Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

Just as he had expected, Jayfeather gave an angry lash of his tail. “Then why did Onestar insist on handling it himself? And why didn’t he come with you and ask to talk to Bramblestar?” His ears pricked suddenly in a gesture of astonishment. “Does Onestar even know that you’re here?”

“Well . . . no,” Crowfeather confessed, expecting that Jayfeather would refuse to say any more.

Instead, to Crowfeather’s surprise, Jayfeather seemed almost impressed, a rusty mrrow of amusement coming from his throat. “You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that,” he meowed. “So Onestar is still insisting on coping with this alone. . . . Doesn’t he realize that if the stoats get bolder and stronger around the tunnels, it’ll be a threat to ThunderClan as well?”

“Of course, but—” Crowfeather broke off as Jayfeather interrupted him.

“We’ve extended our patrols, and we haven’t seen much of the stoats on our side lately. I assumed they had gone for good, but obviously they haven’t.”

“No, and the problem on our side is pretty bad,” Crowfeather admitted, with a renewed pang of regret as he thought of Nightcloud’s death. “We thought we could handle it on our own, but we underestimated the stoats, and that was a mistake. Besides, I’m getting the feeling that they’re more than just a pest.”

“Why is that?” Jayfeather asked.

“You were at the Gathering,” Crowfeather replied. “You heard what Kestrelflight said, about the vision of water emerging from the tunnels, water that could flood the Clans’ territories? I’m beginning to think that the stoats are part of that.”

Jayfeather said nothing, but Crowfeather could see from the tilt of his head that he was listening intently.

“What if the stoats are a small problem,” he went on, feeling slightly encouraged, “but one that would leave the Clans vulnerable when faced with a bigger challenge?”

Jayfeather rolled his sightless blue eyes. “After everything that happened with the Dark Forest,” he mewed, “you think StarClan is going to try to frighten us using stoats ? You should leave the prophesying to the medicine cats.” He half turned away, as if he was about to leave.

Crowfeather did his best to ignore the jibe. “It’s the Great Battle that has me worried,” he responded, desperate to make Jayfeather listen. “That showed me that all our tussles over territory until then had been minor. I never expected that the Clans could be pulled into a conflict that claimed so many lives. If it happened once, it could happen again.”

Jayfeather let out a snort; clearly, he was still unconvinced. “And a bunch of stoats are really going to start the next Great Battle?”

“They could,” Crowfeather insisted. “It’s not so far-fetched. The stoats have already killed one cat and seriously injured another. And they’re getting bolder every day—maybe because we’re still gathering our strength. They’re fast and spiteful, and that makes them deadly—and there are a lot of them. Even if all the WindClan warriors went up against them at once, we would still be outnumbered. WindClan and ThunderClan need to work together, for the good of both Clans—and maybe ShadowClan and RiverClan too.”

“But Onestar hasn’t changed his mind?”

“No,” Crowfeather admitted. “Onestar still won’t hear of cooperating. The idea will have to come from . . . some other cat.”

Jayfeather’s whiskers arched in surprise. “You are sticking your nose into a bees’ nest, aren’t you?” He hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll talk to Bramblestar about it. He’s reasonable; he’ll probably take this seriously.”

His confident tone and his obvious respect for Bramblestar reminded Crowfeather of how close Jayfeather was to his Clan leader: At one time, they had believed themselves to be father and son. And Bramblestar was a great father to him . . . maybe better than I could have been.

“If you want my advice,” Jayfeather continued, “WindClan needs to sort itself out. If you had brought this up right from the start, maybe Nightcloud would still be here.”

Crowfeather winced at his son’s blunt criticism, but said nothing. He’s not wrong.

“If nothing else,” Jayfeather went on, “the Great Battle should have taught all the Clans the importance of working together .”

“You’re right, of course,” Crowfeather acknowledged.

Jayfeather twitched his ears irritably. “I always am,” he meowed.

Crowfeather dipped his head, then felt his pelt bristle with embarrassment—Jayfeather couldn’t see his gesture. So he thanked his son sincerely, and watched as Jayfeather leaped neatly across the stream, back to the ThunderClan side.

It’s amazing how a blind cat can cross a stream of water without once stopping to feel his way with his forepaws.

As Jayfeather disappeared into the bushes, Crowfeather watched, feeling as though a thorn had pierced his heart. Jayfeather was ornery, it was true . . . but he was also a clever and special cat. He got the orneriness from me, Crowfeather reflected. Of that I’m fairly sure. But what about the rest?

He couldn’t help but wonder how Jayfeather might have turned out, had he raised him instead of Bramblestar. Would he have become the medicine cat he is now? Or would Jayfeather’s paws have led him down a different path?

He thought of Breezepelt . . . insecure, angry, and struggling. How much of that was because of me? Would Breezepelt be any different now, if he’d been raised by another cat?

On his way back to the WindClan camp, Crowfeather felt a weight settling over him, as if his pelt were soaked with muddy water. He tried to shake it off, telling himself that it was too late to have these thoughts about Jayfeather. Jayfeather was grown up, a full medicine cat, a vital part of a different Clan.

But Breezepelt . . .

Crowfeather shook himself, thinking that he didn’t have time to think about the problems of his own making right now.

There were more important matters to be dealt with.

When Crowfeather reached the WindClan camp, he immediately spotted Onestar sitting outside his den. The Clan leader rose to his paws, glaring at Crowfeather as he padded down the slope and crossed the hollow to join him.

“Where have you been all day?” Onestar demanded.

Crowfeather took a breath. He had known when he left that Onestar would want an explanation, and he had decided to tell the truth. “I’ve spoken to Jayfeather,” he replied. “I told him what’s been happening at our end of the tunnels. ThunderClan needs to know for their own safety—and ours. I’ve asked them for their help.”

Onestar tilted his head, his eyes widening. He drew his lips back into a snarl, while the fur on his pelt bristled in fury. “How dare you?” he spat. “How could you go behind my back like that and share our private business with ThunderClan? Are you a loyal WindClan warrior or not?” Lashing his tail, he let out a growl deep within his throat, then continued without giving Crowfeather a chance to defend himself. “I can’t figure out what’s going on with you lately. It’s this kind of reckless behavior that kept me from making you deputy. I thought you put your Clan first, but maybe I was wrong.”

Anger swelled up inside Crowfeather, but he forced himself to stay calm. “It’s because I’m a loyal WindClan warrior that I went to ThunderClan for help,” he responded. “I know working with ThunderClan isn’t ideal, but it feels like the only way to make sure we all survive. I won’t stand by and let what happened to Breezepelt and Featherpaw—and Nightcloud—happen to any other cat in camp because we were too stubborn to ask for the help we need. I won’t put Hootpaw or Heathertail in harm’s way just to protect WindClan’s pride!”