Hailstar lifted his muzzle to the sky. “Sunningrocks is ours!” he yowled.
The ThunderClan warriors gathered around Adderfang and steered their wounded Clanmate toward the trees. Crookedjaw watched them disappear into the undergrowth, feeling a prickle of satisfaction. Adderfang had underestimated Mudfur. He glanced at the old RiverClan warrior, expecting to see triumph light his gaze. But Mudfur just turned away and began to limp slowly home.
Chapter 31
“Why did you fight alone?” Rippleclaw hissed at Mudfur as Brambleberry bustled around the injured warrior, trying to smooth ointment into his wounds.
Mudfur shook Brambleberry away. “Why risk hurting more warriors? Too much blood has been spilled for those rocks already.” He glanced across the clearing to Leopardpaw. “Battles only seem to lead to more battles. It is bad enough we fight, but we teach our kits to fight and then we watch them get hurt.”
Crookedjaw watched his Clanmates through narrowed eyes. They’d hurried to hear Hailstar’s battle report, clustering beneath the willow, faces puzzled, paws shifting. Crookedjaw was relieved that he wasn’t the only one worried by the idea of a single warrior fighting a battle for a whole Clan. Mudfur refused to go to the medicine cat’s den so Brambleberry was treating him out here, muttering as she tried to close up the deeper scratches.
Timberfur scowled at Hailstar. “Why did you let him?”
Hailstar met his gaze. “I trust him the same way that I trust all my warriors.”
“He did win Sunningrocks for us,” Softwing pointed out.
Tanglewhisker sank his claws into the dusty ground. “But RiverClan has never fought that way.”
“And we shouldn’t start now,” Troutclaw put in.
Crookedjaw lashed his tail. “It’s cowardly.”
Mudfur snapped his head around.
“You’re not a coward,” Crookedjaw added quickly. “But I felt like a coward watching a Clanmate fight without helping him.”
Shellheart stepped forward. His paws were muddy from burying Rainflower. “No warrior wants to feel like he can’t help his Clan.”
Hailstar gazed uneasily at Mudfur. “Did you doubt the courage of your Clanmates?”
“Never!” Mudfur bristled. “But I’d rather spill my own blood than theirs.”
“It mustn’t happen again!” Cedarpelt shouldered his way to the front of the crowd. “We’re a Clan. We must fight as a Clan.”
“Cedarpelt’s right.” Hailstar dipped his head. “Fighting beside our Clanmates gives us all strength.”
Ottersplash pushed forward. “Letting one warrior fight makes the rest of us look weak!”
Hailstar signaled for silence with a flick of his tail. “Mudfur showed great courage today, and RiverClan thanks him. He returned Sunningrocks to us. But from now on, we fight as a Clan. No warrior will go into battle alone. Where one fights, we all fight!”
“RiverClan! RiverClan!” The Clan burst into cheers. Relief washed Crookedjaw’s pelt. Mudfur closed his eyes, letting Brambleberry tend to his wounds.
“Can we go to Sunningrocks now?” Reedpaw begged Beetlenose.
Skypaw excitedly circled Softwing. “I’ve never been there!”
“Later,” Softwing told her. “When you’ve cleared out Birdsong’s nest.”
Sunpaw crouched behind Frogpaw. “Watch out, ThunderClan!” She leaped on her littermate. “No one takes Sunningrocks and gets away with it!” They fell, tumbling, to the ground.
Crookedjaw padded to Shellheart’s side. “Are you okay?” He glanced at his father’s torn and dirt-filled claws.
Shellheart nodded. “I’m fine.”
Crookedjaw glanced at Oakheart’s den. “I don’t know if Oakheart will speak to me again.” His brother was still sleeping, oblivious to the victory at Sunningrocks.
Shellheart ran his tail along Crookedjaw’s flank. “He’s just angry. It’ll pass with the grief.” His eyes glistened. “You probably don’t remember how loving she could be.”
I do. Pain jabbed Crookedjaw as, for a moment, he was a kit again, with Rainflower watching him play, pride lighting her eyes.
Shellheart went on. “She wasn’t—”
“Hailstar!” Mudfur’s call interrupted them.
Brambleberry was wrapping cobwebs around the injured warrior’s hind leg. “Hold still! Do you want to fall apart next time you go into battle?”
“That won’t happen,” Mudfur meowed calmly. “I don’t want to be a warrior anymore.”
What?
Tanglewhisker and Troutclaw turned back from the bottom of the slope, ears pricking. Timberfur paused from sorting through the fresh-kill pile and glanced over. He beckoned Rippleclaw and Owlfur with his tail.
Hailstar blinked. He was still sitting under the willow tree, watching his Clanmates drift back to their duties. “Really, Mudfur? But you’re too young to move to the elders’ den. You didn’t become a ’paw till after me.”
Mudfur shook his head. “I don’t want to become an elder,” he explained. “I want to be a medicine cat.”
Brambleberry sat back on her haunches, cobweb trailing from her paw. “A medicine cat?”
Mudfur dipped his head. “If you’re willing to train me.”
Brambleberry stood. “I was hoping one of the ’paws would take an interest,” she admitted. “There’s always so much to do, I could use an apprentice.”
Hailstar stared at his old friend. “Are you sure about this?” The fur twitched along his spine.
Mudfur held his gaze. “I’ve lost the taste for battle. I’m no use to my Clan as a warrior now.”
“But you fought for the whole Clan this morning.”
“I fought to save them from fighting,” Mudfur meowed. “But they want to fight.” He sighed. “I’ve unsheathed my claws too many times.” He turned to Brambleberry. “I want to save lives, not destroy them.”
Brightsky. Crookedjaw guessed the warrior was still mourning his mate. Watching her die, he must have felt as powerless as I did on Sunningrocks today.
Softwing leaned toward Timberfur. “Can he do that? Change his mind about what he wants to be?”
Timberfur shrugged. “I don’t know. It hasn’t happened in RiverClan before, as far as I know.”
“He trained as a warrior!” Beetlenose was frowning.
Hailstar met the young tom’s gaze. “And he’s served his Clan well. Now, if he wishes, he can train as a medicine cat and serve his Clan in a different way.”
“Thank you.” Mudfur nodded and began to pad away.
“Wait.” Shellheart stopped him. “I have an announcement to make, too.”
Crookedjaw tensed. What now?
“I wish to move to the elders’ den.”
Hailstar blinked, startled.
Rippleclaw darted forward. “What in the name of StarClan is going on? Is every warrior deserting us?”
Mudfur weaved around Shellheart. “We’re not deserting anyone. Hailstar will choose another deputy, as brave and loyal as Shellheart. RiverClan is like the river. Always flowing, yet never changing.”
Hailstar sat down, suddenly looking old. “Shellheart, I respect your decision. You have spent many seasons serving your Clan. Of course you may join the elders.”
Wasn’t the RiverClan leader going to argue? Crookedjaw stared at his father. Why hadn’t Shellheart warned him? Did Oakheart know?
Shellheart dipped his head. “Thank you, Hailstar,” he mewed formally. “A younger deputy will make RiverClan stronger.”
Willowbreeze brushed against Crookedjaw. “Your father has to do what he thinks is right.”
But what if he’s wrong?
“He’s been looking thin and tired for a while,” she went on.
Has he?
“I thought you’d noticed.” Willowbreeze wrapped her tail around him.
Crookedjaw felt sick. “Is he ill?”
Willowbreeze shrugged. “Probably just slowing down.”
Tanglewhisker padded forward and nud
ged Shellheart. “There’s plenty of room in the den,” he croaked.
Troutclaw beckoned the old deputy with his tail. “Come and see.” He limped toward the slope, his hind leg refusing to bend properly as usual. “You’re going to have to get used to Birdsong snoring, mind you.”
“I think I can cope with that,” Shellheart purred as he followed his new denmates.
“Timberfur, Rippleclaw, Owlfur, Ottersplash, Piketooth, Cedarpelt.” Hailstar called to his senior warriors. “Come. I need to hear your advice before I decide who’s to be the next deputy.” He turned and headed to his den.
“Crookedjaw! Crookedjaw!” Sedgepaw was hurtling across the clearing.
Crookedjaw jumped to his paws.
“Troutclaw says there’s going to be a new deputy! And Mudfur’s going to be a medicine cat.” Sedgepaw rolled her eyes. “Why does all the good stuff happen when I’m in dirtplace?”
Voleclaw padded past. “I wouldn’t call it good stuff,” he muttered.
“Oh.” Sedgepaw sat down.
Willowbreeze touched the young she-cat lightly with her muzzle. “Change is difficult,” she meowed. “But it’ll be okay.” She gazed at Crookedjaw and he guessed the words were meant more for him than Sedgepaw.
Reedpaw and Loudpaw were bundling toward their littermate. “Has he told you yet?” Loudpaw demanded.
“I haven’t asked,” Sedgepaw mewed.
“Then I will!” Reedpaw plucked at the ground. “What was the fight with Adderfang like?”
“Did Mudfur totally shred him?” Loudpaw couldn’t keep still. “I’m going to fight like that one day.”
Voleclaw stilled him with a flick of his tail. “No cat will fight like that,” he told the young tom. “It’s not part of the warrior code, and Hailstar’s forbidden it.”
Sedgepaw was nodding. “I’d rather fight beside my Clanmates,” she announced.
“Can we practice some battle moves?” Reedpaw begged. “We didn’t get a chance yesterday because of the dog.”
Loudpaw scanned the clearing. “Where’s Oakheart?”
Willowbreeze pointed to his den with her nose. “Resting,” she told him. “He sat vigil for Rainflower.”
Voleclaw circled the apprentices. “I’m taking Sunpaw training,” he told Loudpaw. “You can join us.” He glanced at Crookedjaw. “Do you and Beetlenose want to bring Sedgepaw and Reedpaw?”
Beetlenose was trotting over to join them and overheard. “Yes, please.” He glanced at the warriors huddled around Hailstar’s den. “Everyone’s so serious here.”
“They’re picking a new deputy,” Crookedjaw reminded him.
Sedgepaw peered around Beetlenose. “I wonder who they’ll choose.”
Beetlenose shrugged. “Probably one of the senior warriors.” He headed toward the gap in the reeds. “The warrior code says he’s got to decide by moonhigh, which gives them ages. We might as well get on with training.”
The willows smelled of dog. Though the stench was stale it made Crookedjaw’s pelt bristle. He followed Beetlenose and Voleclaw up the slope to a grassy glade above the camp. Sunpaw, Sedgepaw, Loudpaw, and Reedpaw squabbled as they tried to guess who Hailstar would pick as deputy.
“It’s got to be Timberfur.”
“Why not Rippleclaw?”
“Rippleclaw’s too old. He’ll pick Ottersplash.”
Beetlenose stopped in the middle of the glade. “Why don’t you let Hailstar decide and concentrate on your hunting skills?”
Crookedjaw shifted his paws. Did the new deputy definitely have to be a senior warrior?
Voleclaw flicked his tail at Sunpaw and Loudpaw. “Come on, let’s see if we can find some birds.”
“Birds?” Loudpaw flattened his ears. “It’s not leaf-bare.”
“Which means they’ll be easy to find.” Voleclaw bounded away, leaping a mossy log rotting at the top of the glade.
Sunpaw shrugged and followed her mentor. “We’ve got to be able to catch land prey as well as river prey,” she called over her shoulder.
As Loudpaw charged after her, Beetlenose nudged Reedpaw toward the roots of a gnarled willow. “Let’s practice climbing,” he meowed. “The trees here should be easier than the beeches.”
Willow branches were thinner and felt a lot less stable, but dipped closer to the ground, making it easier to start and less frightening if a cat fell off.
“Okay.” Reedpaw scrambled up the trunk and started to pick his way along one of the thickest branches.
“Are we going to climb?” Sedgepaw asked Crookedjaw.
“Not now.” Crookedjaw rubbed his nose with a paw. With the other apprentices busy, this would be a great time to help Sedgepaw with her stalking. Beckoning her with his tail, he led her to a gap in the trees, dappled by sunshine filtering through the slender, silvery leaves. He halted and pricked his ears.
“What are we listening for?” Sedgepaw asked.
“Birds.”
“Can’t you hear them already?” Birdsong chattered from every tree.
“I’m listening for one we can stalk.” Crookedjaw crouched. “Get down!” He flicked his tail. A finch was hopping from branch to branch above them. He could hear its wings fluttering between the leaves. He backed under a fern. “Hide.”
Sedgepaw scooted in beside him and peered out from under the fronds. “How do you know it’s going to come down from the tree?” she whispered.
“There are some blueberries over there.” Crookedjaw nodded toward a shrub of soft leaves hung with dark, round berries. “The bird has its eye on them.” As he spoke, wings fluttered and the finch landed among the berries, making the twig dip under its weight.
Sedgepaw gasped. “How did you know?”
“Cedarpelt taught me.” And Fleck. He wondered how his old friends were doing. I bet Soot is as big as a warrior by now. Crookedjaw watched the finch hop among the leaves for a moment before nudging Sedgepaw forward. “Go on.”
“You want me to catch it?” He felt her pelt bristle.
“Just give it a try,” he encouraged.
Her breath quickened as she stalked forward, pressing her belly to the ground.
“Slow down,” he whispered. “You’ll be okay.”
She paused and steadied her breathing. Crookedjaw saw her flanks relax. Then she moved forward again. She was remembering to keep her tail off the ground, making hardly a sound as she crept across the grass. Crookedjaw tensed. Sedgepaw stopped beside the berry patch. Her tail twitched but she stilled it. Her gaze was fixed on the finch. Crookedjaw held his breath.
Then Sedgepaw leaped, smooth as a fish, and grabbed the finch between her paws. It fluttered in panic but she leaned forward and nipped its neck. Mewing in triumph, she turned and faced Crookedjaw, the finch limp in her jaws.
“Well done!” Pride surged through Crookedjaw as he padded to congratulate her. “Great catch.” As he spoke, something gray shot across the clearing.
Squirrel?
Crookedjaw hared after it. Squirrels rarely strayed this side of the river. It raced fast as lightning over the grass. Crookedjaw jumped, soaring through the air, and landed on top of the squirrel. With a bite, he killed it.
Sedgepaw came puffing up behind him. “You got it!” She’d dropped her finch. “I’ve never tasted squirrel!”
“It’s not bad for land prey.” Crookedjaw sniffed it, enjoying the warm, musky scent; it couldn’t be more different from fish and he wasn’t sure the older warriors would approve. But thinking about his time with the farm cats had reminded him of the squirrels they had caught in the hedges, and he wanted to bask in his memories for a little longer.
As slender reed shadows lengthened across the clearing, Willowbreeze stretched. “They must have decided by now.” She glanced at the huddle of senior warriors below the willow. “The sun’s nearly set.”
Crookedjaw shrugged. “They’ve got till moonhigh.” He’d been trying not to think about who would replace his father. He wanted to be deputy more than anything in th
e world, but surely it was too soon for him? He hadn’t even finished training Sedgepaw and there were plenty of warriors with more experience. Even Oakheart had more experience. Anxiety flared in his belly. Hailstar wouldn’t choose Oakheart, would he? He had asked him to speak at the Gathering. He pushed away the thought.
Willowbreeze purred.
“What?”
“Sedgepaw’s been staring at her finch for ages.”
Sedgepaw sat outside the apprentices’ den, eyes fixed on the fresh-kill pile.
Crookedjaw’s whiskers twitched. “She’s wondering who’ll choose it.”
“Doesn’t she want to eat it?”
“I think she likes the thought of feeding her Clan.” He moved closer to Willowbreeze. “It’s her first catch.”
“You told me.”
“I was starting to think she’d never get the hang of it.”
“Land prey’s never easy.” Willowbreeze yawned. “Your squirrel looks impressive.”
It hung over the pile of fish that Shimmerpelt and Lakeshine had caught. Crookedjaw shrugged. “I don’t know who’ll eat it.”
“I think Graypool’s got her eye on it.”
Crookedjaw didn’t reply. Hailstar was walking into the middle of the camp. Rippleclaw and Timberfur followed, with Ottersplash, Owlfur, and Cedarpelt at their heels. Crookedjaw sat up. Dens rustled and fur brushed the ground as the Clan padded from dens and eating places to hear their leader.
Hailstar shook his head, forestalling any questions. “We haven’t decided yet,” he meowed. He sounded tired.
Echomist swished her tail. “You must be hungry.” She nodded at the fresh-kill pile. “There’s plenty to eat.”
“Good.” Hailstar licked his lips. “We’ll decide after we’ve all had a chance to eat.”
He headed toward the fresh-kill pile. As he neared it, he froze. The fur lifted along his spine. “Brambleberry!” he yowled, keeping his eyes fixed on the pile of prey.
Crookedjaw darted across the clearing. For a wild moment he wondered if the sight of a squirrel among the fish had startled the old leader. Brambleberry shot from her den and skidded to a halt beside Hailstar. She followed his gaze, her pelt spiking up.
“What does this mean?” Hailstar whispered.