Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

“And you needn’t worry, Bramblestar,” Onestar meowed, contempt in his voice. “WindClan is putting together a plan to drive the stoats out.”

“I am worried,” Bramblestar retorted. “We’d noticed that prey had been getting scarce around the tunnel entrances, but we knew nothing about the stoats until Berrynose’s patrol rescued your cats from them. Sharing information would have been friendly, don’t you think?” When Onestar didn’t reply to his provocation, he went on, “I believe ThunderClan and WindClan should work together. Two Clans are stronger than one.”

Crowfeather remembered his thoughts about the vision . . . how he, too, had wondered whether it implied that the Clans should be working together. It felt strange to agree with the ThunderClan leader over his own, but he couldn’t help it. He spotted Leafpool nodding in agreement, but a moment later Lionblaze rose to his paws. “How can we work with WindClan when I was nearly killed in the Dark Forest by a WindClan cat?” he demanded.

Onestar gazed down at the golden-furred warrior. “WindClan has received Breezepelt back as a loyal WindClan warrior,” he told Lionblaze. “I understand that you might have trouble accepting that.”

“He’s only loyal to WindClan ,” Lionblaze snorted, turning to glare at Breezepelt. “That doesn’t mean he follows the rest of the warrior code. If we work together, what’s to stop him attacking me again—or any other Clan cat who gets under his fur? He’s a menace!”

Crowfeather had to admit to himself that not long ago he would have agreed with Lionblaze. But now he was beginning to see things from Breezepelt’s point of view. He felt as if claws inside him were trying to rip their way out through his belly fur. Sorrow weighed on his heart to see his sons facing each other with hostile glares, and he surprised himself by feeling a protectiveness toward Lionblaze, the son he never saw grow up.

He had always told himself that Lionblaze and Jayfeather—and their sister, Hollyleaf, who died in the Great Battle—were not his kits, because he never raised them. But now . . . he just knew that he didn’t want to see Breezepelt and Lionblaze in conflict like this.

Every hair on Crowfeather’s pelt was rising, telling him that this was wrong . Even though the two toms were not Clanmates, Crowfeather reflected, they were kin. Yet fate has made them enemies.

Breezepelt’s eyes narrowed with fury as he stared at Lionblaze. “You’re right, but I’m not the cat I was then,” he responded to his half brother’s accusation. Turning to address the rest of the Clans, he continued, “You can all believe whatever you want. I don’t need any cat’s help. As soon as I get the chance, I’m going back into the tunnels to kill all the stoats and avenge my mother—even if I have to do it alone.”

Spinning around, he stalked back to the edge of the clearing and slid through the bushes. Crowfeather called after him, but Breezepelt ignored him. He left an uncomfortable silence behind him.

Mistystar was the first cat to speak, giving RiverClan’s news in an attempt to continue the Gathering in the usual way, as if a skirmish hadn’t almost broken out.

“Twolegs came tramping over our territory with a dog,” she informed the assembled warriors. “Reedwhisker and Mintfur tracked them, and they went away without causing any trouble.”

But no cat was paying much attention, their heads together as they gossiped eagerly about Breezepelt’s declaration, and after quick reports from Blackstar and Bramblestar, the Gathering broke up. The air still vibrated with tension as each Clan in turn crossed the tree-bridge and headed off separately into the darkness.

Crowfeather padded along the edge of the lake with Onestar and the rest of his Clanmates. Every time he thought about Breezepelt and Nightcloud, his anxiety swelled. He knew that if Nightcloud had been here, she would have been able to calm Breezepelt down. But now it’s up to me, and I have no idea what to do. His chest felt so tight that he could hardly breathe.

Will this feeling ever go away?

Back in the WindClan camp, Crowfeather was heading for the warriors’ den when he spotted Heathertail talking to Breezepelt, clearly trying to comfort him. His son’s claws were tearing at the ground in a fit of anger, as though Heathertail’s efforts weren’t having much effect.

Crowfeather veered aside to talk to them, when he heard Onestar calling to Breezepelt from just outside his den.

“I need a word with you,” the Clan leader meowed, beckoning Breezepelt with his tail. “Come here for a moment.”

Breezepelt hesitated, obviously reluctant. Come on, Crowfeather urged him silently. Don’t make this any worse. To his relief, Breezepelt headed toward Onestar after a couple of heartbeats, and Heathertail padded after him. Crowfeather followed, too, not joining the others but halting a few tail-lengths away so that he could hear their conversation where they clustered together outside the leader’s den.

“I don’t think going into the tunnels alone is a good idea, Breezepelt,” Onestar began. “I told you, we’ll mount a proper attack once every warrior is recovered from the last skirmish.”

Breezepelt, looking mutinous, was about to retort, but Heathertail stepped forward before he could speak. “He won’t be alone. I’ll be with him.”

Breezepelt’s head whipped around and he gazed at the brown tabby she-cat with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. “But your wounds from last time aren’t healed yet,” he protested.

“They’re healed enough,” Heathertail told him. “And if I can’t talk you out of going, then you’re not going without me.”

“But I need to do this alone,” Breezepelt protested. “If you go in with me and something happens to you . . . I’ll never forgive myself. And neither will the Clan. I want you to be safe.”

At his words, Crowfeather felt his paws tingle with a mixture of pity and affection. It was an unfamiliar emotion, and it made him feel that he wanted to go back into the tunnels and fight on Breezepelt’s behalf.

“Neither of you is going unless I say you can,” Onestar pointed out. His voice was sharp, but his gaze was sympathetic as he looked at Breezepelt. “I can’t approve one—or even two—of my warriors charging into those dark tunnels by themselves. I won’t send you there to fight, but—”

“I need to do this!” Breezepelt interrupted.

“Listen.” Onestar gave his tail-tip a single twitch. “I won’t send you to fight, but going to check on the stoats and find out where they’re living—and what their weaknesses might be—wouldn’t be a bad idea. It would help both WindClan and ThunderClan.”

“I’d be good at that,” Heathertail mewed eagerly.

But Onestar had no idea how much time Heathertail had spent underground. “No, I don’t mean for you to go inside the tunnels,” he told her. “That will only provoke the stoats, and we’re not ready for that yet. Keep watch from outside, and see what you can learn.”

Heathertail’s tail-tip twitched, but she didn’t object aloud.

“You could go when it’s dark,” Onestar continued. “Tonight, in fact, if you have the energy.”

Crowfeather gazed at his son, wondering if Breezepelt would accept Onestar’s suggestion, when back at the Gathering he had been so eager to slaughter stoats. He wasn’t sure that the black tom would be able to control his emotions. And how will Onestar react if he can’t?

Breezepelt and Heathertail exchanged a glance, then nodded. “We can do it,” Breezepelt replied.

“The stoats should be out hunting,” Onestar continued. “But if there are any remaining near the tunnel entrances, you must not attack them on your own. It’s too dangerous.”