Crookedstar’s Promise

“I know where you’re going.” Brambleberry’s mew surprised him. She bounded down the bank and blocked his path.

“How?”

The medicine cat’s eyes were wild, as though something had startled her.

“Are you okay?” Crookedjaw shifted his paws. What was wrong with her?

Brambleberry ignored his question. “You’re going to get Willowbreeze.” She circled him, tail flicking.

“Someone has to.”

“Yes, yes,” she agreed distractedly. “And that someone must be you. You must do it. It is part of your destiny.”

Crookedjaw pricked his ears. My destiny!

That must be why Mapleshade had been in the field. “What do you know about my destiny?”

“I know what I need to know. This is it. This is part of it.” Brambleberry paused and stared at him. “You’re going to rescue Willowbreeze? Is that the path you’re choosing?”

“Is that the path I should choose?” Crookedjaw’s belly twisted at the alternative: to let Willowbreeze stay with the Twolegs.

“You know your own heart.” Brambleberry started pacing around him again. “I just hope StarClan is right.”

“Right about what?”

Before he had finished speaking, Brambleberry darted back up the bank and disappeared into shadow. Crookedjaw swallowed. Am I doing the right thing? He pushed away the thought. Of course I am! I can’t abandon Willowbreeze. She’s my Clanmate.

He bounded up the bank, following Brambleberry’s trail around the camp and into the marshes. The medicine cat must have moved fast because her scent was already growing stale. Crookedjaw headed down to the shore and followed the river upstream. The water looked black and deep beneath the stars. Behind him the reeds rattled and the night heron swooped low across the water before soaring away.

Crookedjaw veered away from the river and followed the shore past the first meadow, skirting the Twoleg field right up to the bridge. He paused there, ducking down in its spiky shadow, catching his breath. I’m not scared,

he told himself. He flexed his claws and peered through the willow trees. The pelt-dens glowed with yellow light, throwing wildly misshapen shadows across the field as the Twolegs moved around inside.

Pebbles shifted on the shore downstream. Crookedjaw froze. Something was stalking him. He crouched deeper into the shadow, tasting the air, scenting nothing but Twoleg smells. Keeping low, he crept out from beneath the bridge and stalked forward. He ducked beneath the longest grass and crept along the shore.

A shadow skirted the water. Crookedjaw flexed his claws and crouched down, ready to attack.

“Crookedjaw?”

Graypool?

He straightened up. “What are you doing here?”

She dashed forward to greet him. “It’s spooky out here at night!” Her eyes were glittering.

“I thought I told you to stay behind and look after Fallowtail.”

“Echomist’s with her,” Graypool mewed.

Crookedjaw’s paws pricked with irritation. “It’s bad enough that I lost Willowbreeze!” he growled. “I don’t want to lose you, too!”

“You won’t!” Graypool’s claws scraped the pebbles. “I’m here to help get her back!”

“Go home!”

“No!”

Crookedjaw hissed with frustration. “Fine. Follow me.”

Graypool jumped up the bank into the willow trees.

“What did I just say?” Crookedjaw yanked her back down by her tail. “Follow me! And stay close.”

He padded quietly back to the bridge, leaped up onto the shadowy timbers, and tasted the air. The pelt-dens were noisy with Twolegs mumbling and yowling.

Graypool snorted. “Don’t they ever go to sleep?”

Crookedjaw beckoned her on with a flick of his muzzle. “At least they’re inside,” he whispered. “Let’s see if we can figure out which one Willowbreeze is in.”

Heart pounding, Crookedjaw padded across the field, the soft grass stroking his belly fur. Graypool followed, her paw steps no more than a faint whisper on the grass. They halted beside the nearest pelt-den and began sniffing the edge. Ducking down, Crookedjaw caught a glimpse inside. It was chaotic, with brightly colored piles heaped everywhere and Twolegs squatting in the small space between. Countless scents bathed his nose, strong and startling.

“Here!” Graypool hissed from the next pelt-den.

“I thought I told you to stay close!” He darted over to her and sniffed the edge of the den. Hope flared in his belly. Willowbreeze! Her scent was thickly laced with fear, but it was fresh.

Suddenly a Twoleg moved in the den, its shadow engulfing them as it swept over the grass. Crookedjaw froze, feeling Graypool trembling against him. Then the shadow swooped away as the Twoleg settled down.

“We’ve got to go in there,” Graypool whispered shakily.

“Yes.” Crookedjaw poked his head under the stretched pelt and peered inside. It was more chaotic than the last den, the colorful piles bigger and brighter. Good. They’d be able to hide easily. He squeezed under the pelt and crouched behind a heap of Twoleg clutter. Graypool slid in after him. Her breath was fast, her hackles high.