landing close. Mottled gray-black fur glinted—Night Shadow. He padded nearer, nose brushing hers in greeting, then sat back. “Greetings, Bright Feather,” he signed, voice a low purr.

“Greetings, Night Shadow,” she replied, hands weaving with her purr. “Why aren’t you sleeping for the night watch?”

“Stalker’s ill—I took his shift,” he gestured, tail flicking.

“Ever diligent,” she signed, nodding. “I’d expect no less.”

“He’ll owe me,” Night Shadow added, a smug curl to his lips. “You always look surprised when I rise to the moment.”

“I’m not,” she lied, bristling. “I just remember the last time you dozed through your perch and blamed the wind.”

“Memory’s sharp when it suits you,” he said, amused.

Her fur bristled again, but she brushed past, cutting off his reply. His skill outshone most, yet that arrogance grated. He hunted well, moved well, always in rhythm—until he opened his mouth. Shaking it off, she wove through the clan’s nests—woven limbs tied with fiber, floored with leaves, roofs shielding families. Young branches, lashed to older boughs, formed pathways, their growth guided over seasons into sturdy bridges. Only rare gaps forced a drop to the ground.

Ground dens emerged below—some woven, some burrowed at tree bases—small for the young, sprawling for elders. A breeze stirred the high canopy again. She paused, alert, but the Deathwing was long gone.

Nearing the village core, she spotted Sky Eyes on a mature limb, her darker brown fur stark against white knees and elbows, blue eyes piercing. Bright Feather slowed, and they touched noses.

“You’ve been gone all sun!” Sky Eyes signed, sharp and quick. “Where?”

Bright Feather glanced over her shoulder, hesitating. Her tail twitched. “Far.”

Sky Eyes’ gaze narrowed. “The Mounds?”

Bright Feather looked down. “I… maybe. Near them.” She crouched, then pulled the pouch from her side and nosed it open. “I found something.” She drew out the disk slowly, not meeting her sister’s eyes.

Sky Eyes snatched it, turning it over. “What is it?”

“Don’t know,” Bright Feather signed. “Elders might rage.”

“You went in?” Sky Eyes’ hands snapped.

“No—just near. A Vairn had it—came from there.”

Sky Eyes frowned. “Why’d it have this?”

“Shiny, maybe.” Bright Feather shrugged.

“Hmm. Let’s ask Brook Willow—she’s wise, even off the council,” Sky Eyes decided, starting off.

Bright Feather slid the disk back into her rear pouch—it would be awkward walking on all fours otherwise. The straps creaked as she followed. At the brook’s bend, she slowed, sitting back. Sky Eyes glanced back. “Coming, or scared?”

“I’m coming,” Bright Feather huffed, unmoving.

“What’s wrong?” Sky Eyes padded closer.

“Punishment,” Bright Feather signed, trembling. “No scouting? Tending kittens? Banishment?” Her tail lashed, fear sharp.

Sky Eyes wrapped arms and tail around her, purring softly. “We’ll face it together. You didn’t enter—just say it all to Brook Willow first.”

Bright Feather nodded into her sister’s fur, steadier. “You’re the sensible one.”

“Water, then on,” Sky Eyes urged, lapping at the brook. Bright Feather joined her, then they turned up the path.

“It’s sun-colored,” Bright Feather murmured.

“But cool, not warm,” Sky Eyes countered, “like a polished stone—maybe a gift?”

“Hope Brook Willow knows,” Bright Feather signed. “We’re close.”

“She always knows,” Sky Eyes whispered. “Or makes us believe she does.” As near the elders’ dwelling place.