Chapter 35
Icy rain dripped through the roof of the den. Crookedjaw shivered. His nest was damp.
Beside him, Willowbreeze rolled over and stretched. “Is it leaking again?” A large drop thudded on to her belly. She jumped to her paws, ears flicking. “When will this rain end?” she snapped. Cold leaf-bare squalls had been battering the camp for days.
Crookedjaw licked her cheek. “I’ll ask Brambleberry to have a word with StarClan.” He heaved himself to his paws, yawning.
“Very funny!” Willowbreeze called as he squeezed out of the den.
The dawn was dull, the sky gray as a squirrel’s pelt. Petaldust, Leopardfur, and Sedgecreek were outside, stuffing the nursery walls and roof with leaves to keep out the weather. Their pelts were spiked with rain, their ears flat against the wind.
Hailstar stood in the clearing, staring at the river.
Crookedjaw stopped beside him. “Is it any higher?”
Water was already lapping over the shore beside the reed bed. Dawnkit and Mallowkit had been forbidden to go near the river. A swell might sweep through the reed bed at any moment and wash away an unsuspecting kit.
“The banks are holding,” Hailstar murmured. “But we need to keep checking.”
Oakheart peered from his den, then darted out to join them. “There’s not a dry spot in camp.” He eyed the river. “Looks higher to me.”
Beyond the barrier of reeds the water swirled, brown and fast. It was too dangerous for fishing.
“Should we move Softwing and Graypool up to the elders’ den?” Oakheart suggested.
Hailstar glanced at the nursery. “Not yet.”
Softwing’s kits, Dawnkit and Mallowkit, were peering out of the entrance, blinking at the rain. Three moons old, they looked more like ’paws every day.
“How’s Graypool?” Hailstar meowed.
Crookedjaw shook his head. “Still sick.”
Graypool had recently moved from her den to the nursery, expecting Rippleclaw’s kits. Brambleberry had been treating her nausea for days but the queen had little appetite.
“We’ll need to move them if the water comes any higher,” Crookedjaw advised.
“I’ve got an idea.” Oakheart tugged a reed from the apprentices’ den and stuck it into the muddy earth, marking where the water had reached. “Now we’ll be able to see how quickly it’s rising.” He sat back on his haunches. “I’ll check it regularly and let you know if it starts moving more quickly.”
“Clever plan.” Crookedjaw shook out his pelt, pleased that his brother was back to normal. Two moons ago, he’d wondered what was making the tawny warrior so distracted and anxious, and if it’d been Bluefur after all. But Oakheart was his old self now, focused on warrior duties and training the new apprentices, and Crookedjaw had pushed away his worries.
Mudfur trotted toward the elders’ den with a bundle of leaves in his jaws.
Crookedjaw hailed him. “Are those for Birdsong?” The old she-cat had been coughing for days.
Mudfur nodded. Crookedjaw hurried after him. As they reached the den, Crookedjaw waited for Mudfur to squeeze inside, then followed.
“Brambleberry.” He greeted the medicine cat crouching beside Birdsong. “How is she?”
Birdsong scowled through the shadows. “She’s still got her hearing and a tongue in her head.”
Tanglewhisker rolled his eyes. “She’s definitely got a tongue in her head,” he muttered. “When Troutclaw joined StarClan I thought I’d get some peace.”
Crookedjaw picked his way past the two empty nests beside the entrance. They still carried the very faint scents of Shellheart and Troutclaw. He settled down beside the elderly tabby-and-white she-cat.
Brambleberry was shredding some herbs on the dark earthen floor. “This nest is damp,” she hissed. “Everything’s damp.”
Birdsong started coughing. Tanglewhisker flattened his ears. “If she’s not talking then she’s giving me earache with her coughing!”
Birdsong swallowed painfully. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone,” she rasped.
“You’re not going anywhere.” Brambleberry finished ripping up the herbs and thrust them under the old she-cat’s nose. “Eat these. They’ll soothe your throat.” She glanced up at Crookedjaw. “I’ve sent Loudbelly, Frogleap, and Skyheart to look for dry moss, but StarClan knows where they’ll find any.”
Mudfur tipped his head. “Perhaps ThunderClan would give us some,” he suggested. “There are plenty of sheltered spots in the forest and they owe us for giving them Sunningrocks.”
Tanglewhisker snorted. “We can’t ask ThunderClan for anything! They already think we’re weak. And if this damp gets into all our bones, we won’t be able to fight off a minnow, let alone those mangy warriors.”
Birdsong munched her herbs. “When I was younger, we used to hunt in the big nest by the Twoleg meadow.”
Crookedjaw looked anxiously at Brambleberry. The old cat was rambling. Was it a sign that she was getting a fever?
“Before there were so many dogs.” Birdsong’s eyes misted as she went on. “There was a black-and-white mutt.” She purred at Tanglewhisker. “Do you remember it? The scrappy one, always barking. It attacked me once?”
“I remember.” Tanglewhisker’s whiskers twitched. “It looked very surprised when you turned and swiped it on the muzzle.”
“It kept its distance the next time we went hunting there!” There was amusement in Birdsong’s wheezy mew.
Tanglewhisker tucked his paws tighter under him and fluffed out his damp fur. “What made you think about the Twoleg nest? Do you want to go and hunt mice?”
“No, frog-brain!” She flicked her tail at him. “The Twolegs used to store dry grass there. That would keep our nests dry. No use putting in more moss; it just soaks up the wet from the ground.”
Tanglewhisker’s eyes gleamed. “Of course!”
Brambleberry was on her paws. “Do you think you could fetch some?” She stared hopefully at Crookedjaw. “Birdsong’s cough won’t get any better so long as she’s sleeping in a damp nest.”
“Of course.” Excitement fizzed in his paws. Perhaps Birdsong’s mind wasn’t so addled after all. It was a brilliant idea. “I’ll go ask Hailstar.” He squeezed out of the den and hurried down the slope.
Hailstar was crouching beneath the willow. He stood up to greet Crookedjaw. “You look cheerful.”
“Birdsong’s been telling me about a Twoleg nest where dry grass is stored.”
“The barn!” Hailstar lifted his tail. “Of course. She took me hunting there when I was just a ’paw.”
A barn?
Crookedjaw instantly pictured Fleck’s home. He hadn’t thought of his old friend in moons. “Where is it?” The old warriors obviously weren’t talking about Fleck and Mitzi’s barn, which was much too far for regular hunting patrols.
“Beyond the dog fence,” Hailstar told him. “Past the field there’s a huge nest. No Twolegs in it, just dry grass and mice.” He lifted his muzzle. Even in the cold rain, his pelt sodden, he looked as strong as a warrior half his age. “Petaldust, Sedgecreek, Leopardfur!” He called to the three cats weaving leaves into the nursery walls. “You can finish that later. We have a special mission.”
Oakheart, guarding his reed, looked up. “What is it?”
Crookedjaw flicked the rain from his tail. “We’re going to fetch dry bedding.”