Crookedstar’s Promise

“Whoa!” The tom held up a paw. “Let’s not go through that again. You’ve got sharp claws.” He began to pad toward the back of the nest. “What’s your name?” he called over his shoulder.

“Crookedkit.”

“I’m Fleck.” The tom halted and sat down. “What brings you to my barn, Crookedkit?” He stared into the pile of dusty stalks that Crookedkit had been watching. It was still quivering.

“I was on my way to the Moonstone.” Crookedkit padded after the tom, trying to figure out if this cat was an enemy. He wasn’t a Clan cat, that was for sure. “What are you looking at?”

Fleck dropped into a crouch, his tail flicking. “I see breakfast.”

Crookedkit bristled. “Stop! That’s my prey!”

Before he could finish Fleck dived across the floor and landed with his paws outstretched on the small lump that Crookedkit had been eyeing. Deftly, he hooked a mouse out of the stalks and killed it with a nip to the back of the neck. He glanced at Crookedkit. “Here.” He tossed the mouse and it landed with a thud at Crookedkit’s paws.

Even though it wasn’t fish, the warm smell of it made Crookedkit’s mouth water.

“You look like you need it more than me,” Fleck mewed.

Crookedkit stared at the mouse. He was starving. But could he let another cat catch food for him?

“Eat it.” Fleck rummaged deeper into the straw. “There’ll be another one in the straw.”

Straw? Barn? This cat knew some funny words.

Crookedkit sniffed his warm prey, wondering where to begin. “I’ve never eaten mouse before,” he admitted.

Fleck padded over. “Are you a kittypet?”

Crookedkit stiffened. “I’m a warrior!”

“Ah.” Fleck nodded. “That explains the jaw. Got hurt in a fight? I’ve heard warrior cats are always fighting.”

Crookedkit stared at the ginger tom. “No, we’re not! I hurt it falling in the river.”

“Tough river.” Fleck reached farther under the straw. “I had kin with a smashed jaw.” He sneezed. “He fell out of the barn loft.”

“The barn loft?” Crookedkit echoed.

Fleck jerked his muzzle upward. “This place is the barn, and up there is the loft. Long way to fall.”

“Where is he now?”

“Who? Domino?” Fleck stopped rummaging.

Domino? Farm cats had strange names. “The cat who broke his jaw.”

“He’s dead now.”

“Dead?” Crookedkit’s eyes widened. “Because he broke his jaw?”

Fleck sat up. “No,” he mewed quickly. “He died of old age. Last leaf-bare. He looked a bit odd, like you. He learned to eat using one side of his mouth. Hunted that way, too. He was one of the best mousers on the farm.”

Crookedkit quickly scanned the barn. “Are there many mousers here?”

“Just me now,” Fleck told him. “And Mitzi, my littermate. But she’s moved to the cornfield for her kitting.”

“Is that where the nursery is?”

“Nursery?” Fleck stared at him quizzically, then shook his head. “It’s quieter there. No farm monsters.” He nodded toward the mouse at Crookedkit’s paws. “Are you going to eat that?”

Crookedkit felt hot. “Are you going to hunt some more?” He didn’t want to be watched.

“Oh, yes. You’re not the only cat that needs feeding around here.” Fleck turned back to the heap of straw at the edge of the barn.

Crookedkit crouched down and bit into the mouse. It tasted musky and meaty. He screwed up his nose. At least it was food. A small chunk of meat dripped from the side of his mouth where his twisted jaw gaped.

“Tip your head,” Fleck called.

Crookedkit looked up sharply. Was the tom watching him? But Fleck had his tail toward Crookedkit, and his gaze was fixed firmly on the straw. Feeling awkward, Crookedkit tipped his head, cocking it sideways so the mouse meat fell to the straight side of his mouth. Chewing in quick, short nips, he crunched through the mouse, catching stray bits with sharp jerks so that he dropped only a few morsels.

“Got one!” Fleck dropped a second mouse beside Crookedkit. “Do you want another?”

Crookedkit shook his head, swallowing. A few scraps of his mouse littered the floor where he’d dropped them, but his belly was full already. He’d managed to swallow more in one meal than he’d eaten since his accident. And his twisted jaw hardly ached. He purred. “Thanks, Fleck.”

“What for?” Fleck started tucking into his mouse.

“The fresh-kill,” Crookedkit mewed. “And for telling me how to eat it.”

Fleck gazed at Crookedkit, chewing. “I watched Domino eat. I can show you how he hunted, too, if you want. He had a special way of doing the kill-bite. Looked a bit odd but it worked.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got to go home.” Crookedkit began to wash his face. “My Clan will wonder where I’ve gone.”

“Don’t they think you’re at the Mewstone?”

“Moonstone.” Crookedkit licked a paw and wiped it along his jaw.

“Whatever.” Fleck took another bite of mouse and went on, mouth full. “I’m going to catch something for Mitzi when I’ve finished this. She’s stuck in her nest with four kits. And I promised to watch them while she went for water.”

Crookedkit paused from washing. “You sound like a Clan cat.”

“I don’t know about that. But there’s no one else to hunt for her.” Fleck swallowed. “And you can’t let kin starve.”