“They shouldn’t have to decide now,” Stormfur began, only to break off as Brook flicked her tail toward Stoneteller, who was still in earshot. He let out a sigh. “They’ll learn,” he murmured, a trace of regret in his tone. “Is there any fresh-kill left? I’m starving!”

As Brook led Stormfur over to the fresh-kill pile, to-bes and their mentors headed back into the cave, and Stormfur’s kits shot across the cavern floor to intercept them.

“Tell us about outside!” Lark squeaked. “Did you catch any prey?”

“I want to go out,” Pine added.

One of the to-bes butted his shoulder gently with his head. “You’re too small. An eagle would eat you in one bite.”

“No it wouldn’t! I’d fight it,” Pine declared, fluffing up his brown fur.

The to-be let out a mrrow of laughter. “I’d like to see that! But you still have to wait until you’re eight moons old.”

“Mouse dung!”

Stoneteller stood watching the to-bes and kits romping together for a few heartbeats before he headed back toward his tunnel. As he approached it, a gray-brown she-cat rose to her paws and padded up to him.

“Stoneteller, I must talk to you.”

The old tabby glared at her. “I’ve said all I have to say. You know that, Bird.”

Bird did not reply, merely stood there waiting, until the old cat let out a long sigh. “Come, then. But don’t expect any different answers.”

Stoneteller led the way into the second tunnel, and Bird followed. The sounds of the young cats died away behind them, replaced by the steady drip of water.

The tunnel led into a cave much smaller than the one the cats had left. Pointed stones rose up from the floor and hung down from the roof. Some of them had joined in the middle, as if the cats were threading their way through a stone forest. Water trickled down the stones and the cave walls to make pools on the floor; their surface reflected a faint gray light from a jagged crack in the roof. All was silent except for the drip of water and the distant roaring of the falls, now sunk to a whisper.

Stoneteller turned to face Bird. “Well?”

“We’ve spoken about this before. You know you should have chosen your successor long ago.”

The old cat let out a snort of disgust. “There’s time yet.”

“Don’t tell that to me,” Bird retorted. “My mother was your littermate. I know exactly how old you are. You were chosen from that litter by the Tribe’s previous Healer, the last Teller of the Pointed Stones. You have served the Tribe well, but you can’t expect to stay here forever. Sooner or later you will be summoned to the Tribe of Endless Hunting. You must choose the next Stoneteller!”

“Why?” Bird flinched at the harshness of the old cat’s retort but Stoneteller continued. “So that the Tribe can go on, generation after generation, scrabbling their lives from these uncaring stones?”

Bird’s voice quivered with shock when she replied. “This is our home! We have earned the right to live here many times over! We fought off the trespassers, remember?” She padded closer to Stoneteller and held out one paw appealingly. “How can you think of betraying our ancestors by not preserving what they began?”