“I like Featherwhisker,” Mudfur replied.
“Did you ever meet Goosefeather, the previous ThunderClan medicine cat?” Brambleberry asked. “He’s moved to the elders’ den now.”
“Oh yes. I always thought he looked like he’d just been pulled through a bramble.”
“Mudfur!” Fallowtail was calling him from the head of the patrol. “Come and test out your new skills on Beetlenose. He’s got hiccups.”
Mudfur hurried away, leaving Brambleberry and Crookedjaw alone. Silence walked between them like a third warrior. He could see her pelt bristling as they headed into the shadow of ThunderClan’s forest. He wanted to clear the air, but now that he knew where Mapleshade came from, he was terrified of asking Brambleberry about the omens. What if she knew he’d been meeting a warrior from the Dark Forest?
But I’m loyal to my Clan! I’ve got nothing to hide! Then why did his pelt prick with shame at the thought? Crookedjaw broke the silence, unable to bear it. “Are there any other herbs that might help Shellheart?” It was a dumb question. He knew she’d tried everything already.
“I’m going to start giving him more poppy seeds,” Brambleberry meowed. “He’s in more pain than he’ll admit to.”
“How long before he gets better?”
She didn’t answer.
Crookedjaw felt a small hard lump gather in his belly, as if he’d swallowed a stone. “He’s not going to get better, is he?”
“No.” Brambleberry’s mew was as soft as the breeze. “I’ve seen lumps like this before. The cat never survives. A lump like this brings pain and sickness and withers a warrior like frost withers a flower.”
Where’s Oakheart? Part of Crookedjaw wanted to share his grief, part wanted to protect his brother from knowing for as long as he could. First Rainflower and now Shellheart.
He felt Brambleberry’s pelt brush his. “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” she murmured.
For a moment it felt as if there had never been distance between them. Then Crookedjaw pictured the squirrel with the broken mouth, an omen sent not by StarClan but by a cat from the Dark Forest. If there was any way he could stop Brambleberry from learning the truth—if she didn’t already know—he had to find it. He stepped away from her, suddenly worried she might pick up signals through his fur, and walked on alone.
Crookedjaw squeezed through the camp entrance, weary from the Gathering. Sedgepaw and Sunpaw were waiting in the shadows.
“What happened?” Sedgepaw squeaked.
“Can we come next time?” Sunpaw begged.
Crookedjaw brushed past them. “Ask Hailstar.”
Willowbreeze padded from their den. “Did it go okay?” She yawned.
“Go back to sleep,” he called. “I’ll tell you in the morning.” He hurried across the clearing and climbed the slope. Ducking his head into the elders’ den, he peered through the shafts of moonlight streaming through the woven roof. “Shellheart?” he whispered.
“Crookedjaw.” Birdsong heaved herself to her paws. “He’ll be so glad you came. He’s been wondering how you got on at the Gathering.” Brushing against him, she guided him past Troutclaw’s nest.
“Perhaps he’ll stop talking and go to sleep now he’s seen you,” the old tom muttered.
“Take no notice of him,” Birdsong whispered. “He loves listening to Shellheart’s stories.”
Shellheart lifted his head. “Crookedjaw?”
“He’s come to tell you about the Gathering.” Birdsong nuzzled Crookedjaw’s cheek before padding back to her nest.
Shellheart looked small in his moonlit nest, his fur flat, his ribs showing though his pelt. “Come lie next to me,” he croaked. “It’s cold.”
Can’t he feel the warm greenleaf breeze? Crookedjaw climbed into his father’s nest and curled beside him. “Hailstar told them I was deputy,” he reported.
Shellheart broke into a rattling purr. “I’m so proud of you. Rainflower would have been proud, too.”
No, she wouldn’t. She’d have found some reason he’d failed her.
He felt his father’s breath on his cheek. “I’m sorry she judged you so harshly, Crookedjaw.”
I was her son, for StarClan’s sake. Bitterness rose in his throat.
“She was wrong.” Shellheart’s mew was soft. “Ever since I’ve known her, she’s always found it hard to admit when she was wrong.” He paused, as though remembering old arguments, in the days when they were both still young and headstrong. “She will come to see that. I bet she’s watching you now from StarClan, regretting how much she missed.”
A chill ran along Crookedjaw’s spine. Rainflower may be watching me from StarClan, but who is watching me from the Dark Forest?
Chapter 34
The willows flailed their branches helplessly while the wind stripped their leaves. Reeds rattled and swayed as the river raged past, skidding up the banks and snatching pebbles from the shore. Crookedjaw watched the water race past his paws. Behind him, the wind moaned through the cracks and hollows of Sunningrocks. Ducking back against the cliff, out of the rain, he shivered and pulled his tail tighter around him. He spotted a head bobbing toward him through the swirling river.
Willowbreeze.
She hauled herself out of the water and shook out her pelt. “There you are.” She touched her muzzle to his. “I was worried about you.”
“I’m okay.” Crookedjaw blinked. “He liked to sit here and watch the river, you know.”
“Shellheart?”
He nodded, fresh grief piercing his heart. “Perhaps his spirit still comes here to fish.” It’d been three moons since he’d lain beside his father in the elders’ den. Two since he’d died.
“Even when he’s got the warm rivers of StarClan?”
Crookedjaw swallowed. “But he’ll miss his old river, surely?”
Willowbreeze settled beside him and leaned into him. “I’m sure he’s always watching from StarClan.” She flicked the tip of her tail. “He’ll want to see what his sons are up to.”
A purr rumbled in Crookedjaw’s throat.
Willowbreeze stiffened against him. “Ottersplash?”
The white-and-ginger she-cat was plowing across the river. She hopped out, eyes glittering. “ThunderClan warriors are crossing the stepping-stones!”
“Now?” Crookedjaw strained to see around the bend in the river.
“They’ll be in the camp any moment,” Ottersplash urged. “Hailstar wants you.”
Crookedjaw was already diving into the water. He swam expertly, navigating the swirling current with ease, and climbed out. Looking back to make sure Ottersplash and Willowbreeze were okay, he raced for camp. Through the drizzle, he could taste ThunderClan scent. They were headed this way. He swerved along the grassy path and raced into camp.
Hailstar was pacing the clearing, his pelt spiked. Sedgecreek and Frogleap puffed out their chests, clearly eager to prove themselves worthy of their new warrior names. Softwing stood wide-eyed outside the nursery, her tail wrapped around her two young kits. Her mate Owlfur crouched beside her, his eyes merely slits as he watched the entrance, then stood as Willowbreeze and Ottersplash dashed in. “Did you see them? How many?”
“Where are they?” Hailstar asked Ottersplash.
“Headed this way.”
Echomist hissed. “How dare they invade our territory?”
Rippleclaw lashed his tail. “I want to be in the battle patrol!”
“Me too!” Timberfur hurried forward with Cedarpelt on his tail. Sedgecreek and Frogleap darted after them, their eyes shining.
Hailstar waved them back. “Wait,” he growled. “This might not be an invasion.”