by Erin Hunter
Goosefeather glanced at her, amusement lighting his gaze. “I may be an old fool,” he rasped. “But at least my heart is true.” He padded past Crookedjaw and stopped in front of Mapleshade. “My heart isn’t soured by bitterness or guided by revenge.”
Crookedjaw padded closer. “What do you mean?”
Goosefeather ignored him. “You should tread the path you’re following with care, Mapleshade. A destiny shouldn’t be played with like prey.”
Mapleshade barged past the old ThunderClan medicine cat. “Ignore him, Crookedjaw. His mind has been addled by too many visions.”
Crookedjaw met her gaze. “At least he speaks to me like an equal,” he challenged.
Mapleshade broke into a purr. “You’re not upset because I reminded you of your promise, are you?” She pressed against him, guiding him forward, away from Goosefeather. “Maybe I was a little harsh, but I was frightened that you were forgetting your destiny. I want you to be the greatest warrior RiverClan has ever known—the greatest any Clan will ever know. Willowpaw is a sweet, pretty cat and I’m not surprised you’re fond of her. But the sweetest traps are often the most dangerous. She will soften you and sway you from your course.” She halted. “You do still want to be a great warrior, don’t you?”
“Yes!” Crookedjaw cried.
“Very good.” Mapleshade stopped him with a flick of her tail. “That is all I ask.” She padded on into the mist, her voice trailing after her. “Everything I do, Crookedjaw, I do with your best interests at heart.”
Chapter 20
A warm wind set the four great oaks whispering above the Clans. Thick with foliage now, they’d lost their leaf-bare starkness. After moons of going to Gatherings, Crookedjaw had learned the names and pelts of most of the other Clans and, with the truce, he felt comfortable moving among them. Besides, the warmer weather had smoothed tempers. He followed his Clanmates into the clearing where they melted into the chattering flock of cats. Owlfur and Brightsky joined a group of warriors who were comparing apprentices loudly.
“It’s been a good batch in ThunderClan this year,” Adderfang boasted.
Crookedjaw watched as Brambleberry hailed the medicine cats gathered below the Great Rock. “Featherwhisker!” She greeted Goosefeather’s apprentice first, touching her muzzle to his head before turning to the others.
Ottersplash headed straight for Patchpelt, a ThunderClan warrior. “Has Leopardfoot kitted yet?” she asked.
Seeing Ottersplash’s round belly, Crookedjaw wondered if she wouldn’t beat Leopardfoot to it. She hadn’t moved to the nursery yet but surely she had to be expecting kits? Even in newleaf, no RiverClan cat got that fat. He stopped beside Oakheart. “Why do she-cats always put off going to the nursery till the last minute?” Both Shimmerpelt and Lakeshine had waited a moon.
Oakheart shrugged. “You’d think they’d like lying around all day having fresh-kill brought to them.”
Paws scuffed the ground behind him. Crookedjaw smelled Rainflower’s scent. “Has it occurred to you that they might enjoy helping their Clan?” she pointed out. “Wouldn’t you find it hard to give up being a warrior?”
Oakheart sniffed. “I’m just glad I don’t have to sleep in the nursery,” he meowed. “I had to stick my paws in my ears last night. Sunkit and Frogkit were mewling their ears off.”
“Hi, Poppydawn.” Crookedjaw nodded to a dark red ThunderClan she-cat as she passed. “Are Sweetpaw, Rosepaw, and Thistlepaw here?”
“No.” Poppydawn sighed. “Thistlepaw’s in trouble with Smallear again.”
Windflight, her mate, shook his head. “Sweetpaw and Rosepaw stayed behind to cheer him up.”
Crookedjaw purred. “They sound loyal.”
Poppydawn dipped her head as Crookedjaw praised her kits. “They are,” she meowed proudly.
Tanglewhisker trotted past them. “Mumblefoot!” he called to the ThunderClan elder.
“Wait for me!” Birdsong hurried after him as her mate greeted Mumblefoot and Whiteberry, a WindClan elder.
Oakheart watched the old cats. “They’d talk the night away if they could,” he joked. He caught Crookedjaw’s eye. “So, how does it feel to be a warrior instead of an apprentice at the Gathering?”
Crookedjaw flicked his tail happily. He was the equal of any cat here. “It feels great.”
Willowpaw broke away from a knot of apprentices demonstrating their latest moves. “Graypaw can be such a show-off!” She glanced sharply back at her sister, who was twisting in the air like a salmon trying to climb a waterfall.
Crookedjaw fizzed with mischief. “Why don’t you go and show them how she snores?”
“I’m not sure they’re ready for that,” Willowpaw returned, purring.
Rainflower beckoned Oakheart. “Have you met Talltail yet? He’ll be WindClan’s leader one day. You should get to know him.” As she led him away, Crookedjaw spotted Bluepaw. He hadn’t seen her since the battle. His nose stung as he remembered the wounds she’d inflicted. Not bad for a ThunderClan cat. He padded toward her. “You fought well.”
She flattened her ears. “I fight even better now that I’m a warrior. My name is Bluefur.”
He broke into a purr. “I’ve got my warrior name, too!”
“Crookedjaw?”
He purred. “How did you guess?”
“Because your tail’s still straight.”
As she joked with him, he felt a prick of guilt. She had no idea that RiverClan planned to reclaim Sunningrocks as soon as the moon had waned. He pushed away the thought. She was a rival, pure and simple.
A yowl sounded from the Great Rock. “Let the Gathering begin.”
Pinestar stood at the edge of the stone, moonlight gleaming in his pelt. Hailstar was silhouetted behind him with Heatherstar and Cedarstar. Crookedjaw was swept forward beside Bluefur as the Clans crowded around the rock. Pinestar stepped back and Cedarstar took his place.
“Newleaf has brought prey and warmth, but also more kittypets straying across the borders,” the ShadowClan leader announced.
Ottersplash lifted her muzzle. “They hide in their cozy nests all leaf-bare and forget that the woods are ours,” she agreed.
Just like Twolegs. Crookedjaw sighed. The field downriver was already filling up with their pelt-dens.
The ThunderClan leader stepped forward. “We intend to increase patrols.” He glared at Hailstar. “To warn off any intruders!”
Did he know about RiverClan’s plan to reset the boundaries? Growls rumbled uncertainly among the RiverClan cats.
Raggedpelt, ShadowClan’s deputy, responded first. “No ShadowClan cat has crossed your border in moons.”
Hawkheart called from the cluster of medicine cats. “WindClan has stayed to our side of Fourtrees!”
Hailstar’s hackles lifted. “Are you accusing RiverClan of crossing your scent line?”
Crookedjaw lashed his tail. In less than a moon it would be RiverClan’s scent line!
Pinestar shrugged. “I’m not accusing any cat of anything. But ThunderClan will be stepping up patrols from now on.” He flexed his claws. “Better safe than sorry.”
Why was Pinestar stirring up trouble at such a peaceful Gathering? Crookedjaw felt Bluefur stiffen beside him. “Why start accusing the Clans of trespassing?” he called. “We were talking about kittypets!”
Oakheart’s growl sounded behind him. “ThunderClan cats always were a bunch of kittypet friends!”
Adderfang whipped his head around, eyes blazing. “Who are you calling kittypet friends?”
Oakheart met the ThunderClan warrior’s gaze steadily. “Have you got something to say, fish-breath?”
Heatherstar called from the Great Rock. “In the name of StarClan, stop!” She looked up at the wisps of clouds streaking Silverpelt. Some of the stars were already hidden. Muttering, the Clans fell into a prickly silence.
The WindClan leader raised her muzzle. “Kittypets rarely reach our borders.”
Talltail called from below. “They’r
e too slow to chase rabbits anyway.”
“And squirrels,” Smallear added.
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the Clans but pelts were still ruffled. Crookedjaw felt Bluefur shift her paws. ThunderClan must suspect that we’re planning something.
He was relieved when Hailstar padded to the front of Great Rock again. “Enough of kittypets,” he yowled. “RiverClan has a new warrior.” He nodded to his Clan. “Crookedjaw!”
Crookedjaw looked up. He’d forgotten he was going to be introduced formally to the Clans. He puffed out his chest as the Clans chanted his warrior name, and joined in to welcome Bluefur as Pinestar called out hers. But the cheers were halfhearted. The warmth of the Gathering had evaporated and it broke up in frosty silence.
Crookedjaw joined his Clanmates milling at the bottom of the slope. He paced around his brother while Tanglewhisker and Birdsong caught up. “Do you think Pinestar suspects we’re going to take back Sunningrocks?”
Oakheart narrowed his eyes. “He was acting strange, but how could he know?”
“Perhaps Goosefeather’s had a sign?”
Shellheart cut in. “Pinestar’s a wily old cat,” he murmured. “He’s up to something, but no cat’s crossed his borders. He’s just stirring up trouble for his own reasons.”
“What did Bluefur say?” Oakheart asked.
“Bluefur?” Why did he want to know about Bluefur?
“You were talking to her.” Oakheart shrugged. “I just wondered if she gave anything away.”
“No.”
“Didn’t you feel weird talking to her, knowing we’re planning an attack?” Oakheart prompted.
“My loyalty’s to RiverClan, not Bluefur.”
“I guess.” Oakheart’s eyes darkened. “But I kind of felt sorry for her.”
Crookedjaw bristled. “Don’t be soft on our enemies!” He felt a rush of pride. I hope Mapleshade’s listening.
As they approached camp, Crookedjaw guessed that something was wrong. They usually returned from Gatherings to a sleeping camp. But tonight anxious mews sounded from beyond the reeds.
A shadow moved on the path. “Have you seen Beetlenose and Voleclaw?” Petaldust was pacing outside the camp.
“Why? What’s wrong?” Hailstar pulled up sharply, the patrol stumbling to a halt around him.
Petaldust looked frantic. “They went to fetch you!”
Hailstar shook his head. “We came back by the waterfall.” He turned and nodded to Shellheart and Owlfur. “Go and find them before they run into a ThunderClan patrol. After tonight’s speech, Pinestar will shred them if he catches them on ThunderClan territory, truce or no truce.”
As Shellheart and Owlfur dashed away, Brambleberry pushed through the entrance to the clearing. “Is it the kits?” she called.
Crookedjaw raced after her. Mudfur was pacing in front of the nursery. Echomist and Softwing were huddled near him in urgent, whispered conversation.
“You’re back!” Echomist leaped to her paws.
Troutclaw sat bleary-eyed at the bottom of the slope. “So much fuss over a kitting.”
Brambleberry’s ears twitched. “Shimmerpelt’s kitting already?”
Echomist circled the medicine cat. “She started just before moonhigh. Lakeshine and Piketooth are with her.” The pale she-cat shook her head. “It’s too early, isn’t it?”
Brambleberry didn’t answer. “Has there been any bleeding?” she asked calmly.
“No.”
“Good.” Brambleberry padded past her toward the nursery.
“Do you need herbs?” Echomist called after her.
Brambleberry shook her head. “Only StarClan can help her, I’m afraid.” She hopped into the round reed den.
“I hope she’s all right.” Willowpaw was pacing around Softwing.
Lakeshine popped her head out of the nursery. “She needs water.”
“I’ll get it!” Willowpaw dashed to the reed bed. Brightsky raced to join her and together they pulled up a clump of dripping moss from the river’s edge. They carried it back to the nursery and passed it to Lakeshine waiting at the entrance.
“I need honey!” Brambleberry called from the nursery.
“Okay!” Birdsong headed for the medicine den.
Crookedjaw exchanged glances with Oakheart as Willowpaw passed him, her jaws dripping with another mouthful of moss. “Honey?”
“It’ll give her energy.”
Willowpaw’s mew was so muffled he could hardly make out her words. Crookedjaw turned to Oakheart, feeling helpless. “We could start collecting bulrushes to make a training wall for the kits?” he suggested.
Oakheart purred. “It’s a bit early for that.”
“There must be something we can do!”
Timberfur caught his eye. “The warrior code doesn’t cover kitting,” he meowed sympathetically. “We can just wait and hope.”
“Unless you want to go in and help,” Rippleclaw muttered.
Crookedjaw shuddered. “No thanks.”
Paws sounded outside camp and Shellheart ducked through the entrance, leading Owlfur, Beetlenose, and Voleclaw. “They made it to Fourtrees and back without meeting anyone.”
Crookedjaw’s whiskers twitched. “You should work on your tracking skills, Beetlenose.”
“Finding cats is different from finding prey.” Beetlenose sniffed. “Cats are smarter than prey—at least some are.”
“How’s she doing?” Echomist called into the nursery.
A low groan answered.
“She’ll be fine,” Brambleberry yowled. “Where’s that honey?”
“Coming!” Birdsong was trotting stiffly across the clearing, a lump of honeycomb oozing between her jaws.
Beetlenose flicked his tail. “Hey, Crookedjaw, why don’t you help Brambleberry deliver the kits? You always like to be the center of attention.”
“Why don’t you?” Crookedjaw retorted.
Beetlenose wrinkled his nose. “I’m a warrior, not a medicine cat.”
Willowpaw wove between them. “Why are you so squeamish?” she chided. “Every cat has kits sometime.”
Voleclaw stared at her. “I won’t!”
Beetlenose walked in a circle around Willowpaw. “You just want to have kits with Crookedjaw,” he taunted.
Crookedjaw nudged the black warrior away indignantly. “That’s not true!”
A mewl sounded from the nursery. Lakeshine slid out. “Two kits!” Her eyes shone in the moonlight. “A tom and a she-kit.”
“Come on, Crookedjaw!” Willowpaw raced for the nursery. Reluctantly he followed, sensing Beetlenose’s mocking gaze. Brambleberry’s face showed in the entrance.
“Can we see them?” Willowpaw begged.
“Okay, but you can’t stay long and don’t lick them. They’re still getting used to their mother.”
Willowpaw squeezed inside.
“Come on.” Brambleberry motioned Crookedjaw in with a flick of her muzzle.
“Um . . .”
She rolled her eyes. “Toms!” she sighed. “It’s no scarier than a battle, I promise.”
Crookedjaw heaved himself through the entrance, suddenly aware of how much he’d grown. It was hard to believe he was ever small enough to hop in and out of the nursery without effort. Inside it was stifling. The air was dark and heavy with a strange scent. He could hardly see Shimmerpelt’s crow-black pelt in the shadows, but the mewling of tiny kits filled his ears.
“Look!” Piketooth was crouching beside Shimmerpelt, his eyes shining.
“They’re our new denmates!” Frogkit was peering proudly over the side of his nest.
“We’re going to be the first ones to play with them ever,” Sunkit squeaked beside him.
Willowpaw was staring into Shimmerpelt’s nest. Crookedjaw peered in nervously. Two tiny kits wriggled against Shimmerpelt’s belly. One was as brown as her father. The other had a black pelt as smoky as mist on the river at night.
“Here are Blackkit and Skykit,” Shimmerpelt m
urmured.
Skykit raised her muzzle, eyes closed, pink mouth opening to cry. She looked so tiny and helpless, Crookedjaw wanted to wrap his tail around her.
Willowpaw pressed against him, purring. “Welcome to RiverClan, kits.”
Crookedjaw shifted his paws. “They are kind of cute,” he muttered grudgingly. Will I have my own one day? Is that part of my destiny? No. He sighed. Mapleshade would tell me I’m putting myself ahead of my Clan.
Crookedjaw curled wearily into his nest. Whitefang was already snoring. Oakheart was giving his paws a final wash. Crookedjaw tucked his paw under his nose and closed his eyes. He was desperate for sleep but he couldn’t relax. What if Mapleshade had seen him mooning over the kits with Willowpaw? She’d claw him for sure. He could imagine her hissing that he was a warrior not a queen; that he should be out hunting for his Clan, not huddled in the nursery imagining what it’d be like to sit next to Willowpaw as she cared for their kits.
He pushed away the thought. I’m doing it again! The Clan comes first. The Clan comes first! But why did that mean he couldn’t dream of having a mate and kits? The Clan needed kits. Kits became warriors and his kits would be strong and brave. Why couldn’t he like Willowpaw? I’m allowed to be friends with my Clanmates. More than friends, if I want! It can’t hurt the Clan! His pelt shivered with indignation. How dare Mapleshade tell him how to feel!
“Are you okay?” Oakheart prodded him with a paw.
Crookedjaw kept his nose tucked under his paw. “Fine.”
“Stop fidgeting then,” Oakheart complained. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
Slowing his thoughts, Crookedjaw felt himself drift toward sleep.
When he blinked open his eyes, sunshine was streaming through the entrance to the den. He hadn’t dreamed of Mapleshade! He sat up, a purr rising in his throat.
“What are you so cheerful about?” Oakheart was stretching in his nest. “Have you been dreaming about Willowpaw?”
Crookedjaw hopped out of his nest, flicking Oakheart’s ear with his tail as he passed. “Actually I didn’t dream at all.” Perhaps he’d scared Mapleshade by telling her off before he went to sleep. It felt good to wake up with no scratches or aching muscles. He hadn’t felt so rested in moons.