Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

“No . . . ,” mewed Hootpaw. “It’s just . . .”

Crowfeather turned his attention to Featherpaw. “Do you think your Clanmates’ bellies will be filled with your amusement? Do you think a good warrior turns away from a hunt to entertain her friends?”

Now Featherpaw really looked ashamed. “No, Crowfeather.” She cast her eyes at the ground.

Crowfeather strode to a stop just in front of her. “You’re usually a good apprentice,” he murmured. When he sensed Hootpaw shifting uncomfortably from where he stood, Crowfeather turned to him and added, “You usually are, too, Hootpaw. At least, I have every reason to believe that from Nightcloud.”

Hootpaw swallowed and nodded, his eyes on the ground.

Crowfeather let out a sigh. Am I being too hard on them? Hootpaw lost Nightcloud, too.

He nodded. “Right, then. Let’s try that again. Maybe we’re all just a little off today.”

Or maybe it’s going to be hard to handle two apprentices at once, Crowfeather mused as he stalked back to the indentation in the ground, settling in and focusing his attention on the bush Hootpaw hid behind.

Just one more reason we need Nightcloud back as soon as possible. . . .

CHAPTER 8

Crowfeather limped through the tunnels, lost in the darkness with no idea of where he was going. He couldn’t remember fighting against the stoats, but one of his paws was bleeding from a bite and several of his claws had been ripped out. He felt so exhausted that he could hardly force himself to put one paw in front of another.

But I have to keep going. I have to find Nightcloud.

Then Crowfeather saw movement ahead, though how he could see anything in this thick darkness was a mystery to him. At first he thought it must be more stoats, but after a moment he recognized that it was a cat’s tail, whisking around the bends in the tunnel, always just ahead of him.

Nightcloud!

But then he noticed that this cat’s tail was gray, not black. Then who . . . ? At last Crowfeather realized who the cat must be. “Ashfoot!” he called out, warmth spreading through his pelt in anticipation of seeing his mother again. “Ashfoot!”

Summoning all his strength, Crowfeather put on a burst of speed and rounded the next corner. There she is! Ashfoot was sitting beside the tunnel wall where the passage widened out into a small cave. Her gray fur glimmered with a pale light, and her eyes shone as she gazed at Crowfeather.

“Oh, Ashfoot,” Crowfeather whispered. Here in the tunnels, under his mother’s gentle gaze, he didn’t have to be the fierce, unapproachable warrior that his Clan knew. “I miss you so much. . . . But why are you here? Why aren’t you in StarClan?”

“I can’t leave you yet,” his mother replied. “There are tasks you must do. You could lose everything.”

Crowfeather scowled. “Do you mean Breezepelt?” he asked with a sigh. “Are you yet another cat telling me I have to work things out with him?”

Ashfoot shook her head sadly and gestured with her tail toward the other side of the cave. Crowfeather turned and saw a pool of blood spreading out on the cave floor from a mound of black fur beside the wall. He glanced at Ashfoot, confused, but his mother said nothing. He turned and padded toward the black shape, carefully skirting the dark, sticky pool. His heart slammed into his throat as he realized he was looking at a dead cat.

“Nightcloud!”

Crowfeather woke with a gasp. He was lying in his own nest under the stars, his breathing fast and shallow and his heart pounding so hard he thought it would burst out of his chest.

It was a dream . . . , he told himself. Just a dream . . . It doesn’t mean Nightcloud is really dead. It doesn’t .

He lay still until his breathing settled and his heartbeat calmed, but he didn’t think he would get any more sleep that night. He felt too tense: He was worrying about Nightcloud, afraid that if she was dead they would never have the chance to settle their unfinished business. He wondered whether Kestrelflight’s vision of the flood could be related to Nightcloud’s disappearance. The clash with the ThunderClan warriors came back into his mind, too, and he imagined the whole of the Clan pouring out of the tunnels, just as Breezepelt had suggested, ready to attack WindClan.

Across the den, he could hear a cat tossing and thrashing around. Breezepelt. His son hadn’t slept quietly in the short amount of time since they’d lost Nightcloud. Slowly, Crowfeather rose to his paws and gave his pelt a shake.

The truth was, he couldn’t ignore the dream he’d just had. He was no medicine cat, but he knew it meant something. He also realized knew that Onestar was unlikely to approve another patrol for what he already felt was a lost cause—certainly not on ThunderClan territory, which was where Crowfeather meant to go. If any cat saw him leave, they’d likely stop him and tell him as much. Still, he couldn’t just lie around until morning, worrying himself into a froth. He had to do something. I have to go look for Nightcloud. And if he left now, he could survey the ThunderClan territory before the dawn patrol arrived.

Crowfeather padded over to Breezepelt, avoiding the sleeping bodies of his Clanmates, keeping his head turned away from the empty nest of moss and bracken where Nightcloud used to sleep. His son wanted to find Nightcloud even more than he did. He’d want to go. But by the time Crowfeather reached his son’s nest, Breezepelt had settled down a little, and Crowfeather changed his mind.

It would be unkind to wake him now. Besides, there will be less chance of getting caught if I go alone.

Hesitantly he stretched out a paw and held it just above his son’s shoulder, not quite touching. He almost drew it back, but then he laid it on Breezepelt’s fur, murmuring, “It will be all right.”

He was rewarded by seeing Breezepelt sink into a deeper sleep, though his ears twitched now and again, and he let out faint whimpers. Crowfeather left him and slipped away to the edge of the camp, waiting for the first light of dawn to touch the moor.

As soon as he could make out the line of the ridge above the camp, and the memorial pile of stones, Crowfeather rose to his paws and slid silently out of the camp, stepping as lightly as if he were stalking a mouse. As soon as he was well clear, where no cat was likely to hear him, he picked up his pace and raced down the hill toward the tunnels.

A strong drive to find Nightcloud gave strength and energy to Crowfeather’s limbs. He pushed away any thought of the risks he was taking, except to feel glad that he hadn’t taken Breezepelt with him. He didn’t want to expose his son to any more danger. He’d already been through enough.

Am I worrying about finding Nightcloud because I want to protect Breezepelt? he asked himself. Nightcloud and I weren’t on the best terms when she disappeared, but his life will surely be easier if I bring her back. . . . If nothing else, he won’t have to beat himself up over losing her.

He considered the question for a long time, but he wasn’t sure of his own intentions. He knew he owed Nightcloud a great debt, too. . . . Perhaps I need to repay her for the way things ended between us. Either way, he couldn’t leave her out here. He had to find her—dead or alive. At least then they’d know what happened to her.

Crowfeather didn’t enter the tunnels on the WindClan side. Instead he skirted the steep bank and the dark, gaping holes as he followed his own scent trail back to the border stream. With every paw step he kept his ears pricked and his jaws parted to pick up the faintest sound or scent of the white stoats, but nothing disturbed the silence of the night.