Crookedpaw flicked his tail. “The other Clans know that!” Mapleshade was always telling him to slick down his fur and fool his opponent into thinking he looked weaker than he was. “It’s just fur, and fur never hurt anyone.”
“In the middle of battle, there’s no time to think,” Cedarpelt insisted. “If you see a big warrior, you don’t wonder how much is fur and how much is muscle.” His breath billowed in the icy air. “You just react.”
“Okay, okay!” Crookedpaw snapped. “If you want bushed-out fur, you can have bushed-out fur.” He fluffed up his pelt. “Big enough?” He couldn’t wait for his first battle so he could find out for himself which mentor was right.
Cedarpelt’s whiskers twitched.
“What?” Crookedpaw snorted.
A purr rumbled in his mentor’s throat. “You never do things by halves.” He shook his head. “You look like a pinecone.”
Crookedpaw’s irritation dissolved. “Make up your mind,” he mewed. As he shook his pelt back into place, a sound made his ears prick.
“What is it?” Cedarpelt darted beside him, hackles twitching as he scanned the marsh.
“Look.” Crookedpaw flicked his tail toward the dark pelts moving toward them across the snow. He tasted the freezing air. RiverClan.
“Piketooth!” Cedarpelt hailed the snaggle-toothed warrior, who was already bounding up the slope.
Beetlenose ducked ahead of his Clanmate and reached the beech copse first. “How’s training, Crookedpaw?” he called. “Getting the hang of it?”
Crookedpaw scowled. You’re only a moon older than me! Beetlenose was acting as though he’d been made deputy instead of a warrior. At least it meant that he’d moved out of the apprentices’ den. Crookedpaw wasn’t going to miss his boasting, though he missed Voleclaw’s fish-brained jokes and Petaldust’s quiet encouragement. At least he still had Oakpaw for company.
Crookedpaw sat down. What would happen when Oakpaw became a warrior? He’d be alone again, and now that Willowkit and Graykit were in WindClan, there weren’t even new ’paws to look forward to. He’d have to train by himself.
“How’s hunting?” Cedarpelt asked Piketooth.
“River’s frozen.” Piketooth tasted the air. “Any sign of birds up here?”
Cedarpelt shook his head.
“We were just at the WindClan border.” Piketooth stared across the snowy marsh. “We saw Reedfeather. He wanted to share news.”
Cedarpelt’s ears pricked. “How are the kits?”
“Doing well.” Piketooth was frowning. Crookedpaw tensed as the warrior went on. “He warned us to watch out for ThunderClan. They raided WindClan’s camp.”
“The camp?” Cedarpelt blinked.
Crookedpaw gasped. “Did they attack the nursery?”
Piketooth shook his head. “They were trying to steal herbs.”
“Anyone hurt?” Cedarpelt asked.
“ThunderClan lost a warrior—Moonflower.” Piketooth flexed his claws.
Beetlenose growled. “Serves them right.”
Cedarpelt scowled at the young tom. “No warrior deserves to die!” He turned back to Piketooth. “Have you warned Hailstar?”
“He was with us,” Piketooth meowed. “He’s gone back to camp to warn Brambleberry to hide her supplies.”
“They won’t attack our camp.” Beetlenose paced through the frost, lashing his tail. “They don’t have the guts to cross the river even when it’s frozen!”
Cedarpelt looked thoughtful. “Let’s hope so.” He beckoned Beetlenose with his tail. “Will you practice some battle moves with Crookedpaw? He knows my moves too well.”
Crookedpaw rolled his eyes. “What makes you think I don’t know Beetlenose’s moves, too?”
Beetlenose flattened his ears, ready for a fight. “We only trained together twice.”
“That was enough.” Crookedpaw sniffed.
Piketooth wove between the two young toms. “Let’s act like Clanmates.” He glanced at Crookedpaw. “You still have plenty to learn. Stop complaining. Beetlenose might teach you something.”
Cedarpelt shrugged. “Crookedpaw thinks he’s learned enough.” He nodded to Beetlenose. “Can he try his front paw swipe on you?”
“He can try.” Beetlenose dropped into a crouch.
Smug frog-face! Crookedpaw ducked down and fluffed out his pelt. Energy surged in his muscles. He unsheathed his hind claws, digging them deep into the snow, then reared up. Black as a crow against the white snow, Beetlenose leaned back and raised his forepaws. Crookedpaw adjusted his balance, wrapped his tail around his hind legs, and swiped at Beetlenose. He blinked with surprise as Beetlenose dropped and darted behind him.
Turning on his hind paws, Crookedpaw saw Beetlenose’s jaws snapping where his tail should’ve been. “You missed!” With a rush of satisfaction he slammed down on the young warrior, knocking him flat on to his belly.
“Ow!” Beetlenose wriggled from under him as Crookedpaw shifted his weight. “My chin!” He rubbed at it with a paw.
“Crookedpaw!” Cedarpelt’s mew was sharp. “This is just practice!”
“I had my foreclaws sheathed!” Crookedpaw protested. “And we were supposed to be practicing the front paw swipe! He was going for my tail!”
“So?” Beetlenose squared up to Crookedpaw. “A warrior should be ready for anything!”
“Then why weren’t you ready for my counterattack?” Crookedpaw spat back.
“You hid your tail!” Beetlenose hissed. “That’s not fair! No cat hides his tail!”
Cedarpelt’s gaze darkened. “ThunderClan cats do,” he meowed. “Where did you learn to do that?”
Crookedpaw puffed out his chest. “Great, isn’t it? Did you see how I balanced even without my tail?” StarClan warriors must know the moves of every Clan.
Cedarpelt narrowed his eyes. “It isn’t fair to use tricks.”
“It wasn’t a trick!” Crookedpaw flashed a look at Piketooth. “I taught him a new move.”
“Show some respect!” Cedarpelt snapped. “Beetlenose is a warrior. You’ve been an apprentice less than a moon. You’ve never even been to a Gathering.”
Beetlenose’s tail-tip was twitching angrily. “Crookedpaw’s always thought he was better than any RiverClan cat.”
Cedarpelt marched past the black warrior. “Let’s get back to camp,” he growled. “It’s freezing.”
Crookedpaw watched his mentor bound down the slope, following the snow-covered trail back to camp. Guilt tugged in his belly. He hadn’t meant to show off. Beetlenose was just so annoying. I know stuff they don’t. Why do I have to hide it?
No one spoke as they trekked back to camp. Crookedpaw fluffed out his pelt for warmth, pads frozen, breath billowing. The sedge tunnel was half-squashed with snow and Crookedpaw had to duck to squeeze through. Inside, the camp glowed purple in the setting sun. Snow draped the walls and the dens. It had been swept from the clearing but had drifted by the shore. The fallen tree was crisscrossed by trails to the warriors’ dens and frosted reeds spiked the frozen river.
Cedarpelt headed for Hailstar’s den. Crookedpaw’s heart sank. His mentor was probably going to report him for disobedience.
Beetlenose barged past him. “Serves you right!” Sniffing, he headed for the fresh-kill pile, where Petaldust and Echomist were already nosing through the fish. Crookedpaw’s belly growled. The fish smelled delicious.
“Don’t worry.” Piketooth paused at Crookedpaw’s shoulder. “You won’t be the first ’paw in trouble, or the last.” He bounded across the clearing and touched muzzles with Shimmerpelt, his mate, who was sitting in a hollow dug out of the snow sharing a fat pike with Brightsky and Mudfur. She stood to greet him, then nodded toward the fresh-kill pile. Sighing, Crookedpaw watched Piketooth clamber toward the heap of fish.