Эрин Хантер - Crookedstar’s Promise

“You wouldn’t have fallen off if you’d stayed in the clearing.” A deep mew sounded from behind them.

Stormkit spun around.

Hailstar was staring down at him, his thick gray pelt ruffled against the cold. Amusement lit the RiverClan leader’s yellow eyes. “Shellheart!” He called to his deputy, not taking his eyes from Stormkit.

Shellheart slid out from the rushes, his wet pelt slicked against his strong frame. He glanced at Stormkit. “Is everything okay?”

“Your kit will be a brave warrior,” Hailstar meowed. “ If he doesn’t drown himself before he starts his training.”

Shellheart’s tail flicked as Hailstar went on. “We’d better send a patrol to catch that magpie. It’s beginning to think it owns RiverClan territory.”

Shellheart dipped his head. “Should we drive it off or catch it?”

Hailstar wrinkled his nose. “We’d better catch it,” he growled unenthusiastically. Few cats in RiverClan liked adding birds to the fresh-kill pile. “We must eat whatever we can find.” The flood had killed so many fish—battered them on the rocks or left them stranded on land—that river prey was scarce.

“I’ll organize a patrol,” Shellheart meowed.

“Wait till Rippleclaw’s patrol returns,” Hailstar ordered. With so much rebuilding still to do in camp, Hailstar rarely sent out more than one patrol at a time.

“I hope they’ve caught something edible this time,” Tanglewhisker muttered.

“I’m sure they will have,” Birdsong meowed. “It’s been a moon since the flood. The fish must be coming back by now.”

Echomist turned away from her kits. “If only we’d buried some of the fish washed up by the flood, and preserved them like ThunderClan does with their prey in leaf-bare.”

Hailstar shook his head. “Fish don’t keep like forest prey. Our warriors will need the strength of StarClan to repair the damage done by the flood as well as keep the fresh-kill pile well stocked.”

Stormkit stuck out his tail. “Let us help with the rebuilding, then.”

Volekit hurried forward, his gray fur spiking with excitement. “Oh, yes, please!”

“We’ll be really useful!” Petalkit fluffed out her tortoiseshell pelt.

Echomist swept her tail around her kits, pulling them away. “Don’t be frog-brained. You’ll get under everyone’s paws.”

Stormkit plucked at the ground. “No, we won’t!”

Hailstar’s whiskers twitched. “I’m not going to turn down a genuine offer of help, Echomist. As long as they stay in the camp, I don’t see a problem. We’ll have a kit patrol!”

Stormkit puffed out his chest as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Oakkit, Beetlekit, Volekit, and Petalkit. “Great! What should we do?”

Hailstar thought for a moment. “If you take the reeds that Ottersplash is gathering to Softpaw and Whitepaw, then Timberfur and Cedarpelt will be free to join Shellheart’s hunting patrol.”

“Come on!” Stormkit raced for the shore where Ottersplash was tossing reeds.

“Careful!” Cedarpelt was pawing together a freshly harvested pile as Stormkit skidded to a halt next to him. “Don’t knock them into the river!”

“I won’t!” Stormkit sank his teeth into a stem and began dragging it across the clearing to the apprentices’ half-built den.

“Well, well.” Whitepaw paused from weaving stems on the roof of the apprentices’ den and looked down. “We have new volunteers.”

“Is that a whole reed?” Softpaw peered from inside the framework of woven willow stems, her tabby-patched tail quivering. “We’ll be finished before we know it with help like this.”

“I can carry more,” Stormkit boasted, puffed up with pride. He dropped the stem and turned away, nearly crashing into Beetlekit.

“Watch out!” mewed the black kit, tripping over the reed he was dragging.

“Sorry!” Stormkit dashed back toward the reed bed, past Volekit, who had three reeds clamped between his jaws. “I’m bringing four next time,” he called over his shoulder.

He pricked his ears as he heard paws splash on the marshy earth beyond the entrance tunnel. A cat was racing toward the camp. Stormkit halted, blinking, as the sedge wall of the camp rustled and Rippleclaw pounded into the clearing.

“Any prey?” Birdsong called.

Rippleclaw shook his head, his silver flanks heaving. “Sunningrocks!” he gasped. “ThunderClan has taken Sunningrocks!”

“ThunderClan!” Stormkit raced for the fallen tree, scrambled onto the trunk, and scooted back along the icy branch that stretched over the river. “Those snake-hearts!” He could see the scrawny pelts of ThunderClan warriors swarming like rats over the huge gray rocks that had always been RiverClan’s despite ThunderClan’s grasping claims.

“How dare they?”

Stormkit heard his father’s growl and turned to see Shellheart leap up the trunk of the ancient willow and hurry along one of the low boughs that reached out over the water. The RiverClan deputy peered through the trailing branches. “I don’t believe it! Pinestar’s stretched out in the sunshine like it’s his territory!”

Stormkit saw a massive fox-red tom sprawling on the rocks, his soft belly fur glittering where it had brushed the frosty stone.

Rippleclaw paced the clearing, his black-and-silver fur spiked up. “They must think we’ve lost our teeth and claws!”

The sedge swished as Mudfur and Brightsky raced into camp. Piketooth followed, his tabby fur bristling, a fat carp skewered between his long front teeth. He dropped the fish and stared at Hailstar. “Who’s going to lead the battle patrol?”

Stormkit lashed his tail. Why couldn’t he be an apprentice already? Then he could join his Clanmates in driving the mangy ThunderClan cats off RiverClan territory.

“What’s going on?” Troutclaw padded stiffly out of the elders’ den. His gray tabby pelt was ruffled from sleep.

“There are ThunderClan warriors on Sunningrocks!” Stormkit called from his perch.

Hailstar swung his gaze around. “Get down from there, Stormkit,” he growled. “This isn’t a time for games.”

“I’m not playing!” Stormkit objected. But he backed along the branch and jumped down from the trunk.

Shellheart scrambled down from the willow and faced Hailstar. “Are we going to let those squirrel-chasers stay there?”

Rippleclaw growled. “They must know we can see them.”

“Which means they’ll be ready for us if we attack.” Troutclaw padded down the slope. “How could we win a battle that they’re more prepared for than we are?” He shook his matted head. “Haven’t we lost enough?”

Stormkit wondered if the old tom was thinking of Duskwater. He’d heard Rainflower telling Echomist that the she-cat’s body had never been found after the flood. “We’ll win this time!” he mewed.

“Hush, Stormkit!” Shellheart snapped his head around.

Timberfur crossed the clearing, his eyes dark. “We might lose.”

Cedarpelt joined Troutclaw and swept his tail sympathetically across the old cat’s shoulder. “Sunningrocks has always been hard to defend.”

Stormkit stiffened. “That’s no reason to let ThunderClan have it!” He stepped back as Shellheart brushed in front of him, muffling his mew.

“You’re too young for this debate,” the RiverClan deputy warned.

Rainflower scooped Stormkit aside with her tail. “Hush, little one. You have a warrior’s heart as brave as any cat’s. You’ll get your turn.”

You bet I will! Stormkit shut his mouth and curled his claws. One day I’ll be leader and then I’ll decide when we go into battle.

“Ow!”

He felt a tail beneath his paws and turned to find Oakkit glaring at him.