Crookedstar’s Promise

I should go home. Crookedkit opened his mouth to explain. But I promised I’d help Fleck. He nosed through the long grass and peered into the ditch. It was wide and deep and water trickled along the bottom. Curiosity pricked his paws. I wonder what farm kits are like? I’ll just say hi. Taking a deep breath, he sprang and at the same time grabbed for a clump of grass on the other side. His hindquarters swung down, his tail sweeping through the water. Scrabbling, he hauled himself up and squeezed under the hedge. “Wait for me!”

He plunged into the forest of corn, weaving among the stems. The stiff stalks reminded him of the reed bed. Their heavy heads rattled above him as the wind tugged at them. Crookedkit followed Fleck’s scent through the corn, noticing where the stalks were bent from cats using the tiny path regularly. He caught up to him where the field began to slope down toward the dip.

“Take this.” Fleck dropped the vole at Crookedkit’s paws. “Mitzi’s a bit protective of her kits. She’ll welcome a new face quicker if it’s carrying food.” Mewls sounded through the corn as he spoke.

“Come on.” Fleck pushed on.

Crookedkit picked up the vole and trotted after him until they emerged in a small clearing, enclosed by a wall of rustling yellow stalks. A black cat blinked up at them from a scoop in the earth. Four tiny kits fidgeted at her belly. Mitzi wriggled and sat up, heaving them away. Her nose twitched and her gaze settled on the vole in Crookedkit’s jaws.

“Who are you?” Her eyes narrowed.

Crookedkit tossed the vole down to her. “Crookedkit of RiverClan.”

Mitzi bristled. “What’s a Clan cat doing here?” she hissed at Fleck. “There haven’t been warriors around here for as long as I can remember.” She glanced warily around. “Where’s his kin?”

“He came alone.”

Mitzi frowned. “Alone? Ain’t he a bit young to be so far from home? I thought warriors lived up on the moors.”

“My Clan lives by the river,” Crookedkit told her. “Past the moors.”

Mitzi wrapped her tail over her kits. “And you’ve come all this way by yourself?”

Fleck sniffed. “He’s heading for the Foodstone.”

“Moonstone!” Crookedkit corrected.

A black she-kit scrabbled to the edge of the hollow. “Is that where the moon lives?” She stared at Crookedkit with wide green eyes like her mother’s.

“Now, now,” Mitzi chided. “It’s rude to start asking questions before you’ve been introduced.”

“Sorry,” squeaked the kit. “I’m Soot.”

“Hello, Soot.” For the first time since the accident, Crookedkit felt big.

“Does the moon live there?” Soot pressed.

“No,” he purred. “It’s where we visit our ancestors.”

Mitzi heaved herself out of the hollow and shook out her pelt. “Can you keep them busy while I eat?” she asked Fleck.

“I can!” Crookedkit offered.

Mitzi glanced at her littermate. “He’s okay,” Fleck reassured her.

Mitzi shifted her paws. “Hardly more than a kit himself.” She nodded to Crookedkit, then crouched and hungrily began eating the vole.

Crookedkit jumped down into the hollow. The tiny kits scattered, squeaking, out of his way, then trotted back and sniffed him gingerly.

The gray tom-kit stared at him. “Where’s your mother?”

“She’s back at camp,” Crookedkit told him. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Mist,” the gray kit mewed.

“And I’m Piper.” A silver-tabby-and-white she-kit scrambled over her brother.

“Is there a Foodstone as well as a Moonstone?” The last kit, a black-and-white tom, nosed between his littermates. “Can we go there?”

“Don’t be daft, Magpie.” Mitzi looked up from her vole. “You’re far too young.” Magpie suddenly started coughing, ears flat, body shuddering. Mitzi stiffened. “That cough isn’t getting better,” she told Fleck.

Crookedkit pricked his ears. “Brambleberry would give her coltsfoot.” When Mitzi stared blankly, he added, “Brambleberry’s our medicine cat.”

“Coltsfoot for coughing?” Mitzi frowned. “I haven’t heard of that.”

Crookedkit glanced at Magpie, who was still coughing. “Brambleberry says you chew the leaves and swallow the juice, and then spit out the leaf bits.”

“It’s worth a try.” Fleck’s tail twitched. “There’s some by the farm track.” He headed into the corn. “I’ll fetch a few leaves.”

Mitzi leaned into the hollow and plucked up Magpie by his scruff. She nestled her spluttering kit between her forepaws. “Are you okay, dear?” Magpie caught his breath and nodded. Mitzi licked his head gently, then straightened. “There’s no spit left in me,” she sighed.

“Fleck said you’d be thirsty.” Crookedkit hopped up beside her. “Do you want me to look after the kits while you get a drink?”

Mitzi glanced at the corn where Fleck had disappeared. “Fleck said he’d watch them.”

“I can teach them to play moss-ball,” Crookedkit offered. He suddenly realized how tired and ruffled Mitzi looked.

She licked her dry lips. “I suppose Fleck will be back soon.”

“I’ll keep them in the hollow till he does.” He picked up Magpie by his scruff and lowered him gently back into the nest.