Эрин Хантер - Crookedstar’s Promise

Shellheart looked down, keeping one forepaw over the squirming kit. “Did you find Duskwater?”

“No sign of her,” Brightsky replied heavily.

Shellheart lashed his tail. “Join the others. We’re fine. Come back for us when the waters have gone down.”

The stick Rainflower had been biting on crumbled into splinters as the second kit slid out. Brambleberry caught it in her teeth and placed it at Rainflower’s belly.

Rainflower reached for it at once, licking it roughly till it mewled. “It’s a tom.”

“So’s this one.” Shellheart gently placed the tiny kit beside its littermate. His voice cracked. “They’re perfect,” he whispered.

Rainflower purred as Shellheart rubbed his cheek against hers. “I name this one Oakkit for the oak that protected us from the flood,” she rumbled, “and this one Stormkit for the storm that drove us here.”

“Kits born into a storm like this one are destined to be great warriors,” Shellheart murmured. He gazed at his queen with pride. “It’s just a shame they can’t both be leaders of RiverClan.”

Stormkit edged farther along the slippery branch. Volekit’s dare rang in his ears. Bet you fall off before you get to the end!

He unsheathed his claws and dug them into the frozen bark. From here, he could see a long way downstream, as far as the bend in the river. He could just glimpse the first of the stepping-stones beyond. And on the far shore, Sunningrocks! Its sheer side shadowed the water and its wide, smooth stone summit sparkled with frost. Stormkit fluffed out his fur. He’d seen farther than any other kit in the Clan! They’d never even seen past the reed bed.

“Be careful!” Oakkit called from the camp clearing.

“Shut up, Oakkit! I’m a warrior!” Stormkit looked down, past the fat, mouse-brown bulrush heads, into the dense forest of reeds that jutted out of the icy river. Minnows flitted between the stems, their scales flashing.

Could he reach down with a paw, break the thin ice, and scoop them out? He pressed his pale brown belly to the bark, wrapped his hind legs around the narrow branch, and swung his forepaws down toward the tiny fish. Tingling with frustration, he felt his claws brush the tips of the bulrushes. I was born in a storm! I’m going to be Clan leader one day! Stormkit stretched harder, trembling with the effort.

“What are you doing?” Oakkit yelped.

“Let him be!” Stormkit heard Rainflower silencing Oakkit, a purr rumbling in her throat. “Your brother has the courage of a warrior already.”

Stormkit clung tighter to the branch. I’ll be fine. I’m stronger than StarClan .

“Look out!” Oakkit squeaked.

A rush of wind tugged Stormkit’s fur. A flurry of black-and-white feathers battered his ears.

Magpie!

Talons scraped his spine.

Frog dirt and fish guts! Stormkit’s claws were wrenched out of the bark. He plummeted into the reeds and crashed through the thin ice. The freezing water shocked the breath from him. Minnows darted away as he thrashed in the water.

Where’s the shore? River water flooded his mouth. It tasted of stone and weeds. Spluttering, he struggled to swim, but the stiff reeds blocked his flailing paws. StarClan, help me! Panic shot through him as he fought to keep his muzzle above water.

Suddenly the stems beside him swished apart and Tanglewhisker plunged through.

“I’m okay!” Stormkit spluttered. Water rushed into his mouth again and he sank, coughing, beneath the ice.

Teeth gripped his scruff.

“Kits!”

Stormkit heard Tanglewhisker’s muffled growl as the elder hauled him up.

Shivering with cold, Stormkit bunched his paws against his belly, wincing with embarrassment as Tanglewhisker pushed his way through the reeds and deposited Stormkit on the bank next to his mother.

“Nice dive, Stormkit!” Volekit teased.

“Like a kingfisher,” Beetlekit added. “Maybe Hailstar should change your name to Birdbrain.”

Stormkit growled at the two kits as they crowded around him. One moon older, they loomed over him like crows.

Echomist paced anxiously behind them, her soft gray fur fluffed with worry. “Don’t tease, you two.”

Petalkit pushed past her brothers. “ I wasn’t teasing!” The pretty tortoiseshell she-cat stuck her nose in the air. “I think he was brave to try!”

Purring, Rainflower licked Stormkit’s ears. “Next time, grip the branch harder.”

Stormkit shook her off. “Don’t worry. I will.”

As Tanglewhisker shook water from his long tabby pelt, Birdsong hurried down the slope from the elders’ den. “You’ll catch cold!” she scolded.

Tanglewhisker blinked at his tabby-and-white mate. “Did you want me to let him drown?”

“One of the warriors would have rescued him,” Birdsong retorted.

Tanglewhisker shrugged. “They’re busy.”

Rainflower purred. “I think Stormkit would have found his own way out. He’s a strong little cat, aren’t you?”

Stormkit felt his fur glow with the warmth of his mother’s praise. He blinked water out of his eyes and looked around the clearing. This was the home of RiverClan, the greatest Clan of all. He hadn’t seen it before the flood, so the smooth brown mud that covered the ground and the heaps of battered wet reeds that cluttered every corner were more familiar to him than the densely woven walls and open spaces that were emerging. Timberfur and Cedarpelt were carrying bundles of freshly picked dry reeds across the clearing to Softpaw and Whitepaw, who were weaving them into the tattered apprentices’ den. Farther along the river’s edge, Shellheart and Ottersplash were gathering more stems. Fallowtail was helping Brambleberry clear the last of the muddy debris from the medicine den. Owlfur and Lakeshine were dragging deadwood and bark that had been washed through the reeds and into the clearing.

A whole moon had passed since the stormy night when Stormkit and Oakkit had been born, but the camp still showed signs of being swept away. Fortunately the elders’ den had held firm and only needed a little reweaving here and there. And the nursery, a ball of tightly overlapping willow branches and reeds, had been found downstream, wedged between the stepping-stones. It had been easy enough to drag it back to camp and lodge it among the thick sedge bushes. A few patches had repaired it, though it was still damp inside from the soaking. Rainflower tucked fresh moss into their nest every evening, but Stormkit still woke each morning with a cold, wet pelt.

The rest of the camp was harder to fix. It had taken half a moon’s digging and levering to roll the fallen tree to the edge of the clearing where the old warriors’ dens had stood. Once the broken branches and shattered bark had been cleared away, new dens could be woven against its thick trunk. Until then, RiverClan’s warriors slept in whatever shelter they could find, making nests in the thick sedge walls around the camp or in the nooks and crevices of the fallen tree. No cat could remember what it was like to be warm. Newleaf might be showing in early buds and birdsong, but leaf-bare frosts still gripped the banks of the river every night.

Hailstar had been sleeping in the open, despite the cold. He insisted that his den be the last one rebuilt. “When my Clan is safe and warm, then I will sleep soundly, but not before,” he had vowed.

Oakkit wound around Stormkit, soaking water from his brother’s pale tabby pelt into his own bracken-colored fur. “I told you to be careful.”

“I wouldn’t have fallen if that magpie hadn’t dived at me,” Stormkit growled through chattering teeth. The cold water seemed to have reached his bones.