Crookedstar’s Promise

“Just a young warrior?” Crookedjaw remembered Oakheart talking about Bluefur at the Gathering. “It was Bluefur, wasn’t it?”

Oakheart ran his wet paw over his ear. “So?”

“Was she upset about losing Sunningrocks?”

“I guess so.” Oakheart sniffed. “I didn’t ask. Why would I want to speak to a ThunderClan cat?”

“You seemed like you were really interested in finding out all about her after the last Gathering.”

His brother stopped washing. “It’s not me who moons over she-cats!” Oakheart shot back. “You follow Willowpaw around like a kit following its mother.”

Crookedjaw flushed. “I do not!”

Oakheart nodded. “Yeah, right.” He sounded unconvinced.

Crookedjaw narrowed his eyes and leaped on his brother. “I’m just helping her with her training!”

Oakheart grabbed his shoulders and rolled him over. “That’s one way of putting it!”

They tussled, squawking, on the warm rock.

“Hey!” Fallowtail grabbed Crookedjaw’s scruff and pulled him off. “We’re supposed to be guarding our territory,” she growled. “Not showing ThunderClan how we play fight!”

Crookedjaw sat up, his fur ruffled. “Sorry.”

“Fallowtail!” Whitefang was calling from the forest’s edge. “More ThunderClan warriors are coming!” He dropped into a crouch as Fallowtail, Oakheart, and Crookedjaw leaped down Sunningrocks to join him.

Crookedjaw squinted into the green shadows. He could see pelts flashing between the trunks. Anger flared in his chest. No ThunderClan cat was going to set a paw on his territory. Now that RiverClan had reclaimed it, he’d fight to the death to keep it. He curled his lip and hissed into the forest. The undergrowth swished and the pelts melted away.

Fox-hearts!

Crookedjaw felt power pulsing in his paws. He was ready to beat any cat who threatened his Clan. Mapleshade was right: Being loyal to his Clan felt better than anything else in the whole world!

Chapter 22

“Keep your tail down!” Crookedjaw pressed Willowpaw’s tail to the ground and nudged her forepaws forward. “Reach as far as you can.”

“Oomph.” The breath puffed out of Willowpaw as he adjusted her ribs, flattening them to the ground.

“Now, leap!” Crookedjaw ordered.

“Leap?” Willowpaw was splayed like a dead frog. She twisted her head around and stared at him. “I can hardly

move.”

Crookedjaw sat up. “I’m only trying to help.” The sun was rising over the trees on the far side of the river. Willowpaw’s assessment was due to start any moment.

She struggled to her paws. “Thanks,” she mewed, shaking out her legs. “But I’m not sure if you’re cut out to be a mentor.”

“Don’t say that!” Crookedjaw’s pelt rippled with dismay. He really wanted to help her pass the first time. “I’m just trying to make you see how important it is to stay low if you’re stalking birds.”

“Owlfur won’t make us stalk birds,” Willowpaw argued. “I’m training to be a RiverClan warrior, not ThunderClan.”

“When the river freezes, birds are all we can catch,” Crookedjaw reminded her.

“But I’ve never caught a bird!” Willowpaw’s eyes sparked with sudden panic. “You don’t think he’ll actually test me on that? Owlfur only covered basic land-hunting techniques. He doesn’t like catching leaf-bare prey when the river’s full of fish! He said it was a waste.” She dropped back into a crouch. “Let’s try again!” She flattened her tail and pressed her muzzle into the grass, then sat up wailing. “I can’t do it! I’m going to fail!”

“No, you’re not!” Crookedjaw circled her, trying to remember what Mapleshade had taught him. His pads itched with frustration. Mapleshade had concentrated on battle moves. He thought harder. Had he caught birds with Cedarpelt?

Oh, yes!

“I know!” He realized in a flash what was wrong with her crouch. “Your forepaws should be tucked under your shoulders, not stretched out. That way you’ll get a better jump.”

Willowpaw dropped again, drawing her paws beneath her. “That feels better.” With a sharp push, she shot forward and stretched up, skimming a clump of marsh grass.

“Excellent!” Crookedjaw purred.

“Willowpaw!” Graypaw’s mew sounded from the other side of the reeds. “Owlfur’s ready!”

Willowpaw’s eyes stretched wide. “Oh, StarClan!” Worry clouded her gaze. “I hope I pass.”

“Hurry up!” Graypaw urged. “Piketooth’s started my assessment!”

“You’ll be great!” Crookedpaw promised, but Willowpaw was already dashing away. “Good luck!” he called after her.

As she disappeared into the rattling stalks, he headed for the river, too restless to go back to camp. It was too early to fish, but he could swim. It’d cool him down. He slid into the water and let it carry him downstream, rolling on to his back as he drifted past the camp. Through the reeds he could see flashes of pelt and hear squeals as the kits charged across the clearing. He felt a prick of sadness. He remembered playing with Oakkit and Beetlekit, Volekit and Petalkit. Things had changed so much since then.