by Erin Hunter
“Come on!” Sunkit bounced around him. “Tell us what to do!”
“We could stalk Oakheart!” Crookedjaw proposed. “First one to creep up on him wins.”
Oakheart flicked his tail. “Sorry, Crookedjaw. We’re leaving.” He headed for the gap in the reeds with Petaldust and Whitefang at his heels.
Blackkit clawed the ground. “Why don’t we stalk you instead?” He sprang and landed on Crookedjaw’s back.
Crookedjaw staggered dramatically, wincing as the other kits joined in. Collapsing under a storm of churning, flailing paws, he sank grunting to the ground and writhed like a captured pike. The kits squealed as he flung them back and forth, tugging his fur in an effort to cling on.
“Look!” Skykit’s excited squeak caused a fresh flurry of paws.
Frogkit yowled with delight. “The hunting patrol’s back!”
The kits scrambled off Crookedjaw and charged for the fresh-kill pile.
“I want carp!” Leopardkit pattered on the ground as she raced to keep up.
Crookedjaw sat up, sighing. “Thank StarClan.”
Willowbreeze, Cedarpelt, and Timberfur were stacking their catch beside the reed bed. Piketooth dropped his trout and turned in surprise as the kits surged past him, knocking the pile of fish flying.
“Careful!” Cedarpelt yelped, grabbing for a trout as it skidded toward the river. “We just got them out. Don’t put them back!”
Willowbreeze crossed the clearing, eyes shining as she neared Crookedjaw. “It looks like I got back just in time,” she purred. “You were about to be devoured by a school of starving kits.” She touched her muzzle to his affectionately.
Crookedjaw ducked away.
“What?” Willowbreeze’s eyes flashed with hurt.
“Not here.”
He could feel Shimmerpelt’s and Lakeshine’s eyes on them—storing up gossip. He’d grown closer and closer to Willowbreeze since he’d rescued her from the Twolegs, but he hated the way the Clan watched them. He knew they were waiting for them to announce they were mates. He could picture Hailstar yowling the news from the Great Rock next Gathering. He snorted crossly. Why couldn’t his Clanmates mind their own business?
“Okay.” Willowbreeze briskly smoothed his fur with her tail and sniffed.
Crookedjaw shrugged apologetically. “Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested. Now that Cedarpelt and Piketooth were back, there was no need to watch the kits.
Willowbreeze flicked her tail past his nose and turned and headed for the entrance. They padded in silence along the grassy path.
“I don’t see why you have to be so embarrassed,” Willowbreeze meowed.
Crookedjaw stared at his paws. “I don’t want my Clanmates to think I’m soft.”
“It’s not soft to have feelings for another cat!” Willowbreeze challenged. “Do you think Hailstar’s soft? Or Cedarpelt? Or Timberfur? They all have mates!”
“I’m sorry,” Crookedjaw murmured. He ducked under a hawthorn bush and padded into the alder grove. It was bright under the trees now that leaf-bare had begun to strip the leaves.
“Do you remember your assessment?” Crookedjaw changed the subject.
“Of course.” Willowbreeze nosed her way after him. “You watched me catch the blackbird.” Her mew softened.
“I could have watched you all day,” Crookedjaw mewed.
“And now you can’t?”
He looked at her, blinking. “Oh, I still could. But I’d get nothing useful done.” He flicked her muzzle playfully with the tip of his tail. “That would get us both into trouble!” Crookedjaw darted forward and scrambled up an alder trunk. Digging in his claws, he hauled himself onto the lowest branch. “Come on!”
Willowbreeze narrowed her eyes. She climbed the alder beside his, scooted along a low branch, and leaped into the next tree. The bough swayed under her weight. Crookedjaw purred. If she could climb like a squirrel, so could he! He flung himself into the branches of the next alder, clinging tight with his claws as it shivered beneath him. Willowbreeze lifted her chin and raced onward, leaping from branch to branch alongside him, light as a blackbird. Crookedjaw matched her tree for tree until they’d crossed the whole grove without touching the ground.
“Can you do this?” Crookedjaw jumped onto a higher branch, then higher, till he was at the spindly top of the tree.
Willowbreeze gasped. “Watch out!”
The branches slumped under his weight. Bark splintered and wood cracked. Squawking with surprise, Crookedjaw slithered through the tree like a stone dropping through water. Heart lurching, he stretched out his claws and grabbed hold of a branch. He hung for a moment, his hind paws churning the air before finding a hold on the trunk. Catching his breath, he lowered himself carefully and dropped to the ground.
“You frog-brain!” Willowbreeze jumped down and glared at him. “I thought you were going to hurt yourself!”
“Impossible.” Crookedjaw whisked his tail.
“How can you be so sure?” Her eyes glittered with worry.
She really cares! “I’m sorry I scared you,” he meowed softly. “But you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I worry every moment you’re out of my sight,” Willowbreeze confessed.
Crookedjaw touched his nose to her cheek. She was trembling. “Please don’t,” he begged. “I’ll be fine.”
“Stop saying that!” She circled him, bristling. “You don’t know that for sure!”
Crookedjaw blocked her path. He wondered for a moment whether to tell her about Mapleshade and his destiny. No. She’ll think I’m crazy. Why tell her when he could just show her by becoming the greatest leader any Clan had ever known?
“You’re right.” He pressed against her flank. “I don’t know for sure. But I’m so happy just being with you, it feels like nothing can hurt me.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he promised. “Everything will be fine. I love you.” She softened against him. “We’ll have a great life together,” he murmured. “Surrounded by our Clanmates.” He pulled away and looked deep into her eyes. “And our kits.”
A purr rumbled in her throat. “I love you, Crookedjaw.” She touched her muzzle to his ear. Her warm breath made him weak.
Suddenly a cold breeze lifted his fur. For a moment, Mapleshade’s scent drifted in the air and her voice echoed around him. Don’t forget your promise!
Crookedjaw closed his eyes and let the soft scent of Willowbreeze bathe him. Mapleshade was wrong. Having a mate wouldn’t stop him from being a great leader. Hailstar had Echomist, and their kits Petaldust, Beetlenose, and Voleclaw. It didn’t distract him from his loyalty to the Clan or his readiness for battle.
“What’s that?” Willowbreeze jerked away, ears pricking.
A dog was yapping upstream. Hisses and yowls exploded nearby. It sounded like it had encountered a patrol.
“I’ll go and help!” Crookedjaw raced down the slope.
“Be careful!” Willowbreeze called after him.
Diving through the hawthorns, Crookedjaw spotted Whitefang and Petaldust at full pelt, chasing a small white dog. He charged after them. “Steer it past the camp!” he yowled.
Whitefang veered away, outflanking the dog and driving it onward, away from the camp entrance. They chased it up the slope and around the top of the camp. Crookedjaw’s heart thudded with excitement as he whipped around bushes and ducked under branches, keeping the dog in sight. Ahead, Whitefang and Petaldust matched each other step for step, steering it toward the marsh. As they broke from the trees the dog glanced over its shoulder. Its eyes gleamed white around the edges. It was terrified. Pounding the earth with desperate paws, it fled past the beech copse and hurtled into the long grass.
“Keep going!” Crookedjaw called.
Whitefang leaped over a clump of sedge as Petaldust swerved around it. The ground flashed beneath Crookedjaw’s paws as he hared after them. They crossed the marsh and drove the dog down onto the shore. Petaldust splashed into t
he shallows, keeping pace with the dog as it hurtled forward, sending stones cracking from under her paws. Whitefang pelted along the bank, hissing every time the dog tried to swerve up onto the grass.
Crookedjaw stayed at the rear, blocking the dog with a snarl if it tried to turn. “Twoleg!” he warned, spotting a figure on the bridge. He pulled up, pebbles clattering beneath his feet.
Whitefang and Petaldust slewed to a halt as the dog flung itself on to the bridge and bounded around the Twoleg, yapping with relief.
Crookedjaw circled his Clanmates as they flopped down on the shore. “Nice chase,” he puffed.
“Thanks.” Petaldust clambered to her paws once she had caught her breath.
Whitefang lifted his head. “We’d better carry on with our patrol.” He stood up and shook out his pelt.
“Where’s Oakheart?” Crookedjaw suddenly realized his brother was missing.
“Didn’t you see him?” Petaldust blinked at him in surprise. “He was heading your way. He thought he saw ThunderClan warriors on the shore below Sunningrocks. He went to investigate.”
Crookedjaw frowned. “Alone?”
“That’s what he wanted.” Whitefang shrugged. “He told us to check the Twoleg field and that he’d catch up.”
“I’ll check on him.” Crookedjaw flattened his ears. It was risky to check for intruders single-pawed. What was his brother thinking?
He found Oakheart near the alders, emerging from long grass. “What are you doing here?”
Oakheart looked startled. His pelt was wet.
“Are you okay?” Crookedjaw meowed. “Whitefang said you saw cats from ThunderClan.”
“Just one warrior.” Oakheart’s voice was casual as he padded past, heading for the camp. “I chased her off.”
Crookedjaw picked up a trace of familiar scent on his brother’s pelt. “Was it Bluefur?”
Oakheart whipped around. “How did you know?”
“I recognized her scent.” Crookedjaw searched Oakheart’s gaze. Was he hiding something? Was Bluefur causing trouble? “Did you fight? Did she beat you?” He remembered with a shudder what a fierce opponent Bluefur could be.
Oakheart turned toward camp. “I drove her back into the forest.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t much of a fight. Nothing worth mentioning. Why start a battle over something so small?”
Crookedjaw watched his brother pad away. “What about your patrol? They chased a dog as far as the bridge. They’re waiting for you.”
Oakheart paused. “The patrol!” He swerved to head upriver.
Crookedjaw tipped his head on one side. It wasn’t like Oakheart to be so reserved, especially about an encounter with another Clan. Perhaps the fight had been tougher than he wanted to admit. But he didn’t seem to have any injuries.
Crookedjaw shrugged. Oakheart was a great warrior. He’d be fine. He tasted the air, wondering if Willowbreeze was still near or if she’d given up waiting for him and returned to camp. He wanted to spend as much time with her as he could.
Chapter 27
“Mapleshade!”
Dreaming, Crookedjaw raced through the forest. Dark earth sprayed behind him as he barged through the tangled undergrowth.
“Mapleshade?”
Where is she? He had so much to ask her. Questions that had been churning in his belly for days, nagging and nagging till he had to have answers. Why had she put Willowbreeze’s life at risk? Why had she clawed him for saving a Clanmate? What about his destiny? When was he going to get his first apprentice? How long till he became deputy? Would he follow Hailstar? Or Shellheart?
Shellheart?
Crookedjaw stumbled to a halt. Who, if he became leader, would have to die over and over before Crookedjaw took his place? Crookedjaw felt sick. It was bad enough waiting for Hailstar to lose his last life. He didn’t want to count off his own father’s deaths while he waited for his destiny to come true.
“Higher!”
A sharp growl sliced through the mist.
“Faster! Do you want to die at the paws of a common warrior?”
Crookedjaw heard a grunt and the thud of hard muscle hitting earth. Did Mapleshade have another pupil? He crept forward, ears pricked. Ducking behind a thornbush, he saw two shapes moving in a narrow clearing. As the mist swirled away, two pelts showed: one ragged, one sleek.
The ragged mentor wasn’t Mapleshade. It was a cat he’d never seen before. But who was the sleek tom? Crookedjaw searched his memory. There was something familiar in the wide, muscled shoulders and the dark tabby pelt.
“Do it again!” the ragged cat snarled. “Do it better!”
The sleek tom took a short run up and leaped, higher than Crookedjaw had seen any cat jump. With a flick of his tail, he twisted in the air, kicking out his hind legs, claws splayed while he punched the air with his forepaw. He hit the ground with a thump, landing on his side. Crookedjaw felt the jolt, gasping as though the breath had been knocked from him instead of from the tom.
The ragged cat was on his apprentice in an instant, battering his head with a flurry of swipes. Crookedjaw flinched as blood sprayed from the torn fur. The tom struggled free and met his mentor’s blows with vicious, slicing jabs.
The ragged cat ducked away. “That was better!”
Blood welled on both cats’ muzzles and, as Crookedjaw peered closer, he could see the tom’s pelt was laced with slash marks.
“Let me try it again, Shredtail,” the tom growled.
Again? Crookedjaw swallowed. He thought his training sessions with Mapleshade had been brutal, but they were never this violent. These cats acted as though shedding blood meant nothing.
In a flash, Crookedjaw recognized him. Thistleclaw! He’d seen the ThunderClan warrior at Gatherings.
Thistleclaw took another run up, leaping once more and twisting. This time he finished the move before landing on his paws. Yowling with triumph, he reared and slashed the air. “This is it!” He faced his mentor. “My time is coming.”
Shredtail nodded. “You’ve worked hard for it, Thistleclaw.”
“And I’m going to get it. I’ll be deputy before the next full moon.”
“Are you sure Sunstar won’t soften and choose Bluefur instead?” Shredtail snarled.
Thistleclaw narrowed his eyes. “He’d be a fool if he did,” he growled. “Bluefur is weak. I bet she’s whimpering for Snowfur right now.”
“Grief can bring strength,” Shredtail warned.
“But Snowfur’s body is hardly cold,” Thistleclaw pointed out. “Bluefur will be breaking her heart for moons. Which will give me a chance to make Sunstar see that I’m the only one capable of following him.”
“Snowfur was your mate.” Shredtail narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you grieving, too?”
“Of course!” Thistleclaw slashed at a moss-coated tree. “Snowfur shouldn’t have died! It should’ve been Bluefur on the Thunderpath instead!”
“What about your kit?” Shredtail pressed. “Your son?”
Thistleclaw curled his lip. “He takes after his mother,” he spat. “There’s no fire in his belly, no hunger for battle.” He swung his gaze around to his mentor. “Why are we talking?” he snarled. “I came to train, not to talk.” Rearing up, he strode forward on his hind paws, slicing the air with his tail tucked in tight.
Crookedjaw backed away, cold to his bones. He’d never seen a hunger for blood like this, not in the battle for Sunningrocks, not even when Hailstar nearly killed Reedfeather. He turned and ran, scanning the trees as they flashed by, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mapleshade. He skimmed bushes and swerved around trees, running faster and faster, praying he found her.
“Crookedjaw!” Paws shook him awake.
“What?” He lifted his head.
Willowbreeze sat beside him, her pelt still ruffled by sleep. “You kicked me!” she mewed. “Were you having a bad dream?”
“Kind of.” He stretched in his nest. The small den they had woven into the crook of the tree was warm and cozy.
Willowbreeze leaned down and touched her muzzle to his. “Well, you’re awake now.” She padded out of the den and Crookedjaw sat up. Why couldn’t he find Mapleshade? He flexed his claws. Had something happened to her? This was StarClan! Cats lived forever there, didn’t they? He ducked out of the den, looking around the clearing, relieved when he saw Oakheart picking sleepily through the frosty remains of the fresh-kill pie. Poor Bluefur. Losing a littermate must be heartbreaking.
Shellheart was beneath the willow, organizing the day’s patrols. Cedarpelt, Timberfur, Mudfur, and Petaldust crowded around him. Beetlenose was washing, but his ears pricked when he heard his name. Voleclaw was staring wistfully at the fresh-kill pile while Rippleclaw murmured in Graypool’s ear.
Crookedjaw called across the clearing. “Can I hunt this morning?” His breath billowed in the air. He wondered if there’d be ice on the river.
Shellheart nodded. “Take Mudfur and Petaldust.” He waved the two warriors toward Crookedjaw with a flick of his tail.
“Can Oakheart come, too?” Crookedjaw asked.
Oakheart looked up. “Come where?”
“Hunting.”
“Great!” Oakheart picked up a fish and headed for the nursery. “I’ll just deliver this.”
Willowbreeze ducked out of the elders’ den and padded down the slope. Her paws suddenly slid on the frost and she skidded clumsily to the bottom. “The kits will be happy.” She joined Crookedjaw. “They’ve got an ice slide to play on.”
“Ice?” Frogkit was already tearing across the clearing. He bounded up the slope, then half-ran, half-slid down it, squealing with delight.
Crookedjaw purred at Willowbreeze. “I’m taking Oakheart, Petaldust, and Mudfur hunting,” he told her. “Do you want to come?”
She shook her head. “I promised Birdsong I’d help her find moss for her nest. She nearly froze last night.”
“Come on, Crookedjaw!” Mudfur was pacing the entrance in a cloud of his own breath.
“See you later.” Crookedjaw brushed muzzles with Willowbreeze and hurried after Petaldust and Oakheart as they made for the gap in the reeds. Outside camp, the air was even colder.
“I hope this is just a snap,” Petaldust sighed. “It’s still leaf-fall.”
