Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

“Just think about what I’ve said,” Crowfeather pleaded.

“There’s no need to think,” Harespring snapped. “Onestar has got this. I told you, everything will be all right.” He stalked off, calling to his apprentice.

Crowfeather felt even more uneasy, his pelt prickling from ears to tail-tip. He wondered whether Harespring was just trying to convince himself. He wondered too whether he had fully understood Ashfoot and Feathertail’s advice.

I’m not a medicine cat, he told himself. What if that was just a dream, and not a message from StarClan? Or what if I misinterpreted the message? He let out a growl of frustration. Now I have no idea how all this will end.

But Crowfeather couldn’t stifle the feeling that it would not end well.

Night had fallen, and Crowfeather was plumping up the bedding in his nest when Harespring came into the warriors’ den and padded over to him.

“Onestar wants you to escort Kestrelflight to the half-moon meeting,” he announced.

A jolt of surprise struck Crowfeather like the blow from an outstretched paw. “Onestar’s overreacting a little, isn’t he?” he asked. “Sending a warrior to escort a medicine cat? That’s just making a big deal of showing that he doesn’t trust ThunderClan. Okay, there’s some tension between us, but would any cat attack medicine cats?”

Harespring shrugged. “Probably not, but what can you do? That’s what Onestar wants.”

If you ask me, Crowfeather thought, Onestar just wants to get under ThunderClan’s fur. But he remembered Onestar’s warning. He couldn’t risk disobeying his Clan leader again, not after the disaster that had followed last time.

“That’s fine,” he responded to Harespring. “I’ll go find him now.”

Part of Crowfeather was pleased at the prospect of trekking up to the Moonpool with Kestrelflight; he and the medicine cat had always gotten along well. And it would be something to take his mind off Breezepelt and the stoats.

When he reached the medicine-cat den, Kestrelflight was waiting outside. He gave Crowfeather a friendly nod as he approached, and the two toms padded side by side up the slope and out of the camp.

“How is Featherpaw?” Crowfeather asked, feeling slightly guilty that he hadn’t been to see her since Bramblestar’s disastrous visit.

“Doing very well,” Kestrelflight replied cheerfully. “She’s still sleeping, but her breathing is much stronger, and her wounds are healing nicely. I’ve left Sedgewhisker with her while I’m at the Moonpool, but I’m not expecting any problems.”

“That’s good to hear.”

But the reassuring news about his apprentice wasn’t enough to distract Crowfeather from the hostile reaction he was likely to get from ThunderClan. “There’s going to be trouble behind this,” he murmured after a while. “You don’t need a warrior to escort you as if you were a kit. The other medicine cats won’t like it.”

“You mean Jayfeather won’t like it,” Kestrelflight meowed. “I wasn’t there when Bramblestar appeared with the other ThunderClan cats, but I heard all about it. I hate to say this about my Clan leader, but I think this time Onestar has it wrong.”

“Why?” Crowfeather asked, giving Kestrelflight a sharp look. “Have you had any more visions about the tunnels?”

Kestrelflight shook his head. “I’ve had some upsetting dreams,” he replied, “but I think they’re just dreams, not visions. Still, I’ll feel better when the stoats are driven from the tunnels.”

And that’s not going to happen without ThunderClan, Crowfeather thought.

For all his worries, it felt good to be padding across the moor, invigorated by the brisk wind blowing through his fur. The short springy grass was silvered by the light of the half-moon, with the stars blazing overhead in a clear sky. Crowfeather liked the idea that the warriors of StarClan were watching over them, caring for their Clans as they had when they were alive, sending their advice to the medicine cats through dreams and visions.

His pelt warmed as he remembered Feathertail, and the love for him that had shone from her eyes. Surely that was a true vision, and not just a dream?

“Tell me about your dreams,” he mewed curiously to Kestrelflight. “How do you know when they mean something, instead of just being nonsense?”

Kestrelflight’s tail curled up in amusement. “I suppose it’s part of being a medicine cat,” he answered. “But usually I just . . . know. I can feel it.”

For a moment Crowfeather was silent, thinking that over. Then he continued, “I’m not a medicine cat, so all the dreams I have are just nonsense . . . right?”

“Not necessarily,” Kestrelflight replied. “Dreams can tell us things, whether they’re a message from StarClan or not—perhaps things we’re trying to tell ourselves.”

Crowfeather shook his head, more confused than ever. For a while the two cats plodded on side by side, reaching the stream and following it up into the hills where the Moonpool lay. To Crowfeather’s relief, there was no sign so far of any of the other medicine cats.

“Tell me something, Kestrelflight,” he mewed at last. “Have you ever seen Ashfoot in StarClan?”

The medicine cat shook his head apologetically. “No, not yet,” he replied. “But we lost so many cats in the Great Battle. It doesn’t mean anything. I just haven’t seen them all.”

You haven’t seen her because she isn’t there yet, Crowfeather thought, remembering what his mother had told him. Which means it’s true . . . she stayed behind to visit me in dreams. He swallowed hard. Doesn’t that imply they mean something after all?

“I’m really sorry about Nightcloud,” Kestrelflight went on after a few heartbeats. “It must be terrible, not knowing what happened to her.”

Crowfeather nodded. He didn’t really want to talk about his former mate, but he was encouraged by Kestrelflight’s sympathetic look. He knew that the young medicine cat would listen without judging him. “It wasn’t right, our being mates,” he meowed hesitantly. “But I always assumed we’d have time to work out our problems and become friends. Now that can never happen.”

Kestrelflight let out an understanding murmur. “I hear that some of our Clanmates suspect that Breezepelt had something to do with Nightcloud’s death,” he mewed hesitantly.

Fury surged through Crowfeather and he lashed his tail. “No way is that true!”

“I don’t believe it for a heartbeat,” Kestrelflight assured him. “Breezepelt loved Nightcloud.”

Crowfeather nodded, his rage dying at Kestrelflight’s understanding. “More than any cat,” he responded.

A comfortable silence fell as the two cats padded on together, farther into the hills. The slope was growing steeper, and the stream they followed was narrower, its water turned to silver as it leaped from rock to rock. Its gentle gushing was the only sound except for the soft pad of the cats’ paw steps.

“I had an idea,” Kestrelflight went on after a while. “Do you remember, before the Great Battle, Dawnpelt of ShadowClan accused Jayfeather of murdering her brother Flametail?”

“Yes, of course,” Crowfeather replied, wondering why Kestrelflight was bringing that up now.

“Jayfeather found Flametail in StarClan,” Kestrelflight meowed, “and got him to tell the other medicine cats that Jayfeather was innocent.”

Suddenly understanding, Crowfeather halted and gazed wide-eyed at Kestrelflight. “Yes . . . ,” he breathed out.

“So tonight, when I dream my way into StarClan, I’m going to look for Nightcloud. If I find her, I’ll ask her to tell the others what really happened to her, and that Breezepelt had nothing to do with it.”