Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

Crowfeather wanted to speak to her, but guilt made the words stick in his throat. I’ve failed her, just like I failed Breezepelt.

“Featherpaw, I’m so sorry I encouraged you to go into danger,” he mewed at last. “I should have been more careful with what I said to you, and as soon as I saw you out there by the tunnels, I should have sent you straight back to camp. But I never thought everything would go so wrong, so quickly.”

His mind drifted back to his sense that some greater threat was looming over the Clans, and that the only way to deal with the stoats was to involve ThunderClan. But Onestar won’t hear of it, he thought resentfully. He’d hoped that, after the Great Battle, the Clans would realize they needed one another more than ever. Instead it felt like they were even more divided.

And what about WindClan? he wondered. There’s not only fighting between the Clans . . . there’s fighting within, too. Was WindClan doomed to tear itself apart with arguments? Could they ever work together when so few cats trusted Breezepelt?

“And then there’s Breezepelt himself,” he murmured aloud. “What’s going to happen to him?”

He wondered if Breezepelt could ever get over his anger and hurt at the events of the Great Battle. Will the Great Battle haunt us always?

Crouched in the quiet of the medicine-cat den, Crowfeather felt sleep stealing up on him. The stress of the battle, Featherpaw’s injuries, and the quarrels among the Clan had sapped his strength. His own wounds, even though they were minor compared to Featherpaw’s, stung as if a whole swarm of bees were attacking him. Crowfeather struggled against sleep for a while, then curled up even closer to Featherpaw so that if she moved she would rouse him, and let himself slip into darkness.

Instantly Crowfeather found himself running through the tunnels, faster and more confidently than he ever had in the waking world. A pale gray light just ahead of him told him that Ashfoot was there, though at first he couldn’t see her.

“Wait for me!” he called out to her. “Why do you keep doing this?”

Then an even brighter light shone in front of Crowfeather. He burst out into the open and saw that he had reached a forest clearing. A full moon was overhead, shedding a silver light over the trees and bushes, and stars blazed down through gaps in the branches. A small pool in the center of the clearing looked as if it was made of liquid starlight.

Fear and wonder shivered through Crowfeather until he felt as if his blood were turning to ice. Where am I? he asked himself. The full moon alone told him that this wasn’t the world he lived in when he was awake. Yet he knew that only medicine cats were allowed to enter StarClan before they died.

“Crowfeather?” His mother’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. “Why are you standing there gaping as if you expect prey to come and fly into your jaws?”

Now Crowfeather spotted Ashfoot sitting in the shadow of an arching clump of ferns. He padded over to her, hardly feeling as if his paws were his own.

“What is this place?” he asked hoarsely.

Ashfoot gave an impatient twitch of her whiskers. “It’s your dream, mouse-brain,” she responded.

“Then why have you brought me here?”

“I’m still trying to make you see sense,” Ashfoot told him. “And since you won’t listen to me, I’ve brought a friend.”

A rustling came from the bushes behind Crowfeather. He spun around, his pelt prickling with apprehension. He stared as the undergrowth parted and a silver tabby she-cat stepped into the open. Her plumy tail was raised high, and her blue eyes glowed with love for him.

“Greetings, Crowfeather,” she mewed.

“Feathertail!” Crowfeather breathed out. Astonishment and disbelief gripped him like giant claws, and the ache of loss awoke again in his heart. “Is it really you?”

The last time he had seen the beautiful RiverClan she-cat had been in the mountains, in the cave where the Tribe lived. There she had leaped to the cave roof and gripped a pointed stone until it had given way and plummeted downward to drive into the heart of Sharptooth, the ferocious lion-cat. But Feathertail had fallen with it; her courageous action had cost her her life.

She saved the Tribe, and she saved me. Oh, Feathertail . . . I loved you so much!

Crowfeather stood still, stunned by shock, while Feathertail padded forward, twined her tail with his, and nuzzled him affectionately. He could feel the warmth of her pelt and taste her sweet scent as it wreathed around him. He could hardly believe that this was only a dream.

“I’ve missed you,” he choked out.

“I’ve missed you, too.” Feathertail took a pace back and looked deeply into Crowfeather’s eyes. “But you’re not quite the same cat that I knew back then.”

“What do you mean?” Crowfeather asked.

“You remember that I’m in both StarClan and the Tribe of Endless Hunting,” Feathertail meowed. “The Tribe has given me permission to come and speak to you. I’ve been watching you, and I’m troubled by what I’ve seen.”

“What do you mean?” Crowfeather asked.

“I’ve seen how you are with Breezepelt,” Feathertail replied. “The Crowfeather I knew had so much love to give. Why have you been withholding love from your own son?”

Crowfeather turned his head sharply to gaze at Ashfoot. “Are you ganging up on me now?”

Ashfoot shrugged. “I had to make you see . . . and I knew she was the one cat you would always listen to.”

With a long sigh, Crowfeather turned back to Feathertail. “What you say is true,” he admitted. “I’ve tried to set things right with Breezepelt, but I’m worried that it’s too late. Everything went wrong between us because of what I did—or didn’t do—when Breezepelt was just an apprentice, and I can’t go back in time, however much I might want to. Now Breezepelt is still troubled. What more can I do?”

Feathertail blinked at him affectionately. “You can accept Breezepelt for who he is.”

“I’ll try,” Crowfeather promised. “But right now, keeping the Clan safe is the most important task for every cat. I know we need ThunderClan’s help to clear the stoats out of the tunnels, but Onestar just won’t see that.”

Feathertail’s blue eyes sparkled with sympathy. “Then there’s only one thing you can do,” she mewed. “Be true to yourself.”

Crowfeather’s whiskers twitched in surprise. “If I were being true to myself . . . I suppose I would go to Leafpool,” he murmured. But would Feathertail really suggest going to the only cat he had loved after her—and disobeying his Clan leader to do it? “Should I go behind Onestar’s back?” he asked.

Feathertail stared at him intensely. “Crowfeather . . . ,” she began, but her voice trailed off.

“Leafpool would be able to persuade Bramblestar that it’s for the good of ThunderClan to help me,” Crowfeather went on as the pieces came together in his mind. “And once I get rid of the threat, Onestar won’t care how I did it.”

Ashfoot leaned forward. “Crowfeather . . . the Clan is what matters. You must put the good of the Clan above everything else.”

Her voice faded on the last few words, and the brilliant moonlight in the clearing began to fade too. Before darkness fell, the last things Crowfeather saw were Feathertail’s eyes, as warm and blue as the sky in greenleaf.

Crowfeather blinked awake in the dim light of the medicine-cat den. Featherpaw was still unconscious beside him, and Feathertail and Ashfoot were gone, but their words remained fresh in his thoughts. He rose to his paws and arched his back in a good long stretch.