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 murmured.
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.
Shellheart was already organizing patrols beneath the willow when Crookedjaw padded out of the den. The RiverClan deputy beckoned him with a flick of his muzzle. Crookedjaw crossed the sunny clearing and nosed his way between Timberfur and Brightsky. Owlfur and Cedarpelt were fidgeting, eager to be out on such a fine morning. Mudfur was still yawning while Voleclaw picked mud from between his claws. Beetlenose was watching the tip of Petaldust’s tail flick back and forth, his eyes bright. Crookedjaw could tell he was fighting back the urge to pounce on it. He scanned the camp for Willowpaw, pricking his ears. Gentle snoring was coming from the apprentices’ den. Graypaw and Willowpaw were probably worn out after the Gathering and then the excitement of Shimmerpelt’s kitting.
“Ottersplash moved to the nursery this morning,” Shellheart announced. “Which means we’re another warrior down. But the river’s full of fish, and still deep enough to keep the other Clans at bay.”
“Unless they’ve learned to fly,” Voleclaw joked.
Petaldust stifled a purr. “WindClan is more likely to learn how to fly than to swim. They hate water more than ThunderClan!”
“Crookedjaw.” Shellheart nodded at his son. “Take Oakheart, Mudfur, Brightsky, and Voleclaw upstream and check the Twoleg bridge for WindClan scent. Timberfur will be leading a patrol to check the stepping-stones for any trace of ThunderClan.” I’m leading a patrol! Crookedjaw clawed at the ground.
“And Crookedjaw?”
Crookedjaw snapped to attention as Shellheart went on.
“Check the Twoleg fence on your way back. See if that dog’s been straying again.”
As Crookedjaw headed away, Shellheart called after him. “Be careful. If we didn’t manage to scare him last time, the dog may be out for revenge.”
Crookedjaw poked his head into his den. Oakheart was cleaning stale moss from his nest. “Come on. We’ve got a mission.” He glanced at Whitefang. The warrior was still sound asleep in his nest; his whiskers were twitching furiously and he was chirruping like a nervous moorhen. “Should we wake him?”
“And ruin his dream?” Oakheart shook his head. “What’s the mission?” He followed Crookedjaw outside.
“We’re checking the bridge.” Mudfur, Voleclaw, and Brightsky were already waiting by the entrance. “And the Twoleg fence.” Graypaw was there, too, flicking her tail.
“Can Graypaw come with us?” Brightsky called.
“Of course.” Crookedjaw fluffed out his fur with importance. He ducked through the gap in the reeds and set a fast pace along the grass path. The sound of paws thrumming behind him filled him with joy. The sun was shining and a warm breeze wafted across the sparkling river. Crookedjaw had to fight to keep himself from purring out loud. He veered off the path, following the trail up through the alders and doubling back around the camp, keeping up the pace until the patrol swerved back down to meet the river again. The shore was sandy on the edge of the marsh and soft on his paws. His pads sprayed dirt behind him as he slowed and the patrol fanned out around him. Walking now, Crookedjaw led the way upstream.