by Erin Hunter
Crookedstar hardly heard him. What if the loner comes back? Graypool’s heart would break to give them up. Would a loner be prepared to fight for her kits? Would it be fair to make her fight?
What would Hailstar have done?
Distracted, Crookedstar padded toward the willow.
“Have you seen them?” Oakheart limped through the snow and stopped beside him.
“Seen them?” Crookedstar was still lost in thought, but he noticed the limp. “Are you all right? I thought you were resting that leg.”
“It’ll be fine.” Oakheart shrugged away his concern. “What about the kits? Aren’t they great? Just what Graypool needed. It really is a blessing from StarClan.”
“Then you think we should keep them?” Crookedstar searched his brother’s bright gaze.
“Don’t you?” Oakheart frowned. “Are you worried the mother might come and claim them?”
Crookedstar nodded. “They’re not our kits. Can we really decide their fate?”
“What else can we do?” Oakheart pointed out, with a hint of anger in his mew. “Take them back and leave them where Graypool found them? They’d die before moonrise.”
Crookedstar looked up at the clear evening sky. The setting sun had stained it pink. A frost was setting in. Oakheart was right: The kits wouldn’t survive long outside. “I suppose we need new kits.” They had lost so many. First Brightsky’s, then Softwing’s, and finally Graypool’s.
“Why don’t I go and guard the place Graypool found them, and if a loner turns up I’ll bring her back to camp?” Oakheart offered. He sounded tense, as if he was furious at the idea of these kits being claimed by the cat that had abandoned them.
Crookedstar pricked his ears. “Good idea.” He glanced at Oakheart’s wrenched leg. “I’ll send Cedarpelt to relieve you at moonhigh,” he promised.
“And if no loner comes, we can keep them?” Oakheart leaned forward. It must be cold. He was trembling.
“Yes.” Crookedstar rubbed his frozen nose with a paw. “They’ll never know anything but RiverClan, and Graypool deserves to raise a litter.”
Was that relief flashing in his eyes? Crookedstar swallowed back a purr. Perhaps it was time Oakheart got a mate of his own.
A moon passed. The snows melted and new buds softened the stark willow. As the sun slid toward the distant forest, Crookedstar sat at the edge of the clearing, his belly full, and watched Willowbreeze tugging a bulrush along the ground for the kits to chase. Stonekit scampered after it, his fluffy tail sticking straight up. He was a stocky little kit. Crookedstar could imagine him diving for fish already. Mistykit was slender and pretty. She watched the bulrush twitch, her clear blue eyes narrowing, before she pounced, landing right on top of it.
“Hey!” Stonekit complained as his littermate sat proudly on her catch. “Graypool!” He called to the queen watching fondly from outside the nursery. “She’s doing it again!”
“Now, now.” Graypool padded over and nosed Mistykit gently away from the bulrush. “Let Stonekit have a turn.”
Willowbreeze left the game and padded across the clearing. She sat beside Crookedstar. “They’re going to make good hunters,” she meowed. “They already hook their claws under the bulrush as though they’re catching a trout. Anyone would think they were Clanborn.”
The reed bed trembled and Oakheart climbed from the river, a fat carp in his jaws. He carried it over to the kits. Graypool’s eyes lit up. “Look what Oakheart’s caught for you!”
Mistykit reared up, reaching for the fish with her tiny front paws. When Oakheart dropped it, she started gnawing at it hungrily.
Stonekit wrinkled his nose. “It smells fishy.”
“I know, dear.” Graypool lapped between his ears. “That’s because it’s a fish.”
Stonekit sniffed at it tentatively before taking a bite. “Can’t we have mouse instead?” he asked, his mouth full.
“Another time, precious,” Graypool promised.
“Fox!” Sedgecreek skidded into camp, her pelt bushed up.
Crookedstar leaped to his paws. “Where?”
“Downstream, by the hawthorns!” Sedgecreek circled Crookedstar. “I could smell it.”
“But you didn’t see it?” Crookedstar’s hackles smoothed. “It may have passed through already.”
Timberfur hurried from beneath the willow. “Should I organize a patrol?”
Crookedstar had made him deputy when he’d returned from the Moonstone. Oakheart would have been his first choice, but RiverClan owed the old warrior a reward for his long loyalty and courage. Crookedstar knew Oakheart wouldn’t mind waiting his turn.
“I’ll go and check,” Crookedstar told him.
“Alone?” Timberfur’s eyes darkened. “Is that wise?”
“If I pick up fresh scents, I’ll come back for help,” Crookedstar promised. Foxes rarely strayed from ThunderClan’s shady forests, especially once the river ice had melted. The scent had probably drifted across the border and startled Sedgecreek.
He padded out of camp, following the grassy path for a few paces before hopping through the bushes on to the shore. The river washed the pebbles, low now that the snowmelt had gone. The wooded banks were bright with new growth. Crookedstar breathed in the familiar scent of fresh leaves and soft earth. Fish stirred the surface of the river and there were spiky claw prints in the mud where a moorhen had walked.
Crookedstar followed the river along the border of his territory. Reaching the hawthorns, he climbed the bank and tasted the air. There was no sign of fox, just the smell of primroses on the warm evening breeze. And something else. Crookedstar froze.
Mapleshade!
He snapped his head around, scanning the riverbank, hackles high. His heart lurched as a hawthorn bush quivered and Mapleshade stepped out.
Her eyes were dark, her orange-and-white pelt sleek. “You fool!” she hissed. “Where is your loyalty to your Clan now?”
Crookedstar turned and began to walk away. He didn’t want to fight her. He just wanted to get away from her. She darted in front of him, blocking his path.
He unsheathed his claws. “Leave me alone!”
“Someone has to warn you!”
“Warn me about what?” He stared at her.
“You trust what any cat tells you!” she spat. “Mouse-brain!”
Crookedstar growled.
She eyed him malevolently. “Those kits!”
“What about them?”
“Do you really think a loner left them in the snow? Is it just a coincidence they look like RiverClan cats? That they pounce like RiverClan cats?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Are you stupid or blind or both?” The fur lifted along her spine. “Why do you think your brother spends all day hunting for them? Watching them as if they’re his next meal? He’s more attentive than most fathers—but then he is raising them without their true mother.”
Anger pulsed beneath Crookedstar’s pelt. “I’m not going to listen to any more of your lies! Oakheart has no kits! He’s never even had a mate!”
Mapleshade’s eyes glinted. “Not in RiverClan.” She jerked her head toward the far bank. “Look across the river, you fool!”
Crookedstar stared at the trees lined along ThunderClan’s bank. He suddenly felt cold. “What are you saying?” He snapped his gaze back to Mapleshade but the Dark Forest warrior had gone.
Crookedstar whirled around and raced back along the shore. Don’t be dumb! He leaped on to the grassy path. It’s just more of her lies! There’s no way these kits have anything to do with Oakheart! He skidded into the clearing out of breath, scanning the camp. “Oakheart!”
“What’s going on?” Oakheart darted, bristling, away from the nursery.
Crookedstar lowered his voice, suddenly aware that he was frightening the kits. “Come with me,” he ordered quietly.
Oakheart followed him through the reeds to the shore below the camp. “What is it?” He climbed onto a smooth rock and sat do
wn, wrapping his thick, tawny tail over his paws. “Something’s wrong.” Worry sharpened his amber gaze.
Crookedstar was aware of the river sliding past and the birds chattering in the trees behind them. A kingfisher was sitting in the branch of an overhanging willow, studying the water for the tiniest flicker of a fish tail. Crookedstar took a deep breath. “Are they your kits?”
Oakheart stared at him. There was no twitch of his whiskers. No flick of his ear. His pelt was as smooth as fish scales. “Yes.”
“And Bluefur’s?” Who else can it be?
“Yes.” Pain flashed in Oakheart’s eyes. “She gave them up to become ThunderClan’s deputy.” His voice dropped to a pained whisper. “She couldn’t let Thistleclaw take over.” He shrugged. “She didn’t say why, just that her Clan needed her. She was so certain that she was doing the right thing, Crookedstar! What else could I do?”
Should I have told Sunstar what I knew about Thistleclaw? Crookedstar scraped his claws through the pebbles. It would have helped Bluefur. She might have kept her kits. Instead I left her to stop Thistleclaw by herself.
The secrets he’d been carrying suddenly felt like stones in his belly. If he dived in the river now, they’d drag him to the bottom.
Oakheart leaned forward. “What are you going to do?” A challenge edged his mew, the challenge of a father willing to do anything to protect his kits.
“Nothing.”
Oakheart blinked.
“We’re going to raise them as RiverClan,” Crookedstar went on. “They are our kin, after all.” He looked down at his paws. “But I wish you had confided in me. You know you can trust me with anything.”
Oakheart sighed. “I guess we all have our secrets.”
Crookedstar lifted his gaze and stared into his brother’s clear amber eyes. If only you knew.
Chapter 38
Crookedstar tossed another trout to Timberfur lying by the reed bed. A good day’s hunting had given the Clan all it needed for the feast. The past four seasons had treated them kindly and they were well fed and sleek. The sun was finally slipping toward the river and a cool greenleaf breeze wafted over the camp.
Stonefur rolled on to his back. “I’m stuffed.” He lapped awkwardly at his bloated belly. For a young warrior, he was as solid as his senior Clanmates and longer-legged.
Mallowtail poked him with a paw. “You deserve it,” she purred. “I’ve never seen anyone chase off a Twoleg before.”
Graypool’s ears twitched. “I wish you wouldn’t take so many chances, Stonefur,” she chided. “It wasn’t long ago you were an apprentice.”
“It wasn’t just me,” Stonefur reminded her. “It was the whole patrol.”
Mistyfoot gently nudged Graypool. “You worry about us too much.”
Graypool snorted. “Well, someone has to.”
Timberfur swished his tail. “You did get a bit close, Stonefur.”
“It shouldn’t have come so near the camp,” Stonefur argued.
“Attacking Twolegs can only lead to trouble,” Echomist fretted.
“He didn’t attack it,” Mistyfoot defended her brother. “He just hissed at it.”
“And now it’s gone off yowling to its Clanmates about you.” Echomist shook her head. “They’ll be invading the camp, just you wait and see.”
Rippleclaw yawned. “Twolegs are too dumb to organize an attack.”
Crookedstar sat up and stretched. “We’ll send out extra patrols just in case.” He glanced at the fresh-kill pile, wondering whether to offer another carp to Willowbreeze. She was always hungry these days.
Fallowtail got to her paws and stretched. “I’m sleepy.” She nodded to Birdsong. “Are you ready for your nest?” Fallowtail had moved to the elders’ den last leaf-bare, after Tanglewhisker had died. She’d been feeling her age for moons, and keeping Birdsong company had been a good reason to give up her den to Mallowtail and Dawnbright.
Birdsong shook her head. “I had a long sleep this afternoon,” she rasped. “I’ll just lie here a little longer and listen to the warriors boast.”
“We don’t boast!” Dawnbright puffed as Fallowtail headed up the slope.
Loudbelly purred. “Doesn’t telling us you caught three fish in three dives count as boasting?”
“It was true!” Dawnbright sniffed.
Crookedstar licked a paw. “I suppose you never boast, Loudbelly.” He wiped his muzzle clean.
Frogleap’s whiskers twitched. “He collects a reed for every warrior he’s fought and weaves it into his nest!”
“I have to keep count,” Loudbelly meowed. “We’ve won so many battles these past moons, it’s hard to remember them all.”
Crookedstar began to wash his ears. He loved to listen as his Clan shared tongues, proud of his strong, loyal warriors. No other Clan had dared threaten their borders since newleaf. And they’d taken back Sunningrocks. Sunstar’s mission to the RiverClan camp had only given ThunderClan the rocks for a few moons.
“Crookedstar?” Willowbreeze called softly to him. She was on her paws, beckoning him away from the clearing.
“What is it?” He followed her toward the entrance.
“I thought you might want to go for a walk.” Her amber eyes glowed in the fading light. “There’s something I need to tell you, away from prying ears.”
Crookedstar tipped his head on one side. His mate was definitely acting a little strange. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.” She flicked his ear with the tip of her tail as she ducked out of camp. The stones on the shore were still warm from the sun as they wandered downriver.
“So?” Crookedstar glanced at her expectantly. “What is it that can’t be said in camp?”
“I’m going to have kits.”
Crookedstar halted, his heart pounding with delight. “Really?”
Willowbreeze purred. “Really.”
“When?”
“About three moons.”
“How many?”
She snorted with amusement. “I don’t know!”
“You should move to the nursery at once.” Crookedstar wasn’t taking any chances. Too many RiverClan queens had lost their kits.
“Don’t be silly,” Willowbreeze argued. “I can carry on with patrols for ages yet.”
“Then don’t catch anything heavier than a minnow.”
She looked at him, the tip of her tail twitching impatiently.
“Okay!” Crookedstar realized he was fussing over fish-brained details. Willowbreeze was having his kits! He pressed his muzzle against hers. Happiness sparkled beneath his pelt. “I have to tell Oakheart!” he meowed. “I have to tell everyone.” He charged away, skidding to a stop as he hit the grassy path. “It’s okay, isn’t it?” he asked, looking back. “If I tell everyone?”
Willowbreeze nodded.
Crookedstar raced into camp. “Willowbreeze is expecting kits!”
“Congratulations!” Owlfur was on his paws at once.
Oakheart stopped washing. “At last!” He trotted across the clearing and weaved around Crookedstar.
Softwing nodded. “It’s about time.”
“Did someone say kits?” Fallowtail ducked out of the elders’ den, ear pricked.
Birdsong’s whiskers twitched. “Willowbreeze is expecting.”
Fallowtail hurried stiffly down the slope. “I hope she’ll be moving to the nursery,” she mewed, sounding fretful. “Where is she?” She scanned the camp as Willowbreeze padded through the entrance. “Come and rest, dear.” Fallowtail hurried over to her and guided her beneath the willow.
Shimmerpelt sniffed. “Stop fussing. She’ll be fine.”
Crookedstar nodded to Timberfur. “I want her taken off border patrols.”
Willowbreeze bristled. “You’ll do no such thing,” she told Timberfur. She looked at Brambleberry. “I don’t have to lie around like a helpless kit, do I?”
Brambleberry shook her head. “Of course not.” She glanced at Crookedstar. “But let him fuss a little
. It’s not every day a warrior hears that he’s going to be a father.”
“I’m not fussing!” Crookedstar puffed out his chest. Above him, the sky was darkening. It was getting late. “Perhaps you should be resting though, Willowbreeze. I’ll see you to your nest.”
Willowbreeze purred as he nudged her toward their den in the roots of the willow. “Aren’t you going to sleep, too?” she meowed as he began to nose his way out through the moss.
“Later,” he replied. “I’m too excited to sleep.” He padded into the clearing.
His Clanmates were heading for their dens. Cedarpelt nodded to him as he passed. “Congratulations, Crookedstar.”
“Thanks.” The moon was rising and stars were beginning to prick the sky. The camp suddenly felt small and stuffy. Crookedstar headed out through the reeds and followed the trail toward the willows. The sky was as dark as moleskin as he wove between the slender trunks. Wildflowers scented the air. His paws were wet from the dewy grass.
Thank you, StarClan. Please protect her.
Memories stirred behind his eyes, crowding into his vision even though he tried to force them back. He could see Rainflower lying on the shore, her eyes clouded. He felt the weight of Hailstar’s body on his back.
“Willowbreeze is mine, Mapleshade!” he yowled into the trees. “Do you hear? She isn’t part of my promise, whatever you think! Don’t you dare hurt one hair on her pelt!”
He stared around the clearing, alert for any paw step, tasting the air for the familiar bitter scent. But only the willows answered, with the rustling of their leaves.
Crookedstar sniffed the air. The flowery scents of greenleaf had deepened into a musty richness; leaf-fall was closing in. Timberfur, Sunfish, and Stonefur streamed past him into camp. They’d patrolled the Sunningrocks border, re-marking the scent line. Crookedstar padded through the reeds and stopped in the clearing. He checked the fresh-kill pile. It was well stocked with fish.
“Willowbreeze!” He gasped when he saw her, vast-bellied and tottering as she tried to drag a bundle of reeds from the shore. “What in the name of StarClan are you doing?” She was far too close to kitting to be doing such heavy work. Crookedstar darted over and pulled the reeds away from her.
