Crookedstar’s Promise

Where is she? He had so much to ask her. Questions that had been churning in his belly for days, nagging and nagging till he had to have answers. Why had she put Willowbreeze’s life at risk? Why had she clawed him for saving a Clanmate? What about his destiny? When was he going to get his first apprentice? How long till he became deputy? Would he follow Hailstar? Or Shellheart?

Shellheart?

Crookedjaw stumbled to a halt. Who, if he became leader, would have to die over and over before Crookedjaw took his place? Crookedjaw felt sick. It was bad enough waiting for Hailstar to lose his last life. He didn’t want to count off his own father’s deaths while he waited for his destiny to come true.

“Higher!”

A sharp growl sliced through the mist.

“Faster! Do you want to die at the paws of a common warrior?”

Crookedjaw heard a grunt and the thud of hard muscle hitting earth. Did Mapleshade have another pupil? He crept forward, ears pricked. Ducking behind a thornbush, he saw two shapes moving in a narrow clearing. As the mist swirled away, two pelts showed: one ragged, one sleek.

The ragged mentor wasn’t Mapleshade. It was a cat he’d never seen before. But who was the sleek tom? Crookedjaw searched his memory. There was something familiar in the wide, muscled shoulders and the dark tabby pelt.

“Do it again!” the ragged cat snarled. “Do it better!”

The sleek tom took a short run up and leaped, higher than Crookedjaw had seen any cat jump. With a flick of his tail, he twisted in the air, kicking out his hind legs, claws splayed while he punched the air with his forepaw. He hit the ground with a thump, landing on his side. Crookedjaw felt the jolt, gasping as though the breath had been knocked from him instead of from the tom.

The ragged cat was on his apprentice in an instant, battering his head with a flurry of swipes. Crookedjaw flinched as blood sprayed from the torn fur. The tom struggled free and met his mentor’s blows with vicious, slicing jabs.

The ragged cat ducked away. “That was better!”

Blood welled on both cats’ muzzles and, as Crookedjaw peered closer, he could see the tom’s pelt was laced with slash marks.

“Let me try it again, Shredtail,” the tom growled.

Again? Crookedjaw swallowed. He thought his training sessions with Mapleshade had been brutal, but they were never this violent. These cats acted as though shedding blood meant nothing.

In a flash, Crookedjaw recognized him. Thistleclaw! He’d seen the ThunderClan warrior at Gatherings.

Thistleclaw took another run up, leaping once more and twisting. This time he finished the move before landing on his paws. Yowling with triumph, he reared and slashed the air. “This is it!” He faced his mentor. “My time is coming.”

Shredtail nodded. “You’ve worked hard for it, Thistleclaw.”

“And I’m going to get it. I’ll be deputy before the next full moon.”

“Are you sure Sunstar won’t soften and choose Bluefur instead?” Shredtail snarled.

Thistleclaw narrowed his eyes. “He’d be a fool if he did,” he growled. “Bluefur is weak. I bet she’s whimpering for Snowfur right now.”

“Grief can bring strength,” Shredtail warned.

“But Snowfur’s body is hardly cold,” Thistleclaw pointed out. “Bluefur will be breaking her heart for moons. Which will give me a chance to make Sunstar see that I’m the only one capable of following him.”

“Snowfur was your mate.” Shredtail narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you grieving, too?”

“Of course!” Thistleclaw slashed at a moss-coated tree. “Snowfur shouldn’t have died! It should’ve been Bluefur on the Thunderpath instead!”

“What about your kit?” Shredtail pressed. “Your son?”

Thistleclaw curled his lip. “He takes after his mother,” he spat. “There’s no fire in his belly, no hunger for battle.” He swung his gaze around to his mentor. “Why are we talking?” he snarled. “I came to train, not to talk.” Rearing up, he strode forward on his hind paws, slicing the air with his tail tucked in tight.

Crookedjaw backed away, cold to his bones. He’d never seen a hunger for blood like this, not in the battle for Sunningrocks, not even when Hailstar nearly killed Reedfeather. He turned and ran, scanning the trees as they flashed by, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mapleshade. He skimmed bushes and swerved around trees, running faster and faster, praying he found her.

“Crookedjaw!” Paws shook him awake.

“What?” He lifted his head.

Willowbreeze sat beside him, her pelt still ruffled by sleep. “You kicked me!” she mewed. “Were you having a bad dream?”

“Kind of.” He stretched in his nest. The small den they had woven into the crook of the tree was warm and cozy.