Crookedstar’s Promise

Ottersplash halted. “She’s tried all that, and raspberry leaf, too.” She lowered her voice as Mudfur carried on walking. “Nothing’s working.”

Another long, desperate moan sounded in the nursery.

“She’s exhausted,” Ottersplash murmured.

Birdsong dashed down the slope. “Troutclaw’s keeping the kits busy playing hunt the tick.” Her eyes turned to the nursery. “How is she?”

Ottersplash just shook her head.

“I’m going inside.” Birdsong heaved her wide white belly through the nursery entrance and disappeared.

Oakheart padded, yawning, from his nest. “Is it over yet?” He caught Ottersplash’s gaze and stopped.

Birdsong slid out again. Her amber eyes were round and misted with grief. “Three kits.” Her mew was husky. “All dead.”

Mudfur was at her side in an instant. “And Brightsky?”

Birdsong stared at him blankly. “You’d better go in.”

Mudfur lowered his head and turned toward the nursery. He stepped slowly inside, as if he had suddenly grown very old. A moment later a low moan drifted through the reed wall.

Crookedjaw stared at Birdsong. “Is she dead?”

Birdsong nodded. Crookedjaw stared at the ground, not knowing what to say or do. Then a thin mewl drifted across the clearing.

Crookedjaw looked up. A kit?

Brambleberry poked her head out. “There was a fourth,” she mewed quickly. “She’s weak, but she’s breathing.” She ducked back inside.

Hailstar pushed his way out of his den and stood beside Echomist. He dipped his head. “Thank StarClan for this precious life.”

“Get Shimmerpelt,” Birdsong told Crookedjaw. “The kit will need warmth and milk.”

Crookedjaw dashed up the slope and called into the elders’ den. “Shimmerpelt!” She darted out at once. “Come with me.” Crookedjaw escorted her down the slope. “One kit survived. It’ll need your milk.”

Shimmerpelt stopped. “Survived?”

“Hurry up!”

“How’s Brightsky?” Shimmerpelt’s gaze pierced him.

Crookedjaw’s paws froze. He stared at her.

“Is she dead?”

“I’m sorry!” he burst out. “I should have warned you. I—I—I…”

Shimmerpelt padded past him, silencing him with a flick of her tail. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay.”

Crookedjaw watched her pad to the nursery and disappear inside. A moment later Mudfur squeezed out. He staggered blindly across the clearing. Timberfur hurried to his side and propped him up as he guided his denmate to a shady space under the willow. The grief-stricken warrior collapsed, muzzle on paws, staring into the distance. Timberfur crouched beside him as though sitting vigil, and Rippleclaw crossed the clearing to join them. Crookedjaw’s heart twisted in his chest.

The kits were streaming out of the elders’ den, squealing as they chased one another down the slope. The reeds swished as Graypaw and Willowpaw charged into camp.

“We passed!” Willowpaw’s eyes shone. “We passed our assessment!”

Graypaw paced around her sister, tail high. “Willowpaw caught a blackbird!”

“And Graypaw caught the biggest trout Owlfur’s ever seen!” Willowpaw charged across the clearing to Crookedjaw. “Thank you, thank you!” She licked his cheek. “I did everything you told me. You should have seen me!” She paused and tilted her head to one side. “What’s wrong?” She stepped away from Crookedjaw. “What’s happened?”

Rainflower looked up from the bottom of the slope. “Brightsky died,” she meowed. “And three of her newborn kits.” Crookedjaw was surprised by the grief in his mother’s gaze.

He pressed his muzzle against Willowpaw’s cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered.

“Let all cats old enough to swim gather to hear my words,” Hailstar called from outside his den. Brambleberry stood beside the RiverClan leader, back straight, fur smooth. Willowpaw’s eyes glistened.

“You’ll be getting your warrior name,” Crookedjaw murmured.

Willowpaw sighed. “I never imagined it would be like this.” She padded into the clearing as the Clan gathered. Mudfur seemed unaware of what was happening and stayed beneath the willow. Timberfur and Rippleclaw didn’t move from his side.

The kits hung back beside the reed bed, quiet now. Even they realized something terrible had happened.

“Brightsky is dead,” Hailstar announced. “And three of her kits.” He waited for murmurs of grief to pass through the Clan before he went on. “But one kit has survived.” He glanced at Mudfur. “She has not been named yet, but she will always be treasured by the Clan—a reminder of a warrior worthy of StarClan. We will make sure Brightsky’s kit grows up to honor and love her mother’s memory.” He lifted his muzzle, his eyes fixing on Fallowtail. “RiverClan never forgets the sacrifice of its queens. Fallowtail once sacrificed her kits so that the Clan could live in peace. We are lucky to have them back and I consider it a blessing from StarClan that they have grown into such fine warriors.” He dipped his head. “Willowpaw, Graypaw, come forward.”