Crookedstar’s Promise

Voleclaw stilled him with a flick of his tail. “No cat will fight like that,” he told the young tom. “It’s not part of the warrior code, and Hailstar’s forbidden it.”

Sedgepaw was nodding. “I’d rather fight beside my Clanmates,” she announced.

“Can we practice some battle moves?” Reedpaw begged. “We didn’t get a chance yesterday because of the dog.”

Loudpaw scanned the clearing. “Where’s Oakheart?”

Willowbreeze pointed to his den with her nose. “Resting,” she told him. “He sat vigil for Rainflower.”

Voleclaw circled the apprentices. “I’m taking Sunpaw training,” he told Loudpaw. “You can join us.” He glanced at Crookedjaw. “Do you and Beetlenose want to bring Sedgepaw and Reedpaw?”

Beetlenose was trotting over to join them and overheard. “Yes, please.” He glanced at the warriors huddled around Hailstar’s den. “Everyone’s so serious here.”

“They’re picking a new deputy

,” Crookedjaw reminded him.

Sedgepaw peered around Beetlenose. “I wonder who they’ll choose.”

Beetlenose shrugged. “Probably one of the senior warriors.” He headed toward the gap in the reeds. “The warrior code says he’s got to decide by moonhigh, which gives them ages. We might as well get on with training.”

The willows smelled of dog. Though the stench was stale it made Crookedjaw’s pelt bristle. He followed Beetlenose and Voleclaw up the slope to a grassy glade above the camp. Sunpaw, Sedgepaw, Loudpaw, and Reedpaw squabbled as they tried to guess who Hailstar would pick as deputy.

“It’s got to be Timberfur.”

“Why not Rippleclaw?”

“Rippleclaw’s too old. He’ll pick Ottersplash.”

Beetlenose stopped in the middle of the glade. “Why don’t you let Hailstar decide and concentrate on your hunting skills?”

Crookedjaw shifted his paws. Did the new deputy definitely have to be a senior warrior?

Voleclaw flicked his tail at Sunpaw and Loudpaw. “Come on, let’s see if we can find some birds.”

“Birds?” Loudpaw flattened his ears. “It’s not leaf-bare.”

“Which means they’ll be easy to find.” Voleclaw bounded away, leaping a mossy log rotting at the top of the glade.

Sunpaw shrugged and followed her mentor. “We’ve got to be able to catch land prey as well as river prey,” she called over her shoulder.

As Loudpaw charged after her, Beetlenose nudged Reedpaw toward the roots of a gnarled willow. “Let’s practice climbing,” he meowed. “The trees here should be easier than the beeches.”

Willow branches were thinner and felt a lot less stable, but dipped closer to the ground, making it easier to start and less frightening if a cat fell off.

“Okay.” Reedpaw scrambled up the trunk and started to pick his way along one of the thickest branches.

“Are we going to climb?” Sedgepaw asked Crookedjaw.

“Not now.” Crookedjaw rubbed his nose with a paw. With the other apprentices busy, this would be a great time to help Sedgepaw with her stalking. Beckoning her with his tail, he led her to a gap in the trees, dappled by sunshine filtering through the slender, silvery leaves. He halted and pricked his ears.

“What are we listening for?” Sedgepaw asked.

“Birds.”

“Can’t you hear them already?” Birdsong chattered from every tree.

“I’m listening for one we can stalk.” Crookedjaw crouched. “Get down!” He flicked his tail. A finch was hopping from branch to branch above them. He could hear its wings fluttering between the leaves. He backed under a fern. “Hide.”

Sedgepaw scooted in beside him and peered out from under the fronds. “How do you know it’s going to come down from the tree?” she whispered.

“There are some blueberries over there.” Crookedjaw nodded toward a shrub of soft leaves hung with dark, round berries. “The bird has its eye on them.” As he spoke, wings fluttered and the finch landed among the berries, making the twig dip under its weight.

Sedgepaw gasped. “How did you know?”

“Cedarpelt taught me.” And Fleck. He wondered how his old friends were doing. I bet Soot is as big as a warrior by now. Crookedjaw watched the finch hop among the leaves for a moment before nudging Sedgepaw forward. “Go on.”

“You want me to catch it?” He felt her pelt bristle.

“Just give it a try,” he encouraged.

Her breath quickened as she stalked forward, pressing her belly to the ground.

“Slow down,” he whispered. “You’ll be okay.”

She paused and steadied her breathing. Crookedjaw saw her flanks relax. Then she moved forward again. She was remembering to keep her tail off the ground, making hardly a sound as she crept across the grass. Crookedjaw tensed. Sedgepaw stopped beside the berry patch. Her tail twitched but she stilled it. Her gaze was fixed on the finch. Crookedjaw held his breath.

Then Sedgepaw leaped, smooth as a fish, and grabbed the finch between her paws. It fluttered in panic but she leaned forward and nipped its neck. Mewing in triumph, she turned and faced Crookedjaw, the finch limp in her jaws.

“Well done!” Pride surged through Crookedjaw as he padded to congratulate her. “Great catch.” As he spoke, something gray shot across the clearing.

Squirrel?