Crookedstar’s Promise

Oakkit pressed close to him. “You’re lucky to be alive, that’s what,” he mewed fiercely. He stroked Stormkit’s spine with his tail. “Brambleberry thought you’d die of shock and then infection. She fought really hard to keep you alive. And Shellheart sat with you night after night.”

“What about Rainflower?” Was this why his mother had hardly visited him? Because he was so horrible to look at?

“Rainflower was upset,” Oakkit told him.

Stormkit felt a flood of guilt. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“What for?”

“That I hurt Rainflower so much.”

“Don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault.” Oakkit’s voice sounded as if it was stuck in his throat. “Come on.” He sat up and nudged Stormkit away from the water’s edge with his nose. “We’re supposed to be fattening you up!”

Stormkit let his brother guide him toward the fish he’d dropped. He felt weak.

“Eat,” Oakkit ordered, stopping beside the fish.

Stormkit crouched down and took a mouthful. He could hardly taste it. All he could think about was how strange it felt when his tongue kept trying to slide out of the side of his mouth. How oddly he had to move his jaws to chew. In the medicine den, it had seemed normal. It’s just part of your recovery, Brambleberry had told him as he clumsily munched the fish she’d brought him. But he was better now. Back among his Clanmates. Why was eating still so difficult? He must look weird, trying to keep the food from dribbling from the twisted side of his mouth. He glanced up, wondering who was watching.

“I can’t do it,” he whispered.

“Yes, you can.” Oakkit picked up the fish and carried it to a shadowy spot behind a jutting branch of the fallen tree. “Come over here.” He beckoned to Stormkit with his tail. “It’s quiet. You can eat in peace.” Oakkit pushed the fish toward Stormkit and padded back to the clearing.

Stormkit’s belly rumbled as if to remind him that he was still hungry. Hidden behind the fallen tree he took another bite of fish. He glanced up to see if anyone was watching. But Oakkit had found him the most private spot in the camp. No one could see him here. Relieved and grateful, Stormkit gulped down the fresh-kill. Pain raked along his jaw, but he kept chewing. At last, his belly full, he sat up. A small pile of half-chewed fish sat by his paws where it had dribbled from his mouth. Stormkit quickly dug a hole in the soft earth and buried it. He jumped, hot with embarrassment, as Oakkit appeared around the end of the branch.

“Are you done?”

Stormkit nodded.

“Come and see the training corner we made in the nursery.”

Stormkit padded after his brother and squeezed into the nursery. “Wow!” He stared in delight at the far end of the den. The nests had been pushed back and moss laid on the floor.

Oakkit bounded past him and landed on the moss. “This is so we can fall without hurting ourselves.”

“What are those?” Stormkit glanced up at the fat brown bulrush heads sticking out high up the nursery wall.

“Watch!” Oakkit crouched, his head tipped back as he focused on the bulrushes. Then he leaped. Mid-leap he reached out both forepaws and grasped a thick brown rush, then fell back, landing deftly on his hind legs before wrestling it to the ground.

“That’s great!” Stormkit felt a surge of excitement. “Can I try?”

“Of course,” Oakkit mewed. “That’s what it’s for. Me and Volekit climb up and thread in fresh bulrushes every morning. It’s to practice hunting skills. By the time we start training we’ll be able to hit a mouse from three tail-lengths away.”

The den rustled as Volekit, Beetlekit, and Petalkit fought to squeeze in.

“Hey! I was first!” Beetlekit complained as Petalkit climbed over him and scampered across the nests to the training corner.

“Have you tried it yet, Stormkit?” Volekit demanded. He crouched down, wiggled his hindquarters, then flung himself at the wall and snatched a bulrush head.

Stormkit pressed his belly to the floor and looked up. A fat bulrush was dangling teasingly over his head. He narrowed his eyes and leaped. Stretching out his paws, he reached for the long fuzzy head. His paws clapped together, grabbing thin air, and he fell back on to the moss panting. “Frog dung!”

“You nearly had it,” Petalkit mewed encouragingly.

Stormkit lashed his tail. “Nearly’s not good enough.”

The nest behind him rustled. Echomist squeezed into the nursery, her soft gaze on Stormkit. “It’s good to have you back.”

Petalkit purred. “He’s trying the training corner,” she mewed. “He can jump pretty high already.”

Volekit stared thoughtfully at the wall. “We’re going to have to add more bulrushes.”

The den trembled. “You’re not going to clog up that corner with more mess, are you?” Rainflower pushed her way in and sat down. She licked her paw and ran it over her pale gray face. “Can’t you play outside like normal kits?”

“Okay.” Oakkit nudged Stormkit toward the entrance. “Come on,” he called to the others. “Let’s play moss-ball.”

Beetlekit bounded across the den. “I’m catcher!” he mewed.