“From the waterfall?”
“You remembered!” Brambleberry sounded pleased. “We’re going to need some fresh stock.” She glanced up into the streaming rain. “If this weather keeps up, there’ll be coughs spreading through all the dens. Do you remember what it looks like?”
“I’ll know it when I see it,” Crookedpaw promised.
“Can we come, too?” Willowkit asked.
Crookedpaw shook his head sympathetically, remembering all too clearly what it felt like to be a kit trapped in camp. “Sorry,” he mewed.
“We won’t get in your way,” Graykit promised.
Brambleberry cleared her throat. “That’s because you’ll be safe and dry in your nest.” Fallowtail was at the nursery entrance, staring anxiously through the rain at her soggy kits. Brambleberry shook the rain from her whiskers. “Be careful by the falls, Crookedpaw,” she warned as she began to shoo the kits toward their mother. “The path gets slippery and the river will be raging.”
“I won’t let you down!” Crookedpaw raced for the camp entrance. Brambleberry was depending on him. His paws pricked with excitement.
There was little shelter on the riverbank now that the greenleaf bushes had died back. But the rain was easing by the time the path began to slope up to meet the head of the falls. Unsheathing his claws to get a better grip, he climbed the wet stone track, flattening his ears against the roar of the swollen waters below. Tasting the air, Crookedpaw smelled the first tang of coltsfoot. He shook out his fur, glancing up as the sky brightened. The clouds were thinning, stretching to show patches of blue. He stopped beside a fragrant green clump that clung at the edge of the path. Beyond, the cliff dropped away and Crookedpaw could just see the water swirling below.
The coltsfoot had died back, browned by frost, but a core of richly scented leaves curled at the center. Crookedpaw plunged his paws into the wet leaves. Hooking a bunch with his claws, he hauled out a pawful of sprigs and laid them on the path before turning back for more.
“Are you Brambleberry’s apprentice?”
A husky mew made Crookedpaw jump. Heart lurching, he spun around and saw three WindClan warriors standing beside the top of the falls. Crookedpaw backed away, pulling his coltsfoot stems with him. His pelt bristled, embarrassed at being caught off guard. The scent of the coltsfoot and the roar of the water had hidden the WindClan patrol’s approach.
The three warriors advanced down the path toward him. Crookedpaw arched his back. “You’re on RiverClan territory!” He tried to remember Mapleshade’s training. There was no way he was going to try tucking his tail around his hind paws here on the edge of the gorge. Perhaps he should run back to warn the Clan? He eyed the WindClan cats nervously. Their hackles were smooth. The biggest warrior, a brown tom, stared at him levelly while his Clanmates—a tabby she-cat and a small, mottled tom—stood calmly beside him.
The brown tom dipped his head. “I’m Reedfeather and I wish to speak with Hailstar.”
Crookedpaw frowned. “Why?”
Reedfeather nodded to his Clanmates. “Go back to camp,” he told them. “I’ll be okay.”
The two WindClan warriors turned and darted back along the path, disappearing over the crest of the falls.
Reedfeather dipped his head. “What’s your name?”
“Crookedpaw.”
“Brambleberry’s apprentice?”
Crookedpaw shook his head. “Cedarpelt’s.”
“A warrior apprentice?” Reedfeather narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t seen you at a Gathering yet.”
“I just got my apprentice name.” Crookedpaw shifted his paws. Was he supposed to take an enemy warrior into camp just because he’d been asked?
“You lead,” Reedfeather instructed as if he’d guessed what Crookedpaw was thinking. “I’ll follow.”
Crookedpaw stared uncertainly at the WindClan warrior.
“Don’t worry,” Reedfeather reassured him. “I only want to talk with Hailstar.” He turned his head. “As you can see, I’m alone.”
Crookedpaw glanced at the coltsfoot he’d picked.
“Take it,” Reedfeather advised. “I’m sure Brambleberry will be pleased to have it.”
Crookedpaw snatched it up in his jaws. Ears twitching, he led Reedfeather down the path. Is this a trick? The path flattened as the river settled down after its rush through the gorge and began to lap lazily at the shore. Crookedpaw glanced over his shoulder. Reedfeather’s gaze was fixed firmly on the distant reed bed where the RiverClan camp sheltered. As the river narrowed and deepened, Crookedpaw jumped down on to the shore. He began to wade into the water. The current here was gentle and it would be easy to swim across.
“Aren’t there stepping-stones?” Reedfeather called.
Crookedpaw halted, water tugging his belly fur. “They’re farther downstream.” The coltsfoot muffled his mew. How does a WindClan cat know about the stepping-stones?
“Can we cross there?” Reedfeather asked. “I don’t swim.”
Crookedpaw backed awkwardly out of the river, the coltsfoot sour on his tongue. He took Reedfeather to the stepping-stones and stood back while the WindClan warrior crossed. Swollen by rain, the river ran fast around the boulders, and Reedfeather’s pelt bristled, but he was sure-pawed and didn’t hesitate. Crookedpaw bounded after him, paws slapping the wet sand as he landed on the shore. He darted past Reedfeather and led the way through the bushes on to the grassy path.
As he neared camp, his belly tightened. He was leading an enemy warrior into the heart of the Clan. What if all the warriors were out hunting or patrolling? Who would defend the elders, or Fallowtail and her kits? He stiffened. I will! Fluffing out his wet fur, he ducked through the sedge tunnel.
“Crookedpaw!” Volepaw’s call surprised him.
He dropped the coltsfoot. “I thought you were swimming.”
“Shellheart wanted to wait till after the rain.” Volepaw trotted across the clearing. “I don’t know why—it’s probably drier in the riv—” He stared past Crookedpaw, eyes widening. “You captured a WindClan warrior!”
Crookedpaw shifted his paws. “I didn’t exactly capture him,” he mumbled. “I sort of found him and he asked to see Hailstar.”
“WindClan!” Shimmerpelt charged from her den, nose twitching, fur spiked in alarm. She halted when she saw Reedfeather. “What’s he doing here?”
Reedfeather padded calmly to the center of the clearing and looked around. Troutclaw, Birdsong, and Tanglewhisker crowded out of their den and stood bristling at the top of the slope. Ottersplash and Lakeshine stopped stuffing leaves in gaps in the apprentices’ den. Piketooth and Whitefang looked up from their fresh-kill, mouths open. Oakpaw scrambled over the fallen tree, a frog dangling from his mouth. He dropped it in surprise and stared at Reedfeather. No one tried to stop the frog as it hopped over the clearing and plopped into the safety of the river.
“Reedfeather?” Shellheart had been lying in the shelter of the willow. He scrambled to his paws and padded toward the WindClan warrior. “Why in StarClan are you here?”
Reedfeather dipped his head to the RiverClan deputy. “I need to speak with Hailstar.”
“Hailstar’s patrolling,” Shellheart told him.
Reedfeather sat down. “Then I’ll wait.”
“Oh, no, you won’t!” Birdsong bustled down the slope, pelt ruffled. “You’ll go home to your own camp where you belong.” She glanced anxiously at the nursery where Fallowtail peered out, her eyes dark.
Does Reedfeather’s visit have something to do with what she was doing in WindClan? Crookedpaw suddenly wondered. He studied Reedfeather more closely. There was something familiar about the shape of his head and the tone of his voice. Had he been the cat with Fallowtail on the pile of WindClan rocks all those moons ago?