3. All the Wrong Choices
The dawn rose swiftly over WindClan territory, lighting up the moors in gold and rose. It was the very end of leaf-bare, new melted snow swelling the frigid streams and baring the plains to make way for new growth of heather.
Crookedclaw sat watching the sun rise. Ever since he'd been a kit – such a very long time ago – he'd loved to watch the new day coming to life, the sun painting the skies and the cold fresh air and the mist rising from the moors.
Ooh, but the cold was getting at his old bones now. Ah well; the sun would be warm today, and he could lie on the rocks with Treewhisker and Squirrelthorn.
How strange life was, nowadays; to have to do nothing and be nothing more than a story-teller, to have food brought to you and every other comfort. How strange indeed. It was good for his old bones, yes, but his old heart? Now that he could no longer hunt and fight for his Clan, give back in any way, Crookedclaw wasn't sure he wanted a part in it. Ah well, ah well. Let the apprentices take care of him, yes, that was the way of the world, the young caring for the old. Not that he hadn't done enough of that in his day, StarClan knew! Taught them well, it did, taking care of the elders. Ah well!
Making his way down from the precipice of rock from which he observed this daily ritual, Crookedclaw ran into one of those very apprentices, a strong, gray-furred tom named Stonepaw. He was a well-grown cat, surely too big to be just an apprentice!
"When's your warrior ceremony, young, ah, Stonepaw?" asked Crookedclaw as he did every day.
"Not yet, old one," replied Stonepaw with a grin, as usual. It was hard to tell whether the wily old cat was just pretending to lose his memory, really had lost it, or a bit of both. Crookedclaw delighted in playing with the apprentices, and, as the only one who could put up with the constant ribbing, Stonepaw was assigned to take care of him.
"Why don't you just come over this way, Crookedclaw, and you can let the sun warm you up a bit? I'll bring you some fresh-kill." He led the ageing ginger tabby to a patch of sunlight over on one side of the camp, near the elder's den in the heather. Crookedclaw would go back to sleep almost immediately after he'd eaten, and then Stonepaw could get on with his training. The old cat was nice, excellent company once you got around his oddities, but Stonepaw had battle moves to learn and prey to catch!
When Stonepaw returned to camp that evening, laden with prey and accompanied by a satisfied hunting patrol, it was to a grave camp.
"Wildfur's border patrol has reported signs of RiverClan intrusion into our territory," said Brindlestar, standing on the rocky spur where she called Clan meetings from.
"There is no evidence that they have taken any prey yet, but it would appear that they are scouting out the territory – to see if it's worth taking." These words were met with a hiss from her Clan. Crookedclaw blinked open his eyes at the sound, disturbed from his nap in the last of the sun.
"We are going to increase patrols in that area immediately, and all warriors should be ready for battle."
"Why wait?" rasped Squirrelthorn, a cranky old tortoiseshell she-cat who was never pleased with the running of the Clan. "They're just going to think we're cowards and take even more territory! WindClan would never have allowed this to pass when I was deputy."
Too true, that was, reflected Crookedclaw sadly; in Squirrelthorn's day WindClan's leader had been a violent and proud cat named Greenstar. He'd led them into many an unjust battle. The warriors had looked to Squirrelthorn as deputy to fight against this unnecessary feuding, but the power of leading a strong Clan sang to something inside her, and she had never listened. Fortunately, Greenstar's savage policies had brought him to an early death, and Squirrelthorn had had to retire from war-wounds. Brindlestar was a much wiser leader, he decided, as the she-cat dipped her head in acknowledgement and said simply, "There is no reason to attack just yet. It may simply have been some lost apprentices who forgot where the borders were. I don't want any blood shed without good reason."
"Hear hear," mumbled Crookedclaw.
A day or two passed without event, but on the third sunrise after the intrusions had been detected, Stonepaw discovered definite proof that RiverClan were taking territory: he saw them, moving the scent line. He came running back to camp immediately, unwilling to tackle the large patrol alone. As he was pelting towards the entrance, he ran into the three elders, Crookedclaw, Treewhisker and Squirrelthorn, out walking.
"Can't stop hafta get to camp RiverClan's taking land!" he gasped when they questioned him, and tore off again.
"Now they will have to fight," said Squirrelthorn with an air of smugness. She set off walking again, at an angle to their original direction, which would have taken them to a group of sun-warmed boulders.
"Now where are you off to?" demanded Treewhisker, the oldest elder. He hated to have his routine interrupted; indeed, he had barely deviated in the twenty-odd moons since he'd left the warriors den.
"To help, of course," called Squirrelthorn back to them, flicking her tail. "I haven't missed a battle since I was a kit."
"That's because there've been no battles in recent years," said Crookedclaw, alarmed. She couldn't seriously be thinking of fighting! With a bad leg and far to many moons besides.
"Cowards," said Squirrelthorn casually. Then she was off into the heather.
"What can we do?" muttered Crookedclaw agitatedly. They'd never make it to camp in time to get help, and obviously talking to her wasn't going to work.
"Let her go," said Treewhisker around a yawn. "She wants to get killed in battle, let her."
Crookedclaw opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again as the ancient tom's words sunk in. Killed in battle. Rather than just malingering his way out of life, waited on by that poor apprentice 'til he got too old to see or hear or speak. How glorious. Everyone mourns a war hero. The dreams of his apprentice years came back, with a more morbid twist that came with his age, and he could see himself again as a warrior, proud and fearsome, with his foes fleeing before him. Surely, wanting to go out bravely was not such a terrible thing?
"I'm going to go with her," he blurted out, shocked at his split-second decision. Didn't wisdom come with age too? Well, maybe that's what it was.
"Hm-hmm," said Treewhisker, already turning back to the path.
Well, Crookedclaw would not be like that! Feeling like a young warrior again, he began to limp after Squirrelthorn.
Stonepaw had reached camp. Delivering his message to Brindlestar, he gasped air into his hollow lungs as she gave swift orders.
"Wildfur, Willowfang, go around to the RiverClan border. Stop them getting away downstream. Owleye, you cut over by Fourtrees with Yellowstripe and Ratpaw. Cloudleap, Sunsparrow, Featherpaw – come with me. We'll attack head on! Oh, and Stonepaw, you'd better come too."
The warriors she'd named sprinted out of camp immediately. Stonepaw found his breath again and bounded over to stand next to Featherpaw, his denmate, a golden tabby tom.
"Ready?" Brindlestar asked. The rest of the patrol had grouped around the two apprentices. "Lead the way, Stonepaw."
The patrol flew over the moor like the wind through the heather. Stonepaw, at its head, felt like he was leading the world.
They soon reached the place where the RiverClan warriors had been spotted. It was a break in the heather that covered the moor there, a little meadow ringed by grass covered boulders which RiverClan had moved the border to. It was several tail-lengths inside the real border; a portion of land encompassing some of the best hunting in all of WindClan's territory. Slowing, the patrol crept silently forward through the undergrowth, and, due to the speed of Stonepaw's message and the swift response of the battle-ready Clan, found that the enemy were still on WindClan territory.
"We should get out of here before a patrol comes along," said one of them nervously, pacing the heather.
"We'll set a few more scent marks, then wait over the old border. Remember, Scaleclaw, this is RiverClan territory now," replied another, a dusky brown she-cat who Stonepaw recognised as RiverClan's deputy, Otterwish.
"Too late," said Brindlestar, pushing her way out through the heather into the small boulder-surrounded clearing. The RiverClan cats spun around, shock stamped on their faces as the rest of the WindClan warriors followed their leader.
"Get off our land, and we'll pretend this never happened," offered Brindlestar, the beginnings of a snarl in her voice.
"Your land? This is RiverClan territory now," responded Otterwish, her warriors shaping into battle formation behind her.
"The border is the ravine, and it's going to stay that way – "
"You think you can scare us off? You'll have to fight if you want to keep this land!"
Brindlestar narrowed her eyes.
"So be it." With that both sides attacked.
"Squirrelthorn! Squirrelthorn, wait up!" yelled Crookedclaw. He'd finally caught up to her as she made her way towards the sounds of battle they could now hear over by the ravine.
"You're not going to stop me, Crookedclaw! I know what I want!" she snapped back, not slowing.
"I'm not trying to stop you!"
"What?" Now Squirrelthorn stopped and turned suddenly, almost making Crookedclaw run into her.
"I'm coming with you!"
The battle at the ravine was going badly for the WindClan warriors, outnumbered almost two to one. Stonepaw found himself fighting back-to-back with Featherpaw, who was bleeding from a rip in his ear. Together they pounced on a huge ginger tom, pushing him back towards the nearby gorge, at the far-away bottom of which the river roared. But then the RiverClan warrior found an opening and slashed at Featherpaw, catching him a cruel blow to the side of the head. He dropped to the ground. With a snarl, Stonepaw threw himself on his adversary, biting and clawing, but the warrior just shook him off, and, putting his paw on Stonepaw's throat, pushed down hard. Stonepaw gasped and writhed, desperate for air, but he couldn't get free. Then, when everything was about to go black and Stonepaw's head was filled with stars, the pressure suddenly disappeared and he heaved huge gulps of air into his grateful lungs. When he looked up, he saw Wildfur wrestling with the warrior. Willowfang bounded past him to join the battle too, and he could see the other patrol rushing in to help. Now the tide of the battle was turning against the RiverClan warriors. Wildfur finished with his opponent and sent him yowling back over the border with a parting swipe at his tail. Stonepaw shook his head clear, and staggered over to Featherpaw's still form.
"Are you okay? Featherpaw, answer me!" he hissed urgently to his friend. His voice was rough and his throat felt raw. Featherpaw just moaned and twitched a little, but relief flooded through Stonepaw. He'd thought that he might have been dead.
Stonepaw began to drag Featherpaw away from the battle. The others would just have to make do without him for now. His head felt like rock and he could barely breathe. Brindlestar and Otterwish were still fighting, locked in a fearsome battle while the other warriors wrestled around them. It didn't look like either she-cat would be giving up. Reaching a clump of heather beside one of the smaller boulders, Stonepaw stopped to get his breath back. Then he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. More RiverClan warriors, coming to help their comrades? No, it had RiverClan scent. Then, to Stonepaw's utter shock, two elders – Squirrelthorn, limping heavily from her bad leg, and Crookedclaw, out of breath – burst through the undergrowth, dodged around the boulders, and flung themselves into the battle! Squirrelthorn went straight for Otterwish, a fight which none of the warriors had dared to interfere with, and, wrenching her off Brindlestar, rolled over and over, locked in combat. Otterwish looked surprised at her new opponent, but, for all her age, Squirrelthorn was a ferocious fighter, and Otterwish had no choice but to respond.
Crookedclaw took a little more time, casting about for a cat to fight, and so Stonepaw was able to gather his wits enough to grab the elder's tail in his teeth.
"Yowch! Stonepaw, what was that for?" demanded Crookedclaw.
"Are you kidding? You'll get yourself killed!" Stonepaw found it hard to speak around his mouthful of fur, but he held grimly on and gave Crookedclaw's tail a firm tug to reinforce his message.
"Well . . . well, maybe," spluttered Crookedclaw, trying to be dignified while attempting to wrench his tail from the apprentice's grasp. "What do you care?"
"What do I care?" yowled Stonepaw, amazed. "You're one of my Clanmates – hey, get back here!" For with his surprise, Stonepaw had opened his mouth long enough to release Crookedclaw's tail, and the elder went streaking off to join the battle.
"Arrggh," growled Stonepaw, looking frantically between the injured Featherpaw and Crookedclaw, who was now fighting a dark brown RiverClan she-cat, unnoticed by any of the other warriors. With an apologetic glance at his unconscious friend, he raced over and tackled Crookedclaw, knocking him away from the fight and towards the ravine. The RiverClan warrior snarled in surprise and frustration, but spun back to the battle instead of pursuing her old opponent. Stonepaw had misjudged his momentum, however, and the pair found themselves spinning over the edge of the cliff.
They landed on a fortunate ledge about a tail-length below. Scrabbling to get a clawhold into the sparse vegetation on it, Stonepaw didn't notice that Crookedclaw was failing to do so until the old cat started to slither off the rocky protrusion, with a shower of pebbles raining down into the river foaming far below.
"Crookedclaw! Grab my paw!" shouted Stonepaw, flinging his paw out dangerously and sinking his claws into the elder's scruff just in time. Crookedclaw was now hanging over the abyss, with nothing but Stonepaw's failing strength holding him up.
"Crookedclaw, you have to help me!" gasped Stonepaw as he felt his hold on the plants loosen. If he let go, then they would both fall to their deaths.
Crookedclaw raised his head a little, with great effort, and Stonepaw could see blood flowing from the side of his face. The elder's eyes were creased with pain and regret. Stonepaw realised then that his neck was broken, and he couldn't move a paw to help pull himself back to safety.
"I don't think . . . " he began, a choked whisper that Stonepaw could barely make out. "I don't think I'm really ready to die just yet," Crookedclaw said, then Stonepaw's hold slipped, and Crookedclaw fell, down, down, down, like a bird without wings.
Stonepaw's wordless grief for the old cat came rushing out in a broken yowl. Crookedclaw had been special, different from the other elders. Not as cranky as Squirrelthorn nor as lethargic and dull as Treewhisker; he'd had the best stories, even if he was difficult and tricksy, even if he was losing his mind a little. Stonepaw had had battle moves to learn and prey to catch, yes, but hadn't listening to stories and riddles with this old warrior been important too? Shouldn't he have made time for that? But too late now. Yes, too late now. And nothing would make that well again.
The battle continued up above the rim of the gorge. Brindlestar pulled herself to her paws, shaking blood out of her eyes and Otterwish was wrenched away from her.
"Squirrelthorn?" she exclaimed in shock when she saw the interfering warrior, already several tail-lengths away through the struggling cats. "Squirrelthorn, no! Yellowstripe, stop her!" she yelled to the warrior nearest the struggling pair. The black and brown tom looked over in surprise, but not in time to stop the pair plunging over the edge of the ravine, just as Crookedclaw and Stonepaw had done, unnoticed, only a little while before. Otterwish let out a despairing cry as she felt the earth disappear beneath her, full of such anguish that it hurt even Brindlestar's heart. She remembered that the RiverClan deputy had kits back at camp, apprentices, who were about to be made warriors. Squirrelthorn, however, yowled in triumph at this one last kill as they hung suspended for a moment, then plummeted into the emptiness.
Brindlestar stood frozen with shock. The rest of the battle was halted too, as cats of both sides tried to comprehend the awful tragedy.
Gathering herself together, Brindlestar said in a choked voice, "This battle is over. We can deal with the issue of the borders at the Gathering. Go back to your territory now, and we will return to our own camp." Wordlessly, all the warriors did as she said, numb with grief.
It was only on the way back to camp that Willowfang noticed that Featherpaw and Stonepaw were missing.
"I swear I saw them in the heather on the outer edge of the clearing," she said agitatedly.
"Perhaps they just went back to camp?" suggested Sunsparrow.
"No, no, Featherpaw was badly hurt, unconscious, I think," said Willowfang, shaking her head. The patrol had stopped at the top of one of the hills that covered the moor, and the wind whipped at their fur.
"Well, what are we waiting for? We'd better get back there and look for them," growled Cloudleap, a heavyset white cat with a long slash down his side from the fight.
"No. We have to be careful. RiverClan may think we are using Otterwish and Squirrelthorn's deaths to reclaim the land." countered Brindlestar gravely. Her face was drawn and her eyes grim. Cloudleap was speechless with indignation that such a thing could be thought.
"Willowfang and Ratpaw will go to look for them. An apprentice and one warrior could hardly be considered a land-claiming patrol. The rest of us must go back to camp, and tell them the news." The patrol all bowed their heads, not looking forward to the task.
Then they set off in their different directions, Willowfang and Ratpaw bounding off down the slope, the others setting it at their backs and taking the long, slow march home.
Stonepaw only noticed that the battle had stopped after a while. It took some time for the fact that there was silence above the gorge to register in his numbed ears. And then it took strength that he didn't have to haul himself back over the edge, so he was amazed to find himself beside Featherpaw's body once more. The apprentice was still drawing in ragged breaths, and Stonepaw was glad that his friend had not departed. Shivering, though not from the frost that hung heavy in the air, he curled up beside him, and waited.
Willowfang and Ratpaw arrived, after a time that Stonepaw had no quantity for. Calling in gentle voices for their Clanmates, they searched the boulders.
"I'm here," whispered Stonepaw, his voice strange in his battered throat. Then, "I'm here!" louder, and a fit of coughing followed. Ratpaw rushed over to them.
"Featherpaw! Stonepaw, are you alright?" the small brown she-cat's voice was filled with concern.
"Crookedclaw," he whispered, staring at her with sadness in his eyes, sadness that hid the guilt.
"I think he's back at camp," said Willowfang absently, her voice saturated with relief as she checked Featherpaw's pulse.
"He's not. He's dead," said Stonepaw. He still hadn't moved, but his strength was returning. The only thing he knew now was that they must not know who had killed Crookedclaw. Had it really been himself? It felt so long ago.
"Dead?" Ratpaw's question came out in a gasp. "How?"
"He came with Squirrelthorn. Fought a RiverClan warrior, and went over the cliff."
Willowfang bowed her head. Ratpaw's mouth was open in a grimace of shock. Neither cat had particularly liked the strange elder, but he had been part of their family, part of their lives.
"Don't they know that the warrior code exists for a reason?" Willowfang cried, a tear falling from her eyes. "Did they think we wouldn't protect them? How, how, could they?"
Stonepaw knew. Stonepaw remembered Crookedclaw's last words, terrible words that burnt his heart. Crookedclaw had thought that there would be valour and beauty in death. But he had not thought enough.