Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

Onestar lashed his tail again, his anger clearly mounting. “Who are you to talk about WindClan’s pride?” he demanded. “It’s your own pride that’s important to you, Crowfeather. A loyal warrior would have asked his leader’s permission before going to ask for help from another Clan. And a disloyal warrior has no place in WindClan!”

Crowfeather was silent, his gaze locked with Onestar’s. Is that a threat? But you wouldn’t have given your permission, would you?

The Clan leader was the first to look away. “What’s done is done,” he snapped. “Now I’ll have to decide what I’ll say to Bramblestar.”

He rose and turned to enter his den, then paused and looked back at Crowfeather over his shoulder. “Don’t think this is over,” he snarled. “I’ll deal with you later.”

The sun was starting to go down as Crowfeather returned to camp, a small vole dangling from his jaws. Dropping it on the fresh-kill pile, he glanced up at the sky, judging that there was time to go out again before darkness fell.

But I’ll take a few moments to rest first, he thought, padding over to the warriors’ den. His pads ached from pounding the hard ground. I can’t wait for leafbare to be over.

As Crowfeather settled into his nest, he spotted Breezepelt and Heathertail returning to camp, deep in conversation, and so close together that their pelts were brushing. Even as he noted Leaftail and Gorsetail huddling nearby, eyeing the couple suspiciously, he felt an unfamiliar emotion swelling in his chest: happiness that his son had a cat who cared about him, but also optimism that one day—maybe soon—Breezepelt would be accepted as a Clan cat once again.

After all, if Breezepelt became Heathertail’s mate—Heathertail, who was such a respected warrior—and had kits with her, raising a whole litter of new WindClan warriors, which cat would dream of doubting where his loyalties lay?

When Heathertail moved off to the fresh-kill pile, Crowfeather rose to his paws and padded over to Breezepelt. “How’s your injury?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Breezepelt responded with a dismissive flick of his tail. “Hurts a bit, but I can deal with it.”

“You know, Heathertail isn’t listening,” Crowfeather mewed, gently teasing. “You don’t have to act tough.”

Something flashed in Breezepelt’s eyes, and for a moment Crowfeather thought it was irritation. He felt panic beating inside him like a trapped bird, worried that Breezepelt wouldn’t take his comment in the way he meant it. Then he saw a faint gleam of amusement in his son’s eyes.

“Are you trying to tell me you’ve never done the same?” Breezepelt retorted.

“Well . . . I can’t remember a specific time,” Crowfeather replied, his pelt beginning to grow hot with embarrassment. “But I’m sure I must have acted tough to impress a she-cat at some point.”

Once again, as soon as the words were out of his mouth Crowfeather regretted them. Breezepelt must be thinking of how many she-cats I’ve loved.

But there was no hostility in Breezepelt’s expression. “I feel guilty, thinking only of Heathertail and my feelings for her,” he meowed, surprising Crowfeather with his honesty. “There’s so much else going on in the Clan, and we’ve lost Nightcloud. . . .”

“Maybe that means you truly love Heathertail,” Crowfeather suggested, feeling daring, as if he were about to fight a fox. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Breezepelt said nothing, only giving his chest fur a couple of embarrassed licks.

No wonder he feels embarrassed, Crowfeather thought. He’s young, and it’s hard to discuss she-cats with your father—especially when you don’t know your father all that well. Come to think of it, my father, Deadfoot, was always busy, since he was Clan deputy. I’d have died if I’d had to talk to him about she-cats!

“You’ll be okay,” he mewed, risking a joke to reassure his son, “provided you make less of a mess of things than I did.”

He braced himself for a scathing retort, wondering yet again if he had said the wrong thing.

But Breezepelt simply let out a snort of amusement. “That wouldn’t be hard!”

The two toms settled down together, gazing across the camp, in the first comfortable silence Crowfeather could remember between them. Even though it was a bad time for the Clan, even though he and Breezepelt were still grieving for Nightcloud, Crowfeather felt a pleasant warmth spreading beneath his pelt. Just for a moment, they were starting to feel like father and son.

I can be a better father, he thought confidently. And if nothing else is going right . . . at least I’m making progress here.

CHAPTER 17

The scent of ThunderClan cats drifted into Crowfeather’s nose where he lay dozing in his nest in the warriors’ den just after sunup the next day. Startling awake, he spotted Gorsetail; her apprentice, Hootpaw; and Furzepelt, who had gone out on the dawn patrol, leading Bramblestar, Jayfeather, and Lionblaze into the camp. The WindClan cats’ fur was bristling as they hustled the visitors over to Onestar’s den.

Crowfeather rose to his paws and bounded over to the den as Harespring and some of the other WindClan cats began to gather around, gazing at the newcomers with narrowed eyes, the fur on their shoulders beginning to bristle. Lionblaze spotted Crowfeather as he drew to a halt in front of the leader’s den, then quickly looked away.

Crowfeather felt his pads tingle with apprehension. His news had brought the ThunderClan cats to this meeting, but he had no idea how Onestar would treat them. He hadn’t spoken to his Clan leader since his angry dismissal the day before. He could only hope that Onestar had seen sense and would welcome ThunderClan’s help.

“Bramblestar wants to talk to Onestar about Kestrelflight’s vision,” Furzepelt explained to Harespring.

“What about Kestrelflight’s vision?” Onestar’s voice came from his den underneath the Tallrock, and a heartbeat later the Clan leader emerged.

Crowfeather felt a heavy, sinking feeling in his belly. He could see that Onestar felt no friendliness toward the ThunderClan cats. The WindClan leader was looking at Bramblestar with an expression as icy as the leaf-bare wind that swept over the moor.

I don’t regret telling Jayfeather the truth . . . but I don’t think Onestar sees it my way. He’s not going to make this easy for Bramblestar. And Bramblestar hasn’t been a leader for very long. He might not know how to handle this.

Crowfeather stared at the ThunderClan leader. He was facing Onestar with a calm confidence that must surely have impressed the older cat.

Crowfeather took a pace or two closer to the Tallrock as Onestar gave the smallest possible dip of his head toward Bramblestar. “Greetings,” he mewed coldly.

The ThunderClan leader lowered his head respectfully. “Greetings, Onestar,” he began. “I’ve come to discuss what Jayfeather told me about the vision. I understand that you haven’t handled the stoats at your end of the tunnels, as you said you would, and you might need some help.”

Onestar twitched his whiskers irritably and exchanged a glance with Harespring. “I’m not sure where you got that idea,” he responded. “WindClan is doing just fine. We are coping with the threat ourselves.”

Bramblestar blinked in surprise and cast a confused look at Crowfeather. “That’s not what I was told.”

Crowfeather felt like he’d been dipped in freezing-cold water as he looked from Bramblestar to his own leader. He wished he could tell Bramblestar that he shared his surprise. He had known Onestar wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about accepting ThunderClan’s help, but he hadn’t thought he would outright deny that there was a problem.