Crookedstar’s Promise

Crookedjaw stared at Hailstar in astonishment. Whitefang’s gaze shone with excitement. Rippleclaw’s, too. Timberfur clawed at the ground impatiently. But Cedarpelt watched through narrowed eyes. Fallowtail was frowning and Owlfur turned his head away, sighing.

Why isn’t he satisfied with Sunningrocks? Crookedjaw didn’t understand Hailstar’s plan. How in the name of StarClan could they win a battle fought on ThunderClan’s land? He’d seen the thick ferns and clawing brambles that choked the trees around Sunningrocks. His thick pelt rippled as he imagined getting it tangled in a thornbush.

Oakheart’s mew shook him from his thoughts. “Does Hailstar think a battle will cheer us up?”

“I guess he’s got to try something.” Crookedjaw shrugged. “Even the kits have been worried about Brightsky’s death.” Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ottersplash whispering to her kits. “But a battle is risky and we don’t need more grief.”

“I want to be in the attack patrol.” Ottersplash’s mew rang across the clearing.

Shimmerpelt gasped. “What about your kits?”

“Will you look after them till I return?” Ottersplash dipped her head to her denmate.

“O-of course,” Shimmerpelt stuttered. “But what if you—”

Ottersplash cut her off. “Timberfur takes that risk,” she answered sharply. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Hailstar padded across the clearing. “I’d be proud to have you fight beside me.” His eyes glowed as he surveyed the rest of his Clan. “Timberfur, Rippleclaw, Shellheart, Piketooth, and Whitefang.” He nodded to each warrior. “You’ll join us.”

For once, Crookedjaw was relieved he hadn’t been chosen. “An impressive patrol,” he commented.

Oakheart sniffed. “They believe in this battle.”

“At least someone does,” Crookedjaw growled under his breath. He felt a flash of guilt. “Can I lead a border patrol on this side of the river?” he called to Hailstar. “We haven’t checked the bridge or fence in days.”

Hailstar was already leading his Clanmates toward the reeds. He glanced back. “Okay,” he answered. “Take anyone you like.”

Loudkit was chasing after Ottersplash. “When are you coming back?” he whimpered.

She stopped and leaned down. “I told you,” she murmured softly. “I’ll be back before sunhigh.”

“Promise?”

Ottersplash pressed her muzzle to Loudkit’s head. “StarClan willing,” she breathed.

Loudkit stared after her as Ottersplash followed the patrol out of camp. “Will StarClan want her like they wanted Brightsky?” he whispered.

Crookedjaw opened his mouth to reassure him, but Shimmerpelt had already darted forward and was sweeping him away with a soft swish of her tail.

Crookedjaw skirted the Twoleg bridge and headed away from the river, into a line of willow trees. He glanced over his shoulder. Voleclaw, Oakheart, Petaldust, Willowbreeze, and Graypool were following him through the straggly grass, ducking behind the slim gray trunks at the edge of the meadow.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t hunt,” Voleclaw grumbled.

“We’re patrolling, not hunting,” Crookedjaw told him.

“Just because you suggested the patrol doesn’t make you Clan leader.” Voleclaw sniffed.

Petaldust nudged her brother. “It does make him patrol leader, though,” she pointed out.

“Sssh!” Crookedjaw paused and glanced through the willow trees. The sun was lifting into the sky, and all around the meadow Twolegs were beginning to stir from their pelt-dens. The field was dotted with the brightly colored mounds. They rustled and flapped in the breeze.

“Get down!” Crookedjaw warned as a Twoleg crawled out of his den and padded, coughing, up the field. A Twoleg kit tottered out after him, carrying a bright yellow ball. It tossed the ball and stood watching as it rolled across the grass and bumped into another den.

“We’re better get past here before they’re all awake,” Oakheart whispered.

Crookedjaw glanced at the knotted gray fence that bounded the field beyond the trees. They’d have to creep up through the willows and around the top of the field to reach the dog fence. “Come on.” He began to pad forward, tail down. Sunlight streamed through the shivering leaves and dappled the grass. Crookedjaw trod lightly, keeping one eye on the pelt-dens.

Suddenly a shadow flashed between them. Crookedjaw paused. The shadow flashed again and with a jolt he recognized the shape. A cat. With shoulders and tail that were familiar.

Mapleshade? He hadn’t trained with her for a moon. Why was she here?

Oakheart halted beside him and tasted the air. “What’s up?”

“Can you see that cat?” Crookedjaw nodded to the gap between pelt-dens where Mapleshade’s outline was showing clear as day.

“What cat?” Oakheart frowned at him. “Do you think the Twolegs have started taking their kittypets out with them?”

“It’s not a kittypet,” Crookedjaw whispered. “It’s a warrior.”

Oakheart twitched. “Where?”

“There.”

Mapleshade returned his gaze, then flitted behind a pelt-den as the Twoleg kit toddled past.

“I can’t see anything.”

“What’s holding us up?” Voleclaw hissed from behind.