Crookedstar’s Promise полностью

“Thanks.” Crookedjaw was looking forward to a good night’s sleep. He padded to his den and ducked inside. The cocoon of woven reeds rested against the crumbling bark of the fallen tree. It was just big enough for three nests. Crookedjaw could tell by sniffing which was Whitefang’s and which was Oakheart’s. He padded past them and climbed into his own, grateful for the soft, clean moss that lined the carefully threaded reeds. Oakheart must have been working on this for ages. Crookedjaw felt a jolt of affection for his brother; Oakheart had never lost faith in him. A purr rumbled in his throat as he curled down into his nest and closed his eyes.

“Wake up!” A snarl wrenched him from sleep.

Crookedjaw leaped to his paws. He was in the shadowy forest.

Mapleshade’s eyes blazed in the gloom. “Have you forgotten your promise?”

Crookedjaw, still half asleep, stared at her. “What?”

“Your promise!”

“Is this because I didn’t come training last night?” He struggled against the tiredness fogging his thoughts.

“No, you mouse-brain! I heard you talking to Willowpaw. I’ve seen you, acting like mates-for-life. What did I ask you to do?”

“To look after my Clan?” Crookedjaw backed away. Mapleshade’s breath was rank.

She lunged for him, swiping his twisted jaw so viciously that he staggered, pain shooting through his face. “I asked you to put your Clan before everything!” She stood over him as he crouched down, stiff with shock. “That includes any feelings you might have for that pathetic ball of fur you’ve been mooning over!”

He stared up at her. “Do you mean Willowpaw?”

“You want to be a great warrior, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Crookedjaw could scent rage pulsing from her, hot and sharp.

“Then forget about love and friendship and what you want, you selfish mouse-brain, and put your Clan first like you promised!”

“I have put my Clan first.” Anger surged beneath his pelt. “Don’t tell me that I haven’t!” He squared up against her. Mapleshade stared back as vicious as a fox. Why was she suddenly so mean? StarClan cats weren’t supposed to be mean! Crookedjaw had become a warrior. She should be proud. Confused, he turned and fled.

Swerving between the dark trees, he raced through the tangled, slippery undergrowth. Mist swirled around him and he slipped and staggered as he ran, fighting to keep his balance as trunks loomed from the fog, and the undergrowth seemed to grab for his paws. Heart pounding, he slowed. He was tired and he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to be back in his nest. He stumbled to a halt, hanging his head as he caught his breath.

“You’re back.”

The croaking mew made him jump. Crookedjaw squinted and made out a shape in the shadows up ahead. It shambled toward him and he recognized the pelt. “Goosefeather?” The ThunderClan medicine cat was here again. He must share his dreams with StarClan a lot.

Goosefeather dipped his head. “Mapleshade’s apprentice.” He padded closer and sniffed Crookedjaw’s pelt. “I’ve been hearing rumors about you.”

Crookedjaw backed away. “From who?”

“Don’t forget I share with StarClan.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Crookedjaw’s paws pricked. Were the old cat’s whiskers twitching?

“I suppose you could say that.”

What did he mean? “What does StarClan say about me?”

Goosefeather circled Crookedjaw slowly. “That you could be a great warrior.”

Crookedjaw sensed the old tom’s gaze flicking over his pelt. “Really?” He brightened.

“Don’t take any notice of that old fool.” Mapleshade’s mew made him turn. She’d caught up to him. She must have run fast, yet she looked as cool as ever and her breath was slow and steady.

Goosefeather glanced at her, amusement lighting his gaze. “I may be an old fool,” he rasped. “But at least my heart is true.” He padded past Crookedjaw and stopped in front of Mapleshade. “My heart isn’t soured by bitterness or guided by revenge.”

Crookedjaw padded closer. “What do you mean?”

Goosefeather ignored him. “You should tread the path you’re following with care, Mapleshade. A destiny shouldn’t be played with like prey.”

Mapleshade barged past the old ThunderClan medicine cat. “Ignore him, Crookedjaw. His mind has been addled by too many visions.”

Crookedjaw met her gaze. “At least he speaks to me like an equal,” he challenged.

Mapleshade broke into a purr. “You’re not upset because I reminded you of your promise, are you?” She pressed against him, guiding him forward, away from Goosefeather. “Maybe I was a little harsh, but I was frightened that you were forgetting your destiny. I want you to be the greatest warrior RiverClan has ever known—the greatest any Clan will ever know. Willowpaw is a sweet, pretty cat and I’m not surprised you’re fond of her. But the sweetest traps are often the most dangerous. She will soften you and sway you from your course.” She halted. “You do still want to be a great warrior, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Crookedjaw cried.