Crookedstar’s Promise

“I can see a dog!” Sedgepaw’s wail was suddenly clear. “It’s huge!” Leaves fluttered down around Crookedjaw. “It’s heading this way.”

Crookedjaw’s fur bushed up. The camp! He peered out through the branches. The meadow stretched far below them. Then he saw it. A wide brown shape swerving through the sedge like a fish slipping through river weed. He opened his mouth. Dog-scent bathed his tongue. He glanced back toward the camp. It was well hidden by willow and reeds, but if the dog kept charging this way, he’d burst straight through it. Thinking fast, Crookedjaw scrambled down the tree.

“Stay up there!” he yowled to Sedgepaw. “Don’t come down till I tell you!”

“Did you see it?” Beetlenose was flat against the branch of his tree, ears pricked.

“Yes,” Crookedjaw told him. “Heading this way. We have to lure him away from the camp.”

“What about the apprentices?”

“Tell Reedpaw to stay in the tree.”

Reedpaw was clinging to the next branch. “Can’t we help?”

Crookedjaw hissed. “You’re too small.” There was no time for argument. He dropped to the ground.

Oakheart was still trying to persuade Loudpaw to make his first jump.

“Get him up there,” Crookedjaw ordered. “Fast! There’s a dog heading this way. It’s a big one, too fast for apprentices to outrun. We need to steer it away from the camp.”

Loudpaw scrabbled at the bark while Oakheart nudged him from behind. With a yelp of triumph, the brown apprentice hooked in his claws and began to grapple his way up the slippery trunk.

“Keep going!” Oakheart urged.

Loudpaw fought his way up till he reached a thick branch. With a grunt he threw himself on to it and clung with his forepaws.

Oakheart faced Crookedjaw. “Which way do we go?”

“Into the meadow to get its attention.” Crookedjaw flexed his claws.

Beetlenose was beside them. “Then?”

“We lead it uphill, away from the camp,” Crookedjaw decided. “Right out of our territory.” He stiffened. “One of us needs to get to the camp and warn them!”

“I’ll go!” Reedpaw slithered down the tree.

Beetlenose spun around. “I told you to stay where you were!”

But Reedpaw had already hared away, throwing up clawfuls of grass in his wake.

“He’s fast,” Beetlenose muttered. “He’ll make it.”

“Good.” Crookedjaw scanned the meadow. The dog was pounding closer. “Come on.” He pelted down the slope and dived through the long grass. The dog’s position was fixed in his mind. He raced toward it, seeing nothing but marsh grass. Oakheart was on his tail, Beetlenose at the rear. Swerving through the narrow channels between tussocks, Crookedjaw hurtled blindly on. He opened his mouth, his breath fast, and tasted dog-scent. It bathed his tongue. Heavy paws pounded ahead.

“Ready?” he called to his Clanmates.

As he skidded around a solid clump of grass, dog-stench filled his nose. The dog flashed black and bristling at the edge of his vision. He swerved and headed back toward the beeches. Oakheart’s pelt flickered through the grass beside him. He’d turned and was keeping pace. As Crookedjaw scanned the sedge for Beetlenose, a black pelt burst through a clump of spike-rush and shot past him, taking the lead. The dog yelped with excitement.

“Let’s take him around the top of the beech copse,” Beetlenose yowled.

“Is he following?” Crookedjaw screeched.

“Look behind you!”

Crookedjaw glanced over his shoulder and saw the dog a tail-length behind. It was huge, jaws slavering, teeth glinting. Its shoulders were wide and hard with muscle. Beetlenose pushed ahead and Crookedjaw pelted after him. The dog yowled and pounded more loudly on the ground.

Crookedjaw weaved, quicker on the turns than the dog. Fur spiked, he rounded the top of the beech copse. He prayed that Sedgepaw and Loudpaw had stayed put and that Reedpaw had made it to camp. The ground hardened underpaw as marsh gave way to willow trees. Bursting from the long grass, Crookedjaw saw Oakheart already zigzagging between the spindly trunks. Ferns loomed over them and hawthorn bushes grew in tangled clumps, making it impossible to run in a straight line. As Beetlenose’s paw steps thrummed behind him, Crookedjaw dug his claws against the springy earth and pushed harder. The dog tore the air with a howl as it charged out of the long grass.

“Split up!” Crookedjaw yowled.

Oakheart veered up the slope, Beetlenose shot straight ahead. Crookedjaw swerved toward the river, taking a path around the top of the camp. He glanced back and saw the dog thumping behind him. Flying past the camp, he skimmed a patch of withered bluebells. Blood roared in his ears as he weaved between the blurring trees. The dog thundered behind him, saliva flicking from his muzzle. Crookedjaw skidded on wet moss and lurched sideways, fighting to keep his footing. He could feel the dog’s sharp, hot breath on his tail. His lungs screamed, but terror drove him on.