“At least we know why you’re called Loudbelly,” Piketooth teased. “It’s been rumbling since we left camp.”
Loudbelly scooped up a pawful of snow and hurled it at his Clanmate. “I’ve had half a sparrow in two days!” he reminded him. “Of course it’s rumbling!”
“We’ll catch something before we go home,” Crookedstar mewed hopefully as they trudged into the willows above the camp. He tried to sound cheerful, but he hated watching his Clan grow so scrawny.
“We’ve been out since dawn and we haven’t caught anything yet,” Loudbelly muttered. The sun was already sliding toward the horizon.
The river had been frozen for half a moon, the ice too thick to break. Without fish, they’d had to rely on meager pickings from the woodland. Crookedstar had forgotten what a full belly felt like.
“You must eat and stay strong for your Clan,” Willowbreeze begged him every night. But Crookedstar could not take food from his Clanmates. He’d rather starve.
Loudbelly squawked as he disappeared into the snow. He struggled back to the surface, cursing. “Why do I find every dip and hollow?”
“Let me go first.” Crookedstar bounded ahead, throwing up snow in his wake.
“Thanks a lot!” Piketooth ducked as his leader sprayed him. “I wasn’t quite cold enough.” A growl edged his mew.
Tempers were as short as the days. “Hungry bellies make angry hearts,” as Birdsong liked to say.
Tanglewhisker had snapped at her the last time she’d said it. “Can’t you think of something helpful to say for a change?”
For once Birdsong had no quick reply. She simply stared at her mate, her eyes dark with pain. Like the rest of her Clan, she was still mourning the death of Graypool’s kits. The whole Clan moved quietly around the camp now, not knowing how to comfort the grieving queen. The two kits, Splashkit and Morningkit, had been born sickly, and had never grown strong, dying less than a moon after they’d been kitted.
Graypool had been very ill afterward. Mudfur and Brambleberry had taken turns to sit with the ailing queen and now she was finally strong enough to leave the camp from time to time, ranging out over the frozen river and yowling her heartbreak out loud.
“She’s calling to them,” Crookedstar had heard Shimmerpelt whisper to Piketooth. “She knows they won’t be coming back but I think she believes they can hear her from StarClan.”
Crookedstar had paused from his washing and pricked his ears, his heart twisting as he heard Graypool’s heartbroken cry echo eerily across the river.
He shook away the memory. “Come on!” He scrambled up the slope to a clearing ringed by rowan and willow. Piketooth struggled after him, through the churned snow.
Loudbelly tasted the air. “Squirrel!” The young warrior dropped into a crouch. A gray squirrel was scampering between the willows, its tail rippling behind it. As it skittered up a trunk, Loudbelly sprang after it, wallowing through the snow. He jumped up the tree and chased the squirrel along a slender branch, shaking clumps of snow on to Crookedstar and Piketooth.
“Watch out!” Piketooth crossly shook snow from his pelt as Loudbelly leaped from one tree to another. But the squirrel darted upward, safe in the highest branches, and bounded away, tree to tree, leaving Loudbelly hanging from a narrow branch with his hind legs churning empty air.
“Frog-dung!” Loudbelly let go and dropped into the snow. He sat up, shaking it from his ears.
Crookedstar shook his head. “Tough luck,” he meowed. If only Oakheart were with them. He was fast and light enough on his paws to cross the snow without breaking the frosty crust. But Oakheart was resting. A vicious battle with Thistleclaw three moons ago had left him with a wrenched leg that still ached in the cold weather.
Crookedstar wished he had been there to protect his brother. He’d trained in the Dark Forest, too, and he’d have known a few of Thistleclaw’s battle moves. Crookedstar shuddered at the memory of that dank, stinking place. Rumors from the border hinted that Tawnyspots was dying; ThunderClan would need a new deputy soon, and even though Adderfang had been carrying out Tawnyspot’s duties during his illness, Thistleclaw’s name was the one whispered at the Gatherings. Crookedstar closed his eyes, dreading the thought of a Dark Forest cat becoming leader of a Clan. A shower of snow splattering against his muzzle jerked him back to the present.
“Mouse!” Loudbelly squealed as Piketooth shot away, skimming the snow, fast as a fish. He slammed his paws on it as it darted toward the roots of a rowan and killed it with a bite.
“Let’s get back to camp,” Crookedstar meowed. It was getting colder and all the cats were shivering.
“But we’ve only got a mouse,” Loudbelly argued.
“It’ll have to do,” Crookedstar told him. “We’ve been out all day. It’s freezing. We don’t want to get sick.” He knew Brambleberry’s supply of herbs was dangerously low.
As they padded into camp, Piketooth carried his mouse to the fresh-kill pile and dropped it next to a dead frog, which was already stiff with frost. Willowbreeze was hurrying toward the nursery, feathers trembling in her jaws.
Crookedstar crossed the clearing and stopped beside her. “Who needs feathers?”
Willowbreeze’s eyes shone. She beckoned him forward with a nod. Squeezing in after his mate, Crookedstar felt his mouth fall open in astonishment. Graypool was curled in her nest with two kits squirming at her belly.
Kits?
Willowbreeze quickly tucked the feathers around the kits and sat back, purring. “It’s a blessing from StarClan!”
Crookedstar closed his mouth, speechless.
“I found them.” Graypool anticipated his first question as she gently nuzzled the kits, encouraging them closer.
“A tom and a she-kit,” Willowbreeze announced proudly. The tom was pale gray and mewling; the dark gray she-kit stared around the den, her eyes bright with fear.
Crookedstar leaned forward and touched the she-kit’s ear with his muzzle. “Don’t worry, little one. You’re safe here.” He narrowed his eyes at Graypool. “What do you mean, you found them? Where?”
“At the border.” Graypool wrapped her tail tighter around the kits. “A loner must’ve abandoned them. It’s a blessing I discovered them before they froze.” She looked up with a gleam of defiance in her yellow eyes. “I’m going to keep them and raise them as my own.”
“But what if their mother comes to find them?”
Graypool flattened her ears. “A mother who abandons her kits won’t come back to claim them.”
Willowbreeze pressed against Crookedstar. “StarClan must have led Graypool to them.”
Fallowtail squeezed through the entrance. “Can I see them?”
Lakeshine peered in, Softwing crowding behind her.
“Come on.” Willowbreeze began shooing away her Clanmates. “These kits need rest.” She guided Fallowtail out of the nursery. “They’re still weak from their ordeal.”
Crookedstar hopped out after them, glancing back at Graypool. The gray queen was staring at the kits as if they were the only things that mattered in the world. Outside the nursery, Willowbreeze fended off questions from her Clanmates.
“They’re strong and healthy, just frightened.”
“I expect you’ll be able to see them in the morning.”
“Graypool’s smitten with them, and I think they like her.”
Voleclaw nudged Crookedstar. “Willowbreeze seems to have everything under control,” he purred. “She’ll make a good mother herself one day.”
Crookedstar hardly heard him. What if the loner comes back? Graypool’s heart would break to give them up. Would a loner be prepared to fight for her kits? Would it be fair to make her fight?