by Erin Hunter
Frogleap trotted up behind her. “It’ll be our first battle!”
Loudbelly and Sunfish crowded around, with Leopardfur and Skyheart trying to push past them.
“Stand still!” Crookedjaw tried to think. They needed a battle strategy. With so many eager young warriors, victory would be easy. He looked at Hailstar. “We should fight with two patrols,” he meowed, remembering his first battle at Sunningrocks. “If not three.”
“Wait.” The RiverClan leader slowly swished his tail. “This may not be a battle worth fighting.”
“What?” Sunfish stared at him.
“Of course it’s worth fighting!” Frogleap gasped.
“Quiet!” Crookedjaw flicked his tail. “Your leader’s speaking.”
“We’ll discuss this in my den, Crookedjaw.” Hailstar cast a thoughtful gaze over the young warriors, then he headed for his den.
“Why’s he hesitating?” Loudbelly growled.
Crookedjaw silenced him with a look. “He’s had eight lives of experience to guide him.” He followed Hailstar beneath the willow and ducked into his den.
“What good is Sunningrocks to us in leaf-bare?” Hailstar was sitting in the shadowy recess at the back of his den. “Sunstar was right; they can find prey there that we can’t reach.”
“Surely that’s all the more reason to keep them from it,” Crookedjaw reasoned.
Hailstar blinked at him. “Do you want to starve another Clan?”
“It would weaken them.”
“If we didn’t have to battle over Sunningrocks, would we care if they were weak or strong?”
“What if we gave them Sunningrocks and they tried to take more territory?”
“Do you really think that’s what Sunstar wants?” Hailstar’s gaze was steady.
Perhaps we should just give them leaf-bare hunting rights there. Crookedjaw remembered what Oakheart had said after the latest border challenge. That’s always when they take it. They must need the prey.
He shrugged. “I guess Sunstar just wants to be able to feed his Clan during leaf-bare.”
Hailstar nodded. “We have the river and the willows,” he pointed out. “They have only the forest.”
Crookedjaw hesitated. “They’ll think they’ve won.” The fur rippled along his spine. He didn’t want any Clan to think RiverClan was weak.
“They’ll think we prefer peace over war,” Hailstar murmured. “Some will see that as a sign of weakness, others will see it as a sign of strength.”
Crookedjaw thought of Rippleclaw and Ottersplash. And Sedgecreek and the other new warriors. How would they see it? He dug his claws into the soft earthen floor of the den. “ThunderClan will think they can change borders any time they like!”
Hailstar’s whiskers twitched. “Isn’t that what we’ve done?”
“That’s different! Sunningrocks is ours! It was given to us by StarClan.”
Hailstar tucked his tail over his paws. “I admire your loyalty,” he meowed. “StarClan chose well in making you deputy.”
Crookedjaw shifted his paws uncomfortably as Hailstar went on.
“You’ll make a great leader.”
The moss twitched at the entrance to the den. Timberfur poked his head through. “Have you decided on a battle plan yet? The Clan is restless.”
Hailstar nodded. As Timberfur ducked out, the RiverClan leader glanced at Crookedjaw. “I want you to tell them.”
“That we’re giving up Sunningrocks?”
Hailstar nodded. “The young warriors are an excitable bunch. You might as well learn how to handle them sooner rather than later.”
Crookedjaw steadied himself with a deep breath. “Okay.” He pushed his way out of the den and padded to the center of the clearing. Hailstar halted beside him.
The Clan grew quiet as Crookedjaw lifted his chin and gazed around the camp. “We won’t be fighting,” he announced. “We’ll let ThunderClan have Sunningrocks till newleaf.”
Mudfur was the first to speak. “Thank StarClan!”
“But we have to fight!” Timberfur growled.
Loudbelly paced around his denmates. “How can we not?”
“We’d beat them!” Owlfur snarled.
“They’ll think we’re weak!” Cedarpelt warned with a flick of his tail.
Reedtail flexed his claws. “We’ll go anyway,” he muttered.
“We can’t let them win,” Sunfish agreed.
“If you won’t defend our territory, we’ll do it for you!” Loudbelly yowled.
Crookedjaw bared his teeth at him. “No patrol will cross the river.” He glared at the bristling young warriors. “If any one of you sets paw on Sunningrocks, you needn’t worry about ThunderClan because I’ll shred you.” He gaze flicked back to Loudbelly. “Got it?”
Loudbelly flattened his ears. “Yes, Crookedjaw,” he muttered.
Crookedjaw snapped his head around to survey the rest of the Clan. Rippleclaw was watching him through narrowed eyes but didn’t speak. Owlfur stared at his paws. Timberfur sheathed his claws. Crookedjaw felt a surge of triumph but pushed it away. These were his Clanmates; he was leading them, not fighting them. “We don’t need Sunningrocks until newleaf,” he told them. “Let ThunderClan scavenge for mice in the cracks. We have the river and as much fish as we can eat.”
Cedarpelt stepped forward. “I can take out a hunting party now if you like,” he offered.
“Thank you.” Crookedjaw dipped his head to his old mentor. “Take Sunfish, Frogleap, and Loudbelly.” It would keep them busy. As the Clan drifted back to its duties, Crookedjaw scanned the camp for Oakheart. His brother still wasn’t back.
“Crookedjaw?” Ottersplash heaved herself out of the water beside the reed bed. Her eyes glittered as she hurried over and leaned close. “Can I speak with you?” She beckoned him toward the sedge wall and crouched beneath the arching fronds. Puzzled, Crookedjaw ducked beside her.
“Have you noticed at the Gatherings if Oakheart is friendly with any of the ThunderClan warriors?” Ottersplash whispered.
Crookedjaw shrugged. “No cat in particular.”
“Not even Bluefur?” Ottersplash glanced at him uneasily.
“He’s spoken to her one or two times.”
Ottersplash frowned.
“Why?” Crookedjaw stiffened.
“While we were escorting the ThunderClan patrol, I saw him . . .” She floundered.
Crookedjaw leaned forward. “Saw him what?”
“Saw him talking to Bluefur.”
“So?”
“They were alone,” Ottersplash reported. “She dropped back from the patrol and he came from the river. He’d been fishing. He couldn’t have known what they were doing here.”
“That’s probably why he stopped her.” Crookedjaw wondered why Ottersplash was making such a big deal out of it. “He just wanted to know what she was doing on RiverClan territory.”
“Yes.” Ottersplash nodded. “Of course.” She straightened up. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have troubled you.”
Crookedjaw ran the tip of his tail over her flank. “No problem,” he meowed. His pelt rippled uneasily. I wonder if she believes what I just said. I’m not sure if I do.
The rain had cleared by the next day. Crookedjaw stretched, yawning in the chilly leaf-fall sunshine. The river slid past, deceptively quiet, as if it was just waiting for the first storm to stir up its surface and make fishing impossible. Beetlenose and Reedtail were hunting downstream. Crookedjaw had brought Oakheart to his favorite pool, hoping there’d be carp. He waited on the bank while Oakheart dived for his first catch.
His brother’s tawny head broke the surface, a fish between his jaws. He hopped onto the bank and dropped it beside Crookedjaw. “Your turn.”
“Are there many down there?”
“Loads.”
Crookedjaw waded into the shallows as Oakheart sniffed his carp. “Oakheart?” Whatever the truth is, I have to know. He kept his tone casual. “Did you see the ThunderClan patrol yesterday w
hile you were out fishing?”
Oakheart flipped the carp over. “I saw Timberfur and Ottersplash escorting them over the stepping-stones.”
Why wouldn’t he mention talking to Bluefur? “And they went quietly?” Crookedjaw prompted.
Oakheart shrugged. “As far as I could tell.”
Was the fur on his spine twitching? Crookedjaw shifted his paws on the stones.
“What’s with all the questions?” Oakheart waded past him. “If you’re not going to catch anything, then I will.” He dived into the water and disappeared.
Crookedjaw narrowed his eyes. Was he worrying for no reason? Perhaps Oakheart didn’t think talking to Bluefur was important enough to mention. Any loyal warrior would have stopped to question an intruder. Besides, he wouldn’t keep secrets from me, would he? Crookedjaw padded to a flat gray rock and lay down to wait for Oakheart’s return. He wasn’t the only cat who was loyal to his Clanmates. There was no way his brother would betray RiverClan.
Chapter 35
Icy rain dripped through the roof of the den. Crookedjaw shivered. His nest was damp.
Beside him, Willowbreeze rolled over and stretched. “Is it leaking again?” A large drop thudded on to her belly. She jumped to her paws, ears flicking. “When will this rain end?” she snapped. Cold leaf-bare squalls had been battering the camp for days.
Crookedjaw licked her cheek. “I’ll ask Brambleberry to have a word with StarClan.” He heaved himself to his paws, yawning.
“Very funny!” Willowbreeze called as he squeezed out of the den.
The dawn was dull, the sky gray as a squirrel’s pelt. Petaldust, Leopardfur, and Sedgecreek were outside, stuffing the nursery walls and roof with leaves to keep out the weather. Their pelts were spiked with rain, their ears flat against the wind.
Hailstar stood in the clearing, staring at the river.
Crookedjaw stopped beside him. “Is it any higher?”
Water was already lapping over the shore beside the reed bed. Dawnkit and Mallowkit had been forbidden to go near the river. A swell might sweep through the reed bed at any moment and wash away an unsuspecting kit.
“The banks are holding,” Hailstar murmured. “But we need to keep checking.”
Oakheart peered from his den, then darted out to join them. “There’s not a dry spot in camp.” He eyed the river. “Looks higher to me.”
Beyond the barrier of reeds the water swirled, brown and fast. It was too dangerous for fishing.
“Should we move Softwing and Graypool up to the elders’ den?” Oakheart suggested.
Hailstar glanced at the nursery. “Not yet.”
Softwing’s kits, Dawnkit and Mallowkit, were peering out of the entrance, blinking at the rain. Three moons old, they looked more like ’paws every day.
“How’s Graypool?” Hailstar meowed.
Crookedjaw shook his head. “Still sick.”
Graypool had recently moved from her den to the nursery, expecting Rippleclaw’s kits. Brambleberry had been treating her nausea for days but the queen had little appetite.
“We’ll need to move them if the water comes any higher,” Crookedjaw advised.
“I’ve got an idea.” Oakheart tugged a reed from the apprentices’ den and stuck it into the muddy earth, marking where the water had reached. “Now we’ll be able to see how quickly it’s rising.” He sat back on his haunches. “I’ll check it regularly and let you know if it starts moving more quickly.”
“Clever plan.” Crookedjaw shook out his pelt, pleased that his brother was back to normal. Two moons ago, he’d wondered what was making the tawny warrior so distracted and anxious, and if it’d been Bluefur after all. But Oakheart was his old self now, focused on warrior duties and training the new apprentices, and Crookedjaw had pushed away his worries.
Mudfur trotted toward the elders’ den with a bundle of leaves in his jaws.
Crookedjaw hailed him. “Are those for Birdsong?” The old she-cat had been coughing for days.
Mudfur nodded. Crookedjaw hurried after him. As they reached the den, Crookedjaw waited for Mudfur to squeeze inside, then followed.
“Brambleberry.” He greeted the medicine cat crouching beside Birdsong. “How is she?”
Birdsong scowled through the shadows. “She’s still got her hearing and a tongue in her head.”
Tanglewhisker rolled his eyes. “She’s definitely got a tongue in her head,” he muttered. “When Troutclaw joined StarClan I thought I’d get some peace.”
Crookedjaw picked his way past the two empty nests beside the entrance. They still carried the very faint scents of Shellheart and Troutclaw. He settled down beside the elderly tabby-and-white she-cat.
Brambleberry was shredding some herbs on the dark earthen floor. “This nest is damp,” she hissed. “Everything’s damp.”
Birdsong started coughing. Tanglewhisker flattened his ears. “If she’s not talking then she’s giving me earache with her coughing!”
Birdsong swallowed painfully. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone,” she rasped.
“You’re not going anywhere.” Brambleberry finished ripping up the herbs and thrust them under the old she-cat’s nose. “Eat these. They’ll soothe your throat.” She glanced up at Crookedjaw. “I’ve sent Loudbelly, Frogleap, and Skyheart to look for dry moss, but StarClan knows where they’ll find any.”
Mudfur tipped his head. “Perhaps ThunderClan would give us some,” he suggested. “There are plenty of sheltered spots in the forest and they owe us for giving them Sunningrocks.”
Tanglewhisker snorted. “We can’t ask ThunderClan for anything! They already think we’re weak. And if this damp gets into all our bones, we won’t be able to fight off a minnow, let alone those mangy warriors.”
Birdsong munched her herbs. “When I was younger, we used to hunt in the big nest by the Twoleg meadow.”
Crookedjaw looked anxiously at Brambleberry. The old cat was rambling. Was it a sign that she was getting a fever?
“Before there were so many dogs.” Birdsong’s eyes misted as she went on. “There was a black-and-white mutt.” She purred at Tanglewhisker. “Do you remember it? The scrappy one, always barking. It attacked me once?”
“I remember.” Tanglewhisker’s whiskers twitched. “It looked very surprised when you turned and swiped it on the muzzle.”
“It kept its distance the next time we went hunting there!” There was amusement in Birdsong’s wheezy mew.
Tanglewhisker tucked his paws tighter under him and fluffed out his damp fur. “What made you think about the Twoleg nest? Do you want to go and hunt mice?”
“No, frog-brain!” She flicked her tail at him. “The Twolegs used to store dry grass there. That would keep our nests dry. No use putting in more moss; it just soaks up the wet from the ground.”
Tanglewhisker’s eyes gleamed. “Of course!”
Brambleberry was on her paws. “Do you think you could fetch some?” She stared hopefully at Crookedjaw. “Birdsong’s cough won’t get any better so long as she’s sleeping in a damp nest.”
“Of course.” Excitement fizzed in his paws. Perhaps Birdsong’s mind wasn’t so addled after all. It was a brilliant idea. “I’ll go ask Hailstar.” He squeezed out of the den and hurried down the slope.
Hailstar was crouching beneath the willow. He stood up to greet Crookedjaw. “You look cheerful.”
“Birdsong’s been telling me about a Twoleg nest where dry grass is stored.”
“The barn!” Hailstar lifted his tail. “Of course. She took me hunting there when I was just a ’paw.”
A barn?
Crookedjaw instantly pictured Fleck’s home. He hadn’t thought of his old friend in moons. “Where is it?” The old warriors obviously weren’t talking about Fleck and Mitzi’s barn, which was much too far for regular hunting patrols.
“Beyond the dog fence,” Hailstar told him. “Past the field there’s a huge nest. No Twolegs in it, just dry grass and mice.” He lifted his muzzle. Even in the
cold rain, his pelt sodden, he looked as strong as a warrior half his age. “Petaldust, Sedgecreek, Leopardfur!” He called to the three cats weaving leaves into the nursery walls. “You can finish that later. We have a special mission.”
Oakheart, guarding his reed, looked up. “What is it?”
Crookedjaw flicked the rain from his tail. “We’re going to fetch dry bedding.”
“Where from?” Petaldust dropped her bundle of leaves and raced across the clearing. Sedgecreek leaped down from the nursery roof and followed, Leopardfur on her tail.
“There’s a barn just past the dog fence,” Hailstar explained, his eyes shining. “I used to hunt there when I was a ’paw. I haven’t been there for years.”
Crookedjaw paced around the RiverClan leader. “We can catch some mice while we’re there.”
Sunfish darted out of her nest, ears pricking. “Did someone say hunting?”
“Hunting?” Softwing peered from the nursery. “Isn’t the river too fast?”
“We’re hunting mice,” Hailstar told her.
“I want to come!” Dawnkit tumbled out of the nursery and raced clear of her mother’s front paws. Her ginger-and-white fur was drenched in an instant.
“Dawnkit!” Softwing called crossly.
“How come she’s allowed out and I’m not?” Mallowkit squeaked indignantly from between her mother’s paws.
Hailstar headed for the gap in the reeds. “We’d better get going before we have the whole Clan trailing after us.”
Crookedjaw raced after him with Petaldust, Leopardfur, and Sedgecreek pounding at his heels. Rain rattled the beech copse and splattered on to the marsh. Crookedjaw screwed up his eyes against the downpour, relieved when he spotted the dog fence looming ahead of them. “Wait!” He signaled the
patrol back with a flick of his tail while he sniffed along
the bottom of the fence. “No fresh dog-scent,” he called back to his Clanmates. “It must hate rain more than we do.”
He slid under the fence. The sour tang of mud and wet grass bathed his tongue as the patrol crept past a horse, munching grass at the edge of the field. Crookedjaw felt exposed in the short grass and quickened the pace. Peering through the rain he saw a huge nest at the far side of the field. It rose squarely from behind a low gray wall, its black wooden sides dark and forbidding against the rain-filled sky. “Is that it?” he asked Hailstar.
