Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

Finally, Crowfeather thought, A ThunderClan cat speaks reason.

“And we can report this to Bramblestar without them,” Rosepetal added.

“You bet we will,” Berrynose muttered.

Flea-brain.

He and Spiderleg exchanged a glance; then Berrynose shrugged. “I suppose they might be right.”

At a nod from Spiderleg, Crowfeather stalked away from the tunnel entrance and headed for the stream that formed the border with ThunderClan. Breezepelt followed him, with the ThunderClan cats following in a ragged half circle.

At first Crowfeather was relieved that the tension has passed and that he and Breezepelt were not going to be dragged into the fight that he was fearing. But then he remembered why they’d stepped into the tunnels, and his relief was replaced with a twinge of bitterness, a sick feeling in his throat, as if he had eaten crow-food.

That went about as badly as it could have, he thought. And we still haven’t found Nightcloud.

“Don’t come back,” Berrynose snarled as Crowfeather and Breezepelt padded across the stepping stones to the WindClan side of the stream. “And stay out of the tunnels. Next time you get into danger, ThunderClan might not be around to save your tails.”

Breezepelt opened his jaws to retort, but he closed them again when Crowfeather slapped him on the shoulder with his tail. Both WindClan cats watched in silence as the ThunderClan warriors turned and vanished into the undergrowth.

Crowfeather’s fur was tingling with anger—partly at the arrogance of the ThunderClan cats, but mostly at his own son.

“If you had just kept your jaws shut, we wouldn’t have had that argument. Whatever tension remains between ThunderClan and WindClan after the Great Battle, you’ve just made it worse.”

“But they were talking about driving cats out,” Breezepelt responded. Crowfeather could see his own anger reflected in his son’s eyes. “It might start with the cats who fought for the Dark Forest, but who’s to say it will stop there? What if they decide it will make their whole Clan safer if they just drive the whole of WindClan away?”

“Oh, be quiet!” Crowfeather snapped. “That’s ridiculous.” Inwardly, though, he conceded that Breezepelt might have a point. Bramblestar hadn’t been leader of ThunderClan for very long. How would he react if he felt WindClan was a threat? He might be quicker to start trouble than Firestar used to be.

Crowfeather had lost track of time while he and Breezepelt had been searching the tunnels. Now he saw that the sun was going down, the short leaf-bare day drawing to a close.

“We can worry about ThunderClan later,” he meowed to Breezepelt. “Right now, our main problem is that we haven’t found Nightcloud, and we can’t go on looking for her in the dark. We’ll have to try again in the morning. And I’m going to have to speak to Onestar about looking on the ThunderClan side of the tunnels. I think those are the only tunnels we haven’t checked yet.”

Breezepelt’s only response was a grunt. Sadness rose up in Crowfeather like rain filling a pool. What he wasn’t saying—what he dreaded saying—was that if Nightcloud was alive, there had to be a reason she wasn’t coming home on her own. And if she was injured or confused, it would be easier to understand her staying lost on ThunderClan territory than being unable to find her way home from WindClan’s side of the tunnels.

He glanced at Breezepelt, who stared at the ground as they walked. Down in the tunnels, he and his son had briefly grown closer to each other, but now that seemed to be over. For a moment he tried to find something to say, something that might help to heal the breach—but the words eluded him like wily prey.

And now isn’t the time to worry about that, he told himself. Not with Nightcloud still missing. It’s been more than a day since the stoats’ attack. Do we still have time to help her, if she’s injured? Or are we now just looking for a body?

CHAPTER 7

“We’re going to need a patrol,” Crowfeather told Onestar confidently the next morning, “but this time we should confine our search to the ThunderClan side of the tunnels. If Nightcloud made it out, that must be where she is. We’ve checked all the entrances on the WindClan side; we know she’s not here.”

Onestar, who was resting outside his den, let out a sound that landed somewhere between a growl and a purr. He didn’t look pleased by this idea. “And you think ThunderClan will cooperate with this search?” he asked.

If we ask the right cat, Crowfeather thought. He hadn’t forgotten Berrynose’s snarl when he’d dropped them off at the edge of WindClan territory. And he’d purposely approached Onestar without Breezepelt, so that the conversation wouldn’t shift to the confrontation with the ThunderClan warriors. “I think Bramblestar would,” he replied.

Onestar twitched his whiskers. “Do you?” he asked. His expression was curious, and not entirely pleased.

Crowfeather hesitated before replying. He remembered his comradeship with Bramblestar on the journey to the sun-drown-place. The young leader had worked hard to throw off the dark shadow Tigerstar had cast over all his kin. Long before he became leader he had proved himself to be a brave and loyal warrior. I feel I can trust him, Crowfeather mused, whatever Onestar believes of him.

“I haven’t spent much time with Bramblestar lately,” he meowed honestly, “but what I have seen makes me think that he is an honorable cat.”

Onestar snorted and got to his feet. “Honorable cat or no, I don’t want him involved in WindClan business.” He avoided Crowfeather’s eyes, casting his gaze across the camp to where Oatpaw was cleaning out Whiskernose’s nest.

But is it just WindClan business? Crowfeather wondered, remembering Kestrelflight’s vision. Whatever’s coming for us—the wind wasn’t enough to drive it back alone.

“Onestar,” he said, carefully choosing his words. Don’t say “flea-brained”; don’t say “flea-brained.” “It would be . . . foolish . . . of us to give up on finding Nightcloud just because we don’t want to involve ThunderClan.”

“Who said we’re giving up?” Onestar retorted, turning back with an irritated expression. “No, I don’t want to look on ThunderClan territory. But if you want to look elsewhere . . .”

“But what if she’s on ThunderClan territory?” Crowfeather asked, struggling to hide his frustration. If you make Onestar mad, he’ll dismiss the patrol idea for sure. “It isn’t a matter of where we want to go. It’s a matter of where she is. We know there’s something wrong. Nightcloud must be injured, or confused. If she’d come up on the WindClan side of the tunnels, she would be home by now.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Onestar mewed calmly. “Don’t give up on her so easily. Nightcloud is a strong warrior. If she’s alive, she’ll find her way home.”

“I’m not giving up on her,” Crowfeather retorted, gritting his teeth. Why will no cat listen to reason in this bee-brained Clan? “Badgering you to find her is the opposite of giving up.”

Onestar turned away now, in the direction of the fresh-kill pile. “No,” he said shortly. “I’ve heard you, but I won’t involve ThunderClan. Just be patient, Crowfeather. She’ll come home . . . if she’s alive.”

As the leader strolled away, Crowfeather felt frustration gripping his heart like a rabbit in a trap. What if she’s alive and can’t come to us? he thought miserably.

And how am I going to explain this to Breezepelt?