Crookedstar’s Promise

Chapter 22

“Keep your tail down!” Crookedjaw pressed Willowpaw’s tail to the ground and nudged her forepaws forward. “Reach as far as you can.”

“Oomph.” The breath puffed out of Willowpaw as he adjusted her ribs, flattening them to the ground.

“Now, leap!” Crookedjaw ordered.

“Leap?” Willowpaw was splayed like a dead frog. She twisted her head around and stared at him. “I can hardly move.”

Crookedjaw sat up. “I’m only trying to help.” The sun was rising over the trees on the far side of the river. Willowpaw’s assessment was due to start any moment.

She struggled to her paws. “Thanks,” she mewed, shaking out her legs. “But I’m not sure if you’re cut out to be a mentor.”

“Don’t say that!” Crookedjaw’s pelt rippled with dismay. He really wanted to help her pass the first time. “I’m just trying to make you see how important it is to stay low if you’re stalking birds.”

“Owlfur won’t make us stalk birds,” Willowpaw argued. “I’m training to be a RiverClan warrior, not ThunderClan.”

“When the river freezes, birds are all we can catch,” Crookedjaw reminded her.

“But I’ve never caught a bird!” Willowpaw’s eyes sparked with sudden panic. “You don’t think he’ll actually test me on that? Owlfur only covered basic land-hunting techniques. He doesn’t like catching leaf-bare prey when the river’s full of fish! He said it was a waste.” She dropped back into a crouch. “Let’s try again!” She flattened her tail and pressed her muzzle into the grass, then sat up wailing. “I can’t do it! I’m going to fail!”

“No, you’re not!” Crookedjaw circled her, trying to remember what Mapleshade had taught him. His pads itched with frustration. Mapleshade had concentrated on battle moves. He thought harder. Had he caught birds with Cedarpelt?

Oh, yes!

“I know!” He realized in a flash what was wrong with her crouch. “Your forepaws should be tucked under your shoulders, not stretched out. That way you’ll get a better jump.”

Willowpaw dropped again, drawing her paws beneath her. “That feels better.” With a sharp push, she shot forward and stretched up, skimming a clump of marsh grass.

“Excellent!” Crookedjaw purred.

“Willowpaw!” Graypaw’s mew sounded from the other side of the reeds. “Owlfur’s ready!”

Willowpaw’s eyes stretched wide. “Oh, StarClan!” Worry clouded her gaze. “I hope I pass.”

“Hurry up!” Graypaw urged. “Piketooth’s started my assessment!”

“You’ll be great!” Crookedpaw promised, but Willowpaw was already dashing away. “Good luck!” he called after her.

As she disappeared into the rattling stalks, he headed for the river, too restless to go back to camp. It was too early to fish, but he could swim. It’d cool him down. He slid into the water and let it carry him downstream, rolling on to his back as he drifted past the camp. Through the reeds he could see flashes of pelt and hear squeals as the kits charged across the clearing. He felt a prick of sadness. He remembered playing with Oakkit and Beetlekit, Volekit and Petalkit. Things had changed so much since then.

He pushed away the thought. He was a warrior now. And one day he’d be the greatest leader RiverClan had ever known. What more could he possibly want? He struck out and swam for the bank. Climbing out near the stepping-stones, he could hear Birdsong’s mew drifting down from Sunningrocks. Hailstar had decided it was safe for the elders to start visiting them again.

“It’s so good to feel the warmth of the stone on my pelt,” she rasped.

Tanglewhisker answered, purring. “There’s nothing like it for reaching every ache.”

Crookedjaw padded up the shore and followed a narrow trail into the spindly trees. The sun was shining but he could taste a change in the wind. It was scented with heather from the moors. Rain was on the way.

The grass swished ahead of him. Crookedjaw froze. A pelt was moving between the trees, keeping low.

Owlfur.

Crookedjaw crouched and held his breath as the brown-and-white warrior passed. He must be assessing Willowpaw! Was she nearby? Darting behind a trunk, he crouched down, out of sight. Paw steps scampered toward him. Crookedjaw’s heart quickened as he waited for Willowpaw’s pelt to come flashing past. But it was Graypaw heading toward the river, scowling with concentration.

Crookedjaw hid as she passed, then pulled himself up the tree, straining to see over the grass. There! Willowpaw’s pale tabby pelt was pushing through a clump of ferns. The feathery green fronds curled over and trailed along her spine. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. She must be stalking something.

A blackbird!

She padded closer as the bird struggled to pull a worm from the ground.

Pounce! Crookedjaw willed her on but Willowpaw was taking her time. She dropped into a crouch, flattening her tail, tucking her forepaws under her shoulders, and pressing her belly against the ground. Crookedjaw felt a flicker of pride. I taught her that. He tensed as the blackbird plucked the worm free.

Now!

Willowpaw leaped as the blackbird lifted into the air. With a deft paw she hooked it and brought it plummeting to the ground. She held it fluttering beneath her forepaws and looked around hopefully.

Owlfur’s head appeared from behind a bush. “Very good,” he meowed. “You can let it go.”

Eyes shining, Willowpaw released the blackbird and it fled, squawking, into the branches above her head.

Well done! Crookedjaw’s heart soared.

“What in the name of StarClan are you doing?” A voice sounded from the bottom of the tree.

Guilt flooded his fur. Mapleshade! She’d caught him watching Willowpaw again. Crookedjaw whirled around, ready with an excuse, and saw Shellheart staring up at him, puzzled.

“Why are you hiding in a tree?” Shellheart asked.

Crookedjaw slithered headfirst down the trunk. “I was just—er—just watching—er—just seeing if the assessments were g-going okay…” He stammered to a halt.

Shellheart’s ears twitched. “Really?” He didn’t sound convinced.

Crookedjaw shrugged. “I wanted to see how Willowpaw was doing.”

Shellheart looked at him with amusement. “I guessed.” He purred. “And how is Willowpaw doing?”

Crookedjaw couldn’t stifle his purr. “Great!”

“Good.” Shellheart nosed him away from the tree. “Why don’t you come back to camp with me? We don’t want to distract her when she’s doing so well.” He steered Crookedjaw on to a trail that led away from the apprentices.

In the clearing, Mudfur was pacing outside the nursery. Something’s wrong!

Ottersplash trotted after the brown warrior, calling, “I’m sure she’ll be fine. They’ll all be fine.”

Crookedjaw stopped and looked around. Echomist crouched beneath the willow, her anxious gaze fixed on the nursery. Rainflower growled softly to herself as she padded along the edge of the reeds.

Crookedjaw blocked her path. “What’s wrong?”

Rainflower closed her eyes. “Brightsky’s kitting.”

“Why can’t we go to the nursery?” Sunkit complained.

“We just can’t!” mewed Shimmerpelt, who was helping Lakeshine shoo the kits up the slope toward the elders’ den.

“But why not?”

“Come on, dears!” Birdsong called from the top. “Come and explore our nests. Have you been inside the elders’ den before, Reedkit?”

“I don’t want to go in there.” Reedkit stopped at the entrance. “It’s stinky.”

Shimmerpelt nudged him forward with her nose. “Don’t be rude.”

Loudkit scowled. “It’s too hot to be inside!” he complained. “Can’t we practice swimming in the reed bed?”

Lakeshine shook her head. “Later, little one. We just need to be quiet for a while.”

A shriek sounded from the nursery.

Sunkit bristled. “What was that?”

Shimmerpelt nudged her inside. “Brightsky’s kitting.”

Crookedjaw stared at Rainflower. “When did she start?”

“Just after dawn.” Rainflower’s gaze was dark. “Brambleberry’s worried. Brightsky’s still weak from fever.”

“But she’s a tough warrior,” Crookedjaw pointed out.

“Sometimes that’s not enough,” Rainflower warned over her shoulder as she padded away.

Crookedjaw joined Ottersplash and Mudfur. “Does Brambleberry need anything? Water? Honey?”

Ottersplash halted. “She’s tried all that, and raspberry leaf, too.” She lowered her voice as Mudfur carried on walking. “Nothing’s working.”

Another long, desperate moan sounded in the nursery.

“She’s exhausted,” Ottersplash murmured.

Birdsong dashed down the slope. “Troutclaw’s keeping the kits busy playing hunt the tick.” Her eyes turned to the nursery. “How is she?”

Ottersplash just shook her head.

“I’m going inside.” Birdsong heaved her wide white belly through the nursery entrance and disappeared.

Oakheart padded, yawning, from his nest. “Is it over yet?” He caught Ottersplash’s gaze and stopped.

Birdsong slid out again. Her amber eyes were round and misted with grief. “Three kits.” Her mew was husky. “All dead.”

Mudfur was at her side in an instant. “And Brightsky?”

Birdsong stared at him blankly. “You’d better go in.”

Mudfur lowered his head and turned toward the nursery. He stepped slowly inside, as if he had suddenly grown very old. A moment later a low moan drifted through the reed wall.

Crookedjaw stared at Birdsong. “Is she dead?”

Birdsong nodded. Crookedjaw stared at the ground, not knowing what to say or do. Then a thin mewl drifted across the clearing.

Crookedjaw looked up. A kit?

Brambleberry poked her head out. “There was a fourth,” she mewed quickly. “She’s weak, but she’s breathing.” She ducked back inside.

Hailstar pushed his way out of his den and stood beside Echomist. He dipped his head. “Thank StarClan for this precious life.”

“Get Shimmerpelt,” Birdsong told Crookedjaw. “The kit will need warmth and milk.”

Crookedjaw dashed up the slope and called into the elders’ den. “Shimmerpelt!” She darted out at once. “Come with me.” Crookedjaw escorted her down the slope. “One kit survived. It’ll need your milk.”

Shimmerpelt stopped. “Survived?”

“Hurry up!”

“How’s Brightsky?” Shimmerpelt’s gaze pierced him.

Crookedjaw’s paws froze. He stared at her.

“Is she dead?”

“I’m sorry!” he burst out. “I should have warned you. I—I—I…”

Shimmerpelt padded past him, silencing him with a flick of her tail. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay.”

Crookedjaw watched her pad to the nursery and disappear inside. A moment later Mudfur squeezed out. He staggered blindly across the clearing. Timberfur hurried to his side and propped him up as he guided his denmate to a shady space under the willow. The grief-stricken warrior collapsed, muzzle on paws, staring into the distance. Timberfur crouched beside him as though sitting vigil, and Rippleclaw crossed the clearing to join them. Crookedjaw’s heart twisted in his chest.

The kits were streaming out of the elders’ den, squealing as they chased one another down the slope. The reeds swished as Graypaw and Willowpaw charged into camp.

“We passed!” Willowpaw’s eyes shone. “We passed our assessment!”

Graypaw paced around her sister, tail high. “Willowpaw caught a blackbird!”

“And Graypaw caught the biggest trout Owlfur’s ever seen!” Willowpaw charged across the clearing to Crookedjaw. “Thank you, thank you!” She licked his cheek. “I did everything you told me. You should have seen me!” She paused and tilted her head to one side. “What’s wrong?” She stepped away from Crookedjaw. “What’s happened?”

Rainflower looked up from the bottom of the slope. “Brightsky died,” she meowed. “And three of her newborn kits.” Crookedjaw was surprised by the grief in his mother’s gaze.

He pressed his muzzle against Willowpaw’s cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered.

“Let all cats old enough to swim gather to hear my words,” Hailstar called from outside his den. Brambleberry stood beside the RiverClan leader, back straight, fur smooth. Willowpaw’s eyes glistened.

“You’ll be getting your warrior name,” Crookedjaw murmured.

Willowpaw sighed. “I never imagined it would be like this.” She padded into the clearing as the Clan gathered. Mudfur seemed unaware of what was happening and stayed beneath the willow. Timberfur and Rippleclaw didn’t move from his side.

The kits hung back beside the reed bed, quiet now. Even they realized something terrible had happened.

“Brightsky is dead,” Hailstar announced. “And three of her kits.” He waited for murmurs of grief to pass through the Clan before he went on. “But one kit has survived.” He glanced at Mudfur. “She has not been named yet, but she will always be treasured by the Clan—a reminder of a warrior worthy of StarClan. We will make sure Brightsky’s kit grows up to honor and love her mother’s memory.” He lifted his muzzle, his eyes fixing on Fallowtail. “RiverClan never forgets the sacrifice of its queens. Fallowtail once sacrificed her kits so that the Clan could live in peace. We are lucky to have them back and I consider it a blessing from StarClan that they have grown into such fine warriors.” He dipped his head. “Willowpaw, Graypaw, come forward.”

As the apprentices padded into the clearing, Hailstar went on. “Willowpaw, you have the swiftness of a WindClan cat but the heart of a RiverClan warrior. In honor of your speed, courage, and cleverness, I give you the name Willowbreeze!”

Crookedjaw lifted his voice, solemnly chanting the new warrior name with his Clanmates. Clouds had covered the sun and were quickly darkening as Hailstar went on. “Graypaw, you have your mother’s determination, bravery, and warmth. From this moment you shall be known as Graypool.”

“Graypool! Graypool! Graypool!”

As Crookedjaw lifted his muzzle to join in, a raindrop splashed on his nose. In a few moments, the storm broke and rain pounded the camp as though StarClan itself was mourning for Brightsky and her lost kits.