Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

But before he and Breezepelt had traveled more than a few fox-lengths, they heard the sound they had come to dread: the scratching of innumerable claws on the stone floor of the tunnel.

“Run!” Crowfeather yowled.

The word had hardly left his jaws before the scuttling noises were all around them, and glittering, malevolent eyes reflected the dim light of the tunnel. He choked on the reek of the scent that had become horribly familiar by now. Chittering calls broke out on all sides, and before the cats could flee, they were engulfed in a rising tide of white stoats.

CHAPTER 6

Thrusting the stoats aside, Crowfeather struggled down the passage, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Breezepelt was following. As he lashed out with his foreclaws, the stoats drew back, so he was able to run. With Breezepelt hard on his paws he raced down the passage toward the cavern where the river flowed, all the while hearing the scrabbling of the stoats’ paws as they gave chase.

What if we meet more of them coming up?

As the thought went through his mind, a stoat sprang at Crowfeather out of the darkness, fastening its teeth in his shoulder. Letting out a screech of pain, Crowfeather shook it off and veered away down a side passage. Too late he realized how stale the air was and how the tunnel floor suddenly became uneven, littered with loose stones and soil. The passage narrowed rapidly until the walls pressed in on him on either side, almost crushing his ribs, and his ears brushed the roof.

This is a dead end!

Crowfeather stumbled to a halt and felt Breezepelt crash into him from behind, driving him even farther into the tiny space. He could taste soil in his mouth, and the air was heavy with stoat scent; he could hardly breathe.

“Go back!” he choked out.

“Can’t—stoats!” Breezepelt gasped in reply.

Crowfeather could feel Breezepelt’s weight on his hindquarters as he strained against the narrow walls, and could hear the chittering of the stoats as they approached, but he was too tightly stuck to get free and help his son. He braced himself, digging his claws into the ground, and felt with a shudder of horror the light trickle of earth falling from the roof onto his pelt like a dry rain.

Oh, StarClan, get us out of this!

Suddenly the pressure of Breezepelt’s body on his hindquarters eased and Crowfeather was able to start moving backward. At the same moment, the stoats’ shrill calls of defiance changed to sounds of alarm, and the scrabbling of their claws died away.

What happened? Crowfeather asked himself, stunned.

The stoat scent began to fade, too, and another, stronger scent rose up to take its place. A familiar voice spoke from somewhere behind him.

“You can come out now. The stoats are gone.”

That’s that mouse-brain Berrynose’s voice, Crowfeather realized. So much for not alerting ThunderClan that we’re here!

Paw step by paw step Crowfeather backed out of the tight tunnel until he reached the main passage again. Breezepelt was waiting for him, along with four ThunderClan warriors.

Every hair on Crowfeather’s pelt grew hot with shame at the thought of being rescued by another Clan. Could we have been any more undignified, creeping out with our tails and hindquarters in the lead? He was grateful that it was too dark to make out the ThunderClan cats; he was embarrassed enough without having to see the satisfied look in their eyes.

“Thank you,” he meowed, the two words needing a massive effort.

Berrynose spoke again, his tone brusque. “Follow us up the tunnel.”

Crowfeather and Breezepelt had no choice but to comply; Berrynose took the lead with another ThunderClan cat behind him and the remaining two ThunderClan warriors bringing up the rear. Crowfeather almost felt as if he had been taken prisoner, and had to fight to stop a growl escaping his throat. The last thing he and Breezepelt needed was to start a fight when they were not only on another Clan’s territory, but also outnumbered.

As they brushed past the hanging ferns into the open, Crowfeather recognized Spiderleg following Berrynose; Rosepetal and Cinderheart made up the rest of the patrol.

No problem. Nothing to worry about here. Crowfeather gave his pelt a shake, raising his head and tail, and tried to look like a seasoned, competent warrior as he faced the ThunderClan cats. But when he caught sight of Breezepelt, his fur torn and clotted with earth, his eyes wide with the memory of terror, he realized that he probably didn’t look much better himself.

“You’re on ThunderClan territory,” Berrynose snapped. “What are you doing at our end of the tunnels?”

“That’s none of your—” Breezepelt began defensively, but Berrynose paid no attention.

“Don’t you know how it looks, WindClan cats lurking up here?” he demanded. “We haven’t forgotten the last time you tried launching an attack from the tunnels.”

“We’re not here to fight,” Crowfeather mewed, trying to sound peaceable.

“Even so, you should know better,” Spiderleg pointed out, the tip of his tail twitching to and fro. “Suppose we’d been a group of more hotheaded cats? There could have been trouble.”

Who are you to lecture me, you bee-brain? But before Crowfeather could respond, Breezepelt let out a furious hiss. “It sounds like ThunderClan is planning for trouble—trying to tell other Clans what to do about their Dark Forest warriors. Saying they should be driven out. We’re not the cats who are causing problems!”

Crowfeather winced as a tense silence followed his son’s words. Breezepelt, I may be angry too, but that was a really bad idea. The two ThunderClan she-cats exchanged an alarmed glance, while Spiderleg’s tail lashed even more furiously, and Berrynose slid out his claws and flattened his ears.

“Were you eavesdropping?” he challenged Breezepelt. “Is that what you were up to? Is WindClan spying on us now?”

Crowfeather could see Breezepelt’s muscles bunching beneath his pelt, and stepped forward quickly before his son could leap at Berrynose. Crowfeather realized he was in the strange position of trying to temper another cat’s anger. Usually he was the angry cat. But as much as he would have liked to claw Berrynose’s mangy pelt off and use it to line his nest . . . they were outnumbered here. And Onestar probably wouldn’t like it if they accidentally started a war with ThunderClan.

“Breezepelt wasn’t up to anything,” Crowfeather assured them. “We were just in the tunnels . . .” He paused, wondering whether he ought to tell them about Nightcloud. If they know stoats possibly killed one of our warriors, they might try to interfere, because that’s what ThunderClan does. . . . “We weren’t spying, or trying to cause trouble,” he went on rapidly, before the ThunderClan warriors could get annoyed at his hesitation. “The stoats took us by surprise, and we didn’t realize we’d ended up close to ThunderClan until it was too late.”

Spiderleg’s gaze flicked from Crowfeather to Breezepelt and back again. “I suppose you might have had your reasons,” he admitted grudgingly. “But given everything that’s happened, we really should take you to Bramblestar.”

“Yes, just to make sure he knows exactly what’s going on,” Berrynose agreed.

“You can try,” Breezepelt growled.

Crowfeather fixed him with a glare. He sympathized with his son’s anger, but if he started a fight with the ThunderClan cats, there was no guarantee either one of them would come out of it alive. He urged him silently to keep quiet.

“Hang on, Spiderleg,” Cinderheart meowed. “Aren’t you making too much of this? It’s not like we caught Crowfeather and Breezepelt stealing prey. Wouldn’t it be better just to escort them off our territory?”