Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

As Onestar headed toward the Great Oak to take his place with the rest of the Clan leaders, Crowfeather glanced around at the other Clans. RiverClan and ShadowClan still looked wary after the tensions that had followed the Great Battle, while the ThunderClan cats were stiff and bristling, glaring across the clearing at the WindClan warriors. It made Crowfeather glad of the Gathering truce: StarClan had forbidden fighting under the full moon.

When all four Clan leaders had taken their places in the branches of the Great Oak, Mistystar’s voice rang out across the clearing. “Cats of all Clans, welcome to the Gathering!” As the voices of gossiping cats faded into silence, she added to the leaders, “Which of you will speak first?”

Blackstar shifted on his branch, and then announced, “Before we begin, let us remember the fallen.”

Crowfeather caught Larkwing’s eye and could see the pale brown tabby she-cat was thinking the same thing as he was. Was any warrior keen to dwell on the terrible battle with the Dark Forest cats?

But as the ShadowClan leader reeled off names—“From ShadowClan: Redwillow, Shredtail, Toadfoot”—Crowfeather could not deny he felt a strange sense of calm fall over the Gathering. It suddenly felt right that all the fallen Clanmates were remembered, their shared sacrifice honored.

It took a horribly long time for Blackstar to get through all the names, but when he had finished, Onestar rose to his paws. “Thank you, Blackstar. I’m afraid I must continue this Gathering by sharing some sad news with the Clans.” He paused before continuing, meeting Crowfeather’s gaze for a heartbeat and casting a sympathetic glance toward Breezepelt. “Nightcloud is dead.”

Yowls of shock rose from the crowd of cats in the clearing. Another twinge of grief for his former mate pierced Crowfeather; then his tension eased slightly as he realized that the other Clans felt grief for her too. Nightcloud’s prickly nature meant that she had never exactly been popular, but every cat was aware of her courage and loyalty.

“How did it happen?” Mistystar asked gently, concern in her blue eyes.

“She fought so well in the Great Battle.” Blackstar spoke before Onestar could reply. “It’s hard to lose her now, after she survived that.”

“Stoats have come to live in the tunnels between WindClan and ThunderClan,” Onestar explained, dipping his head in acknowledgement of the ShadowClan leader’s words. “Nightcloud—”

“And of course it never occurred to you to warn ThunderClan about the stoats,” Bramblestar interrupted, a sarcastic edge to his voice.

Mouse-brain, Crowfeather thought. You’ve known about the stoats at least since Berrynose’s patrol caught me and Breezepelt in the tunnels. Are you trying to make trouble?

“I understood that ThunderClan already knew about them,” Onestar responded with a curt dip of his head. “I trust you’ve been able to cope?”

“We’re coping very well,” Bramblestar replied, his shoulder fur beginning to rise. “We’ve doubled the patrols in that area, and—”

“Bramblestar, this isn’t the time,” Mistystar pointed out with a whisk of her plumy tail. “Onestar was speaking.”

Crowfeather saw with satisfaction that the ThunderClan leader looked discomfited as he subsided, digging his claws into his branch. It’s challenging to be a leader, isn’t it, Bramblestar?

“As I said,” Onestar continued, “stoats are living in the tunnels, and Nightcloud was part of a patrol that tried to clear them out. She never came home.”

Very clever, Crowfeather thought. Onestar had told the exact truth, and yet he had managed not to mention any possible involvement by Breezepelt. That was something that WindClan would keep to itself.

At least that was what would have happened if Weaselfur hadn’t sprung to his paws and meowed loudly, “Yeah, ask Breezepelt why not!”

Crowfeather’s belly cramped with renewed tension. Must we do this at the Gathering? Murmurs of confusion arose from the other Clans. Harespring, sitting on the roots of the Great Oak with the other deputies, called out, “Weaselfur, keep your mouth shut!”

“Why should I?” Weaselfur challenged him. “We all know that Breezepelt was with Nightcloud in the tunnels when the stoats attacked. Why was he the only one who got out alive?”

Up in the branches of the Great Oak, Onestar was looking furious. Crowfeather knew how unhappy his leader would be at WindClan business being tossed around like a piece of prey in front of all the other Clans. They were at a Gathering! WindClan’s warriors needed to show that their Clan was united, not start spitting accusations at each other.

Weaselfur, I wouldn’t want to be you when we get back to camp!

But it was too late for Onestar to do anything now. Cats of all the other Clans were turning their heads to shoot accusing looks at Breezepelt. Berrynose gave him a particularly intense stare, and Lionblaze was eyeing him with suspicion in his gaze.

Spiderleg leaned over to talk to Graystripe, who was sitting beside him, and Crowfeather was close enough to hear his whisper. “So she was left behind while her son ran to safety. So much for loyalty . . .”

Graystripe gave Spiderleg an irritated shove. “Shh, that’s enough. We don’t want to make more trouble.”

Too late. Crowfeather craned his neck to find his son, hoping that Breezepelt hadn’t overheard that or anything like it from where he sat at the back of the crowd. But when he saw that Breezepelt had raised his head and was glowering at the cats sitting near him, Crowfeather felt as if he had been drenched in icy water.

Of course he heard them. . . . He wished Breezepelt weren’t here. He knew it must be hard enough for him to put up with the scorn of his own Clanmates while he was grieving for his mother. What would it be like to suffer the scorn of all four Clans?

Spiderleg exchanged a glance with Berrynose before rising to his paws. Crowfeather noticed that flecks of gray had appeared around his muzzle, making him look like a cranky elder, though he was still a relatively young cat. He raised his voice to carry beyond his first sneering whisper.

“Our wounds from the Great Battle are still healing,” he began, “and not all of those wounds are in our flesh. It’s not unreasonable for cats to wonder about those who were treacherous. Some reparations have been made, but . . .” He shrugged.

If I were Spiderleg’s Clan leader, I would shut him up, Crowfeather thought. Ordinary warriors didn’t have the right to make speeches at a Gathering without permission. Had the Great Battle changed things so much, that even Gatherings were chaotic these days?

But whether Bramblestar was too inexperienced to know what to do, or whether he wanted to hear what Spiderleg had to say, he didn’t interrupt, only listening from his branch of the Great Oak with an unreadable expression on his face.

“After all,” Spiderleg went on, “I think most cats would agree that before the battle they wouldn’t have believed that any cat could betray the Clans as they did. But it happened. Who’s to say it won’t happen again?”

“That’s right,” Berrynose put in. “After we suffered so much betrayal from Dark Forest cats, nothing at all would surprise me.”

While Berrynose was speaking, Crowfeather spotted Larkwing sitting alone in the crowd with her gaze fixed firmly on her forepaws. He felt another twinge of compassion for her; she must be finding it hard, too, to listen to these warriors who refused to trust the cats who had trained in the Dark Forest.

Then Crowfeather became aware of movement behind him, distracting him from Larkwing, and glanced over his shoulder to see Breezepelt rising to his paws. Other cats were turning their heads to look at him as he leaped forward and charged straight at Spiderleg. Some of the cats instinctively darted aside, and those who stayed in Breezepelt’s way were thrust aside with powerful strokes of his paws. Crowfeather sprang up to intercept him, terrified that he was going to attack Spiderleg and break the Gathering truce.