chapter 8

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A shaft of sunlight that slants down between a couple of trees to hit the ground highlights the pattern in Rosy’s coat as she trots through the evening light. In her cat form she is swift and bold, only avoiding the cattle kept for eating when she hunts. It has become increasingly clear how good of a hunter she is. Rabbits and hares are frequent prey when she travels. Even when some of us only go out for exercise with no intention of hunting, Rosy hunts as she goes. Despite this she is never too laden with food to keep up and easily keeps pace with whichever toms are along.

I grunt softly and she pauses to look my way. I bob my head and trot up beside her with a soft purr as I halt to study the open field ahead. It has been two weeks since Edwin had been forced to leave the clan, and Rosy was learning surprisingly fast how to behave. With no one to mislead her or encourage her towards incorrect behaviour she only needs things explained to her once. An impatient move beside me and I glance her way to find Rosy waiting expectantly. The first thing Sam and I taught her had been not to rush ahead of the toms with her. Our job was to protect her and if she ran ahead into trouble she was only making it harder for us.

"Why are we waiting?" Jazzy demands impatiently as she trots up between Rosy and me. Rosy gives her an affectionate nudge with her muzzle before licking a black ear.

"Little sister," Rosy huffs.

"I told her it was my name," Jazzy purrs happily and I glare at her a second before leading the way into the open grass. I will have to have a few words with Jazzy about misleading Rosy.

Steven, Sam and Mikkarl fan out across the field checking for any native wildlife. Rosy stands at the edge of the field watching eagerly. She waits until they are nearly at the far side of the clearing before bolting after them. Mitchell follows close behind her and I stop to watch her with interest as she races across the ground. She turns sharply just before she reaches Sam to race towards Mikkarl. Her love of running shows in the fluid grace of her movements as she executes a sliding turn before heading towards Steven. Half way between Mikkarl and Steven a mottled form launches itself from a thick clump of shrubs at the two cats racing towards it. Furious barking fills the air along with the sound of snarls and hisses.

My heart is pounding in my chest as I watch the scene unfolding before me. Mitchell swerves off course, giving in to his instinctive dislike of dogs while Rosy props to an abrupt stop. Her ears are laid back flat on her skull, her back arched up and all of her fur seems to stand on end as she faces the dog rushing after her brother. Rosy stands her ground but as the dog rushes by her, she leaps high in the air even as she slashes with a front paw and razor sharp claws. There is a startled yelp and the two forms separate. The dog facing Rosy appears old and ragged but that does nothing to calm Jazzy who is beside me huddling close and trembling in fear.

Despite our natural fear of dogs the warriors rush to surround the dog. Both Sam and Steven press close only to jump back as the dog charges forward yapping at them. I am shocked and alarmed when Rosy flings herself on the dog fearlessly. It is an uneven fight. The dog is much smaller and only has teeth while Rosy has both claws and teeth. Within a minute Rosy is standing over the carcass of her would be attacker, she is still snarling furiously while her tail lashes back and forth viciously. Leaving Jazzy with Dwayne and Donovan I rush over to sniff Rosy anxiously. She snarls savagely, baring her teeth at me but allows me to examine her thoroughly.

"Silly, silly girl!" I grumble near her ear and she shakes her head as my whiskers brush against her ear. I glance around the toms accusingly but they are all looking uncomfortable and only Steven steps forward to sniff at the dead dog.

Rosy snarls and slaps at his head, driving him away from her kill. She tries the same with me when I step up to examine the dog but a low growl has her moving aside so I can check out the animal. It is an old dog with a bullet wound high in one front shoulder and a bloody furrow across its back. Either it is a stock killer or more likely, an old dog someone has tried to put down.

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