The Bitter and the Broken

Prologue

Watching the sun rise every morning had become ritual for Crowstar since he had received his nine lives, but this morning in particular the rain had poured relentlessly, and the sun was hidden away behind the murky shadow of a raincloud. No one in BoulderClan liked the rain, but it was a necessary evil to Crowstar, for the rain made the trees flourish, and when the trees flourished, so did the prey. The drum of rainfall, much like the sound of the footfall of a dozen warriors, pleased him to some extent. Crowstar traded one small pleasure for another and decided to listen to the rain instead.

From his nest he had a clear view to the entrance of his camp. The scene was still, quiet, until the latest patrol had made their way through the sedge tunnel. They made a beeline for the medicine den, arousing some suspicion from the tom. The dark fur on the tip of his spine rose. Crowstar could smell blood.

The leader was on his paws when Whitefeather approached him. Her fur was damp, and the she-cat was out of breath. The concern in her perfect evergreen eyes spoke volumes before she could say a word. “A kit was found injured at the bottom of the ravine,” she said, tense.

Her words dealt Crowstar a harsh blow. “One of ours?”

“Not BoulderClan,” she mewed back.
“And not MinnowClan or MoorClan, either.”

“A rogue, then.”

“It’s likely.”

Crowstar allowed himself to relax a bit, knowing his clanmates were safe, but still felt a tinge of guilt knowing that Whitefeather’s concern would not have wavered in the slightest. She was kind and compassionate to all cats, regardless of where they come from or who they are. Crowstar knew he was not the same, however. His duty was to his clan, but a kit in need was still a kit in need. “Where is Maplefur?” he asked.

“She’s in the medicine den doing all that she can. She wants no cat to disturb her until she has finished.”

“Any sign of the kit’s parents?”

She shook her head. “Not in this rain.”

Satisfied that the kit did not belong to his or any clan, Crowstar sat back on his haunches. He beckoned Whitefeather to sit beside him, where it was dry. “What do you recommend we do with this kit if it lives?”

“Surely not return it to the forest!” she mewed back, shock in her tone. “If no cat comes forward to claim him, then we must teach him the way of the warrior code and raise him as one of BoulderClan.”

Crowstar did not like the idea, but he considered it. He considered all of Whitefeather’s ideas, even though she was not his deputy. He had a great admiration and respect for her, as he has had for as long as he’s known her. “And if the clan disagrees?”

“I doubt any cat would dare dispute the warrior code. Besides,”--Whitefeather grinned--“The word of the Clan leader is law.” 

At this, the tom chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.” He twined his thin, long tail with her wet one.

    “Aren’t I always?”

    The she-cat pressed her flank against his, a fond purr ringing out in the den. Crowstar didn’t mind that she was sopping wet. Her sweet berry scent wreathed around him and summoned forth a feeling of love greater than anything he’d ever known. “How are our kits?” he asked warmly.

    “They get more and more beautiful every day,” she said without missing a beat. “It’s a good thing they take after their mother.”

Crowstar smiled at that. Whitefeather really was quite gorgeous. Crowstar found his own appearance to be quite unremarkable. His daughters, Frostkit and Hollykit, bore a striking resemblance to their mother, and if Whitefeather was any indication of what they would look like in the future, then Crowstar was sure they would be just as beautiful. He buried his muzzle into the fur of his mate’s shoulder, suddenly appreciative of all that he had. A few moments in complacent silence passed before Crowstar heard a set of pawsteps approaching.

He recognized Cedarfall, his deputy, standing before him and beckoned the tom into the den where it is dry. The tom graciously accepted, shaking the heavy raindrops out of his brown tabby fur. “We have spotted more rogues near the MoorClan border,” he said. “Our patrol tracked them all the way past the thunderpath and toward Horseplace. I believe that’s where they’re hiding, Crowstar.”

Crowstar and Whitefeather exchanged a look. BoulderClan had been at war with these hostile rogues for moons. They lived just beyond BoulderClan’s boundaries and often tested the strength of their borders, trying to secure Clan territory for themselves. If that kit belonged to them it would provide a convenient excuse for the rogues to terrorize his Clan further. Crowstar’s hackles rose, but he said nothing. “Good work, Cedarfall,” he meowed instead.

“We’re not going after them, are we?” Whitefeather asked. The real question she was asking is in her eyes, soft and green and blazing with importance.
    “Not unless we have to,” the leader said back. He leaned forward and nuzzled her soft pelt one last time. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to Cedarfall alone now.”

    Whitefeather nodded, purring against the warmth of her mate before she ruefully parted from his pelt. When she was out of sight, Crowstar leaned in close to his deputy and spoke so low that Cedarfall wasn’t sure that he’d heard him correctly. “Gather a patrol of our best warriors tonight. We attack at moonhigh.”