Raven Catclaw's Arc

Chapter 1 of 12

Raven Catclaw wanted one thing, and it hid from her. Somewhere in Shadegrove lived a thin gray tomcat who had never let another cat near him. She had seen him twice, both times from far off, watching the world with a bored, careful stare. She could smell prey from miles away and climb trees no other cat dared. None of that helped. To win him, she had to make him come to her, and she did not know what he wanted. She crouched high on a thick oak branch, claws hooked in the rough bark. From there she could see the clearing where he sometimes crossed at dusk. She had tried food before. She had dropped a fat mouse in his path last week. He had stared at it, then walked away without a look back. The wrong gift, she knew now, would send him deeper into hiding. She could not afford another mistake. So tonight she only watched. Her tail hung still. Her claws dragged slow lines along the bark while she waited. The tomcat slipped into the clearing when the light went gray. He moved along the far edge, then stopped. His nose lifted. He turned toward a patch of tall weeds and pushed his face into them. Raven's ears went forward. He rolled onto his back in the weeds, twisting, his bored stare gone soft and dreamy. He rubbed until the stalks bent flat. Raven breathed in from her high perch. The scent reached her at last: the sharp green bite of catmint, tangled with the deep earthy root beneath it. That was the draw. Not meat. Not chase. A smell that made a guarded cat forget himself and roll like a kit. She waited until he left. Then she climbed down and searched the clearing edge until she found the plants he loved. She worked her claws careful now, cutting stems, gathering the flowering tops and the pale twisted roots. She bound them with a thin strip of bark into a rough bundle. The smell of it filled her whole head. She fought the urge to roll in it herself. The next dusk she carried the bundle to the clearing and set it in the open, where the wind would spread it wide. Then she climbed back to her branch and waited. He came. His nose caught the bundle from across the grass. He crossed straight to it, faster than she had ever seen him move, and buried his face in the dried stems. For a long moment he forgot to be afraid. Then he lifted his head. He looked up the trunk, right at her, and did not run. "You made this," he said. His voice was flat, but he did not leave. Raven's chest tightened. She had drawn him out. Now he knew she had watched him, learned him, laid a trap of the thing he loved. She had his attention. She had no idea what to say next.