/>       For Buddy – Who fills my heart with wonder   Excerpt from: Chapter 6 (Vol. 2) - A Rat's Life          Oona woke from her afternoon nap and noticed the tech hadn't fully latched her cage. She did nothing until the humans were gone and darkness filled the lab. Oona was as large as a four-month kitten and twice as strong. They had fed her special foods and it had done its job. Oona was smart, much smarter than the techs understood. She'd made sure of that.      Rising on her haunches, she pushed the door open, then scurried to the many other cages where she picked the locks with her nails. Rats ran everywhere, all of them smaller and dumber than Oona, the perfect distractions for her escape. She leaped to the highest shelving, heading for the air duct that cooled or heated the lab. It was off. Again using her small fingers and nails, Oona unscrewed the vent cover and crawled inside. From there it was easy to scent her way to the outdoors. Within minutes the lab's prized possession was gone forever.      Now beneath the moon, Oona reveled in the sights and smells, and the food she easily foraged from trash thrown to the ground. Intoxicated with freedom, she wandered through the night, at dawn finding a culvert to sleep away the day.      “Hey, you,” Half-fang snarled, pushing the sleeping rat with his greasy nose. Oona leapt up and faced him with a hiss. “Oh,” he said, backing away. He sat on his haunches, reassessing his moves. She smelled 'right' and her soft white fur, all lightly dusted with street grime, was pretty. Oona, much smarter than Half-fang, so named because as a young wharf rat he'd bitten into a steel rivet and lost half of one of his front teeth, realized seconds before he did that he liked her. I'll run him like a dog, she decided, and that's exactly what she did.      Because of his size, not his brain, Half-fang was boss rat in his section of sewer. He ordered the other rats and Oona ordered him, but it wasn't until his passing, a death some rumored to be suspicious, that she declared herself queen. Rats don't easily submit to females, but even the most rebellious of them admitted Oona was special. Besides, many could call her mother.      Oona and Half-fang had many children together, but none grew larger or smarter than Fleazor. From his mother he inherited agility and intelligence, from his father, size and brute strength. From both he burned with a need to rule, his heart and fangs ever ready to put down any usurpers. Fleazor was, after all, a sewer rat.     Excerpt from: Chapter Seven: Cold Moons Warm Hearts           In the cold beneath the Moon of Bare Branches Ghost fell ill. During Darkmoon Gathering of mentors and apprentices, he lay in his nest coughing into a leaf filled with bits of buttercup root and sage. His podmates worried. Coldmoons was a bad time for a cough. If it spread to your lungs, you could die. Every night his dreams were haunted by the ghosts of the henge at Boulderfalls, and Ghost wondered if he would join them.      Miserable and restless, he bolted from the cave to the boulders above, hoping the sound of the cascading water would help him sleep. Turning the circles of past, future, and now, Ghost cooled his fever on the stones, paws tucked and tail wrapped. Finally, he dozed, but not well. He grew cold and heard himself coughing, felt his body shivering in waves. He felt his body weaken, the sickness pushing and pulling him like flotsam in a frightful current. A dark shape loomed through his hazy vision and a massive paw nudged his chest. Ghost moaned.       “Come on,” Browser hissed in his ear, “Let's get you inside.”      Ghost followed his rescuer back to the den, then collapsed. His dreams became chaotic with only scraps of reality breaking through. Rosie's trill, Kyra's scent, water dripped into his burning mouth. A tender mouse brought to tempt him when he couldn't eat. Ghost fought, but the fever fought harder. He fought harder and the fever raged. By the third sunfall, he'd lost the war. My body is broken, he grieved, sad to leave the world. At the edge of his awareness blue skies cradled fragrant meadows and he felt the presence of the Great Mother Cat.      Ghost floated above his body. It looked twisted and small, his lower jaw jutting unnaturally forward. His eyes were glazed over and he felt cold, so cold. The warmth of that sun-drenched meadow was only a final breath away. He yearned for its radiance. His breathing slowed. The cave grew dimmer. It was then he saw his fetch perched on the edge of his nest, smiling. Forget your name, it told him. Just for now. Just for a moment. That's it, let go. Ghost stopped breathing.      Rosie lay nearby, feeling every tremor of his death. “Nee-ow-ow-ow-ow-wah,” she cried with such anguish Ghost' spirit felt his own heart rending. Rosie must not suffer. Rosie must not suffer. And his body drew a shallow, shaky breath. Browser's strength flowed into the strange other-place where Ghost was floating, grabbed him by the scruff and pulled him back toward life.      Ghost opened his eyes and stared into the faces of his friends. It was love that held him to this world.      “Thank you,” the little wizard murmured, falling into cool, dark relief. He lay half-conscious several risings of the moon, emerging bone-thin and feeble, but alive. His illness had been as much of his spirit as his flesh and for the moments he wandered his inner world, he'd gone to the center where all life was one consciousness of light and joy. Along the path, however, he'd seen the enemy who would destroy the Green. A profound hunger, a vast fear. And while the shaman slept, it committed murder…wearing the body of a cat.   Excerpt from: Chapter Fourteen: The Naming of Kits        Big Kitty, Big Kitty, wake up!” Jasper roofed. Short-Tail ricocheted from Big Kitty's head to the tip of his tail and back again. The large kitten lay on his back in the grass, arms thrown over his head, legs extended, a long tail unfurled between them. Big Kitty slept with abandon when and where he wanted and the pups' barking had no effect.      Bite 'im,” Jasper demanded.      Short-Tail sniffed one of Big Kitty's huge paws. “I'm not gettin' scratched. You bite 'im.”      “You're closer.”      “You're faster.”      “Anybody bites me, you're both getting scratched,” Big Kitty said without opening an eye. Startled, the pups jumped back.      “Big Kitty, get up, get up,” they cried in unison.      The giant kit rolled on his belly, shaking sleep bunnies from his head. “What is it now?” he groused, pushing himself up to a lazy sit, his back hunched, front paws close to his belly between his legs, gigantic feet flopping outward. Tilting his face to the sun, Big Kitty yawned. Jasper leaned forward and stared down his throat. His breath tickled and Big Kitty shuddered. “What is it now?” He repeated.       “It's your brother,” the curious pup exclaimed. “He's doin' it again.”       “What?”       “It's your brother—”       “I heard you…what's he doing?”       “As always,” Short-Tail snarled impatiently. “He'll tease the mother skunk's kits.”       “Tell my mother,” the over-sized kitten drawled, enjoying his sun bath too much to move.       “Auntie Rosie is hunting in the forest,” Jasper began.       “Then tell Auntie Kyra.”       “Auntie Kyra is sleeping,” Short-Tail finished.       “So was I.” Big Kitty opened one eye to check the sun. It would soon drop behind the treeline and the skunk mother would bring her brood-kits out to forage. Slowly, Big Kitty rose. He drifted to the pool where he took a profound drink, followed by a spine-limbering stretch up the stump. He turned briskly on the two pups “We'd best hurry,” he meowed. And with that, he lead them down the meadow into Smallmarsh, into the clumps of pampas grass. Big Kitty signaled to hide with a wave of his tail, and they all sank belly to the ground.       The sorrel kit stretched out on a ridge above the stream-bank, directly above the skunks' den, and hovering on his flank was a scrap of black. Kyra's little girl.       “Kyra will be furious,” Big Kitty muttered. The swamp was dangerous and letting the little female follow him into it was irresponsible, especially for the mischief he had planned. The sun dropped, and as promptly as if a clock had chimed, Mother Skunk stuck her head from her den and sniffed the air. Time to dig for beetles and grubs, time to teach her babies about the world. And out she came, kits behind her, heading for the stream. Bushy tails up, pointy faces down, little pink tongues eagerly slurped the water. Then their mother led them toward grub-rich clumps of pampas grass. They marched like a platoon, their black and white flags at attention behind the grandest flag of all, who still hadn't noticed the sorrel furball and his dark accomplice.       He rolled in dung to hide his scent, Big Kitty concluded. And he made Kyra's kit do it too. Shame! Big Kitty leaped to his paws, determined to prevent disaster…   The BOOK: Tales from the Green  • Excerpts LIFE in the GREEN: Cast of Characters  •  Earth Magick  •  Glossary  Maps   •  Contact the Author RESOURCES: How To Help A Feral Spay/Neuter & Adoptions - Cats & Dogs Report Animal Abuse  •  Vegetarian Recipes     “Anyone who believes what a cat tells him deserves all he gets.” ― Neil Gaiman, Stardust