“Frog-dung!” Crookedpaw dropped on to all fours, growling, and lunged for the two cats, trying to get between them and split their attack. But Snowpaw darted underneath him. Pain ripped his belly as she raked him with thorn-sharp claws. More claws sank into his shoulders. Bluepaw was on his back. Panic rising, he tried to shake her off while scrambling away from Snowpaw. But Snowpaw rolled and knocked out his hind legs. Tumbling, Crookedpaw yowled with rage. Bluepaw was clinging on like a burr. He felt his pelt shredding beneath her churning paws as he rolled down the bank. Agony gripped him, blood roaring in his ears. Flinging Bluepaw off, he dived for the frozen river and hurtled across the ice. Racing for the bank he exploded through the bushes, relieved to smell RiverClan scent bathe his tongue.
A yowl split the air. “Forward, ThunderClan!”
Bluepaw and Snowpaw were staring up at Sunningrocks, ears pricked with excitement. They ducked against the rock as RiverClan warriors began to plunge down the cliff and charge across the river. Crookedpaw watched in shock as Hailstar hurtled past him, leaving blood in his trail. Ottersplash and Shimmerpelt thundered after him, the rest of the patrol at their heels.
Shellheart, Rippleclaw, and Timberfur were pounding the ice on the far side of the river, smashing it with their hind paws. As Crookedpaw stared, they broke open a channel of icy water and swam hard for the far shore. ThunderClan streamed down the rocks in pursuit, slithering to a clumsy halt at the edge of the racing water. The broken ice meant there was no way for them to follow.
“Mouse-hearts!” a mottled warrior growled as Shellheart dived through the bushes on RiverClan’s side of the river.
“Crookedpaw?” Shellheart pulled up sharply. “Are you okay?”
Crookedpaw straightened and lifted his chin. “I’m fine.”
Shellheart frowned. “You must have fought like a warrior.” He leaned forward and licked Crookedpaw’s blood-soaked cheek. Crookedpaw ducked away, wincing.
“Come on.” Shellheart nudged him toward camp. “You’re going to need some herbs on those scratches.”
“You ordered us to retreat!” Rippleclaw stared, dumbfounded, at Shellheart. “How could you do that?”
Shellheart was padding among his Clanmates, checking injuries, doling out praise and encouragement to the battered warriors. Dawn colored the sky and birds were beginning to sing in the bushes outside camp. Crookedpaw crouched beside Oakheart, his pain easing as Brambleberry’s herbs soaked into his wounds.
“We had no choice,” Shellheart meowed.
Timberfur shifted, wincing, on to his other side. “But Hailstar told us ThunderClan was weak.”
“We were
Whitefang sighed. “If only Stormtail hadn’t turned up with a second patrol—”
Rippleclaw cut him off. “Why didn’t Hailstar think of that?”
“He’s not a mind reader,” Shellheart snapped.
Timberfur growled. “But he’s a leader. Leaders should know how to win battles.” He glared toward the medicine den.
Hailstar’s wounds had been deep. When Brambleberry couldn’t stop the bleeding in the clearing, Shellheart and Owlfur had carried the half-conscious leader to her den.
“Shut up!” Petaldust’s eyes flared. A long scratch traced from her forehead to her muzzle, and her tortoiseshell pelt was clumped with blood. “Hailstar could be losing a life!”
Crookedpaw got to his paws. His wounds burned like fire.
Oakheart looked up. “Where are you going?”
“I want to take fresh-kill to Brambleberry.” He glanced at his paws. Truthfully, he was more interested in finding out how Hailstar was so he could reassure Petaldust and Voleclaw. They were clearly worried about their father. Even Beetlenose wasn’t boasting for a change. “She’s been busy all night. She must be hungry.”
“But the fresh-kill pile’s empty,” Oakheart pointed out.
“I know where there are some minnows.” He padded carefully through the reed bed. The ice creaked beneath his paws. It would be gone in a day or so. He quickly caught a few minnows in his jaws. Back on shore, he crossed the clearing.
Rainflower was licking her wounds. She looked up as he passed. “Well done, Crookedpaw,” she meowed, and returned to her washing.
Crookedpaw’s fur prickled with surprise. Rainflower had praised him! His heart lifted. Ducking through the sedge tunnel into Brambleberry’s den, he dropped the fish at the medicine cat’s paws. “How is he?”
Hailstar lay curled in a nest beside the wall of the den. Echomist sat beside him, lapping his pelt. The RiverClan leader’s fur was dull and matted, his flanks hardly moving.
“He’s stopped bleeding,” Brambleberry murmured. “But he lost a lot of blood.”
Echomist stiffened. “He’s not breathing!”
