He bounded up the bank, following Brambleberry’s trail around the camp and into the marshes. The medicine cat must have moved fast because her scent was already growing stale. Crookedjaw headed down to the shore and followed the river upstream. The water looked black and deep beneath the stars. Behind him the reeds rattled and the night heron swooped low across the water before soaring away.
Crookedjaw veered away from the river and followed the shore past the first meadow, skirting the Twoleg field right up to the bridge. He paused there, ducking down in its spiky shadow, catching his breath. I’m not scared, he told himself. He flexed his claws and peered through the willow trees. The pelt-dens glowed with yellow light, throwing wildly misshapen shadows across the field as the Twolegs moved around inside.
Pebbles shifted on the shore downstream. Crookedjaw froze. Something was stalking him. He crouched deeper into the shadow, tasting the air, scenting nothing but Twoleg smells. Keeping low, he crept out from beneath the bridge and stalked forward. He ducked beneath the longest grass and crept along the shore.
A shadow skirted the water. Crookedjaw flexed his claws and crouched down, ready to attack.
“Crookedjaw?”
Graypool?
He straightened up. “What are you doing here?”
She dashed forward to greet him. “It’s spooky out here at night!” Her eyes were glittering.
“I thought I told you to stay behind and look after Fallowtail.”
“Echomist’s with her,” Graypool mewed.
Crookedjaw’s paws pricked with irritation. “It’s bad enough that I lost Willowbreeze!” he growled. “I don’t want to lose you, too!”
“You won’t!” Graypool’s claws scraped the pebbles. “I’m here to help get her back!”
“Go home!”
“No!”
Crookedjaw hissed with frustration. “Fine. Follow me.”
Graypool jumped up the bank into the willow trees.
“What did I just say?” Crookedjaw yanked her back down by her tail. “Follow me! And stay close.”
He padded quietly back to the bridge, leaped up onto the shadowy timbers, and tasted the air. The pelt-dens were noisy with Twolegs mumbling and yowling.
Graypool snorted. “Don’t they ever go to sleep?”
Crookedjaw beckoned her on with a flick of his muzzle. “At least they’re inside,” he whispered. “Let’s see if we can figure out which one Willowbreeze is in.”
Heart pounding, Crookedjaw padded across the field, the soft grass stroking his belly fur. Graypool followed, her paw steps no more than a faint whisper on the grass. They halted beside the nearest pelt-den and began sniffing the edge. Ducking down, Crookedjaw caught a glimpse inside. It was chaotic, with brightly colored piles heaped everywhere and Twolegs squatting in the small space between. Countless scents bathed his nose, strong and startling.
“Here!” Graypool hissed from the next pelt-den.
“I thought I told you to stay close!” He darted over to her and sniffed the edge of the den. Hope flared in his belly. Willowbreeze! Her scent was thickly laced with fear, but it was fresh.
Suddenly a Twoleg moved in the den, its shadow engulfing them as it swept over the grass. Crookedjaw froze, feeling Graypool trembling against him. Then the shadow swooped away as the Twoleg settled down.
“We’ve got to go in there,” Graypool whispered shakily.
“Yes.” Crookedjaw poked his head under the stretched pelt and peered inside. It was more chaotic than the last den, the colorful piles bigger and brighter. Good. They’d be able to hide easily. He squeezed under the pelt and crouched behind a heap of Twoleg clutter. Graypool slid in after him. Her breath was fast, her hackles high.
“I won’t let them catch you,” Crookedjaw promised. He nosed his way around the edge of the den, squeezing through the narrow channel between the clutter and the den wall. The Twolegs were chattering and hooting, crouched around something in the middle of the den. Crookedjaw stretched up and peered over the nearest pile, his ears flat, eyes wide.
The Twolegs were dangling a thread into a square brown nest. Familiar pale tabby paws flapped frantically at the thread, trying to catch it as the Twolegs twitched it and pulled it out of reach.
“I can see her!” Crookedjaw dropped down and whispered in Graypool’s ear. “They’ve got her in some sort of trap and they’re teasing her.”
Graypool flexed her claws. “Is she okay?”
“I think she’s playing along,” Crookedjaw guessed.
Graypool opened her mouth. “I don’t smell blood.”
“They haven’t harmed her, then.” Crookedjaw felt a rush of relief. “Now we have to wait.”
“Here?”
Crookedjaw nodded. Now that he had Willowbreeze in sight, he didn’t want to lose her again. He flattened his belly against the floor. Graypool settled beside him.
“It’ll be okay,” he promised her.
She swallowed and nodded.
Crookedjaw began to grow stiff as the Twolegs played with Willowbreeze. He glanced over the pile again and again, itching with frustration, until suddenly the Twolegs started moving clumsily around the den, rummaging in the muddled pelts that were scattered on the floor.
Crookedjaw tensed. “Look out!” Twoleg paws plunged into the heap they were sheltering behind. He ducked under the edge, out into the field, dragging Graypool after him. “That was close!”
They crouched in the grass. The earthy scent of it soothed Crookedjaw’s jangled nerves. The light disappeared from the pelt-den. Murmuring and rustling, the Twolegs gradually settled down.
“Can we go back in?” Graypool’s round eyes reflected the moon.
“Let’s wait a bit longer,” Crookedjaw whispered. “Until they’re asleep.”
On the other side of the willow trees, the river glided past, rolling pebbles along the shore, and an owl screeched far away. One by one, the pelt-dens grew dark and silent.
“Now.” Crookedjaw slid under the stretched pelt once more. Ears pricked, he listened for movement. The Twolegs were still, lying under pelts at the far side of the den. He sensed rather than saw Graypool beside him as he crept over a heap of pelts and padded across the den. He could just make out the brown trap near the Twolegs’ hind paws. Fur swished inside it. Claws scrabbled quietly against its walls.
“She’s trying to get out.” Crookedjaw darted toward it, hissing. “We’re here, Willowbreeze. We’ve come to get you.”
A low purr of relief sounded inside the box. “I can’t get the flaps open at the top.”
Crookedjaw reached up and saw the top of the trap was folded, flap over flap. He tugged at one, but it wouldn’t shift.
“Let me help.” Graypool stretched up beside him and hooked her claws under a flap. Together they tugged, but the strange hard substance wouldn’t give.
“Push!” Crookedjaw hissed to Willowbreeze.
“I am!” she snapped back.
“Together!” Crookedjaw gave a fierce heave.
The trap rocked wildly and tumbled over on to its side. Graypool squawked as it fell on top of her. The Twolegs sat up, yelping, as Graypool struggled to escape. Crookedjaw whipped his head around. The Twolegs were flailing in the dark. They hadn’t spotted the extra cats yet, but it wouldn’t be long. Panic surging inside him, Crookedjaw turned back to the trap. A gap had opened between the flaps. Willowbreeze’s paws were stretching through.
“Pull!” he yowled to Graypool. He didn’t care if the Twolegs heard. They were thrashing around in their pelts, slapping the darkness with lumbering paws. As one brushed Crookedjaw’s tail, he yanked desperately at the trap. It gave way and Willowbreeze shot out like a rabbit from a foxhole.