Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

Crowfeather shook his head. “Not good,” he admitted.

“And why was she even there?” Crouchfoot added. “I thought the apprentices were forbidden from taking part in the battle.”

“They were. They disobeyed,” Crowfeather responded. “But I did tell Featherpaw to be assertive,” he added reluctantly.

Shocked exclamations rose from the crowd of warriors; Leaftail’s voice rose above the rest. “I can’t believe you’d say that to an apprentice right before a battle! You couldn’t have encouraged them more if you’d sharpened their claws yourself.”

Crowfeather felt the accusing glances of his Clanmates like a whole gorse bush full of thorns driving into his pelt.

They’re right. I made the wrong decisions at nearly every turn. But there’s one thing I wasn’t wrong about. The threat in the tunnels can’t be ignored.

“There’s something I want to say,” he announced, raising his voice to be heard above the murmurs and pain-filled mews of the crowd of cats.

Harespring turned toward him. “Go on, say it, then,” he ordered curtly.

“Maybe I expressed it wrong,” Crowfeather meowed. “But I wasn’t wrong that the apprentices—and all of us—need to be brave and assertive. Have you all forgotten Kestrelflight’s vision? The dark water that emerged from the tunnels, whipped by the wind, fierce enough to swamp WindClan and ThunderClan—maybe ShadowClan and RiverClan too? Suppose that we don’t manage to deal with this stoat problem, and something else follows them? What if the Clans are so tired and wounded from fighting with the stoats that we don’t have the strength to handle another threat?”

Hootpaw’s fur bushed out as he stood in front of Crowfeather with alarm in his eyes. “What are you saying?” he demanded, seeming to forget that he was an apprentice talking to a senior warrior. “That there’s going to be another battle? That the Dark Forest cats will return?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” Crowfeather responded, trying to reassure Hootpaw. “Because I don’t know for sure. But there must be a reason Kestrelflight had that dream. And what worries me is that a new conflict—maybe a threat from outside, maybe trouble within the Clan—is going to fall over us like the shadows in the tunnels, and maybe wash us away like a great flood.”

Some cat in the crowd muttered, “He’s got bees in his brain,” but Crowfeather ignored the insult.

The idea he needed was in Crowfeather’s mind like an elusive piece of prey. So close, but always just out of reach . . . “I know there’s an answer there,” he mewed. “I can feel it.”

The cats gathered around Crowfeather were exchanging dubious glances, as if none of them believed what he was trying to tell them. To Crowfeather’s surprise, Breezepelt was the first to speak.

“I think you could be right,” he began. It surprised Crowfeather even more that Breezepelt, of all cats, was on his side. “After all, there were two waves in the vision. The wind defeated the first one, but the second one overwhelmed everything. So do you think getting rid of the stoats will ward off this bigger threat?” His tone was thoughtful, as if he was taking his father’s worries seriously. “How do you think we can do that? There were so many of them in the battle, and there must be more of them lurking in the tunnels. We’ll be outnumbered, and they know the tunnels much better than we do. It’s not easy to lure them out into the open.”

Crowfeather nodded. “That’s true.” He paused for a moment, uncertain of how to respond to his son, though the idea he needed to capture was still lurking at the back of his mind. Maybe I should treat it like cunning prey, he thought. Pretend to ignore it, and trick it into overconfidence . . .

Then, like a stoat peering out of the shadows, the thought emerged into the light. And like the stoats, what I have to say won’t be welcome. He took a deep breath. “If we’re going to succeed in wiping out the stoats and clearing the tunnels,” he meowed, “we’re going to need help. We’re going to need ThunderClan.”

Murmurs of dismay arose from the cats clustered around him. One voice rang out above them, from somewhere behind Crowfeather. “Absolutely not!”

Turning, Crowfeather saw that Onestar had padded up to join his warriors, and was glaring at him with cold disapproval.

“Crowfeather, I can’t believe you would even suggest we turn to ThunderClan,” he growled. “WindClan can handle itself. What’s happened here is none of ThunderClan’s business. There’s no way I’m going to allow the other Clans to find out that we’re vulnerable right now. Firestar was always meddling in our business,” he added. “I don’t want to set that precedent with Bramblestar, or soon ThunderClan will be sticking their noses into all our problems.”

“And especially if we can’t even trust all the cats in our own Clan,” Leaftail mewed, with a nasty look at Breezepelt.

Even before Leaftail had finished speaking, Heathertail whipped around to glare at her Clanmate. “How dare you say that!” she hissed. “Breezepelt was the first to kill one of the stoats. You should be grateful.”

Leaftail’s only response was a disdainful flick of his tail.

“I don’t need you to defend me,” Breezepelt informed Heathertail, fur rising all along his spine. “In fact,” he added, his cold stare raking across his Clanmates, “I don’t need any of you.”

Heathertail’s eyes widened in shock and hurt at Breezepelt’s response. Crowfeather was surprised, too, when Heathertail had done nothing but defend his son. He knew that Breezepelt was just lashing out in anger and frustration, but he guessed that when he calmed down, he would regret snapping at Heathertail. She was one of the only true friends he had in the Clan.

“Traitor!” Crouchfoot yowled as the clamor continued.

More yowls rose from the assembled cats, most of them accusing Breezepelt, though a few tried to make themselves heard in his defense. With bristling pelts and claws sliding out, the cats were heartbeats away from attacking one another. Weaselfur pushed past Crowfeather, almost knocking him off his paws, as he squared up to Leaftail, his lips drawn back in a snarl.

Crowfeather could do nothing but stand in dismay as he watched his beloved Clan falling apart before his eyes.

“That’s enough!” Onestar’s caterwaul rose above the outcry. “Sheathe your claws!” As the warriors turned toward him, he added, “Don’t you think the stoats would enjoy seeing us fight among ourselves?”

Crowfeather crept off into the medicine-cat den. The sounds of argument faded away as Onestar got control of his Clan and, with Harespring’s help, sent the uninjured warriors out on hunting patrols. Crowfeather didn’t want to be chosen.

I’m sure every cat would rather chew off their own tail than patrol with me.

“Do you mind if I stay in here for a while?” he asked Kestrelflight. “I could help you watch Featherpaw.”

To Crowfeather’s surprise, Kestrelflight gave him a sympathetic glance. He must be the only cat who doesn’t think I’m a waste of space.

“That would be a real help,” Kestrelflight replied. “I’ve been sorting out the herbs I need to treat the other injuries, but I don’t want to leave Featherpaw alone. Can you stay with her until I get back?”

“Sure.”

Kestrelflight padded out of the den with a leaf wrap of herbs in his jaws. Left alone with Featherpaw, Crowfeather settled down beside her nest and lowered his head to give her a sniff. Though she was still unconscious, the clean tang of comfrey and marigold was stronger than the scent of blood, and her breathing seemed to be deeper and steadier than before.