by Erin Hunter
They passed the stepping-stones and followed the shore downstream, past the alder grove and along the bank where ferns and hawthorns grew right up to the water’s edge. Splashing through the shallows, Crookedjaw led the way to a rocky outcrop that jutted out into the river. The rocks smoothed into a flat stretch of stone only a whisker higher than the water.
Crookedjaw sat close to the edge and peered down into the river as it swirled past. Deep and clear, he could see through the brown water right down to the weed streaming on the riverbed. A fish slid past, too deep to reach, but he waited and another followed soon after, closer to the surface. Excitement flashed in his belly as he darted a paw into the water, gasping at the chill. He hooked out the fish and flicked it on to the stone. With a quick lunge he gave it a killing bite and turned back for another, anticipation tingling in his paws.
“Nice catch.” Oakheart crouched beside him, ready for his own. He stared at the water speeding below his nose, muscles bunched in anticipation. Then, with a mew of satisfaction, he plunged in a lightning-fast paw and snatched out a trout.
Mudfur leaned over the water. “I want to catch a carp for Leopardkit,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the water. “It’s her favorite.”
Petaldust plunged in both her front paws. Crookedjaw turned in time to see her lift a struggling pike from the water. It was a tail-length long and thrashing wildly. He sprang over to help but as he grasped the fish, Petaldust lost her balance. With a yelp of surprise she tumbled into the water. As she bobbed, gasping, to the surface, the pike struggled in Crookedjaw’s paws. He pinned it to the stone and killed it with a bite.
Petaldust swam for shore. Padding on to the bank, she shook out her dripping pelt. “Did you get it?” she called.
“It’s fresh-kill now,” Crookedjaw assured her.
Oakheart’s whiskers twitched. “I didn’t know you wanted a swim,” he teased.
Petaldust paced the shore, trying to get warm. “I didn’t realize it was so big!”
Mudfur gave a triumphant mew as he fished a carp from the water.
“Let’s take these back to camp,” Crookedjaw suggested. “Then we can come and catch more.”
Petaldust stared across the river into ThunderClan’s forest. “I wonder why they never catch fish like us?”
Mudfur shrugged. “They’re scared of water. They’d drown if they fell in.”
Oakheart tasted the air. “No fresh markers on their border.” He leaned forward. “I wonder where they are today? There’s usually a warrior or two yowling at us while we’re fishing.”
Crookedjaw’s dream flashed back to him. “They’re probably mourning Snowfur.”
Oakheart snapped his head around, eyes glittering. “What?”
Crookedjaw shrank beneath his pelt. Fish-brain! How am I going to explain this?
“Are you sure?” Petaldust blinked.
Crookedjaw’s thoughts whirled.
Mudfur sniffed his carp absently. “Who told you?”
“I—I heard a border patrol the other day when I was guarding Sunningrocks,” Crookedjaw stammered.
Oakheart tipped his head. “Why didn’t you mention it?”
Crookedjaw glanced at Mudfur. “It—it seemed too sad.” There was at least truth in that.
Petaldust padded along the outcrop and joined them on the stone. “How did she die?”
Crookedjaw glanced at his paws. “On the Thunderpath, I think.”
“The Thunderpath?” Oakheart echoed.
Crookedjaw looked up. His brother’s thoughts seemed to have drifted into the forest. “It’s okay,” he reassured him. “There’s no Thunderpath on our territory.”
Oakheart watched a fallen leaf swirling downriver. “I’m sorry for Bluefur,” he murmured. “She must be so sad.”
Crookedjaw sighed. “Yeah.” He picked up his fish in his jaws and clambered over the rocks. Beckoning the patrol with his tail, he headed toward the camp.
Fourtrees was lit by a cold white moon. Crookedjaw gazed up through the rattling leaves. Silverpelt stretched across the night sky. Which one is Snowfur? It had been a quarter moon since his dream and Crookedjaw was surprised to see that Bluefur had come to the Gathering.
“I hear fishing is still good.” Hollyflower’s mew snapped him back to the conversation. He’d been sharing news with a group of mixed Clan warriors.
“Yes.”
Foxheart shivered. “It’s bad enough getting wet, but in this weather?”
“I guess.” Goldenflower, ThunderClan’s newest warrior, didn’t seem to be listening. She was staring across the clearing, her eyes dark. Crookedjaw followed her gaze. She was watching Bluefur. The gray warrior was talking to Oakheart. He must be offering his sympathies.
Goldenflower stood up. “I’ll just make sure Bluefur’s okay.” She weaved through the gathered cats.
“Crookedjaw!” Hailstar was approaching. “Where’s Oakheart? I want him to tell the Gathering about the pelt-dens. Some of his tactics are worth sharing. The Twolegs may start building dens on the other Clans’ territory.” He dipped his head to Hollyflower. “Pray StarClan they don’t.”
Oakheart’s going to address the Gathering? Crookedjaw felt a flash of worry. Was Hailstar grooming his brother to be RiverClan’s next deputy? “He’s over there.” He flicked his tail toward Oakheart.
“Thanks.” Hailstar padded away. “I’d better warn him.”
As the leaders made their reports, Crookedjaw huddled among his Clanmates. He hunched his shoulders against the cold night air, studying Oakheart through narrowed eyes. As his brother waited calmly at the foot of the Great Rock, Crookedjaw swallowed back jealousy.
“RiverClan, too, has enjoyed plenty of fresh-kill recently.” Hailstar began his report. “The river has been full of fish and its banks stocked with prey.” The RiverClan leader glanced down at Oakheart. “Only one cloud has darkened our horizon.” He beckoned with a nod. “Oakheart has more information.”
Murmurs of surprise rippled around the Clans as Oakheart bounded onto the Great Rock.
“The Great Rock’s for leaders,” growled a ShadowClan warrior. “Not junior warriors!”
Crookedjaw stuck out his chin, suddenly defensive of his brother. “Listen to him!” he snarled. “He has important news to share.”
The ShadowClan warrior’s claws scraped the frosty earth. Crookedjaw flexed his own. No one criticized Oakheart!
“I am sorry,” Oakheart began, his voice carrying clearly across the hollow. “I do not belong here, but with so many cats I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to hear me from down there.” He nodded to the shadowy base of the rock. “I hope you will forgive my boldness. I do not mean to offend.” Crookedjaw felt a glow of pride as the murmuring ceased. The cats were pricking their ears and raising their muzzles, eager to hear what Oakheart was about to share. He glanced around, basking in his brother’s success. Then he spotted Bluefur, ruffled and scowling. Beside her, a pretty Clanmate was staring at Oakheart, her eyes shining as though she were watching a StarClan warrior speak.
He did look like a leader up there among the other cats. Crookedjaw shifted his paws, worry rushing back. But I’m the one with the great destiny!
The journey home seemed to take much longer than usual.
Petaldust was bouncing around Oakheart. “Everyone was listening to you!” Her eyes shone. “Weren’t you scared?”
Voleclaw snorted. “What was there to be scared of?” he muttered. “There’s a truce.”
“But he had to speak to so many cats!” Petaldust shuddered. “I’d hate it.”
Crookedjaw slowed his pace, falling behind his Clanmates as they crossed the tree line into ThunderClan forest. He didn’t want to hear how great Oakheart had been.
A pelt brushed beside him.
Brambleberry.
“You wish it had been you on the Great Rock,” she murmured.
Crookedjaw bristled. “No, I don’t!”
She snorted. “Don’t worry. It’ll be your tu
rn soon enough and there’s plenty to keep you busy until then.” There was an edge in her mew.
“How do you know?” Crookedjaw narrowed his eyes. “Have you had another omen?” Why did he bother asking? Even if she had, he wouldn’t tell him what it was. But curiosity kept pricking, sharper and sharper. Brambleberry was silent as a fish. There was clearly something on her mind.
“How do you know it’ll be my turn soon?” Crookedjaw repeated.
Brambleberry jumped onto a fallen tree that blocked the trail. She paused on top and stared down at him. “Nothing’s for certain.” Her eyes were darker than the shadows surrounding her. “The power is within you to be a fine warrior.” She slid down the other side and Crookedjaw followed, heart quickening. She went on as he fell in beside her. “Every cat knows that you’re going to be great, just from watching you.” Her gaze flashed up through the overlapping branches. “The stars don’t have to decide everything for us.”
Really? Crookedjaw flexed his claws. Brambleberry knew nothing! Then why am I being trained by StarClan?
Chapter 28
Fine snow drifted down from a wide gray sky and settled on the camp. Crookedjaw winced. His twisted jaw was aching with cold. But he didn’t care. Excitement sparked in his pelt. He sat with his Clanmates, lining the edge of the clearing, pelts dusty with snow as Hailstar called forward the next apprentice. Crookedjaw swished his tail.
“Sedgekit.” The RiverClan leader beckoned the brown tabby she-kit forward with a nod. Blackpaw, Skypaw, Loudpaw, and Reedpaw fidgeted behind him, eyes shining, their apprentice names still fresh on the tongues of their Clanmates. Hailstar’s decision to wait until Leopardkit had reached six moons before he made any new apprentices had been welcomed by the Clan. The young cats had been born so close together that they’d formed a strong bond.
“Why split them up?” Shellheart had argued. Hailstar agreed. Crookedjaw was just pleased that Leopardkit wouldn’t be alone in the nursery—even for a moon. He knew how painful it was to be left behind. Then he reminded himself that Leopardkit would have had Shimmerpelt to keep her company. Even though the night-black queen wanted to return to her warrior duties, Crookedjaw knew she wouldn’t abandon Leopardkit. She loved the golden-spotted kit too much.
Shifting his paws, he scowled at Rainflower. She sat apart in a chilly cloud of her own breath. If only she’d been able to see past his broken jaw and remember how much she had loved him at first. His accident had changed nothing about him except the way he looked—but for Rainflower, that had been everything. Crookedjaw pushed away the thought. The past couldn’t be changed. His own kits—if he had any—would be loved. The mate he’d chosen would never desert them, no matter what they did.
He pressed closer to Willowbreeze. “Thanks,” he whispered.
She glanced at him, surprised. “What for?”
“Just because . . .” He stared at her fondly, lost for words.
She purred and brushed the snow from his pelt with a paw. “Go on,” she whispered. “Hailstar’s calling you.”
Crookedjaw realized the eyes of the Clan were on him. Hailstar beckoned him forward with a nod. “May you share with Sedgepaw your courage, skill, and loyalty.”
Crookedjaw padded into the clearing and pressed his nose to his new apprentice’s head. She was trembling. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “You’ll be great.”
He looked up and saw Oakheart standing beside his apprentice, Loudpaw. The young tom was fidgeting, tail up, clearly desperate for the ceremony to finish so he could start training. Oakheart whisked his tail over his restless apprentice’s ear and twitched one ear at Crookedjaw.
They were mentors at last.
Hailstar cleared his throat. “We have one more kit to welcome into RiverClan as an apprentice,” he announced.
At the edge of the clearing, Mudfur licked Leopardkit’s head, holding her back with a paw while she struggled.
“Stop it, Mudfur!” she squeaked. “It’s my turn!”
Eyes misting, he let her go, and she dashed into the clearing before Hailstar had even called her name.
“Leopardkit.” Hailstar purred as she skittered to a halt at his paws.
She blinked up at him. “Yes?”
“Until you earn your warrior name, you will be Leopardpaw.”
She stared eagerly around the clearing as Hailstar went on. “Your mentor will be Whitefang.”
Leopardpaw’s eyes widened as the huge white tom padded toward her. He pressed his muzzle to her head.
“I hope I grow as big as you,” she breathed.
Whitefang purred. “Perhaps not quite as big.”
Hailstar flicked his tail. “Whitefang, share with her your courage, discipline, and compassion.”
The Clan cheered, not just Leopardpaw’s name, but the names of all the new apprentices. Sedgepaw and Loudpaw raced to Ottersplash and bounced around her while Timberfur nuzzled Reedpaw. Shimmerpelt wrapped her tail around Skypaw while Piketooth tumbled across the clearing, play fighting with Blackpaw. Leopardpaw raced straight to Mudfur, nuzzling his cheek with her muzzle.
Mudfur’s eyes were dark with worry. “I pray you’ll never have to fight in a battle.” He flicked his tail protectively around her.
“Don’t be silly!” She skipped away. “I can’t wait to fight in my first battle!”
Crookedjaw backed away from the mayhem.
Willowbreeze nudged him. “Scared?” she teased.
“Never.”
“A ’paw is a big responsibility.” Her gaze suddenly clouded. “I wish I had one.”
“What? A kit or a ’paw?”
She shoved him hard. “An apprentice, of course!”
“You’ll get one soon,” he promised.
Owlfur was teasing Softwing about her new apprentice, Skypaw. “She’ll wear out your whiskers,” he joked.
Softwing sniffed. “I can handle her.”
Owlfur glanced at the little brown tabby running rings around Cedarpelt. “You think?”
“Can we go out now?” Sedgepaw’s mew made Crookedjaw jump. The young she-cat was standing, tail high, pelt fluffed against the snow. Crookedjaw felt a surge of excitement. “Sure! I’ll show you our territory.”
Sedgepaw bounced back to her denmates. “I’m going out!” she boasted.
“I want to go!” Frogpaw mewed.
“Me too!” Blackpaw stared hopefully at his mentor, Hailstar.
Sunpaw flicked her tail. “I’m going to be the first to cross the stepping-stones!”
“Try getting there before me!” Skypaw dared.
Loudpaw barged past both of them. “I’m going to be first to climb Sunningrocks!”
Reedpaw purred. “We are totally going to rule this Clan!”
Beetlenose padded toward Reedpaw. “You’ll rule every Clan when I’ve finished training you.” He glanced at Crookedjaw. “Do you think Sedgepaw will make it to warrior?”
Crookedjaw rolled his eyes. “If you want to compete, Beetlenose, go ahead. I’m just going to make Sedgepaw into the best warrior she can be.”
Sedgepaw flicked her tail. “Should I check the elders for ticks before we go?”
Crookedjaw shook his head. “I think the ticks will be there when we get back.” He called to Oakheart. “Do you want to come, too?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Loudpaw skidded toward Crookedjaw. “Can we, please?” He looked desperately at Oakheart.
“Yeah,” Oakheart purred.
Reedpaw was gazing hopefully at Beetlenose. “You’re not going to let them go without me, are you?” he mewed wistfully.
“Do you want to come, too?” Crookedjaw asked Beetlenose.
Beetlenose sniffed. “I suppose so.”
Ottersplash sat down, eyes shining as she watched her kits pelt toward the sedge tunnel. “You’ll look after them, won’t you?” she meowed.
“As if they were my own,” Crookedjaw promised. He hurried to catch up before the young cats made it to the stepping-stones. Oakheart puffed beside
him as they raced along the grassy path, Beetlenose at their heels. They caught up with the kits on the shore. Snow was piling against the bank, turning Sunningrocks white on the far shore. But there was no ice on the river yet.
“Can we swim?” Loudpaw asked. “We’ve only swum around the reed bed before. Never in the proper river.”
“It’s much too cold!” Crookedjaw snorted. “I don’t think your mother would thank us for bringing you home with whitecough.”
Sedgepaw bounded on to the first stepping-stone. “Are we going to cross?”
Oakheart shook his head. “Let’s stick to the shore today,” he decided. “We’ll take you downstream and then through the willows to the marsh.”
Reedpaw skipped around Beetlenose. “Will we see pelt-dens?”
“And Twolegs?” Sedgepaw’s eyes were huge.
“Let’s find out.” Beetlenose headed along the shore, flicking snow from each paw as he went. Loudpaw, Sedgepaw, and Reedpaw bounded after him.
“Were we like that?” Oakheart fell in beside Crookedjaw.
Sedgepaw turned, ears twitching. “Like what?”
“Like excited squirrels,” Crookedjaw teased.
Sedgepaw’s attention flitted to the trees. A bird was hopping from branch to branch, sending down showers of snow. “What’s that bird?”
“A mistle thrush,” Crookedjaw told her.
“Do we hunt it?”
“Yes, if the river freezes.”
“What else do we hunt?” Sedgepaw didn’t wait for an answer. “Do we hunt mice like ThunderClan or rabbits like WindClan? Have you eaten rabbit? What does it taste like? Did Willowbreeze eat it when—”
Oakheart cut her off. “Look!” He nodded at her littermates, who were disappearing after Beetlenose around a bend in the river. “You’d better catch up. You don’t want to miss anything.”
“Oh!” Sedgepaw tore away after Loudpaw and Reedpaw.
Crookedjaw’s whiskers twitched. “We’re not going to be bored for a while.” He followed Oakheart downstream. Sedgepaw was going to be fun to mentor.
“Is this how I stalk?” Sedgepaw was waiting just past the bend, crouching on the grassy bank, her tail down and her legs bent. She looked like a frog.
