Эрин Хантер - Crowfeather's Trial

“I guess”? The worst of Crowfeather’s suspicions confirmed, his fury exploded. “It’s obvious to see who doesn’t want me back!” he exclaimed. “You’ve barely said a thing this whole time. You’re just following the cat you love, trying to impress her with your loyalty to your foolish father!”

Breezepelt looked up at him, a stung expression in his eyes. He’s embarrassed I caught on, Crowfeather thought. “And there’s no way I’m apologizing. I was right ! And you both know it.”

“Yes, sure, you were right.” Heathertail’s voice was soothing. “As I said. Most of the Clan thinks it’s a mouse-brained idea to block up the tunnels. But you still disrespected your Clan leader, in front of the rest of the Clan.”

“Onestar deserved it!” Crowfeather snarled. Glaring at Breezepelt, he added, “It’s better this way. I can have the freedom I’ve always wanted, and you can be free of me. I’m leaving, and WindClan will never have to worry about me again!”

The two younger cats stared at him in silence for a moment. At last Heathertail mewed quietly, “What about looking for Nightcloud?”

“You can look for Nightcloud,” Crowfeather retorted, trying to ignore the guilt that settled over him like a cloud of dust. “She won’t want to see me anyway.” That’s probably true, at least.

“Of all the mouse-brained—” Breezepelt began angrily.

Heathertail shook her head at him and silenced him with a touch of her tail-tip on his shoulder. “It’s no use, Breezepelt,” she murmured. “Not right now.” Fixing Crowfeather with a sorrowful blue gaze, she added, “I’m sure there’ll be a way back for you, Crowfeather, if you want to take it. I hope that you do.”

For a moment the young she-cat’s sympathy almost made Crowfeather give in. Then he pictured himself creeping back into the camp and groveling in front of Onestar. No way will I ever do that!

“You’d better go,” he meowed curtly. “You don’t want Onestar to find out you’re missing. He’s in a lousy mood.”

“Okay,” Heathertail sighed. “Come on, Breezepelt.”

For a couple of heartbeats Breezepelt gazed at Crowfeather hesitantly, as if there was something he wanted to say. Crowfeather guessed that a word would have encouraged him, but he felt as though his throat were stopped up by a tough bit of prey, and no words would come. Finally Breezepelt ducked his head awkwardly; then the two young cats turned away and headed across the moor, back to the rest of the Clan. Crowfeather watched them go.

Everything I said to them is true, he thought. I don’t need WindClan. I don’t even need my mouse-hearted son, Breezepelt, and I certainly don’t need that mange-pelt Onestar. I’ll show him! I can get along fine by myself.

But the hollowness, the pain of loss inside him, wouldn’t go away.

The shapes of Breezepelt and Heathertail dwindled and finally were lost to Crowfeather’s sight. At last he took a deep breath and stepped across the border, heading into unexplored territory. I suppose I’m a loner right now.

As he traveled up a long moorland slope, the sky grew darker still, and he thought he could see tiny specks of white floating in front of his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, but the white specks didn’t go away, and as one landed on his nose, the cold shock told him that they were the first tiny flakes of snow.

“Mouse dung!” he grumbled aloud. “That’s all I need!”

Crowfeather realized that if he wanted to hunt, he had better do so soon, before the snow drove every piece of prey into their holes. Aware of hunger for the first time since he left the camp, he padded on, setting down his paws even more lightly, his ears pricked and his jaws parted to taste the air.

For a long time he found nothing. The flakes thickened, swirling around him, settling on the ground until he was plodding through snow a mouse-length deep. His paws were so cold he couldn’t feel them anymore. Snowflakes clotted in his dark gray pelt and clung to his whiskers.

Crowfeather was thinking that he had better give up and start looking for a place to shelter when a hare started up almost underneath his paws. It fled up the hill, and Crowfeather hurled himself after it, his muscles bunching and stretching. His gaze fixed on the bobbing black tips of the hare’s ears, which were all that he could see clearly; the rest of its white pelt was almost invisible in the snow.

The hare disappeared over the brow of the hill and Crowfeather followed. But as he raced downward, his hind legs skidded out from under him and he lost his balance. Letting out a yowl of shock, he rolled over and over down the slope, his legs flailing as he struggled to stop himself.

Then Crowfeather felt a sharp pain in his head as his body slammed into something solid. The white world exploded into blackness, and he knew nothing more.

Crowfeather found himself crouching in utter darkness. The pain in his head was overwhelming, and for a few moments he could do nothing but keep still, clenching his teeth to keep back moans of pain.

At last he opened his eyes, but the darkness didn’t lift. Sheer panic pulsed through Crowfeather. Have I gone blind?

He couldn’t smell or feel anything, but he sensed that a number of cats were gathered around him. Are they my Clanmates? he wondered wildly. Have they come to find me?

At first the cats were still, but after a little while they began to move, weaving around him in a circle, so close that now and again he could feel their pelts brushing against his.

At last one of them spoke, its voice low and gentle but somehow ominous. “Greetings, Crowfeather.”

Now Crowfeather was sure that these were not WindClan cats. He struggled to rise to his paws and face them in the darkness, but his legs wouldn’t support him, and he slumped back to the ground. “Who are you?” he asked hoarsely.

“You know who we are, Crowfeather,” a second voice murmured. “You have met us before.”

“No, I haven’t!” Crowfeather protested. “Stop playing games and tell me what’s going on.”

As he spoke, a dim light began to grow around him, pale and unhealthy like the shine of rotting wood. It was only enough to show him the outlines of the cats, still weaving around him, with here and there the gleam of predatory eyes.

“Is this . . . is this the Dark Forest?” he stammered.

“ Clever Crowfeather,” a third voice purred. “We’re so glad you’ve come to join us.”

“What? No!” Crowfeather lurched upward and this time managed to scramble to his paws. “I’m not going to join you. I’m not even dead!”

“Not quite . . . ,” another voice breathed out. “But soon.”

Crowfeather couldn’t remember ever having been so terrified, not even when he’d been trying to squeeze into the cleft, away from the cruel talons of Sharptooth. I know Onestar banished me, he thought frantically. But surely what I did wasn’t so bad that I would end up here? If I have to die, I should be in StarClan!

He was growing dizzy as he tried to watch the circling cats and work out where the voices were coming from.

“Come with us, Crowfeather.”

“You’re welcome here .”

Crowfeather wanted to barrel his way through the circle and flee, but he knew that he didn’t have the strength. Besides, he had no idea where he could flee to. A medicine cat might know the paths that would lead him out of this dreadful place and into the sunlit territory of StarClan, but he wasn’t a medicine cat.

Soft pelts brushed more firmly against his sides as the circle of cats grew tighter, closing in. Crowfeather forced back a screech of terror. “Leave me alone,” he gasped. “I’m not going with you!”