Tension pricked the air. Oakheart leaned forward. Timberfur stopped pacing.
“Who are you taking?” Rippleclaw demanded.
“Shellheart, Owlfur, Echomist, Timberfur, Softwing, and Rippleclaw . . .” the RiverClan leader began.
And? Crookedjaw’s heart quickened. Surely Hailstar would keep his promise? Oakheart tensed beside him.
“Whitefang and Crookedjaw . . .”
Crookedjaw swallowed a purr of relief.
“Oakheart,” Hailstar went on. “And Voleclaw.” He sat down and curled his tail over his paws.
“Is that it?” Beetlenose lashed his tail.
Hailstar turned his gaze on the young warrior. “The new boundary will need re-marking for many moons to come,” he reminded him. “You’ll get your turn to leave your scent soon enough.”
“Retaking an old boundary’s not the same as marking an existing one!” Beetlenose glared at Crookedjaw. “Why does he get to go when he’s been a warrior for less than a moon? He didn’t even have an assessment. How do we know he can even climb the rocks?”
Crookedjaw leaped forward, bristling. “I climbed Sunningrocks when I was still an apprentice,” he growled.
Shellheart stepped between them. “Not every warrior can be on every patrol,” he soothed.
Beetlenose darted around Shellheart and squared up to Crookedjaw.
Shellheart leaned close. “It might be better for you to meet Beetlenose’s disappointment with words rather than claws,” he whispered in Crookedjaw’s ear.
Crookedjaw narrowed his eyes. You must put your Clan first. Mapleshade’s words rang in his ears. He smoothed his fur. “I’m lucky to have been chosen,” he confessed. “I’m sorry you won’t be with us tonight, Beetlenose.” The words nearly stuck in his throat but he forced them out for the sake of the Clan. Rainflower was glowering beneath the willow. She hadn’t been chosen, either. “I wish I could have the whole Clan beside me.” Crookedjaw nodded to Piketooth and Cedarpelt. “You taught me everything I know.” His paws pricked. He wasn’t used to making speeches. But if he was going to be leader one day, he’d better to get used to it. He met Beetlenose’s gaze. “And I learned lots just watching you train. Your courage gave me courage and your skill sharpened mine.” Not as much as Mapleshade’s. He dipped his head low. “When I leave my mark tonight, I shall be leaving it in your honor.” He looked up, hoping desperately that his words had soothed his Clanmates’ ruffled pelts.
Beetlenose’s eyes glittered. “Okay,” he conceded.
Oakheart padded past Crookedjaw and halted. “That’s right, Crookedjaw,” he purred. “We are a Clan and when one cat fights, he fights for the whole Clan.”
“Well said, son,” Shellheart meowed.
Crookedjaw felt a surge of pride. Was that a glimmer of respect flashing in Rainflower’s narrowed gaze?
Hailstar flicked his tail. “We leave at moonhigh.”
As the gathering broke up, Crookedjaw headed for the nursery. Joy fizzed beneath his pelt. This would be his first warrior mission. But before he left, he had time to help out with some nursery duties.
He called to the kits, sulking behind their mothers. “Who wants a game of hunt the frog?”
The night heron spiraled up and whirled away downstream as the patrol padded on to the shore. Crookedjaw paused at the water’s edge. The river flowed black and smooth past his paws, lit only by stars and the thinnest scratch of moon. Sunningrocks stood on the far bank, dark against a dark sky, timeless as Highstones.
Hailstar slid into the river. As the water closed silently over his back, his Clanmates followed him in. Crookedjaw let the cool water wrap itself around him, relishing the chill after a long day’s wait. Quieter than trout, the patrol swam the river, hardly disturbing the surface of the water. No ThunderClan lookout would have seen or heard them. They probably would be watching the stepping-stones, alert for a flash of pelt or the sound of paws on stone.
Crookedjaw pushed ahead with long, smooth kicks and reached the shore first. Here the river’s edge was little more than a rock shelf jutting out below Sunningrocks and dropping straight down to the bottom of the river. Crookedjaw pulled himself noiselessly from the water, hopping up onto the stone. Oakheart climbed out beside him while Hailstar and Whitefang waded on to the bank a tail-length downstream. Voleclaw flung a paw over the edge of the rock shelf and hauled himself out with Rippleclaw and Softwing on his tail. Echomist and Owlfur followed and Shellheart brought up the rear. They stood dripping on the bank while Hailstar launched himself up the rock.
“Wait here,” he hissed down. “I’ll check for patrols.”
Crookedjaw gazed up at the starlit sky. He remembered last time he was here, fighting Bluepaw and Snowpaw. This time he wasn’t going to be chased from his own territory.
Hailstar’s head appeared over the top. “All clear.”
With a nod Shellheart leaped up the sheer rock face. His Clanmates swarmed after him. Crookedjaw followed, hooking himself up one clawhold at a time, and landing easily on the smooth, flat stone. The rock sparkled with starlight.
Hailstar waved his tail toward the trees crowding the far edge of Sunningrocks. ThunderClan’s territory, every last branch and twig. “You begin that side, Shellheart.” He nodded toward the top of the cliff. “Owlfur, Softwing, Voleclaw, and Rippleclaw, join him.” He glanced at the others. “You come with me.”
As Crookedjaw followed the RiverClan leader over the rock, he let the cool night air bathe his tongue. ThunderClan scent. His pelt pricked.
Stale.
They hadn’t been here for days. He guessed glaring sun was too hot for cats used to forest shade.
Hailstar sprayed the first tree they reached. Crookedjaw winced at the stench. It was strong enough for ThunderClan to smell long before they reached the tree line.
“I want every bush and tree sprayed,” Hailstar ordered.
Crookedjaw crossed the narrow strip of grass and stopped beside a bramble. He marked it, growling. Smell that, ThunderClan! By the time they met back at the cliff top, the forest was drenched in RiverClan scent.
“I want four warriors to stay,” Hailstar announced. “If a ThunderClan patrol comes, challenge them. If there’s a fight, we’ll hear from the camp and send reinforcements.”
Timberfur stepped forward. “I’ll stay.”
“Me too.” Crookedjaw lined up with him.
Hailstar nudged him away. “I want my most experienced warriors to take the first watch.” He glanced at Shellheart. “You stay with Timberfur, Echomist, and Owlfur.”
Crookedjaw’s itched with frustration as he followed Oakheart down the cliff face. He lowered himself paw hold by paw hold until he felt the ground brush his tail-tip. Then he let himself drop and landed lightly beside Whitefang.
The white warrior’s eyes shone. “That was as easy as swallowing a minnow.”
Hailstar nodded. “Let’s go and tell the Clan.”
Their Clanmates were waiting in the starlit clearing. Beetlenose paced beside the reed bed. Lilystem stared expectantly from beneath the willow. Even the queens had slid from the nursery and were lined up, their eyes filled with hope.
“Did you do it?” Lakeshine called.
“Sunningrocks belongs to RiverClan again!” Hailstar announced.
The Clan’s cheers sent roosting birds flapping into the still night air.
Willowpaw hurried over to Crookedjaw. “Did you have to fight?”
“It was easy,” he told her. “There wasn’t a single patrol.”
Beetlenose snorted. “That’s because all of ThunderClan is asleep!”
“They hadn’t been there for days,” Voleclaw added.
“It’s too hot for their delicate forest paws,” Petaldust crowed.
Crookedjaw looked around at his jubilant Clanmates. Was he the only cat who felt that this victory had been too easy?
“I can’t believe they haven’t tried to fight for it.” Oakheart hauled himself onto the topmost boulder of
Sunningrocks. “It’s been two days. We’ll be able to bring the elders up here soon to enjoy the warmth.”
Crookedjaw followed his brother over the edge and surveyed the wide stretch of stone, white now beneath the fierce morning sun. “They might still be waiting to catch us off guard.” He nodded to the RiverClan patrol they’d been sent to relieve. Petaldust and Cedarpelt flicked their tails in welcome. Beetlenose stretched while Mudfur hurried toward them.
“Brightsky’s doing fine,” Crookedjaw told the brown warrior. Had Hailstar hoped to distract Mudfur from Brightsky’s illness by sending him for guard duty? Clearly it hadn’t worked. Mudfur was frowning as he disappeared over the edge of the rock, fast as a fish, and splashed into the river. Why hadn’t StarClan healed Brightsky by now?
Fallowtail and Whitefang clambered onto the rocks as Beetlenose, Cedarpelt, and Petaldust began to climb down.
“Mudfur was in a hurry,” Whitefang panted.
Fallowtail sighed. “I just hope Brightsky’s fever breaks before her kits come.” She called after Petaldust, “Send word if there’s any change.”
“Even if it’s bad news?” Petaldust’s mew echoed up the rock.
“Yes.”
Beetlenose yowled from the foot of the cliff face. “Call if you need help.”
Crookedjaw turned away. “We won’t need help.” Not one marker had been replaced by ThunderClan scent in the two days since they’d set them. ThunderClan seemed to have given in without a fight. Crookedjaw padded across the rock and lay down on its hot, smooth surface.
Oakheart sat beside him, staring into the woods while Fallowtail and Whitefang sniffed along the rim of the rock plateau. White clouds drifted across the sun, sending shadows over the rocks. Crookedjaw stretched, enjoying the sunshine and shade sweeping his pelt. Oakheart began washing.
“I can’t believe it was so easy.” Whitefang sounded as if he’d wanted a battle.
Crookedjaw rolled over. “They may still make us fight for them.”
Below them, bushes rustled at the tree line.
Crookedjaw sat up, bristling. “Did you hear that?”
Fallowtail tasted the air. “ThunderClan,” she whispered.
The patrol was on its paws in a moment, hackles up, staring into the trees. Crookedjaw took a long breath, letting the air wash his tongue. There were definitely ThunderClan cats moving among the undergrowth, but not enough to make an attack patrol. He detected one familiar scent.
“Bluefur.” Oakheart was already bounding down the rocks.
“Careful!” Fallowtail warned.
Crookedjaw shook his head. “They won’t attack,” he reassured her. “It’s just a border patrol.”
Oakheart was peering through the trees. His ears pricked as though he’d spotted prey. Then Crookedjaw heard a vicious hiss and the yowl of a ThunderClan warrior calling to her Clanmate. “Bluefur!”
Oakheart turned away, pelt smooth, eyes glittering.
Whitefang jumped down the rocks to meet him. “Did you see anything?” he called.
“Just a young ThunderClan warrior being nosy.” Oakheart climbed back up the rocks and sat down to lick his paws.
“Just a young warrior?” Crookedjaw remembered Oakheart talking about Bluefur at the Gathering. “It was Bluefur, wasn’t it?”
Oakheart ran his wet paw over his ear. “So?”
“Was she upset about losing Sunningrocks?”
“I guess so.” Oakheart sniffed. “I didn’t ask. Why would I want to speak to a ThunderClan cat?”
“You seemed like you were really interested in finding out all about her after the last Gathering.”
His brother stopped washing. “It’s not me who moons over she-cats!” Oakheart shot back. “You follow Willowpaw around like a kit following its mother.”
Crookedjaw flushed. “I do not!”
Oakheart nodded. “Yeah, right.” He sounded unconvinced.
Crookedjaw narrowed his eyes and leaped on his brother. “I’m just helping her with her training!”
Oakheart grabbed his shoulders and rolled him over. “That’s one way of putting it!”
They tussled, squawking, on the warm rock.
“Hey!” Fallowtail grabbed Crookedjaw’s scruff and pulled him off. “We’re supposed to be guarding our territory,” she growled. “Not showing ThunderClan how we play fight!”
Crookedjaw sat up, his fur ruffled. “Sorry.”
“Fallowtail!” Whitefang was calling from the forest’s edge. “More ThunderClan warriors are coming!” He dropped into a crouch as Fallowtail, Oakheart, and Crookedjaw leaped down Sunningrocks to join him.
Crookedjaw squinted into the green shadows. He could see pelts flashing between the trunks. Anger flared in his chest. No ThunderClan cat was going to set a paw on his territory. Now that RiverClan had reclaimed it, he’d fight to the death to keep it. He curled his lip and hissed into the forest. The undergrowth swished and the pelts melted away.
Fox-hearts!
Crookedjaw felt power pulsing in his paws. He was ready to beat any cat who threatened his Clan. Mapleshade was right: Being loyal to his Clan felt better than anything else in the whole world!
Chapter 22
“Keep your tail down!” Crookedjaw pressed Willowpaw’s tail to the ground and nudged her forepaws forward. “Reach as far as you can.”
“Oomph.” The breath puffed out of Willowpaw as he adjusted her ribs, flattening them to the ground.
“Now, leap!” Crookedjaw ordered.
“Leap?” Willowpaw was splayed like a dead frog. She twisted her head around and stared at him. “I can hardly move.”
Crookedjaw sat up. “I’m only trying to help.” The sun was rising over the trees on the far side of the river. Willowpaw’s assessment was due to start any moment.
She struggled to her paws. “Thanks,” she mewed, shaking out her legs. “But I’m not sure if you’re cut out to be a mentor.”
“Don’t say that!” Crookedjaw’s pelt rippled with dismay. He really wanted to help her pass the first time. “I’m just trying to make you see how important it is to stay low if you’re stalking birds.”
“Owlfur won’t make us stalk birds,” Willowpaw argued. “I’m training to be a RiverClan warrior, not ThunderClan.”
“When the river freezes, birds are all we can catch,” Crookedjaw reminded her.
“But I’ve never caught a bird!” Willowpaw’s eyes sparked with sudden panic. “You don’t think he’ll actually test me on that? Owlfur only covered basic land-hunting techniques. He doesn’t like catching leaf-bare prey when the river’s full of fish! He said it was a waste.” She dropped back into a crouch. “Let’s try again!” She flattened her tail and pressed her muzzle into the grass, then sat up wailing. “I can’t do it! I’m going to fail!”
“No, you’re not!” Crookedjaw circled her, trying to remember what Mapleshade had taught him. His pads itched with frustration. Mapleshade had concentrated on battle moves. He thought harder. Had he caught birds with Cedarpelt?
Oh, yes!
“I know!” He realized in a flash what was wrong with her crouch. “Your forepaws should be tucked under your shoulders, not stretched out. That way you’ll get a better jump.”
Willowpaw dropped again, drawing her paws beneath her. “That feels better.” With a sharp push, she shot forward and stretched up, skimming a clump of marsh grass.
“Excellent!” Crookedjaw purred.
“Willowpaw!” Graypaw’s mew sounded from the other side of the reeds. “Owlfur’s ready!”
Willowpaw’s eyes stretched wide. “Oh, StarClan!” Worry clouded her gaze. “I hope I pass.”
“Hurry up!” Graypaw urged. “Piketooth’s started my assessment!”
“You’ll be great!” Crookedpaw promised, but Willowpaw was already dashing away. “Good luck!” he called after her.
As she disappeared into the rattling stalks, he headed for the river, too restless to go back to camp. It was too early to fish, but he c
ould swim. It’d cool him down. He slid into the water and let it carry him downstream, rolling on to his back as he drifted past the camp. Through the reeds he could see flashes of pelt and hear squeals as the kits charged across the clearing. He felt a prick of sadness. He remembered playing with Oakkit and Beetlekit, Volekit and Petalkit. Things had changed so much since then.
He pushed away the thought. He was a warrior now. And one day he’d be the greatest leader RiverClan had ever known. What more could he possibly want? He struck out and swam for the bank. Climbing out near the stepping-stones, he could hear Birdsong’s mew drifting down from Sunningrocks. Hailstar had decided it was safe for the elders to start visiting them again.
“It’s so good to feel the warmth of the stone on my pelt,” she rasped.
Tanglewhisker answered, purring. “There’s nothing like it for reaching every ache.”
Crookedjaw padded up the shore and followed a narrow trail into the spindly trees. The sun was shining but he could taste a change in the wind. It was scented with heather from the moors. Rain was on the way.
The grass swished ahead of him. Crookedjaw froze. A pelt was moving between the trees, keeping low.
Owlfur.
Crookedjaw crouched and held his breath as the brown-and-white warrior passed. He must be assessing Willowpaw! Was she nearby? Darting behind a trunk, he crouched down, out of sight. Paw steps scampered toward him. Crookedjaw’s heart quickened as he waited for Willowpaw’s pelt to come flashing past. But it was Graypaw heading toward the river, scowling with concentration.
Crookedjaw hid as she passed, then pulled himself up the tree, straining to see over the grass. There! Willowpaw’s pale tabby pelt was pushing through a clump of ferns. The feathery green fronds curled over and trailed along her spine. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. She must be stalking something.
A blackbird!
She padded closer as the bird struggled to pull a worm from the ground.
Pounce! Crookedjaw willed her on but Willowpaw was taking her time. She dropped into a crouch, flattening her tail, tucking her forepaws under her shoulders, and pressing her belly against the ground. Crookedjaw felt a flicker of pride. I taught her that. He tensed as the blackbird plucked the worm free.