“Thanks, Crookedjaw.” Ottersplash dropped her bundle and turned back for more. “But they’d much rather hang out with a warrior than with their mothers.”
Crookedjaw scanned the entrance to the camp, hoping Cedarpelt, Piketooth, or Timberfur would return and take over kit duty. Willowbreeze was taking them on a hunting patrol—her first as patrol leader. They were fishing below Sunningrocks where the fish lurked in the cool shadows. He wondered how she was doing.
“Go on!” Sunkit interrupted his thoughts. “Show us a forepaw slash.”
“Lakeshine says you’re too young to learn battle moves,” Crookedjaw told her.
Sunkit glowered at her mother, who was pulling wisps of stale moss out of the nursery. “Ottersplash doesn’t think we’re too young.”
Ottersplash called from the reed bed. “They’re never too young to start training!”
Lakeshine reproached her with a sharp look. “I don’t want them to get hurt.”
“You can’t wrap them up in feathers,” Ottersplash argued.
Shimmerpelt sat back from her work and shook her head. “There’s no hurry. They’ll be ’paws soon,” she reminded both queens. “It won’t be long till they can learn all the battle moves they want.”
Loudkit flexed his claws. “What if the Twolegs do invade the camp?”
Crookedjaw sat down. “They won’t.” There had been plenty of pelt-dens in the field this green-leaf, but as the colder weather set in, fewer Twolegs came. “Hey, Oakheart!” He called across the clearing to his brother, who was organizing a fresh border patrol. “The Twolegs won’t invade the camp, will they?”
Oakheart shook his head. “We’ve kept a close eye on them for moons,” he reassured the kits. “They rarely stray as far as the marsh meadow.” Oakheart had taken on responsibility for patrolling the Twoleg field in the moons since Willowbreeze had been stolen. He made a daily check on the pelt-dens, monitoring their arrival and disappearance, he’d invented patrol strategies for distracting Twolegs should they ever wander near the camp, and he could get a patrol of warriors right around the field without being spotted.
Leopardkit brushed against Crookedjaw. Younger than her denmates, her pelt was still soft as duck down. “Please teach us a battle move?” She gazed up at Crookedjaw with round, dark eyes.
His whiskers twitched. The whole Clan had spoiled the motherless kit, especially her father Mudfur, who doted on her, and she could wrap almost any Clanmate around her tail.
Leopardkit blinked sweetly and purred, “Please?”
“Don’t you dare teach her anything!” Shimmerpelt bustled over and shooed Leopardkit away. “Mudfur would be horrified if he came back and found her fighting!” Though the night-black queen was fiercely fond of her adopted kit, she wasn’t as easily swayed as the rest of the Clan by Leopardkit’s wiles.
“Come on!” Sunkit bounced around him. “Tell us what to do!”
“We could stalk Oakheart!” Crookedjaw proposed. “First one to creep up on him wins.”
Oakheart flicked his tail. “Sorry, Crookedjaw. We’re leaving.” He headed for the gap in the reeds with Petaldust and Whitefang at his heels.
Blackkit clawed the ground. “Why don’t we stalk you instead?” He sprang and landed on Crookedjaw’s back.
Crookedjaw staggered dramatically, wincing as the other kits joined in. Collapsing under a storm of churning, flailing paws, he sank grunting to the ground and writhed like a captured pike. The kits squealed as he flung them back and forth, tugging his fur in an effort to cling on.
“Look!” Skykit’s excited squeak caused a fresh flurry of paws.
Frogkit yowled with delight. “The hunting patrol’s back!”
The kits scrambled off Crookedjaw and charged for the fresh-kill pile.
“I want carp!” Leopardkit pattered on the ground as she raced to keep up.
Crookedjaw sat up, sighing. “Thank StarClan.”
Willowbreeze, Cedarpelt, and Timberfur were stacking their catch beside the reed bed. Piketooth dropped his trout and turned in surprise as the kits surged past him, knocking the pile of fish flying.
“Careful!” Cedarpelt yelped, grabbing for a trout as it skidded toward the river. “We just got them out. Don’t put them back!”
Willowbreeze crossed the clearing, eyes shining as she neared Crookedjaw. “It looks like I got back just in time,” she purred. “You were about to be devoured by a school of starving kits.” She touched her muzzle to his affectionately.
Crookedjaw ducked away.
“What?” Willowbreeze’s eyes flashed with hurt.
“Not here.”
He could feel Shimmerpelt’s and Lakeshine’s eyes on them—storing up gossip. He’d grown closer and closer to Willowbreeze since he’d rescued her from the Twolegs, but he hated the way the Clan watched them. He knew they were waiting for them to announce they were mates. He could picture Hailstar yowling the news from the Great Rock next Gathering. He snorted crossly. Why couldn’t his Clanmates mind their own business?
“Okay.” Willowbreeze briskly smoothed his fur with her tail and sniffed.
Crookedjaw shrugged apologetically. “Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested. Now that Cedarpelt and Piketooth were back, there was no need to watch the kits.
Willowbreeze flicked her tail past his nose and turned and headed for the entrance. They padded in silence along the grassy path.
“I don’t see why you have to be so embarrassed,” Willowbreeze meowed.
Crookedjaw stared at his paws. “I don’t want my Clanmates to think I’m soft.”
“It’s not soft to have feelings for another cat!” Willowbreeze challenged. “Do you think Hailstar’s soft? Or Cedarpelt? Or Timberfur? They all have mates!”
“I’m sorry,” Crookedjaw murmured. He ducked under a hawthorn bush and padded into the alder grove. It was bright under the trees now that leaf-bare had begun to strip the leaves.
“Do you remember your assessment?” Crookedjaw changed the subject.
“Of course.” Willowbreeze nosed her way after him. “You watched me catch the blackbird.” Her mew softened.
“I could have watched you all day,” Crookedjaw mewed.
“And now you can’t?”
He looked at her, blinking. “Oh, I still could. But I’d get nothing useful done.” He flicked her muzzle playfully with the tip of his tail. “That would get us both into trouble!” Crookedjaw darted forward and scrambled up an alder trunk. Digging in his claws, he hauled himself onto the lowest branch. “Come on!”
Willowbreeze narrowed her eyes. She climbed the alder beside his, scooted along a low branch, and leaped into the next tree. The bough swayed under her weight. Crookedjaw purred. If she could climb like a squirrel, so could he! He flung himself into the branches of the next alder, clinging tight with his claws as it shivered beneath him. Willowbreeze lifted her chin and raced onward, leaping from branch to branch alongside him, light as a blackbird. Crookedjaw matched her tree for tree until they’d crossed the whole grove without touching the ground.
“Can you do this?” Crookedjaw jumped onto a higher branch, then higher, till he was at the spindly top of the tree.
Willowbreeze gasped. “Watch out!”
The branches slumped under his weight. Bark splintered and wood cracked. Squawking with surprise, Crookedjaw slithered through the tree like a stone dropping through water. Heart lurching, he stretched out his claws and grabbed hold of a branch. He hung for a moment, his hind paws churning the air before finding a hold on the trunk. Catching his breath, he lowered himself carefully and dropped to the ground.
“You frog-brain!” Willowbreeze jumped down and glared at him. “I thought you were going to hurt yourself!”
“Impossible.” Crookedjaw whisked his tail.