Crookedstar’s Promise

He felt sick as he remembered his fall: smashing his face against the rock, the pain, the swirling current. Then he remembered the orange-and-white cat’s amber gaze burning through the green water. He had to make it to the Moonstone and talk to her. He had to find out if everything that had happened since the accident—Hailstar changing his name, being left in the nursery on his own—was part of his great destiny. How could it be? Nothing had been great. Everything had been terrible. But, if it was part of his destiny, he would bear it. He could bear anything to be truly great.

Pushing through the bushes, he slithered down the bank onto the muddy shore. The river was shallow and sluggish, lightly dappled by raindrops. It looked harmless now, lapping at the stones, but Crookedkit knew its power. It had washed away his Clan’s home. It had nearly killed him.

Ahead, the stepping-stones shone, wet with rain. An owl shrieked in the trees beyond Sunningrocks. Crookedkit sniffed the air, searching for fresh ThunderClan scent, but smelled only his Clanmates. Timberfur had passed this way recently, leading the dusk patrol home. Fallowtail must have been with him; the tang of her paw steps was still fresh on the grass.

Crookedkit paused. Very fresh. Was she still here? Ducking, he scanned the shore and hoped his pale brown tabby pelt wouldn’t show in the dark; but he could not hide his scent, especially now that it was tinged with fear. Ears stretched, he listened, but heard nothing beyond the river’s murmuring and the soft patter of rain on leaves. Crookedkit took a deep breath and made a dash for the stepping-stones. Tensing, he leaped and landed, sure-pawed, on the first stone. The river flowed dizzyingly around him as he jumped to the next. He was definitely

bigger than the last time he’d tried to cross the river. His paws gripped the stones more firmly, and they didn’t seem so far apart. He focused his gaze on the far shore and crossed the rest of the stones without hesitating, landing on the other side with a sigh of relief.

Sunningrocks rose into the dark, drizzly sky. Clouds hid the moon and Crookedkit had to squint to see his paws on the sandy shore beneath him. His hackles lifted as he smelled ThunderClan scent drifting down from the new borderline. Was Hailstar ever going to fight for this land?

Flexing his claws, Crookedkit headed upstream. He followed the shore, slinking into the bushes as he passed the RiverClan camp on the other side of the river. The path began to climb steadily. He was deep in ThunderClan territory now. Scent marked every bush, and he closed his mouth so the foul stench didn’t touch his tongue. His ears twitched. Beyond the soft gurgling of the river, he heard water thundering. He must be nearing the falls where Brambleberry collected coltsfoot. Crookedkit sniffed, tasting the zest of it in the air and the stone tang of splashing water beyond.

The path grew steeper, climbing beside the river, the shore now a rising cliff that grew higher and higher with every paw step. Crookedkit peered over the edge. Far below him, the river rushed past, swirling in the moonlight through a deep rocky channel. The thundering water grew louder, echoing from the rock and, as Crookedkit rounded a corner, he saw the falls for the first time. Higher than any tree, throwing droplets up toward the moon, the river plunged straight down where the land fell away, hurtling into the deep gorge.

Crookedkit stiffened, suddenly aware of how narrow the path had grown. Sheer rock rose on one side and plummeted down on the other. He flinched away from the precipice, grazing his pelt on the cliff face, and flattened his ears against the roar of water as he pressed on. The graveled path scratched his paws and wind whipped rain across his muzzle. It smelled peaty and rich with the scent of pollen.

As he reached the top of the falls, the roar of water faded. The path flattened and the river flowed smoothly once more, brimming to the shore. Crookedkit gazed across the swath of land that stretched out beside him. It rose toward the moors and beyond that he could see distant cliffs. Highstones?

He’d heard warriors and elders talk about the jagged rocky peaks, and he knew that was where the Moonstone lay.

A new scent hit his nose. ThunderClan markers had been replaced by a different stench. A new smell. This must be WindClan territory. Then I cross WindClan’s moor. Brambleberry’s words rushed back to him. His heart quickened as he turned his paws away from the river and headed upslope into the moorland. The soft bushes gave way to prickly heather and gorse. Crookedkit weaved among their stems, thankful for the cover. Ears pricked and mouth open, alert for WindClan patrols, he padded on.

A familiar scent stopped him in his tracks.

RiverClan?