“I just thought we should talk.” Hailstar stopped beside a mossy log. Soft evening light filtered through the rustling leaves. Bees hummed sleepily among the wildflowers and a blackbird was calling from the branches above their heads. “Are you enjoying your apprenticeship?” he asked.
Crookedpaw nodded. “It’s great!” He guessed the RiverClan leader must have asked Oakheart, Beetlenose, Voleclaw, and Petaldust the same question when they were still ’paws.
“Your journey to becoming a warrior has taken longer than most.”
“Four seasons,” Crookedpaw reminded him.
“Yes.” The RiverClan leader padded on, nodding. “That must seem a long time to a young cat.”
“Yeah,” Crookedpaw sighed.
“Are you jealous that your brother’s already a warrior?”
“Jealous?” Crookedpaw blinked. “No. Oakheart’s a great warrior. And I’ll be a great warrior, too.” He fluffed out his fur. “One day.”
“Is that all you want?” Hailstar asked softly. “To become a great warrior?”
“What else is there?” Crookedpaw wondered where these questions were leading. Was Hailstar about to make him a warrior? Excitement pricked beneath his pelt. “I want to look after my Clan. That’s the most important thing in the world.”
“Really?” Hailstar halted and stared hard at Crookedpaw.
Crookedpaw shifted his paws. “Of course!” Did Hailstar doubt him? He’d trained harder than any apprentice!
Hailstar looked away. “Brambleberry’s worried.”
“What’s she worried about?” What did she have to do with his apprenticeship? She mixed herbs. She didn’t train warriors! Crookedpaw swallowed back his anger. “I’ll do any task you want, any assessment, fight any battle to show you I can be a great warrior!”
“I’m sure you would.” Hailstar narrowed his eyes. “Without doubt. But being a warrior isn’t just about courage and skill and being ready to fight battles…” His mew trailed away.
Hailstar didn’t answer. He was slowly shaking his head, lost in his own thoughts.
“Whoa!” Shellheart ducked out of his way as he charged through the sedge tunnel. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Crookedpaw stormed into the medicine den.
Brambleberry looked up from the herbs she was mixing. “Crookedpaw? Is something wrong?”
“Hailstar doubts I can be a warrior!” Crookedpaw snapped. “You told him there’s something wrong with me! Is it because of my jaw?”
Brambleberry dusted the herbs from her paws. “It has nothing to do with your jaw.”
“Then why did you tell Hailstar you were worried about me?”
The medicine cat glanced at her paws. “I worry about all the apprentices,” she mumbled.
“Really?” Crookedpaw’s tail lashed. “Is Hailstar going to ask
Brambleberry didn’t answer.
“I didn’t think so,” Crookedpaw growled. “So what is it? What’s different about me? I always trusted you! I thought we were friends!” His belly tightened. “What am I doing wrong? You tried to stop me from fighting in the battle and you told me to listen to StarClan when I went to the Moonstone. You think there’s something wrong with me, don’t you?” He sat down, baffled. “Have you had an omen about me?”
He was half joking but the flash of fear in Brambleberry’s eyes made him stiffen. “What was it?” he demanded. “What have you seen?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” she answered quickly. “Y-you have the chance to be a great warrior…” She was searching for words. “Like all RiverClan cats. You just have to follow the right path.”
“And I’m not following it now?” He stared at her.
He turned and stalked out of the den. He barged past Graypool, who was dragging a fish across the clearing, and raced away from the camp, hurtling blindly along the shore. Why did he bother training so hard for his Clan when they doubted him? He’d prove them wrong.
A moon passed and the days grew longer and warmer. The river had begun to teem with fresh prey and the Clan feasted in the rosy glow of the setting sun. Shimmerpelt and Piketooth were sharing tongues beside the reed bed, grooming each other’s fur on the back of their necks. Whitefang was tucking into a fat carp beside them while Cedarpelt lay beside Lakeshine, his tail wrapped protectively across her swollen belly. She was expecting his kits and had given up warrior duties and moved to the nursery.
Birdsong stretched. “This would be a perfect evening for warming my bones on Sunningrocks.” The old she-cat looked wistfully out over the reed bed.
