Crookedstar’s Promise

Willowbreeze leaned down and touched her muzzle to his. “Well, you’re awake now.” She padded out of the den and Crookedjaw sat up. Why couldn’t he find Mapleshade? He flexed his claws. Had something happened to her? This was StarClan! Cats lived forever there, didn’t they? He ducked out of the den, looking around the clearing, relieved when he saw Oakheart picking sleepily through the frosty remains of the fresh-kill pie. Poor Bluefur. Losing a littermate must be heartbreaking.

Shellheart was beneath the willow, organizing the day’s patrols. Cedarpelt, Timberfur, Mudfur, and Petaldust crowded around him. Beetlenose was washing, but his ears pricked when he heard his name. Voleclaw was staring wistfully at the fresh-kill pile while Rippleclaw murmured in Graypool’s ear.

Crookedjaw called across the clearing. “Can I hunt this morning?” His breath billowed in the air. He wondered if there’d be ice on the river.

Shellheart nodded. “Take Mudfur and Petaldust.” He waved the two warriors toward Crookedjaw with a flick of his tail.

“Can Oakheart come, too?” Crookedjaw asked.

Oakheart looked up. “Come where?”

“Hunting.”

“Great!” Oakheart picked up a fish and headed for the nursery. “I’ll just deliver this.”

Willowbreeze ducked out of the elders’ den and padded down the slope. Her paws suddenly slid on the frost and she skidded clumsily to the bottom. “The kits will be happy.” She joined Crookedjaw. “They’ve got an ice slide to play on.”

“Ice?” Frogkit was already tearing across the clearing. He bounded up the slope, then half-ran, half-slid down it, squealing with delight.

Crookedjaw purred at Willowbreeze. “I’m taking Oakheart, Petaldust, and Mudfur hunting,” he told her. “Do you want to come?”

She shook her head. “I promised Birdsong I’d help her find moss for her nest. She nearly froze last night.”

“Come on, Crookedjaw!” Mudfur was pacing the entrance in a cloud of his own breath.

“See you later.” Crookedjaw brushed muzzles with Willowbreeze and hurried after Petaldust and Oakheart as they made for the gap in the reeds. Outside camp, the air was even colder.

“I hope this is just a snap,” Petaldust sighed. “It’s still leaf-fall.”

They passed the stepping-stones and followed the shore downstream, past the alder grove and along the bank where ferns and hawthorns grew right up to the water’s edge. Splashing through the shallows, Crookedjaw led the way to a rocky outcrop that jutted out into the river. The rocks smoothed into a flat stretch of stone only a whisker higher than the water.

Crookedjaw sat close to the edge and peered down into the river as it swirled past. Deep and clear, he could see through the brown water right down to the weed streaming on the riverbed. A fish slid past, too deep to reach, but he waited and another followed soon after, closer to the surface. Excitement flashed in his belly as he darted a paw into the water, gasping at the chill. He hooked out the fish and flicked it on to the stone. With a quick lunge he gave it a killing bite and turned back for another, anticipation tingling in his paws.

“Nice catch.” Oakheart crouched beside him, ready for his own. He stared at the water speeding below his nose, muscles bunched in anticipation. Then, with a mew of satisfaction, he plunged in a lightning-fast paw and snatched out a trout.

Mudfur leaned over the water. “I want to catch a carp for Leopardkit,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the water. “It’s her favorite.”

Petaldust plunged in both her front paws. Crookedjaw turned in time to see her lift a struggling pike from the water. It was a tail-length long and thrashing wildly. He sprang over to help but as he grasped the fish, Petaldust lost her balance. With a yelp of surprise she tumbled into the water. As she bobbed, gasping, to the surface, the pike struggled in Crookedjaw’s paws. He pinned it to the stone and killed it with a bite.

Petaldust swam for shore. Padding on to the bank, she shook out her dripping pelt. “Did you get it?” she called.

“It’s fresh-kill now,” Crookedjaw assured her.

Oakheart’s whiskers twitched. “I didn’t know you wanted a swim,” he teased.

Petaldust paced the shore, trying to get warm. “I didn’t realize it was so big!”

Mudfur gave a triumphant mew as he fished a carp from the water.

“Let’s take these back to camp,” Crookedjaw suggested. “Then we can come and catch more.”

Petaldust stared across the river into ThunderClan’s forest. “I wonder why they never catch fish like us?”

Mudfur shrugged. “They’re scared of water. They’d drown if they fell in.”

Oakheart tasted the air. “No fresh markers on their border.” He leaned forward. “I wonder where they are today? There’s usually a warrior or two yowling at us while we’re fishing.”

Crookedjaw’s dream flashed back to him. “They’re probably mourning Snowfur.”

Oakheart snapped his head around, eyes glittering. “What?”

Crookedjaw shrank beneath his pelt. Fish-brain! How am I going to explain this?

“Are you sure?” Petaldust blinked.

Crookedjaw’s thoughts whirled.